《The Homunculus Knight》 World Glossary/Encyclopedia

World Glossary/Encyclopedia

Free Peoples of the World

Humans- The original sapient species native to the world. Widespread with disparate cultures and values. Found all across the Four Continents in a wide variety of kingdoms, tribes, empires and nations. Exceptionally adaptive with a knack for endurance other People''s lack. After multiple ages of subservience and fear, Humans are reclaiming their place as dominant species. An effort the Human Pantheon has been extremely active in supporting. Dwarfs/Dwergaz- Subterranean and Mountain Dwelling cousins of Humans. While shorter than Humans, they have denser bones and muscles. With an incredible resistance to some toxic materials and an almost perfect memory. Can be obsessive and stubborn to the point of madness. A loose collection of mountainous Dwergaz City-States and Subterranean Kingdoms dot the Four Continents. In the last few centuries the Dwergaz Gods have gone silent. Provoking major social upheaval and abandonment of organization religion. With small Ancestor Cults the only major Dwarven religious practice surviving. Orcs- Nomadic tribes with access to strange magic that can teleport them between worlds. Generally larger and more muscular than humans, with a pronounced underbite and pseudo-tusks. Orcish skin color is not set at birth and reflects their diet. Green skin, the result of a plant-heavy diet is the most common but gray, brown, or black is not uncommon. Individual tribes vary in temperament drastically. With some being peaceful traders, others genocidal conquerors. Their magic and nomadic lifestyle has scattered Orcs all across the Four Continents but they are most commonly found in the most remote regions of the Northern Steppes. Goblins/Gobavi- Former Sidhe slave race who have established a large and unpleasent Empire in the Northern Steppes. Short humanoids with sloping foreheads, gray-brown complexions and slender fingers. Noted as stubborn survivors with a cruel streak when wronged. The Gobavi Tsardom has recently started expanding west and pushing against the Holy League. Rarely found in other countries and are regarded with suspicion by most. A suspicion repaid by the xenophobic dogma of the Gobavi. Elf/Alfari- Another race of Sidhe slaves who left the Four Continents to sail across the Western Ocean to lands unknown. Magically skilled and reclusive, the Elfs rule the near-mythical Lands-Beyond-the-Sea. Only returning to the Four on diplomatic or trade missions. There are a few elven enclaves in the White Isles and some rare exiles/adventurers who wander the Four Continents. Physically Elfs are slender tall humanoids with virtually no body-fat. With physiques resembling exaggerated runner or dancer builds. Elvish skin and eye color is incredibly varied and their eyes resemble that of different animals. Most famously they have long pointed ears and speak a strange melodic language non-elfs cannot learn. Werefolk- The Curse of Beastblood has been a problem for close to three millenia. With those infected turning into rampaging hybrids of humanoid and predator. While many lose themselves to the curse and become little more than feral animals. Others have mastered the curse and achieved a form of symbiosis. The descendents of these ¡°curse-tamers¡± inherit a portion of their parents'' abilities. Creating the Werefolk. Humanoids with animalistic features and instincts. While great kingdoms in the far north and far south are ruled by Beastbood Nobility. Most Werefolk live as nomadic outcasts in the Western Continent. Wandering clans with totemic tradtions and bestial abillities.

Elder Peoples

Dragons- Ancient and incredibly powerful the Dragons are a species of magically potent reptiles. Six limbed and capable of adapting to any environment, few nations, let alone individuals can match a dragon in power. Dragons grow physically and magically throughout their lives. But this growth is unbalanced with them gaining more magical power than their body can handle. To counteract this they must periodically hibernate atop material capable of absorbing the excess magic. Precious metals and Gems are the best options for Dragons, forcing them to ever expand their hoard as they grow. While some Dragons rob and loot to do this, others find more novel solutions. Numerous nations, including the Long-Ye Empire are ruled by Dragons. Sidhe- Fickle and perfidious creatures more magic than flesh. Powerful shapeshifters and illusionists with an imperialist agenda. Once conquered the World close to two and a half millennium ago. In a period of magical nightmares that ended in a massive rebellion led by the human champion Iskandar the Hero. The Sidhe have been driven off the Four Continents and any incursion by them is met with extreme prejudice. Even all these centuries later the Free Peoples will drop nearly any conflict or grudge and unite against the Sidhe. Jotunn- Colossal Shapeshifters with potent elemental magic. Usually appears as an existing animal 10-100x its natural size with magical tweaks. Half-breed Jotunn are fully viable creatures that appear as colossal versions of the non-Jotunn parent. Numerous species descend from these hybrids, like Zizs, Leviathans, Behemoths and the common Giants. Only a full blooded Jotunn inherits their shape shifting ability. Full-bloods are incredibly rare, having been almost hunted to extinction by the Sidhe and later Free Peoples. But feral Jotunnkin and descendant species still form a serious danger across the Four Continents. Demiurge- Incredibly ancient and enigmatic subterranean species only attested to in Dwarven legends. Possibly related to Dwarfs, Trolls, and the massive subterranean ecosystem known as the Deeps. Seraphim- The servants and agents of the Light. Elder Seraphs are native to the Beyond and are, in essence, spirits of the Light. Typically these beings take more esoteric forms composed of complicated geometric shapes, burning eyes, wings, and pure musical tones. By contrast, Younger Seraphs are mortal souls who, through their actions in life, have been Anointed. Their very soul infused with the Light and turned into something not quite mortal nor divine. Younger Seraphs serve the Gods while Elder Seraphs are beholding only to the Light itself. Demons/Hellkyn- The magical byproduct of suffering infecting the Beyond. Native to the Infinite Hells, congealing in its depths. Each Demon represents a flavor of suffering which they seek to spread in order to empower themselves. Demons'' appearances vary wildly, but can be loosely grouped by strength and ¡°genre¡± of suffering they originate from. While Demons serve a valuable purpose in the cycle of death. Devouring the sins of damned souls so they may be reincarnated cleanly. Few Demons are content with this arrangement and wish to expand the Infinite Hells by consuming both the Beyond and the Physical World.

The Human Pantheon

Primary Human Gods Father Sky- King of the Gods, God of rulership, protection, the Weather, Stars, and justice. Mother Earth- Queen of the Gods. God of stewardship, family, agriculture, safety and the earth. Brother Moon- God of the Moon, the Night, water, Masculine beauty and love. Guides the lost and protects the innocent. Sister Sun- Goddess of the Sun and Day. Fire, Feminine beauty and love. Inspires passion and brings truth. Uncle Trickster- God of Lies, Schemes, Humor, and truth. Bringer of Joy to the worthy, bringer of despair to the villainous. Uncle Maker- God of Craftsmen, art, and construction. Builds a better world through his myriad tools and myriad followers. Aunt Huntress- Goddess of Wilds, hunting, survival and beasts. Guards the line between mortal and animal. Aunt Seeress- Goddess of Magic, knowledge, learning and prophecy. Keeper of many mysteries some she may share with the worthy. Mistress Void- Goddess of reality, and dimensions. Path-Weaver and Lady of the Stars. Master Time- God of Time and Death. Judge and protector of the Dead. Misbegotten War- God of War, Destruction and Conflict. Never revered but never forgotten. Secondary Human Gods This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The Four Daughters- Children of Mother Earth and Father Sky. Embodiment of the Four Seasons. Patron of Farmers. The Four Sons- Children of Father Sky and Mother Earth. Embodiment of the Four Winds. Patron of Travelers Tide Prince- Son of Brother Moon and the Elvish Sea Goddess. Patron of Sailors and the Ocean. The Constellations- Myriad children of Brother Moon and Sister Sun. Subservient of Mistress Void and carry her will to those clever enough to see it. Mirth and Misery- Uncle Trickster¡¯s assistants. Patrons of performers of all kinds.
Magical Practioners Magi - Pull apart the natural processes of magic and reverse engineer them. Studies magic as an art or skill, requiring knowledge and understanding Priest - Acts as a conduit for divine power, needing faith and a degree of divine oversight Savant - intuitive understanding of particular types of magic, used instinctively. Shaman - Deals with lesser Spirits. Drawing power from them and using them for various magical effects. Paladin - soul is reforged with divine power, allowing for the use of that divine power by consuming the user''s soul rather than directly involving the god. Many are former Priests. Rare and typically the most powerful agents of a god''s will Paragon - innate and initially subconscious magic, the product of extreme practice and skill in a particular area. Those who learn of it can use it to empower their skill to extreme heights or manifest secondary effects to assist the skill in question
Religious Terms Acolyte - Priest in training. Have some powers but lesser in all respects Hierophant -Senior Priests of particular power and experience. Take positions of power within temples and are capable of powerful magical feats Anchorite - an unusual state of being where a Priest is converted into stone (or at least something that appears like stone) while much of their individuality and personality is lost. They become more akin to spirits than people and have a powerful connection to their god. A consequence of Priests repeatedly using more power than they are capable of handling Rest-Bringer - Combat Priests of Master Time dedicated to hunting down and destroying undead Eclipse Dancer - Priests of Sister Sun and Brother Moon, representing the symbolism of the eclipse, where masculinity and femininity converge. Perform rituals of transfiguration to assist those who do not identify with their current sex Clock Monks - Specialised Priests of Uncle Maker. Dedicated to the creation and control of complicated machinery, especially where that intersects with magic due to the risks of attracting the attention of Beyonders like the Sidhe
Geography and Nations
Undead Vampires - Greater Undead with several characteristic powers and weaknesses, the most notable of which are being burned by the sun and having a hunger for blood that will override their higher functions if not sated. Consumed blood can be used to power various abilities. Various bloodlines exist that have special capabilities and tendencies, stemming from a progenitor who committed an act of horrific betrayal Alukah - The first vampires. Strongest and most dangerous of all kinds. Driven to near extinction Epochs ago. Wyrmoi - Bloodline of Archduke Drakovich. Strong of body and mind but inflexible. Skilled in blunt magical methods and pure physical enhancment. Strix - Bloodline of magically skilled Vampires. Generally reclusive and patient, using their blood magic and other spells to acheive their goals. Moroi - Bloodline of fast and manipulative Vampires who specalize in infiltrating and controling mortals. Typically beautiful, vain and fast. Strigoi - Bloodline of bestial Vampires with a knack for shapeshifting. Their animalistic nature gives them incredible instincts but poor self-control. Ghouls - Lesser Undead with very limited intelligence that are driven by hunger for living flesh. Most dead creatures can revive as ghouls, with their souls becoming trapped in the process, though it tends to be intelligent creatures that are most likely to resurrect. Various sub-types exist which can exist as a result of the body dying under certain circumstances or other, stranger circumstance. Most ghouls retain the physical characteristics and abilities of their original body, and can be prevented from resurrecting by releasing the soul (usually done by a Priest) Grinning Ghoul - stronger, smarter and more driven ghouls that are the product of a tainted aether around the corpse. Those killed by them tend to rise very rapidly as more grinning ghouls, allowing for rapid infestations that multiply out of easy control Vryko-Ghoul - caused by death by exposure and starvation, these ghouls are capable of regeneration and are capable of endlessly or near endlessly increasing their strength and regenerative capacity Varcolac -undead werewolf, a rare product of particularly unfortunate circumstances. Sane werebeasts revert to human form on death, resulting in less dangerous ghouls while those fully lost to bestiality are too animalistic to reliably revive. Varcolacs thus require a werebeast to die while lost to their beast but still possessing a spark of higher reasoning and sanity. Possesses the physical strength, hunting instincts and regeneration of a werebeast, allowing it to overcome the decay commonly seen in other undead over time Wraith - a disembodied soul which has remained bound to the world through some means, usually as a result of refusing to move on. This state of existence drives most insane. Wraiths are primarily dangerous due to their invulnerability to most physical weapons and their ability to attack the soul of individuals. However, this method of attack is far less effective against the prepared and the strong-willed. Fighting them risks damaging their soul in ways that lead to a true death Shade - An old and extremely mentally deteriorated wraith where the original person is essentially gone Manei - Wraiths willingly bound by ritual to a location. This ritual preserves their sanity far better than what would be typical of a "natural" wraith, making them far more normal and sociable Keening Ghost- Wraiths created when a person dies of Grief. Generally powerful and unstable. Attracted to Grief or things that remind them of the source of their Grief. Rattler - the result of dark magic saturating consecrated bones, allowing them to revive as a mostly mindless parody of life. No soul remains. Usually occurs when consecration fades over time or is deliberately broken. They are held together by strings of magic which can be readily broken or burned, and those lead to a core or "knot", usually in the skull. Destruction of the knot destroys the rattler Eternal Legions - specially prepared and armed human skeletons designed to be easily transferred between masters. Each is bound to a reliquary, controlled by a mage, who can then freely delegate command to anyone they desire. Designed for use in battle and as guards. Nobles of the Blood Duchies are typically expected to give a tithe of these beings to Duke Drakovich Walking Charnel - a possible product of a poorly consecrated mass grave. A mass of random bones held together by very strong magical ropes that can reorient and reshape at the creature''s will, allowing it to protect the knot much better than most rattlers. Somewhat resistant to holy power and capable of incorporating more bone into its mass
Calander- 360 days in a year, 12 months, 30 days per month Newfrost- Jan Chillheart- Feb Stormthaw- March Firstbloom- April Cometcome- May Newflame- June Fullbloom- July Firesong- August Scorchset- Sept Redharvest- Oct Sunfall- Nov Darksol- Dec Chapter 1: Stranger at the Gate Book I: Rest-Bringer

Chapter 1: Stranger at the Gate

¡°A Homunculus is an artificial body of flesh and blood constructed by arcane means. They are, by definition, inert husks, lacking intelligence, will, and a soul. However, there has been one exception to that general rule: The infamous Homunculus Knight.¡± ¡ªExcerpt from the text ¡°Alchemical Abominations,¡± authored by Aureolus Bombastus, Master Alchemist of the Salted Citadel
It was a wet and dreary night when a lone stranger came to Glockmire. Thunder rolled through the mountains and cold rain pelted the town¡¯s rooftops. Glockmire was nestled between ancient mountains, deep in the wilds of Zaubervold, sixth of the thirteen Blood Duchies. Here in this remote part of the world, the town was not used to lone strangers, as few dared the surrounding wilderness without proper escort. So the sight of the single traveler on foot, arriving close to midnight, was an event of note. The stranger walked across drenched stone, following the old road to the town walls. Like the road, the walls of the town were in poor shape, leftovers from a better era, barely maintained but still usable. Glockmire sat in the middle of a mountain pass, guarding safe passage through this part of the Dragon-Tail Mountains. A squat gatehouse sat where walls and road met. The worn building was better suited to collecting tolls than defending from invaders. Approaching the stone structure, the stranger knocked on the sturdy oaken gate. It was closed for the night, keeping trouble out and keeping the citizenry within. The gate guard was asleep, something not unusual for the place and time. A balding man with a ruddy complexion and protruding belly, he¡¯d lost the prior night''s game of cards, landing him with the last watch. This change had done nothing to stop his usual nightcap of cheap drink. By the guard¡¯s reckoning, his inebriation mattered little. Walls of old stone, touched by older magic, protected the town. Few of the things that lurked in the dark woods could pass through the gate uninvited. Those that could either feared the local lord or served him. In truth, the guard¡¯s presence was more of a formality, collecting tolls and alerting other, more capable guardians in case of a true threat. So it came as a slight annoyance when a steady rhythm of knocks roused the guard from his stupor. Pulling himself up from the rickety chair that barely supported his weight, he shuffled to the small window and peered down on the gatehouse''s exterior. Through fogged glass, the guard caught sight of who had just interrupted his sleep. Clad in a black traveling cloak, hood drawn against the driving rain, stood a stranger. The poor conditions meant the guard couldn¡¯t get a good look at the hooded figure. All he could tell was that the stranger was tall, broad, and carried a large pack, which meant little in these troubled times. They could be anything from a huntsman returning from a poorly planned expedition to a mercenary looking for bloody work. Shrugging to himself the Guard made his decision. If the stranger could pay the toll and pass the test, they¡¯d be welcome in Glockmire. Loudly, to be heard over the rain and through the thick glass, the guard yelled, ¡°The toll is two silver coins. Let me see the coins touch your skin.¡± Without complaint, the stranger pulled off one of his gloves and dropped two shiny coins into his palm. The guard nodded in relief, most anything that go bump in the night can¡¯t touch silver. After observing that precaution, the guard left the gatehouse and went to open the wicket gate. It took nearly a minute of fumbling with his keys, but the guard finally opened the smaller door built into the larger gate. As the wicket gate¡¯s hinges groaned open, the stranger entered Glockmire and the guard took a hasty step back. This close and without a pane of glass to separate them, he saw exactly how big the stranger was, easily two meters by the looks of it. A moment of worry crossed the inebriated guard''s mind but quickly faded as two silver coins fell into his hand. The toll was actually only one silver, but he felt he deserved the extra compensation for answering the gate at this late hour. Shutting the wicket gate and locking it, the guard called after the already-walking stranger, ¡°The Silly Goat is just up the road and to the left. Decent food and bed for a price.¡± Then he added with slurred snark, ¡°Welcome to Glockmire, don¡¯t cause any trouble or the Lord will get ya.¡± Nodding in confirmation, the stranger set out for the town''s sole tavern and inn. What passed for a main street stretched out into the distance before him, lit only by scattered lanterns and a few candles tucked behind unshuttered windows. Suddenly lightning cracked illuminating the worn town then a peal of thunder echoed through the narrow streets. As the noise echoed through the night a cloud spilled its guts in a great downpour of rain, spurring the stranger forward toward the tavern. The stranger found his destination quickly, following the guard¡¯s slurred instructions until he saw a painted sign hanging over the entrance of a well-kept wood-and-timber building. An artfully drawn goat decorated the sign, its wide horns and prancing legs visible thanks to flickering light coming through the inn¡¯s windows. Light originated from a large fireplace, a welcome sight to any weary traveler. After shaking off the rain the stranger pushed the front door open. No bell or other alarm marked his entrance, just the groan of wood and a soft click of the latch. Glancing around the tavern, the stranger drank it in. The Silly Goat was well furnished, with tables and benches scattered around the main room. In the dim light, it was hard to see, but much of the furniture was artfully crafted, carrying small artistic carvings. An uncharacteristic level of decoration and homespun beauty marked the Silly Goat, different from the gaunt and often crumbling structures that made up most of Glockmire. A slight movement from the far side of the bar caught the stranger¡¯s attention. Only then did he notice another¡¯s presence. At the bar sat a young woman in her early twenties, with long black hair held tight in a braid. She was beautiful, the last bits of adolescence fading into womanhood, with high cheekbones and a heart-shaped face, and amber-brown eyes the color of honey. Her focus was firmly on the piece of wood in her hand as she made tiny, intricate cuts in the wood with a well-worn carving knife. She was working on an unfinished figurine of some sort, maybe an animal. An annoyed yowl from the nearby floor caught both the stranger¡¯s and the artist''s attention. The cat, who had been lying peacefully on the floor, modeling for its owner, suddenly sprang up and stared at the stranger. Finally noticing that someone had entered the tavern, the carver gave a startled yelp and nearly dropped her unfinished piece. She had been so focused on carving a model of that damned cat, she hadn¡¯t even noticed the new guest¡­which was honestly an accomplishment, since he filled the doorway with his bulk and large pack. Slipping into the well-practiced role of host, bartender, and anything else her father needed her to do, Natalie Striga set down her figurine and addressed the stranger. ¡°Hello and welcome to the Silly Goat. I¡¯m Natalie, can I get you a room for the night?¡± Despite her polite tone, Natalie did not put down the small carving knife. In Glockmire¡ªHells, all of Zaubervold¡ªparanoia is a virtue. If this big bastard tried anything he¡¯d find out how sharp the blade was. Instead of validating her fears, the stranger pulled down his hood and took off his remaining glove. A startled gasp escaped Natalie as she saw the stranger¡¯s face. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. He should have been handsome, with the blue eyes, aristocratic features, and type of pale skin some people would kill for. But the mess of scars covering him made sure he wouldn¡¯t be turning heads in anything other than fear or morbid fascination. It was like a child playing with a dagger had been let loose on the carved bust of a lord. Crisscrossing marks made by blade or claw fought for space with the mottled skin of healed burns. One particularly deep scar led from the left corner of his mouth up to his cheek and nearly to his ear. Natalie imagined if he opened his mouth too wide or laughed too hard his face would split open. Not that he looked like a man who laughed much. Natalie suppressed a shudder, the things that could do that to a person were myriad, but the people who could survive it were few. Had he been tortured? Survived some calamitous accident, or maybe he was a warrior of some kind. The odd axe buckled to his belt indicated the last option, if all three weren¡¯t true. Taking one of his hands, which Nat noticed was equally covered in scars and callus, the stranger ran it through his hair. It was short, so blond it was practically white, with patches of scalp visible thanks to his many wounds. Speaking at last, in a deep but strangely melodic voice the stranger responded. ¡°Yes, that will do nicely. Maybe some food if you have any available. But please don¡¯t trouble yourself if nothing is made.¡± A warm smile crossed the stranger''s face, or at least something resembling one. Natalie had expected him to be gruff and standoffish. Not polite and well-spoken. She did not recognize his accent, but its clipped articulate tones spoke of some aristocratic polish, which could mean countless things, further adding to the mystery. Natalie¡¯s wary interest and healthy apprehension quickly hid behind long learned routines. She had been helping in the Inn since she could walk and it came second nature to her. Leaving her place at the bar she started to bustle about as she said ¡°Oh, we always have good food and tidy rooms here at the Silly Goat. It will be one silver coin for the room and five Bronze for a meal. We have some leftover mutton stew. If it¡¯s not warm enough let me know. ¡° Coin changed hands and Natalie headed for the kitchen. There she grabbed a clean bowl from a stack in the back, and ladled some of the thick broth from last night¡¯s dinner into it . Its thick meaty aroma reached Natalie¡¯s nose and made her mouth water. While she wasn¡¯t hungry, the smell was still enticing. Mutton stew was a staple in town and one Natalie enjoyed. Shepherds tended large flocks of both goat and sheep around Glockmire ensuring meat and cheese was never in short supply. Returning to the bar, Natalie found her new guest in a staring contest with her cat. Neither blinking or turning away, just man and feline staring at each other. Her footsteps pulled both of their attention back to her and she spoke. ¡°Sorry if Stockings gets underfoot. She¡¯s a good cat, but can be mercurial like all those furballs.¡± Again the stranger attempted to form the rictus that passed for a smile and responded. ¡°Not a problem, I like cats, they have interesting souls.¡± Handing the bowl and a spoon to the stranger, Natalie went back to the bar, discreetly dropping the payment into a hidden lockbox and picking up her knife and carving. As she did, Natalie realized the Stranger hadn¡¯t introduced himself. ¡°So what am I to call you?¡± The stranger looked momentarily put out, like he was not used to the question. After a second of reflection, he spoke: ¡°You can call me Cole. My apologies, been on the road for so long, I¡¯ve forgotten the most basic of manners.¡± Cocking an eyebrow at that, Natalie rolled the name around in her mouth. ¡°Cole, so what brings you to Glockmire in the middle of this stormy autumn night?¡± In between mouthfuls of soup, Cole answered ¡°Oh this is good! Your cooking?¡± Natalie mused on how he dodged the question and answered. ¡°Oh not mine, my Father is the cook, I can manage some cooking but not my favorite chore. So are you heading somewhere else or have business here?¡± As Cole took his spoon and bowl to a nearby table, he said, ¡°I don¡¯t entirely know, truth be told. I think my purpose is here, but I''m not certain. And I¡¯m here on a matter of faith, not business.¡± That got both of Natalie¡¯s eyebrows raised. Was he on a pilgrimage? That¡¯s not what she would have guessed. What in the Gods¡¯ name would a man of faith be seeking in Glockmire? They had a Temple, with proper shrines to Father Sky and Mother Earth, but nothing to attract pilgrims. ¡°Oh what God do you serve? I didn¡¯t take you as a Priest? I¡¯m not the most ardent believer but I favor Uncle Maker, for fairly obvious reasons.¡± Natalie gestured with her knife and went back to carving her figurine. As he ate Cole absentmindedly touched the pendant dangling from his neck before speaking. ¡°I am no priest, just a man with a God.¡± He pulled the pendant up to show her. It was a beautiful amulet shaped like an hourglass. ¡°Master Time is my chosen God, or more accurately he chose me.¡± A heavy silence filled the tavern, only the faint rumble of thunder and the fireplace¡¯s crackle interrupted it. Master Time, the most powerful God humanity reveres, but the least worshiped. God of Time and more importantly, death. His priests tend the dead, care for the dying and fight what is neither. The most devout among them were gifted with terrible power over life and death, Ghost-Whisperers, Life-Cutters, Grave-Keepers, Rest-Bringers: a myriad of grim nicknames for Master Time¡¯s priests. But that was not why Natalie fell silent and shivered. Master Time is not an evil god, his followers are typically kind, if dour. Even so, his worship was almost taboo in Zaubervold or any other of the neighboring Blood Duchies. The Aristocracy did not look favorably on Master Time or his servants. The rulers of the Blood Duchies afterall defied this God¡¯s will by their very existence. Natalie spoke quietly but tensely as if she feared the shadows might be listening, which they might be. ¡°You do know who rules Glockmire right? Who Lord Glockmire is? I have no problem with your chosen God, but I would not tell many others. It could be dangerous.¡± This time Cole¡¯s smile was sad. ¡°I know what Lord Glockmire is and your concern is appreciated.¡± Cole tucked the pendant away, then looked up at Natalie, ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking what are you doing up at this late hour? Surely you cannot get guests often at this time of night.?¡± Natalie accepted the change in conversation and let the corner of her mouth twitch in the flicker of a smile. ¡°Well not to be rude but I take this shift exactly because nobody usually arrives. My Dad takes the early morning, I take the late evenings. He deals with ornery shepherds and tradesmen looking for food and drink. I get a few hours by myself to carve and not be bothered. Normally I get the better part of the bargain I think.¡± Cole chuckled at her gentle humor and set down his finished stew. ¡°I apologize for intruding on your solitude. The artistry in here is lovely, your work?¡± The smile on Nat¡¯s face turned fragile for a moment. ¡°Maybe half of it, the older pieces are my Mother¡¯s.¡± Cole just nodded at that and stood up, shouldering his pack. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss. Art is a wonderful way to honor her memory.¡± Natalie was momentarily taken aback, she had not mentioned her mother¡¯s death. It had been three years since then, but the loss still hurt terribly. Natalie felt momentarily exposed until it fell into place like a Concoridan puzzle-painting. Cole was a devotee of the God of Death, he could probably read the signs of grief like a book. ¡°It¡¯s getting late. Your room is on the second floor, right hallway, third door. The washroom is at the end of the hall. Would you like me to knock on your door tomorrow? To make sure you are awake?¡± Natalie Found herself falling into the laconic curtness she adopted when in pain. It was rude, and Cole had been well-meaning, but he¡¯d still poked a fresh wound. Cole seemed to register this, nodding softly as he placed his bowl and spoon on the bartop. He passed close by Natalie as he did, moving with a grace not expected for such a large man. Moving to the staircase, Cole turned back and said ¡°Thank you, Natalie, I will not require you to wake me. You have been a wonderful host, sleep well when you do.¡± With that he went up the staircase, one scarred hand gripping the banister Natalie and her mother had carved together. When the creaking of his steps on the stairs stopped, Natalie felt herself relax. Untensing muscles she had not realized had been taught since her guests'' arrival. Sighing to herself, Natalie went to put away the dishes and her carving. Her artistic mood was spoiled by the interruption. Hells it was time to sleep anyway. As she did her final chores, something occurred to Nat. Cole had not been the first weary traveler to pull himself into the Silly Goat late at night, it was rare but it did happen. These travelers had all been haggard, stinking, and unkempt. Anyone who had been on the road for a few days and traveled even as night fell would be. Except for Cole, strangely he did not smell at all. Years of working in an inn had given Natalie a good nose for the various odors of life. None of which lingered in Cole¡¯s wake, or even clung to him. Nothing except the faint scent of damp leather and the stew he ate. Strange, but definitely not the strangest thing about this guest. Chapter 1.5: Collared by Scars

Chapter 2: Collared by Scars

¡°The Empire of Iskandar died centuries ago. But don¡¯t tell Drakovich that. The crazy old Leech wants to go on pretending he¡¯s some restorer of the world. When he¡¯s just another Monster. One with Imperial ambitions true, but still just another Monster.¡± - Excerpt from Varikan of Vindabon¡¯s street-lecture on the Blood Duchies
By the next morning, the storm had passed. Weak autumn sunlight streamed through gray clouds and dried Glockmire. Slowly the mountain town rose from its slumber, tradesfolk opening up shop, farmers bringing the last harvest to market, the usual affairs of life. Shortly after the Dawn Bell, Wilhelm Striga awoke to start his day. A middle aged man, nearing fifty, with a growing bald spot and gentle humor. Wilhelm was the proud owner and sole proprietor of the Silly Goat. After getting washed and dressed he set about his morning chores. The first of his usual clients would be arriving soon. Dishes were washed, beds made and the first pot of tea set boiling. Soon the rich scent of mountain-root tea filled the tavern. A warm brew with stimulating effects, perfect for the morning crowd and Wilhelm himself. He was not as young as he used to be and it took a good cup of the stuff to get him really moving. Still, there are worse vices to have. Only when the Tavern-keeper got to work preparing that morning''s breakfast did he notice the small note scrawled on a piece of scrap paper, stuck under a familiar carving knife. The looping style of his daughter''s handwriting was visible on the note. A strange mix of noble cursive and common scratches Natalie had somehow picked up. ¡°Father, we had a new guest arrive last night around midnight. He paid and was polite. No wake-up call, in room three. Love you.¡± Reading the note, Wilhelm felt himself smile then got to work. Within ten minutes the first of the Silly Goat¡¯s usual clientele had arrived. Grumbling as he pushed open the tavern doors, a wiry old man tottered inside. This was Barnabas, a local merchant and one of Wilhelm¡¯s friends. Days when the old coin-catcher did not come to the Goat demanding tea and food first thing in the morning were rare. Cranky, miserly, and with a bit of a temper, Barnabas was a widower, having lost his husband nearly twelve years ago. With few other friends and no relatives, he was almost always found at the Silly Goat when not at work. Already moaning about something under his breath, Barnabas extinguished his pipe and shuffled up to the bartop. The Silly Goat had a strict no-smoking rule, Wilhelm hated how the stink of pipe-grass clung to everything and made cooking a hassle. Barnabas had claimed the only reason he followed such a silly rule was he didn¡¯t want to interfere with what he claimed was Wilhelm¡¯s sole redeeming feature, his cooking. Seeing his old friend slump into a stool. Wilhelm went to join him, cups of tea in both hands. ¡°So what''s got you in a lively mood this morning Barnabas?¡± Taking the tea with a grumbling thanks, the merchant growled: ¡°Bloody rats! I lost twenty kilograms of seed thanks to the skittery little bastards! One of the worm-tailed shits somehow found his way into my storeroom and brought his friends. Every year there are more of them I swear!¡± Wincing at his friend''s distress, Wilhelm went to grab some porridge for the both of them. ¡°Next time Stockings gets her claws on a Tom, I¡¯ll make sure to reserve you a kitten. Damn useful to have around, cats. Kills both rats and mice. They can see Magic too, you know?¡± Barnabas brushed off the suggestion and continued his well-practiced habit of complaining. ¡°Maybe, I don''t much like cats either. Things give me the creeps. Anyway, got any news from the south? I¡¯ve heard Duke Drakovich passed the Iskari Gates recently. He repulsed the Sultan¡¯s offense, and is going to bloody that fire-worshipper!¡± At this Wilhelm just rolled his eyes. ¡°The Duke and his kin have been doing this back and forth with the Sultan for years. One pushes, the other pushes back. The Sultan lacks the power to push past the Gate and into the Blood Duchies proper. Even if he did, and somehow managed to get as far as Elha. The Holy League would send aid, they don¡¯t like us but they dislike the Sultanate more.¡± Shrugging his shoulders Barnabas continued, ¡°Oh you are no fun. A little bit of harmless speculation never hurt anyone. Anyway, where is that daughter of yours? Did you manage to get her married yet?¡± Wilhelm idly wondered if the sheer amount of eye-rolling his friend provoked might eventually injure his sight. ¡°She is still asleep, we had a guest arrive late last night. And no, I don¡¯t think she¡¯s even courting someone. Not since that whole thing with Raddick¡¯s kid. Still can¡¯t tell who was doing the heartbreaking in that whole ordeal.¡± Barnabas raised an eyebrow ¡°Oh which one of the Stable-masters'' children was she with, Catlyn or Colt? Neither is a bad catch, shame that didn¡¯t work out.¡± A flicker of a smile crossed Wilhelm¡¯s lips. He didn¡¯t know if he should be proud or embarrassed about the matter. ¡°Both actually, Colt first, Catlyn once it soured.¡± For a moment Barnabas looked dumbfounded then burst out laughing. Amused by young Natalie¡¯s antics. ¡°Blessed by Sister Sun and Brother Moon that one is! I see she takes after you, Wilhelm. Before you and Iona took up with each other I was certain an angry husband, father or brother would be your death!¡± In response, Wilhelm flicked a drop of porridge at his friend. Soon they fell into the usual pattern of banter and bickering. Other customers streamed in as well. A tired shepherd looking for a warm meal before trekking after a missing flock. Gurni, the only Dwarf in town, looking for Barnabas, hoping to discuss some dealings. An exhausted-looking Footman from the Lord¡¯s castle, hoping to catch his equivalent of Dinner before sleep. As the morning crawled on Barnabas eventually left to open up his own shop close to the Nine O''clock. The codger attempted to skirt out on paying. Something that earned him a few choice words from Wilhelm. The steady murmur of Glockmire going about its business and the Temple Bell ringing woke Natalie. It was Ten in the morning and she was surprised by how much she had slept. Slowly rising from a messy pile of blankets and furs, Nat stretched and blinked sleep from her eyes. Adjusting her nightgown she went over to her mirror and inspected herself. As usual, her hair had a mind of its own, sticking up in a remarkably undignified fashion. Physically she felt okay, but it was always hard waking up after oversleeping. Glancing down at her body, she suppressed a yawn. Muscle tone formed by countless odd-jobs required to run an inn mixed with lovely curves that earned her extra tips from inebriated tavern goers. Stretching again and rubbing her hands through her hair, Natalie prepared to start her day. After washing and dressing, she tidied up her room. She worked in an Inn, and such things came naturally. It took a while, but after some convincing, her hair took a civilized shape and Nat bound it up with an ornate silver hair clip. Another gift from her mother. Given to her when she exited childhood proper, and the first hints of her beauty started to become clear. The hair clip had come with a warning of how beauty attracts attention, and sometimes the wrong kind. Natalie¡¯s mother Iona had wanted to ensure her daughter would be safe, but not live in fear. The barrette could unfold into a small but very sharp silver-coated knife. More than one handsy patron of the tavern had tried to force a kiss from her. Getting one from the hidden Stiletto instead. She traced her fingers along the hair-clip, feeling the shape of the stylized bird. Sighing to herself, Natalie started to go about her day. She was thinking about her mother too much. She blamed the pilgrim Cole, his faith and words had broken open an emotional scab. It was not fair to blame the large man, Nat knew that, but couldn¡¯t help it. All those scars, and the way he talked¡­ like a stranger at a funeral offering heartfelt but distant condolences. Bustling downstairs to help her Father prepare for the lunch crowd, Nat tried to get a handle on what she felt. It was not rational and Cole had been nothing but polite. Inwardly she promised that she¡¯d get over this lump of ill-will by the time the pilgrim awoke. Wilhelm waved to his daughter as she scampered over towards the bartop. ¡°You slept late today Nattie. I hear we have a new guest. Did he give you any trouble?¡± Shaking her head in the negative. Natalie grabbed the last of the morning''s toast and started her chores. ¡°No trouble, he was polite and retired shortly after he arrived. Big bloke though, wouldn¡¯t be surprised if his feet stick off the edge of the bed.¡± Chiddingly Wilhelm responded ¡°Nattie! Why didn¡¯t you put him in the third room then? It''s got our largest bed, even that Werebear we had a while back found it comfortable.¡± Giving a slightly indignant huff, Natalie snapped back. ¡°I did! Reread the note Dad, he¡¯s just huge. Two meters tall I think.¡± They were alone in the tavern, they were in between meals and it was a workday. Turning away from the food he was preparing, Wilhelm let out a whistle. ¡°Wow, that big? You sure he was human? Maybe some Orc blood or similar. What¡¯s he look like? Don¡¯t want to go testing my heart if I run into a quarter-giant during my day¡± A little grimace crossed Natalie¡¯s face as she finished cleaning tables. ¡°I think he¡¯s human but it was hard to tell with the¡­. Scars. He¡¯s covered in them. I''m honestly surprised he can move about, let alone travel by himself.¡± Pausing in her labors, Natalie went over to her father¡¯s side and whispered. ¡°He said his name is Cole, and he told me he¡¯s a pilgrim. One serving Master Time.¡± Pregnant silence filled the Silly Goat for a few seconds before Wilhelm responded. Speaking only a little louder than his daughter had. ¡°If he does not cause any trouble and pays us then it shouldn¡¯t be a problem. Don¡¯t tell anyone, I hope he will be discreet about his faith. For his sake more than anything else.¡± With those words, they both went back to work. Natalie left the inn shortly after to purchase some groceries from the market. It didn¡¯t take long. Soon she had a few sacks filled with needed ingredients and was headed back to the Silly Goat. Suddenly shouts of a commotion crashed through the air. Followed by the crack of breaking stoneware and a pained yell. Nat glanced in the direction of the sound. Seeing Dorian the Potter on the ground, a large gash across his head. Probably sourced from the large urn shattered next to him. Nearby stood Felix the Laborer, a shocked and guilty look on his face. Felix had a reputation for being a bullheaded man. Arrogant and bullying, he had been thrown out of the Silly Goat on more than one occasion. But never over anything too serious. That pattern had changed, an argument with Dorian had escalated out of control and blood was shed. Horrified, Natalie ducked around the corner. She did not want to be around for what happened next. Felix had spilled blood in violence without the Lord''s permission. The Castle Guards would be arriving soon. Felix would be dead or worse by this time tomorrow. Shivering slightly Nat looked up towards the western side of town. Glockmire sat in the middle of the mountain pass that shared its name, surrounded by peaks on two sides, with the western half of the town pressing up against the mountains. Naturally defensible and not too far from the main roads, it had once been home to a Fortress. Back in the days of the Old Empire that fortress had guarded the region and the pass from invaders. During the chaos of the Bloody Centuries, when the Old Empire fell, people had gathered around the fortress, relying on its strong walls to protect them from invaders, monsters, and demons. Glockmire had a different name back then, one few if anybody remembered. When the Blood Duchies rose from this part of the Old Empire¡¯s ashes, the town attracted the attention of a minor aristocrat known as Glockmire. He claimed the town as his own, renaming it after himself. Under Lord Glockmire¡¯s influence, the town expanded and became what it is now. With the old Fortress¡¯s keep at its heart. It was carved into the western mountain side, clinging to it like some overgrown stoney bat. Now renamed Castle Glockmire, where the Lord held court and plotted against his distant kin. Lord Glockmire had little reason to leave his repurposed fortress and enforced his rulership through his Castle Guards. Even in the far distance, Natalie could see one of the Castle¡¯s gates open. A squad of heavily armored warriors exited the pitch-black interior. Marching down the switchback that connected the Castle and town-proper. The Castle Guards would find Felix and bring him back to the Castle for judgment. If he was lucky then the fool would resist them enough to just be killed. Rushing away from the confrontation, Natalie headed for the Goat as fast as she could, hoping her flight would not arouse suspicion or interest. Just another villager going about her errands, no need to investigate or follow her. Consciously Natalie knew she had done nothing wrong, but that meant little to the Castle Guards. They would drag anyone they found suspicious off to the Lord¡¯s dungeon. She had a friend from school who¡¯d been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Taking a shortcut home and finding herself in the middle of a drunken brawl. Natalie had seen her friend Carla only once after the Lord¡¯s soldiers hauled her away. When one of the Lord¡¯s vassals toured Glockmire a year ago, the vassal had been followed by a trail of servants. Including Carla, whose gaunt complexion and drugged stupor revealed her status as a thrall. Some of the more foolish youths in Glockmire aspired to such a role. The life of luxury, relative safety, and debauched pleasures of the Aristocracy appeals to many. Natalie had always considered it a fate worse than death. To be reduced from a living, thinking person to a favorite meal or toy. Even thinking about it sent shivers down her spine. Felix¡¯s fate would be worse. He was not attractive or talented in anything other than crude work. His last days would be spent feeding Vassals and servants. The dungeon of Castle Glockmire had a nickname, one rarely used due to its sinister accuracy. ¡°The Larder¡± where the Blood-Slaves of the Aristocrats languished between feedings. A terrible fate that befell any who defied Lord Glockmire and his fellow nobles. Feeding the Nocturnal Nobility of the Blood Duchies, or as the old stories called them, Vampires. Arriving at the Silly Goat, Natalie rushed inside. Slipping back towards the kitchen and pantry she started putting away the groceries she had bought. Wilhelm poked his head into the pantry, seeing the hurried focus of his daughter''s movements. ¡°Nattie what''s wrong? You look like a cat that just got its tail stepped on?¡± Wincing, annoyed that she had not better hid her obvious distress, Natalie turned to her father. ¡°Dorian and Felix got into some manner of fight. Blood was shed out in the open, the Castle Guards are coming.¡± If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The color drained from Wilhelm¡¯s face, he let out a stuttering breath and opened his arms. Giving his daughter the hug she needed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Nattie, how close were you to it?¡± Letting herself relax a little into her father¡¯s embrace, but quickly recovering, Natalie went back to stocking the pantry and said ¡°Not too close, I don¡¯t think either of them even saw me. I just saw Felix¡¯s eyes. He knew what he had done and what was going to happen next. It brought back memories'''' Memories of three years ago, of the events that led to Iona, Natalie¡¯s mother¡¯s death. It went unsaid but both father and daughter knew what was meant. Grief had nearly destroyed both of them, but they had each other. Something many other grieving townsfolk had not. Three years ago; a two-fold calamity struck Glockmire. A plague that resisted all but the strongest healing Magic came first. It struck livestock and people with equal ferocity. Leaving a trail of corpses wherever it spread. Corpses that fed and emboldened the dark things hiding in the Dragon-Tail mountains. Worse things than Vampires stalk the shadows of the world. One of those horrors had taken Iona¡¯s life before one of the Lord¡¯s Knights could chase it back into the wilderness. A sobering silence filled the pantry and Wilhelm gave his daughter an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder before going back to preparing food. Finishing up her duties, Natalie left the pantry and started to head upstairs to do some basic housekeeping. A thought struck her before she made it too far and she turned back to her father. ¡°Hey Dad, did the new guest get up yet? I want to clean rooms, did he leave while I was out.¡± Shrugging slightly, Wilhelm responded: ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him, and the door to room three was closed last time I checked. You said his name is Cole right? I bet he needs sleep after traveling. Lunch will be up soon so maybe go knock on his door and let him know.¡± With that, Natalie went about her business. It was not difficult work, she¡¯d perfected the routines years ago. The usual flow she entered into when doing this type of work however did not come. Her mind continuously pulled back to the disturbances within the last day. The arrival of this strange pilgrim of a virtually illegal god, and the likely exsanguination of an unlucky fool. In between tasks she stopped in front of room three and knocked. ¡°Mister Cole, lunch will be starting in about half an hour. We serve it till half-past one. Just wanted to let you know¡± No response, not even the grumbling she learned to expect from people awoken from long needed sleep. Odd, but what wasn¡¯t about this scared man? If he was a man at all. Remote as Glockmire is, Natalie had little experience with the other peoples of the world. The continent of Erebu was human land by population and history. With only a few scattered Dwarven Holds, nomadic Werefolk clans, and other rarer populations. As an innkeeper¡¯s daughter, she had some exposure to strange cultures and peoples, from providing food and bed for merchants, explorers, scholars, and other wandering types passing through the region. Just not enough experience to say for certain if this Cole was human, a hybrid, or something more exotic. Eventually, Natalie returned downstairs to help her father with the trickling in lunch crowd. Old Barnabas, ever ready with good advice and harsh commentary, was of course at the bar. He refused to sit at the tables and always found a way to arrive early to claim his spot. The wiry old merchant was something of an adopted Uncle for Natalie. She knew he could be a razor-tongued bastard, but that he cared for her and her Father in his own strange way. Natalie didn¡¯t have much of an extended family, her father was an only child. While her mother came from the south and didn¡¯t talk much about her family. Natalie had been curious in her youth but quickly figured out it was a tricky subject and a source of much pain for her mother. The hustle and bustle of serving food for whatever townsfolk came to the Silly Goat filled up Natalie¡¯s time. She ferried food and empty dishes around the tavern with practiced ease. Father and daughter falling into a seasoned rhythm, working as a coordinated team to do what really should be three or four people''s work. After maybe an hour of work, Natalie got a moment of break and decided to do something nice by going upstairs to knock on Cole¡¯s door again. It was a little thing but this act of kindness was an attempt to get over her angst related to the Death-worshiper. Again no response and Natalie didn¡¯t know if she should be worried or annoyed. Annoyance won out at first. She would not be able to clean the room in good time at this rate and would probably have to deal with a hungry customer refusing to listen to reason. It would not be the first time someone slept through a meal at the Silly Goat and decided it was Nat¡¯s fault. Strong-willed, confident, and clever, all words that describe Natalie. Yet such strengths come with natural pitfalls, holding grudges being chief among them. Grudges that hadn¡¯t even really manifested to boot. Already Natalie found herself practicing her argument with this Cole character. Defending herself from accusations of incompetence, with a series of fiery retorts. Of course, he hadn¡¯t really done anything to offend her yet but she was used to this kind of thing. Natalie found it best to prepare for every fight and possible grievance beforehand. In her mind, she had hoped to extend an olive branch by waking Cole for lunch and move past her irrational feelings rooted in grief. With that avenue shut she let her natural tendency to spite blend with anger born of grief, resulting in the fierce concoction of aggrievement simmering in her heart.

Natalie was at least somewhat aware of this bad habit of hers. Both her mother and father had tried to correct it but with little success. Old Barnabas was similar to her in this regard and before she died Iona had blamed her husband''s friend for the cantankerous streak of their daughter. To the accusation, Barnabas had simply laughed and responded ¡°Nobody¡¯s perfect, not even the Gods. There are a lot worse flaws to have in this world than remembering an enemy and being prepared for them.¡± During lunch, news of Felix¡¯s capture filtered in. He had attempted to steal a horse and flee town. An act that added an additional layer of doom to his already sealed fate. The Castle Guards had tracked him down easily. The Magical scent of spilled blood calling to them like hounds after an injured rabbit. Clad head to toe in ominous black plate armor, the Castle Guards had marched through the streets in pairs. They surrounded the horse, one reached up and easily grabbed Felix and they dragged him bodily back to the Castle all without saying a word. The temple was already preparing for the funeral. It wouldn¡¯t be held until Felix¡¯s fate was certain, but no one had any doubt of what that fate would be. As lunch continued and customers came and went, the tension became palpable. Everyone was worried, the Lord¡¯s justice was rare but always swift, far-reaching, and brutal. To a centuries-old Vampire, the day-to-day concerns of mortals were inconsequential. Easier to rip out a problem root and stem, never mind those caught up in said removal. Natalie was justifiably nervous, as a witness, she might get pulled into the ordeal. Ideally, she found herself murmuring prayers to the Ten Gods. Prayer was putting it politely. The ditty she half sang under her breath was meant to teach children about the Pantheon of humanity. ¡°Praise Father Sky and Mother Earth. They keep us safe through gifts and guidance. Embrace Sister Sun and Brother Moon. Who gives us passion and the turning of the day. Learn from Uncle Maker and Uncle Trickster. Providers of tools and trials to help us survive. Watch Aunt Huntress and Aunt Seeress. Teachers of secrets, both Magical and mundane. Respect Mistress Void, and¡­. Master Time¡­¡± She couldn¡¯t finish the last verse, it caught in Natalie¡¯s throat. A shiver worked its way up her spine, and for a moment time slowed. It felt like something traced itself along her soul, a spiritual finger teasing at the edge of her being. The sensation passed as soon as it came and Natalie found herself leaning against the wall. Sucking in deep breaths she tried to ground herself. After a moment she realized someone was calling her name. Marku, a mason, was looking at her with concern. Nearly thirty and built strong from his occupation, he glanced over her with dark eyes colored with mild worry. Shaking the last of the strange feeling off, Natalie forced on a partial smile and responded. ¡°Yes, Marku? Can I get you anything?¡± Shaking his head in the negative. ¡°No, just saw you stumble and turn pale. Well paler than you normally are. Can¡¯t have the only Bar-maid in Glockmire passing out on us can we?¡± The smile on Nat¡¯s face became a bit more sincere and she tried to brush off the oddness. ¡°I was up far too late last night working on a carving. Sleep loss must be getting to me, I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Marku simply nodded and went back to his meal. In anyone else, she might have taken the attention and kind words as flirting. Not Marku, recently married to his childhood sweetheart and unfailingly polite, the man was just being nice. He was another regular at the Silly Goat and sometimes offered artistic advice to Nat. Most of Marku¡¯s time was spent being a glorified quarry foreman, but he did enjoy the more artistic side of being a mason. The granite and rare deposits of precious metals hidden in the surrounding mountains were one of Glockmire¡¯s few exports. An ever-expanding series of tunnels and mine-shafts wormed their way through the peaks nearest the town. Natalie tried to put on a brave face but she was unnerved. A presence had brushed up against her being and it disturbed her. She was no stranger to Magic; a few spellweavers live in Glockmire and the Aristocracy wield powerful Magics born of darkness and blood. Nor was divine intervention something unheard of. The Gods had answered some prayers during the Plague and of course, Natalie had faced the Gods during her Rite of Youth. Where childhood ends, and the Gods grant their blessing. Part of the covenant between mortal and divine honored since the Gates Beyond were shut millennia ago. What Natalie experienced felt similar to the Gods¡¯ influence but colder, more alien. The momentary attention of something beyond her ken. Natelie shuttered and got back to work. It took some effort but she pushed through the strange disorientation and creeping sense of being exposed brought on by her encounter. A few other customers commented on her unusually silent and standoffish demeanor. Natalie waved them off and pushed through the shift, which felt thrice as long. She knew if she spoke with her father he¡¯d have her take a break. But never one to shirk work, Natalie refused to do so. Stubborn defiance powering her through the next hour and a half. With the shift over, she finally told her dad she felt under the weather and was going upstairs to recoup. Wilhelm had noticed his daughter''s distress earlier but said nothing. He would respect Natalie¡¯s decision even if he thought it was foolish. His little girl was now a woman and if she wanted to push against whatever had hurt her, that was her call. Wilhelm assumed it was about the whole ordeal with Felix. Knowing what the Lord¡¯s justice is and seeing it are two very different things. Thoroughly exhausted, Nat dragged herself up the stairs and to her room. Once there she absently grabbed her carving knife and the unfinished sculpture of Stockings the Cat. Looking at it for a moment, Nat let out a deep sigh and set her art back down. Much to her annoyance, she was too tired to even relax. Shutting the door, she collapsed into bed, not even bothering to change clothes. Lying on top of the covers Natalie stared up at the ceiling, barely illuminated by the room''s windows were the carvings of constellations. A project her parents had worked on together before she was born. They had been so excited, wanting their child to sleep beneath starry skies while being kept safe from the elements. Natalie traced the constellations with her mind, seeing the Wyrm with the East Star in its left claw, and the She-Wolf followed by her two pups. Gods she had been so small, looking up at this, asking her parents what each constellation was and meant. Feeling her eyes tear up, a flash of annoyance filled Natalie. It had been three years, three bloody years. Now she was back to staring off into space wrapped up in grief. The day so far has not been a good one. She watched a man realize he was already dead. Then an encounter with some unknown power had thrown her off-kilter by just a side-ways glance, and on top of that the bloody pilgrim brought up her mother¡¯s death. Ennui, sadness, and a vague feeling of disorientation quickly gave way to anger. Anger is easier, it burns hot and chokes out all other emotions. With an indignant huff, Natalie got out of bed. Straightened herself out in the mirror and decided to channel that anger. Marching down towards the guest rooms, Natalie felt vindicated when she saw Cole¡¯s door was still shut. It was nearly two in the afternoon! What sort of man lazed about in bed like an overfed cat? Filled with what Barnabas would call ¡°Piss and Vinegar¡±, Nat marched up to the pilgrim¡¯s room and wailed on the door. Still no response. That did it, she was going to wake this stupid death-worshiping bastard up and tell him what-for. Pulling up the master key she kept, Natalie unlocked the door. Mentally practicing two separate speeches depending on Cole¡¯s reaction. If he tried to give her more of that polite and gentle mourner crap she would tear him up. Emphatically getting across a message that could be roughly summarized as ¡°don¡¯t you dare pity me.¡± Alternatively, she could backpedal and claim she was worried that Cole was not out of bed yet, while making sure to fit in some subtle but heavy disapproval and judgment. On some level, Natalie knew this was an overreaction and her father would be furious at her. That didn¡¯t matter, she wanted to be angry at someone and this stupid worshiper of Entropy and all its evil was a damn good target. Flinging the door open, Natalie burst into the room already preparing her tried and true wake-up call. Years of getting the most exhausted customers out of bed (at their request) had taught her to disrupt sleep in a way even the proudest rooster would be impressed by. As the light from the hallway spilled into the darkened room, the first syllable died in her throat. It took a moment for her mind to process exactly what she was looking at. Cole was sprawled out on the floor, with his torso propped up on the bed frame. He was half-naked. Normally Natalie might have taken a moment to appreciate the sculpted muscles she saw. Physically Cole should have looked like some carved adonis, almost too perfect. Unlike the natural muscle of hard labor she knew well, this seemed unreal, sculpted in someone''s image of male perfection. Though strange, the seeming artificialness of his musculature is not what shocked her, it was the scars. His face was not alone in the mutilation. Cole¡¯s skin was a patchwork of horrible marks of torment. Natalie was no expert on scars or injuries but she wagered maybe half of them looked natural, products of battle and life, the other half was clearly the results of torture. Shuddering, Natalie looked at Cole''s face and received another shock. The man was clearly unconscious and paler than he had been last night. But what caught her eye was the pattern of scars around his neck. They were so thick that it was impossible to see unblemished skin. These scars were different, tiny puncture marks that overlapped and surrounded his neck, forming a ring of discolored and mottled skin. Almost a necklace of tiny circular wounds. ¡°A Collar of Scars¡± That was what went through Natalie¡¯s mind as she took in the sight. It looked like Cole had been stabbed hundreds of times in the neck, stabbed by small sharp points. The truth clicked when she saw where the worst concentration of scars was located. Right overtop where the key veins and arteries feed through the neck. Cole had been fed upon by a Vampire, more likely multiple Vampires for Gods¡¯ know how long. He¡¯d been a blood-slave, livestock for the life-drinkers. A fate of certain death, for all it seemed except him. Anger rapidly faded and was replaced by shock, worry, and curiosity. Natalie held still for a moment, regrouping. Then she approached the unconscious pilgrim. He still did not wake, nor even stir. Coughing loudly and creeping closer, Natalie started to become concerned. Was he ill? He hadn¡¯t reacted to her presence and seemed dead to the world. A chilling thought crossed Natalie¡¯s mind. What if he was in fact dead? The trials of travel using up the final reserves of a broken body. Gingerly, Natalie got closer and reached out to poke him. Thankfully she saw the subtle rise and fall of his chest. He was alive but his breath was slow and shallow, more so than any sleeping man should be. She¡¯d come this far, might as well take the next step, finding a spot on his shoulder that looked relatively unblemished by healed wounds; Natalie poked him. The moment the tip of her finger touched surprisingly soft skin he awoke. Startling blue eyes flashed open and focused on her face. With an undignified yelp, Natalie lept back as Cole rose up, quickly backpedaling towards the entrance, forgotting all her carefully planned responses. Stammering, she tried to talk, as surprise robbed her of any eloquence. ¡°I...I...I wanted t-to check on y-you. It¡¯s n-nearly two in the-¡± She trailed off as Cole slowly turned and she saw what was clasped in his left hand. It was a skull, a pale humanoid skull, unmarked by time or damage, lacking its jaw but otherwise complete. Natalie stared agog at this physical reminder of mortality as Cole placed it on the bed like it was nothing unusual, he then turned and looked down at her. Despite having his privacy violated and his sleep interrupted Cole still held that gentle smile of his. He showed none of the discombobulation or confusion one might experience upon being rudely awakened. ¡°I take it I overslept considerably to incur such a reaction, Ms. Natalie. Thank you for your concern. Now, If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to get dressed and prepare for what little of the day remains.¡± Blushing slightly as the realization she had barged in on an almost unclothed stranger hit her. Natalie left the room holding her head in her hands, embarrassed at her rash actions as a dozen more questions about this Cole fellow entered her mind. Cursing under her breath and swearing she¡¯d not let her hot-headedness get the better of her again, Natalie went downstairs to try and find something to do and forget this whole calamity. Sighing to himself, Cole went to shut the door the young woman had left open in her rush to leave. He still felt a bit lightheaded, but that was to be expected. Grabbing a washcloth and basin he started to clean himself up. If it was already nearly two in the afternoon, then recovering had taken longer than he expected. His traveling companion was hungry and had drunk her fill and then some it seemed. Pulling on his shirt Cole walked over towards the skull sitting on the bed. Its hollow sockets peering out, a constant reminder of his task. Picking it up gently Cole brushed the skull''s cheekbone absently. He hoped Natalie¡¯s surprise and shock were enough to keep her from noticing the skull''s abnormalities. Its canines were long and sharp, more like a snake''s fangs than anything human. The tips of the eye-teeth were stained reddish-brown. With the skull still held carefully in one hand, Cole went back to the washbasin and grabbed a clean cloth. He cleaned the stained fangs and watched the cloth turn slightly reddish with blood, his blood. Chapter 2: Preparations and Problems

Chapter 3: Preparations and Problems

¡°Death is to be avoided, but it is all together inevitable. Those who ignore that simple truth will face ugly consequences. After all, there are far, far worse things than Death.¡± - from the sermons of Priestess Sidonia of Kainua
After finishing cleaning up the blood, Cole gently placed the skull at the end of the bed. He then prepared for his mission by stripping down his pack to the necessities so he would have room for the supplies he had yet to buy. Serving a God is never easy, especially one as enigmatic as Master Time. He did not get angelic messengers, portents of the divine, or anything as bombastic as a lightning strike. Just as Time and Entropy are subtle and all-pervasive; so are his God¡¯s signs. For Cole this manifested as a slight chill tracing his spine. An unsettled feeling of unnatural cold and hollowness, telling him he was in the right place for what his God required. He would need to gather more information for his exploration of the surrounding wilds. Perhaps Natalie could point him in the right direction? She seemed a decent and knowledgeable sort. Musing on this, Cole grabbed his leather cuirass and cloak. He put on the cuirass; the light leather armor was of little use to him other than preventing inconvenient injuries. Hoisting his bag on one shoulder and draping his cloak over his other, he headed downstairs. Natalie was nowhere to be seen in the Tavern and only a few stray customers hung around the benches and stools. Outwardly Cole presented his polite smile and gentle aloofness, but internally was kicking himself. He should have put his cloak on before he left the room. The scars that covered his face were visible to all. It was not out of vanity or embarrassment that Cole hid his wounds, but out of convenience. Questions were inevitable and he hated lying. You can only deflect and answer vaguely so many times before you come off as rude. A lean man with a kind face and gentle demeanor stood behind the bar counter, he turned, pulled from a conversation by Cole¡¯s appearance. Shock and discomfort crossed the barkeep¡¯s face, but he hid it quickly. Summoning up the friendly smile of someone long practiced in hospitality, the man addressed Cole. ¡°Ah so you must be Cole? I¡¯m Wilhelm Striga, owner of this Inn. My daughter Nattie said you were up before she left. I¡¯m afraid lunch is finished., but I will be starting to serve dinner in only a few hours.¡± Well at least the first question was easy enough to answer, mused Cole. ¡°Yes, yes I am. No problem, my apologies that it took me so long to rise. The journey was a difficult one and it seems to have taxed me more than I thought.¡± Wilhelm waived off his apologies and continued. ¡°Not a concern , you paid for the room, it''s yours to use, within reason. Speaking of, was the bed big enough? Nattie was not kidding when she said you were tall.¡± So Natalie had not told her father she¡¯d found him unconscious, half sprawled out on the floor, something Cole would need to keep in mind. ¡°No problems, I don¡¯t know how long I will be in town but I would like to reserve the room for at least a week. What will that cost me?¡± Now it was Wilhelms time to assess the stranger. He was more than just passing through Glockmire. If he really was a pilgrim like Nattie thought, then that raised some interesting and concerning questions. ¡°Ten silver for the week, that will include a single meal each day. Is that acceptable to you Mr¡­.?¡± Ah now came the more difficult inquiries. In some places, not having a last name was still normal, but not here in the Blood Duchies. The Vampires like keeping track of their livestock, and that''s hard to do without proper names. ¡°Just Cole, And yes that sounds fair to me. Also a question. Where could I buy supplies in town? Nothing major, just gear for traversing the nearby wilderness.¡± An awkward silence filled the tavern as Cole fished out the silver coins causing him to miss the startled looks on the patrons'' faces in response to his last statement. At first Cole thought he was the cause of the silence but by the time he looked up, he saw that Wilhelm and the other patrons were looking at a wiry old man sitting at the bar. After another moment of staring the old man swore and threw up his hands and muttered, ¡°Can¡¯t an old man drink in peace!¡± He turned and looked Cole up and down, ¡° Okay fine, I will take this big lump over to my store and get him what he needs. If he can pay that is. I don¡¯t sell junk and set prices that represent that. Is that going to be an issue for Mr. Giantling here?¡± Wilhelm put a hand on his head and shook it with closed eyes for a second before speaking. ¡°You have to excuse Barnabas here. He will have the supplies you need, and as he says it will be good quality. Just ignore his goading, he thrives on irritating people.¡± In truth, Cole found it refreshing. People usually reacted to him with fear or anger. This Barnabas character seemed to be mildly hostile to everyone. If this was the Merchants'' normal treatment of customers then Cole had no complaints. Barnabas got up from his stool and motioned for Cole to follow him. ¡°I¡¯ve tarried here too long anyway. Knowing my luck Jan will have burned down the store in my absence.¡± Cole followed the old man, listening to him grumbling his complaints. Like how the weather hurt his joints, how his Clerk was borderline incompetent, or how prices had gone up on certain goods for no reason and a myriad of other grievances. Eventually the strange duo left the busy main street the Silly Goat sat on. Taking a shortcut towards Barnabas¡¯s shop, according to the merchant. Once they were alone on the side street, Barnabas stopped walking, turned to Cole, and studied the scarred pilgrim with an appraising eye. Taking a moment to absorb the details of his would-be-customer before speaking. ¡°Alright, we are away from nosy eyes and ears. What the hells happened to you? I¡¯ve seen a lot in my seventy two years but you are something particularly abnormal. As a rule, I wouldn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s arse but you are staying with Wilhelm and Natalie. I can¡¯t have whatever trouble you bring, hurting them.¡± Ah, now it was time for the uncomfortable questions, thought Cole. He should have guessed the painfully blunt old man would be the source of them. ¡°My history has no bearing here. It would be better for everyone involved if you assume I am a pilgrim set on a strange errand to prove his faith. Just a minor oddity that will leave your town in a few days and fade into memory.¡± was Cole¡¯s answer. Barnabas opened his mouth for a moment, mulling over his words before he spoke. ¡°Just don¡¯t bring your trouble to our doorsteps. I¡¯ve survived enough catastrophe and crisis to get a sense for this. You smell of disaster and I will not have it hurt people I love. This town has suffered enough, it does not need whatever dark secrets accompany you.¡± Cole only smiled sadly, he decided he liked Barnabas. He could see the truth of things, or at least part of it. A valuable talent, especially when coupled with brutal honesty. ¡°You are wise Mr. Barnabas and your words are heard. Now, shall we continue onward? The faster I get the supplies I need, the faster I leave Glockmire.¡± said Cole. Barnabas shrugged in agreement and started walking again. Soon they arrived at Barnabas¡¯s store. It was an unassuming if big structure. A large store front attached to a storage building the size of a barn. At its entrance hung a sign, marked with the symbols for a general goods store and the words ¡®B&N Trading House.¡¯ Barnabas threw open the door and was already yelling before he even entered his place of business. ¡°Jan! Get your lazy arse up and help me. We have a customer whose coin I¡¯d like to have.¡± A short, portly man shuffled out from behind the nearby counter and adjusted his thick spectacles. In a monotone voice he addressed his employer with the indifference of someone used to Barnaba¡¯s antics. ¡°Yes Master Barnabas, what can we get for our esteemed customer?¡± If Jan noticed Cole¡¯s unusual appearance he did not show it. The man seemed incapable of making a facial expression aside from bored disinterest. Picking up a stylus and scrap of paper, Jan prepared to start a list. Cole collected his thoughts then explained what he needed. ¡°I am looking for something in the nearby wilds. I¡¯d prefer to minimize the number of trips back to town. I need supplies to survive the mountains and travel quickly, rations, climbing equipment, local maps, that sort of thing. Is that enough to work with?¡± Jan stopped scratching the stylus on paper to consider for a moment. ¡°Yes I believe so. Master Barnabas do you think the trinket from Vudrird Hold would be a good option? We¡¯ve not had any luck selling it, and it seems perfect for your purposes Master¡­?¡± Before Cole could introduce himself Barnabas interrupted him. ¡°The Spark-Stone? Yes, that would be perfect. I¡¯ll grab that from the safe, off with you Jan, go get the rest.¡± Cole didn¡¯t have time to ask what they meant by Spark-Stone before Barnabas and Jan disappeared into the bowels of the store. Gathering the requested equipment in a startlingly small amount of time. Soon Cole was looking at a pile of pitons, rope, wax sealed rations, a water-proofed map and a myriad of other necessities for survival. As Jan added up the costs with the practiced ease of a shopkeep, Barnabas showed Cole a strange polished black stone. It was oval in shape, a little smaller than a man¡¯s palm and carved in its center was a familiar symbol. ¡°Fire,¡± whispered Cole. As he said it, sigil glowed slightly, the magic bound into the Spark-Stone reacting to its purpose. Barnabas rolled the now slightly warm stone between boney fingers and said ¡°Ah so you read Dwerick, the language of the Below Folk. Yes, this little beauty was gifted to me by a Dwarven merchant I did a favor for maybe ten years ago. It¡¯s a very basic fire enchantment, focus on the stone and it will produce flame. Not much, even if you pour your full intent into it, but more than enough to start a fire in even the dampest conditions.¡± Cole was interested; such minor Magical items were not common in this region. It would be a boon and it might save him more cold nights when flint and tinder were not enough. Still he had to ask the obvious questions. ¡°What will it cost me and why was such a useful item not bought long ago? This town has Shepards and Hunters, correct? You would think they would find it useful.¡± Barnabas didn¡¯t even blink ¡°You would think, wouldn''t you? A local superstition has made the usual customers wary of it. They think taking enchantments out into the mountains is bad luck. I wouldn¡¯t put much stock in it, every old goat botherer tells a different version of the superstition anyway. Some say it scares goats, others it attracts wolves, I knew one fellow who just didn¡¯t trust anything Dwarven made. No matter, the Spark-Stone and the other gear will cost you one gold and five silver all together.¡± Jan showed the first emotion Cole had seen, a single cocked eyebrow. It was a response to the fifteen percent discount Barnabas was giving Cole. The old merchant was not being his usual miserly self. An attempt to get Cole what he needed and out of Glockmire as soon as possible. Cole knew some sort of unspoken exchange was happening between the shop owner and shopkeeper, but decided to ignore it. ¡°I will take it and the other equipment.¡± was Cole¡¯s only response. He fished out the coins and paid old Barnabas. He then gathered up the supplies and loaded them into his pack, leaving the store with what he would need to continue his mission. Before he could leave Glockmire Cole needed to stop by the Silly Goat. to make some last adjustments to his equipment and tell the Innkeeper not to expect him that night. It was better to stay out in the wild then waste precious time traveling back to town every night. Cole didn¡¯t fear what might be stalking the shadows out beyond Glockmire¡¯s walls. In truth, if some of those horrors found him, it would save Cole time. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Back at the Silly Goat, Cole told Wilhelm his plans. The Innkeeper was surprised and skeptical, but promised he would wait at least a week before cleaning out Cole¡¯s rented room. At Wilhelms insistence Cole grabbed a bit of food. Some bread and cheese that would not be missed by the tavern¡¯s dinner customers. Back in his room, after making some final preparations Cole moved to leave. He briefly considered bringing the Skull, but decided against it. She would be safer hidden in his rented room. A minor concealment enchantment would help keep the Skull hidden. Magic, a fickle and powerful tool, one Cole used when needed but not his preferred option. The scholars say anyone can learn to wield the raw power of The Beyond, altering the world through willpower, focus and secret knowledge. That is true but just as true as the sentiment anyone can paint. Most beings can indeed put pigment to paper but very few can make a masterpiece. Similarly, basic spells could be learned by virtually anyone with access to training or talent. Truly powerful Magic, however, requires something special to cast. Cole could manage a number of spells, but nothing too impressive. Lacking much in the way of talent, Cole made up for it with an unlikely source of power. Something that did not come without a cost, but one he was willing to pay in order to keep the Skull safe. Finally leaving the Silly Goat, Cole turned to head towards the north gate and nearly ran into Natalie. The young woman looked startled to see him, and let her mouth open slightly in surprise. Recovering quickly Natalie spoke. ¡°I wanted to apologize for earlier, it was incredibly rude of me to enter your room like that.¡± Cole gave his gentle smile, the nicest expression his heavily scarred face could manage. ¡°All is forgiven, Thank you for waking me when you did. I had slept more than enough and I can understand why it might have worried you.¡± Natalie returned his smile with a genuine one of her own. Then she gestured at Cole¡¯s pack and asked. ¡°Are you leaving already? My father said you paid for the week already.¡± Cole shook his head no. ¡°I should be staying at least a few days more but my task takes me into the wilds tonight. I doubt I will return until tomorrow.¡± Natalie¡¯s amber eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fear. ¡°You cannot be serious? It''s one thing to camp on the road, another thing to try to do so out in the wilds! Mister Cole you don¡¯t know the area, what dangers are out there. The Hunter and Shepards foolish enough to try what you are attempting, travel in groups and have years of experience.¡± A shrug from the big man dismissed her concerns and Cole touched the strange axe buckled to his hip. ¡°I have dealt with many things in my life. Master Time, and my weapon will keep me safe. Your concern is appreciated though.¡± Natalie felt the first hints of anger boil up. It infuriated her that this man would dismiss what she said so easily. Was he really that naive? The Gods helped those who helped themselves, only the most pathetic of the lunatic faithful relied on the idea of divine protection. Those truly blessed by the Gods knew well to not test that blessing or take it for granted. Chewing her lip in frustration, Natalie snapped up at the scarred behemoth of a pilgrim. ¡°Fine! If the Varcolac eats you alive don¡¯t blame me!¡± With those spiteful words she stormed past him and into the Silly Goat. Without a word to her father Natalie set off to work on chores, fuming the entire time. Her internal monologue was ramping up towards a full tirade. She didn¡¯t know if she would ever see the strange pilgrim again and that frustrated her. Not so much out of affection for him, but of curiosity and spite. She wanted to learn more about such a strange figure. Not much happens in Glockmire and Natalie often found herself easily bored. Cole was an interesting mystery that should not be wasted by leaping into the jaws of a monster. Especially the monster that killed her Mother. That was the spite, she did not want the accursed thing to claim another victim. Unbidden memories of that terrible night three years ago came flooding back. Natalie, and her parents had been fleeing to the Temple. Seeking sanctuary on consecrated soil. Trying to escape the army of nightmares that had breached the gate. The plague that had ravaged Glockmire did more than kill. Every miserable death it caused polluted the Aether. The currents of untamed Magic that flow through everything. The Aether reflects and reacts to the world. A miasma of death and despair provided fertile ground for Undeath. Plague victims rose as shambling corpses. Wraiths of grief and suffering flew about in great clouds of concentrated misery. Yet that was not the worst of it; those lesser Undead merely weakened the town''s defenses. Distracting the Lord¡¯s soldiers and vassals while the real threat arrived. Countless monsters feed on death and suffering. The stink of which was ripe on the Aether, calling out like a wounded lamb to dark things deep within the mountains. Natalie never learned what battered down Glockmire¡¯s south gate. A few people claimed it was an Ogre or Troll possessed by a powerful Ghost. It did not matter in the end, only that whatever did it was strong enough to rip through solid oak. With the gates broken open, a myriad of the undead and accursed monsters flowed into the town. When both Castle and Temple bells started ringing, the sign to evacuate to places of safety, the Striga Family of Nat, Iona and Wilhelm heeded the warning. Rushing through the streets, praying to the Gods and hoping to make it to safety. Iona was in the lead, holding up a lantern to guide the way, with Natalie and Wilhelm close behind her. Through the dark they ran together, ignoring the horrible screams and horrid roars that pierced the night. They were so close, the high spire of the Temple was visible and the bells blotted out virtually all other sounds. Iona rounded a tight alley corner, her lantern bobbing in the dark. Wilhelm and Natalie were right behind her. Arriving just as Iona¡¯s scream erupted. Of what happened next Natalie remembered the smell best. Rotting meat and wet dog, mixed together and pungent enough to physically hurt. Iona¡¯s lantern was on the ground, intact, and somehow still burning, casting light upon the horrific scene. Hideous clawed hands gripped Iona, holding her up and squeezing life from her. Iona had tried to turn around and run when she realized what was ahead of her, but the monster still grabbed her. So she faced her husband and daughter as death came. Natalie saw it in her mothers eyes, the terror, and horrible knowledge that the end was here. It did not take long, the monster lunged its ragged head down at its prey. Huge fangs sinking into Iona¡¯s flesh. Ripping her in half with a single brutal bite. Dropping what was left of Natalie¡¯s mother, the monster turned to her and her father. It stood at least three meters tall, its form a terrible fusion of man and wolf. One eye glowed yellow, the other was milky white. Matted fur covered it, with patches missing. Skin and exposed muscle peeked through black fur and yellowed bone was visible where the mouth should be. The flesh there long ago rotted or was torn away, revealing a skeletal maw. Only later did Natalie learn what to call the monster. Varcolac, the corpse wolf. A Werewolf lost utterly to its inner beast, and long since died. The corpse of an already horrible monster risen in undeath. In that moment all it was to Natalie was evil, what killed her mother and what was about to kill her as well. The start of a scream, of both grief and terror filled Natalie¡¯s throat. She never got to complete it as a rough voice boomed out through the alley. ¡°Mortals run! I will handle this.¡± A flash of movement and the sound of steel clashing with bone broke Wilhelm from his shock. He had wanted to break down sobbing and he would later. For now he could not lose his daughter too. The Innkeeper grabbed his teenage daughter with the strength born of fear. Half carrying, half pulling her away from the battle in front of them. They ran, taking another route towards the Temple. Natalie only catching glimpses of their savior. A knight in blood-red armor wielding a massive greatsword who moved with such speed that she could only catch glimpses of the warrior. The last thing Natalie saw before they rounded a corner was the greatsword coming flashing down and lopping off one of the Varcolac¡¯s hands. The horrible mixture of a death-rattle and howl it had made haunted her nightmares even now. Natalie and her father made it to the Temple and huddled with hundreds of others. Listening to the Priests murmured prayers and the soft weeping of all those who lost loved ones, themselves included. No one slept that night. The refugee¡¯s only leaving the Temple when the local High Priest declared it safe an hour after sunrise. Corpses filled the streets. Some were fresh and recognizable, others little more than skeletons. Lord Glockmire and his soldiers had driven the monsters off and cut through the throngs of walking dead. It would take a week of burning for all the bodies to be purified and destroyed. The smell of death and ash would take months to fully wash away. Scars, both emotional and physical, would never fade. Natalie was soon back in the present, the memories fading away, her mind fighting to keep all those terrible sights and smells locked away. It came easier now, time heals all wounds they say. Natalie¡¯s mind went to Cole, his tapestry of scars and his chosen God. Maybe time does not actually heal, maybe it just adds another layer of pain so the old becomes less distinct. The pilgrim had left on this suicidal errand of his, it would be a good opportunity to clean his room. Making it presentable for his return or, more likely, the next customer. Natalie made her way up the staircase and into the room. The curtains were drawn, keeping the room in shadow even in the afternoon. Another annoyance for Natalie, fresh air and sunlight does half the job of cleaning for her. Pulling open the curtains, Natalie got to work, making the bed, swapping out the washcloths, and generally making the room presentable. After maybe five minutes of basic work, Natalie suddenly felt ill. A deep hollow coldness pressed out from her innards. Like she¡¯d swallowed a chunk of ice that now fought to be free. Staggering a little, she propped herself up on a wall. Gathering her wits, Natalie moved over towards the bed. She felt like she was about to pass out. A crushing alien coldness bore down on her soul, threatening to drown her in its presence. This was what she had experienced earlier, except so much more intense. During the lunch shift, it had been the momentary glance of something beyond words. Now she had its attention. A God or something close to it spared her a moment of infinity. Natalie forced herself to take deep rattling breaths. With her body struggling to even breathe, she fought to keep natural processes going. The pressing weight of her own mortality came to the forefront of Natalie¡¯s mind, it threatened to swallow her up like a candle in the ocean. Darkness encroached on the edge of her vision and Natalie¡¯s knees buckled. She fell to the ground, limp and barely conscious. Then just as quickly as the horrible feeling struck her, it passed. Sucking in a breath and blinking the shadows away. She was so weak, it took nearly everything she had left to simply roll over to her side. Natalie gathered her strength, hoping to reach an arm up the bed and use it to pull herself up. It was then when she noticed something underneath the bed. Hidden just out of sight was a small draw-string bag. Not thinking clearly, Natalie reached out with a shaking hand to grab the bag. Wrapping uncertain fingers about its strings she pulled it towards her. Was this something she¡¯d missed when cleaning the room? No, Natalie knew better than to doubt her thoroughness, this was something of Cole¡¯s. Reeling from spiritual shock Natalie focused on the bag and was struck with the unquenchable need to see what was inside. It took her three tries but she undid the strings and opened up the bag. Natalie had a suspicion of what was inside but still seeing it shocked her. The human skull Cole placed on the bed when she woke him up, looked at her from the bag¡¯s opening. Its pale bone polished to an alabaster smoothness, empty sockets promising of sight not meant for the living. Gasping slightly, Natalie reached out to poke the skull. Maybe it was fake? A piece of carved stone or metal, meant to act as a symbol of death. Such hopes were quickly dispatched as her fingers touched the hollow below the eye socket and next to the nose cavity. It was real bone, so well maintained it seemed just recently cleaned of flesh. Was this some strange relic of Cole¡¯s faith? That made sense to Natalie. While usually Master Time was represented by the hourglass, the skull could also be his sigil. A thought crossed Natalie¡¯s mind as her faculties regrouped from the earlier shock. Was this why Cole was here? Was his pilgrimage a task to deliver this skull to its proper resting place? That made sense, it would explain why he had come to Glockmire. It also raised new questions. Whose skull was it? And why had Cole not taken it with him? Did he not know where he was supposed to inter the skull? That chain of thought was quickly interrupted when Natalie pulled at the bag¡¯s lip and saw the skull¡¯s mouth. It had fangs, she had not noticed them earlier. Long snake-like fangs that extended a few centimeters past its normal looking kin. Natalie knew those fangs, every person living in the Blood Duchies knew those fangs. This was a Vampire skull. Frantically Natalie shut the bag''s draw-strings and pushed it farther back under the bed. Fear flooded her veins and she pushed herself up off the ground. The terrible draining fatigue of earlier replaced with the jittery nerves of terror. Quickly, Natalie got to her feet and bolted from the room. Thinking just clear enough to shut and lock the door behind her. No one could learn what she had just discovered. This was bad, very very bad. When a Vampire dies, truly dies, all that is left is bones and ash. Both materials are potent in dark Magic, capable of fueling truly foul rituals of Necromancy and Blood Magic. That was not what scared Natalie. The only beings who can possess a Vampire¡¯s remains is another Vampire. That was the law, one enforced with a level of iron-hard cruelty that made Felix¡¯s fate seem merciful. Natalie did not know why it was the law. Her overactive, panicking mind had a few ideas though. Maybe the Nocturnal Nobility hated reminders they could truly die? It could be Magic, could a bloodline be targeted by a spell using a member''s remains? Was it simply what it represented? A mortal being holding tangible proof that the Aristocrats were not invincible. It really did not matter, Natalie was just trying to distract herself from the terrible knowledge. If Lord Glockmire learned of this he would have Cole killed. He might also send Natalie and her father to the Larder. Just to be certain the message was sent and understood by the people. Natalie wracked her brain as she slipped into her room and locked herself inside. Could she turn Cole in? Would that even protect her family? Even if she did, and the Silly Goat came away unharmed by the ordeal, it would raise another question. Would Natalie be able to live with herself? She didn¡¯t think so, the idea of surrendering anyone to a monster¡¯s hunger was anathema to Natalie. Even a stranger of uncertain purpose and character like Cole did not deserve that. Again painful images of her mothers death flashed before her. The sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bone entered her mind unbidden. The Lord and his Vassals were better monsters than the Varcolac, but not by far. They just had the intelligence and skill to hide their ugly nature. Quickly Natalie came to her decision. She would keep this knowledge to herself. Cole was a pilgrim; he would not spend more than a week in Glockmire. Natalie just had to let time pass and then he would leave. It was far from a perfect plan but she could not think of a better one. At least one with a better chance of surviving with body, mind and soul intact. Then she was struck with the thought, what if his mission was truely suicidal, what if he did not return, what would she do with the skull? This was too much for Natelie to handle. So silently, she prayed, hoping the Gods were listening. Chapter 2.5: Rot and Ruin

Chapter 4: Rot and Ruin

¡°I saw an ocean of the dead. Corpses stretching from the city gates to the horizon. Every last one of them hungering for me. Oh gods¡­ I can still remember the smell. All that rot clung to everything. You could never escape it, no matter where you went or what you did. The whole jagging world stunk of death.¡± - Hubertas of Uthlede. Survivor of the 1348 Corpse Siege.
Cole walked down the gravel road leading from the north gate. A different guard from last night had given him some trouble, but nothing a little bronze couldn¡¯t fix. Now he was on the road and continuing his task. Cole was maybe five kilometers from Glockmire when he left the road. Following the slight cold tugging in his core, trusting the little aid his God ordained him worthy of. This close to Glockmire the wilderness was not too difficult to trek through. Alpine forest and stream fed meadows, nestled between time-worn peaks. It was close to four in the afternoon judging by the Sun¡¯s place in the sky. Pale beams of light filtered through mighty clouds and provided some warmth to the forest around Cole. The storm of the previous night had passed by, and the rain invigorated the trees and bushes around him. A final hurrah for leaf and stem before they sleep for the winter. Looking around him, Cole pulled down his cloak¡¯s cowl and drank in the sight. It was beautiful, a wild place untrammeled by the peoples of the world. The Dragon-tail mountains coiled around the Blood Duchies like a great serpentine length and kept the lands relatively isolated. The mountains themselves were old, worn down by time and calamity. Still high enough to block easy passage but not the mighty jagged peaks of ages long past. You could walk for hours in any direction, following the gentle slope that transitioned from forest, to field, and finally craggy mountain. Cole should have felt at peace, the unspoiled wilds a balm to all but the most bitter soul. It was beautiful and he allowed himself to drink it in, but he could not drop his guard or truly relax. For good reason, the forest in its seeming idyllic state was missing something. It was quiet, far too quiet even for early autumn. Birds delaying migration should have been singing. Squirrels and their kin did not leap between branches, hoping to gather the last few nuts for the winter. Ever present insects made no clicks or dared flight. Something was wrong in the forest and it set Cole on edge. Continuing onwards, Cole brushed his hand against the axe buckled to his hip. It would take him less than a second to unsheathe it, but that second might mean everything in a fight. Pulling it free, Cole took a moment to examine his weapon. It was not much bigger than a large hatchet, with an oversized blade that flared out from the shaft, and met with the long metal spike protruding from the weapon''s top. On the reversed side of the blade was a sharp hooked point, like something a miner might use to break rock. The shaft itself was not very long, only maybe twenty centimeters from where the front blade started to its very end, where a small spiked pommel capped it. To any skilled armsmen the weapon looked mildly ridiculous. The bastard of a handaxe, warpick, and spear, lacking the strengths of any of them. The wise among them would reassess that opinion on a closer look. Seeing the small but perfectly engraved runes that covered the metal shaft. Feeling the familiar weight of the weapon in his hand, Cole continued his journey deeper into the wilds. He walked for maybe two more hours, the Sun just starting to creep towards the mountain tops. The Shadows lengthened and the forest''s earlier beauty faded. Few places invoke such primal dread as the wilderness at night. For good reason too, the ancestors of humanity had learned to fear the dark long before Magic came to the world. In those ancient days wolves, bears and rival tribes filled the night with terror. Now with Magic infused into everything, and with it inhabitants of distant worlds and dimensions, much much worse things lived in the dark. Sanity, reason and sense demanded that any person out in the wilds at night should seek shelter. Cole was guided by motives far more powerful and dangerous than logic. Faith, conviction, and most powerful of all, love, motivated the scarred man. This was not the first haunted forest he had marched through in darkness. A task was set before him and it would be completed. The sun finally set behind the highest peak, flooding the forest with darkness. As shadows fell Cole finally caught the scent he had been looking for. The sickly smell of rotting meat carried on the air. It was faint, but its pungent scent was unmistakable. Cole¡¯s nose was better than most peoples, that combined with experience and training let him track the smell. So with axe in hand and death on the wind, he crept deeper into the forest. It did not take him long to find the source. Ahead of him was a small cliff, maybe fifteen meters of worn stone sticking up from the forest floor. A piece of the mountain exposed by centuries of erosion. A deep fissure cut down the cliff face, a crack that reached from its very top to down where stone and forest soil met. The smell was coming from the crevice, thick and pungent. Cole grimaced slightly, an easy expression for his scared face. Approaching the crevice slowly, he got his first sight of the smell''s origin. Halfway into the crevice and splayed on the ground was the mutilated body of a goat. It had been ripped apart, its innards devoured and two of its legs bent at a strange angle. Glancing around him, Cole didn¡¯t see any signs of danger. Getting closer to the carcass he examined it. The blood was long dried and the flesh showed signs of both putrefaction and strangely mummification. Its extremities rotted normally, while its body was withered and stringy. Taking the spiked head of his axe, Cole pushed open dried skin and exposed bone. Looking at the main cavity of the goat, which was completely empty, stripped clean of flesh and organs. The ribs were split open and a few had been dislodged. One lay maybe half a meter away from the carcass. Gingerly reaching out with a gloved hand, Cole picked it up, taking a moment to examine the clear bite marks on the rib. Something had used this bone as leverage to split open the goat and broke the rib loose in the process. As for the bite marks, they looked human, or at least close to it. Dropping the rib, Cole continued his examination. This was easily the least pleasant part of his duties. Death is never pretty, especially when his typical quarry was involved. The intact nature of the goat and the lack of carrion insects added to the strangeness. Creatures that normally would feast upon such an easy meal had avoided it. The natural process of rot itself seemed interrupted, decay not setting in properly. Glancing up at the cliff, Cole studied its structure and how the crevice narrowed towards the top. He doubted something had actually killed the goat. Most likely it was a victim to the recent weather and poor luck. Slipping into the crevice, thanks to rain or a distraction. Maybe it died on impact or its broken limbs prevented it from moving. Either way, it had attracted an unnatural scavenger. One that had feasted on the organs and then left the rest of the body intact and tainted. Taking in a steadying breath, Cole now knew what he was dealing with. This was a Vryko-Ghoul, a type of hungry corpse. Ghouls are perhaps the most common type of undead, requiring only suffering and an unconsecrated corpse to exist. The Magic that flows through the world mirrors what it witnesses. Great suffering and anguish can contaminate raw Magic, turning it into the fell energies of undeath. Energies that will seek a home, such as an unprotected corpse. Ghouls universally hunger for flesh and will go to great lengths to acquire it. Lesser Ghouls are little more than shambling corpses, lacking wits or instinct. Easily dispatched by any able-bodied person with even an improvised weapon. Dangerous only in their persistence and ability to multiply quickly. A ghoul¡¯s bite is rarely fatal if treated, but will spread the curse of undeath if the victim does die. Raising them up as another ghoul, in the hellish state of undying hunger. If he was correct, then the thing that had eaten the goat was not a normal Ghoul. The fact it had eaten dead flesh, and then stopped from fully devouring the goat, informed Cole of this. Most likely this was a Vryko-Ghoul, the product of someone dying from exposure and starvation. Doomed to wander the wilds trying to fill a hunger that could never be sated. Vrykos only consume internal organs, and are not picky about the source. Leaving behind ripped open bodies that thankfully do not rise as undead but are still poisoned with necromantic Magic. Cole had put down a Vryko-Ghoul before, it had not been easy. While they lack intelligence like a normal ghoul, they possess strength and durability that more than compensates. Traits that only grow with every successful feeding. Something to be concerned about, especially since a newly risen Vryko can rip a full grown person in half. Cole hoped this Vryko was still young. It would make sense if it was still scavenging out in the wilds. The more a ghoul ate, the hungrier it got, enduring a hellish false-existence that Cole was tasked with ending. If this Vryko had not attacked Glockmire or the shepherds who wandered these hills then it was still relatively weak. Looking around him at the forest, Cole mused on why his God had sent him here. This was the perfect environment for a Vryko-Ghoul to grow quickly. Scavenging on local wildlife until it could catch an unlucky goat or its shepherd. Growing stronger and hungrier with every meal it would strip the forest and fields of animals before moving towards Glockmire. The town''s defenses would probably be strong enough to stop the horror, but till then it would reap a bloody toll. Never stopping in its pursuit of food, healing from any injury that didn¡¯t outright kill it, and eventually growing strong enough to rival even an ancient vampire in raw physical power. The Vryko-Ghoul needed to be put down, and quickly. Sighing to himself, Cole went over to the rib he had examined earlier and picked it up. Looking at the teeth marks, he knew what he had to do. He would need to get close to the horror, and this carcass was at least a few days old. Cole was not a bad tracker but with the recent rain he had no chance of following a trail if it existed. So he needed to turn to less mundane methods. Placing the rib back on the ground, Cole pulled up one of his sleeves and set the needle-like point on his axe¡¯s pommel to his skin. Piercing through layers of scars produced by this same action. A few drops of bright crimson welled up and Cole turned his fore-arm. Letting them fall onto the rib, right where the teeth marks were. ¡°Blood falls upon Bone, help me find my quarry across Mud and Stone.¡± he whispered. It was a primitive tracking spell, one any decent Magi would be able to ward against. Hells, any person with an inkling of Magical talent would be safe from it; if they thought intently about being hidden. A Vryko-Ghoul would have no such protection and would be easily tracked by the spell. The blood spilt on the rib moved, slithering along the yellowing bone like some gory serpent. Eventually wrapping around the rib, coiling its entire length in a thin line of blood. Cole reached down and picked up the rib. Holding it out before him, he started to slowly spin in a circle. He came to a stop when a slight sense of resistance came from the bone, like he was pushing it through water instead of air. Now Cole had a direction to travel. Literally following the path of least resistance towards his quarry. The darkness became more and more oppressive as the sun set farther behind the mountains. Cole stopped in his journey, to eat some rations and light a make-shift torch. He did not want to put away his weapon and the long, almost spear-like point of the axe could serve many purposes. Wrapping a length of oily fabric around the spiked top of his axe, Cole ignited it with the spark-stone bought from Barnabas. The little trinket would come in handy. Spilling a drop of blood every time he wanted fire was terribly inconvenient. Cole¡¯s use of Blood Magic on something as simple as his tracking spell would earn him the wrath of any skilled Magi, even more so if he used it for a bit of fire-calling. The various types of Spellweavers manipulate the Magic that flows through the world, relying on countless different techniques to safely and efficiently harness the power of Magic. Magi study the intricacies of Magic and enforce their will upon the Aether through practice and knowledge. Priest''s act as living channels for a God¡¯s might, invoking miracles in their name. Shaman¡¯s call upon the wild spirits of the Aether, bonding with them and enacting their will. Cultivators from the far-east draw Magic into their very flesh, refining themselves into living weapons. Savants are blessed with strong natural affinity for a type of Magic they wield almost instinctively. Collectively called Mage¡¯s or Spellweavers, these manipulators of the arcane wield incredible power. Power that must be earned and mastered through focus, study, training and effort. Except when Blood Magic is used. Nobody knows for sure why the Aether reacts so much to sacrificed blood. Other rituals of sacrifice buy power from the darker things in the Beyond. Not the offering of Blood though, the Aether itself absorbs it and reacts to the offeror''s intent. By the standards of true Mage''s Blood Magic is a crude, hamfisted and disturbingly potent alternative method of wielding magic. A method that Cole excelled at, having long ago mastered the craft of spilling blood to further his goals. The tracking spell did its work, leading Cole deeper into the wilds. He knew he was getting close when another familiar smell reached his nostrils. It was similar to the rot he¡¯d scented earlier from the goat, but with an additional sulphuric twinge. It was the smell of rotten and burst organs, the scent of the Vryko-Ghoul. Looking around at the dark forest, and how the shadows of every tree danced in his torch light. Cole decided he needed to make a few preparations. His eyes could pierce through dark better than most peoples but fighting in pitch black would be incredibly foolish. The Vryko was nearby and would probably find him before he found it. Drawn to warm flesh by magical hunger that cursed all Ghouls. The scent was faint so he had some time, hopefully it would be enough. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Cole found a slight clearing, an uneven oval of meadow surrounding a large jagged piece of stone. This would be his arena, now he had to prepare it. The first step would be gathering up dry brush and stray kindling. Light would be crucial and the top of the sunken boulder in the clearing¡¯s center would be a good place to start a fire. Even with the recent rain Cole found what he needed and soon had a crackling fire atop the stone. The flames could not have come a moment sooner, a tangible chill fell over the forest as the Sun truly fell below the horizon. It was part instinct, part magic, the knowledge that the light, and now was the time for dark things to roam. The scent of ruptured guts and death was getting stronger, the Vryko-Ghoul approached. Even with rotten senses a Ghoul could track prey. The magic that animates and mutates a corpse into a Ghoul guides the shambling husk towards flesh. A crude form of tracking magic that made Cole¡¯s spell look like the visions of some Seer in comparison. Cole made no effort to hide himself, this was his duty, his purpose, ending the horror of undead monsters like the Vryko-Ghoul. Two more acts would finish Cole¡¯s preparations. Grabbing a small leather pouch from his pack, Cole went to where the sunken boulder met the soil. Gingerly he started to pour the contents of the bag onto the ground. Forming an unbroken ring of white powder around the rock. This was something of Cole¡¯s own invention, one part silver dust, nineteen parts salt. A crude but effective barrier against unholy magics. It would not be enough to stop a determined undead or anything with any measure of power. It however would make crossing the ring painful for anything unclean, and sap the power of any fell magic passing over it. The rock, with its bonfire and salt line, would be Cole¡¯s shield. Now it was time for him to unsheathe his sword. Dropping the tracking rib onto the stone, Cole gripped his axe in one hand. Holding it out horizontal, so its tip and pommel hung in parallel. Gritting his teeth, Cole took his free hand and drove it onto the spike pommel. Impaling his palm on the sharp needle. He had made his offering, now it was time to proclaim his intent. ¡°Blood begets blood. Iron begets iron. A piece of my life for the power to bring death.¡± Then slowly Cole drew his stabbed hand away from the pommel, but the pommel came with it. The axe¡¯s shaft grew in length, like some conjurer''s trick it stretched out to over two meters. Finally Cole pulled his hand free of the spiked pommel and let his weapons haft fall to the ground. It was not a strange axe like a casual observer might think. Cole only had it take that form for convenience sake. It was a Halberd, enchanted with blood-hungry runes to change shape as Cole saw fit. An adaptable weapon, perfect for hunting the myraid types of undead. Feeling the familiar weight of the halberd in his hands, Cole moved it through the air with an experimental thrust. He¡¯d tried out many weapons in his life but found the halberd perfect for what he required. Dealing with the Undead is by extension dealing with the foulness of death. Even without dark magic effecting it a Corpse is host to myriad toxic and foul substances. The long reach provided by a halberd kept such dangers at a distance. The axe-head, spear point and hook of the halberd let Cole deal with different threats effectively. A weapon designed to fight an armored knight on horseback or clash in lines of infantry works well facing down any threat, be they large or small. Taking a seat by the fire, Cole quickly wrapped up his wounded hand. Idly Cole wondered at the sheer number of bandages he had used over the years. He bet that was a cost to blood magic that did not make it into the great arcane tomes of the Ivory Towers. Taking a few deep breaths, smelling the growing stink on the air, Cole prepared to fight and if need be, die. If he failed and the Vryko-Ghoul survived to continue its growth, then innocents would be devoured. Their lives cut short from what Master Time allotted them, and the soul trapped in the Vryko would continue its unliving hell. Cole would not stand for that, it was within his power to prevent such tragedies, he could suffer where others could not. With his Halberd and a prayer to his God, he would die fighting the darkness as many times as he needed to. It did not take long for the Vryko to come, the smell growing so thick that Cole could practically feel the miasma upon his skin. Lumbering shuffling steps were Cole¡¯s first warning, slowly turning to face the noise, it sounded like a lame horse dragging a dead one. At the edge of the clearing, illuminated by the flickering firelight stood the monster. It stood as tall as Cole, but was far broader, with flushed swollen skin the colors of gangrene and infection. Swollen was perhaps the best word to describe the Vryko-Ghoul. Appearing like a days-old corpse that had been stuffed full of flesh, resembling a rancid sausage. Puffy and elephantine, its legs were barely enough to prop up the Vryko¡¯s body. Oversized arms and hands dangled from its wide shoulders, while its gut seemed ready to tear open like an overfilled sack of grain. The head was bald and slimy, nose, ears were rotted away. With a distended mouth, cheeks ripped open and blackened teeth glinting in the fire light. A pair of beady eyes were nestled in the ruin of a face. A palpable sense of hunger, and misery poured from those sunken windows. Cole readied his halberd, standing with the head towards the ground, axe-blade pointed up. A good guard position to keep his distance from the Vryko-Ghoul. It was much bigger than he had expected. This was an well fed corpse eater, maybe a few years undead, not a freshly risen ghoul like he expected. This would be more difficult than Cole had hoped but he was confident he would succeed. Gripping his halberd tightly, Cole stepped towards the boulder''s edge. Never letting his eyes leave the Vryko¡¯s face, Cole felt the pain of this horror, its existence needed to be ended for its sake and everyone else''s. In a gentle tone, like the type used to soothe a scared child Cole addressed the Vryko-Ghoul, speaking to any flicker of awareness trapped inside. ¡°I am a servant of Master Time. I will free you from this false-life, let me end your suffering.¡± The Vryko did not respond to Cole¡¯s words, instead one meaty hand reached out and grabbed a nearby tree, a linden whose trunk equaled a man¡¯s waist in thickness. With disturbing ease the Vryko ghoul squeezed the tree and a resounding crack echoed through the dark forest. The trunk fractured into a storm of kindling exploding out in every direction. Instinctually Cole pulled his cloak around him, the heavy cloth stopping the shower of splinters. If the Vryko-Ghoul got its hands on Cole, it would easily pop him like a grape. The extra range of the halberd would be crucial here; this would be a duel of deciding blows. Anything less than a crippling or killing blow would not stop the Vryko. Its flesh could knit together or ignore most damage. Striking its head clear from its shoulders would be the quickest way to end this fight. While the undead being¡¯s soul would still be trapped it would not be able to resist being consecrated and freed. Slowly, uncaring of the splinter and wooden shards sticking from its side, the Vryko-Ghoul shuffled towards Cole. Tar-like blood dripped down its side reflecting the fire¡¯s light. Cole leveled the halberd at the horror, slipping his free hand around the polearm¡¯s pommel, letting the needle-spike slip between his middle and ring finger. He¡¯d practiced this stance often and hoped to strike true. Stepping off the rocks and onto the meadow, Cole approached the Vryko cautiously. Severing the spine would cut this corpse¡¯s puppet-strings and let him release the trapped soul. The undead horror continued forward, uncaring of the sharp blade aiming for its neck. Cole let out a furious roar and drove the halberd forward. Thrusting with his palm gripped on the hilt, shooting the spear-point forward with incredible force. It struck, and the blade shot deep into the Vryko¡¯s throat. Cole felt the tear of flesh but not the crack of bone, the tip had missed its target, ripping open a throat and veins long unused. Rotten blood sprayed out, like the discharge of a squeezed cyst. The halberd¡¯s spike had missed the spine, inflicting what would be a mortal wound on any living creature, but doing little to stop the Vryko-Ghoul. Quickly, Cole stepped back, pulling his weapon free, bringing a trail of ichor with it. The Vryko swung one of its huge arms in a wild haymaker. Cole pulled himself out of reach and dropped his halberd¡¯s head. He needed to keep space between himself and the Vryko. As the savage haymaker finished its arc, Cole charged forward. Fast for a man of his size, Cole could take advantage of the laborious speed of the Vryko. Speed that hid bone-crushing strength, one good blow would be all it took to kill the scarred warrior. Sweeping the halberd low, Cole drove its axe head into the Vryko¡¯s leg. Hacking at the bulging muscle and fat, and connecting with the knee joint. Bone cracked and ligaments snapped like over taught string; Vryko let out a gurgling noise from its ruined throat. It might be able to heal from a destroyed knee, but that would take time, and time was on Cole¡¯s side. Like some rotted tree caught in a windstorm the Vryko¡¯s leg buckled. Overstressed by the bloated undead¡¯s weight, the leg snapped. Falling down, the ghoul waved its engorged hands in the air, reaching for Cole even as it collapsed. It hit the ground with a resounding boom, landing on its side, grotesque arms flailing. Seeing an opportunity Cole swung the halberd¡¯s axe-blade down, aiming for a clean decapitation. The strike was misjudged and sunk into the Vryko¡¯s shoulder, the horror having pulled its arm close to protect its neck. Cole tried to yank the axe-blade free, but rigor mortis toughened muscle and rotten fat trapped the halberd. Swearing under his breath Cole gave the trapped weapon another hard tug, ripping it free in a shower of black blood. It could not have come a moment sooner, the Vryko swung its other arm up like it was swatting an annoying insect. The tree-trunk sized limb missed Cole but smacked into the retreating halberd head. It took all of Cole¡¯s strength to hold onto his weapon as a huge amount of force slammed into the polearm. Instantly his forearms went numb as the halberd vibrated with the impact, its enchanted nature the only reason the weapon was not simply destroyed. Grimacing, Cole realized he needed to change his tactics. The Vryko was already hauling itself forward, dragging its huge body along the ground. Cole had expected a lesser Vryko-Ghoul, not one of this size and strength. Backing away the scarred warrior extended the halberd out before him, ready to respond to any sudden movements. As he did this Cole jabbed the pommel¡¯s needle into his already injured hand. Those who refuse to change do not survive, so Cole adapted. Muttering a quick incantation, he freed his stabbed hand and focused on the halberd. Its shaft lengthened another thirty centimeters and the axe blade grew. The added reach and weight made the polearm look more like a headsman''s axe, which is what Cole intended to use it as. The Vryko-Ghoul dragged itself forward, its hands sinking into the dirt and hauling the horror¡¯s bloated form towards Cole. He let the hungry corpse get close, its oversized fingers clawing at the ground near his boots. Quickly, Cole leapt to the side and swung his halberd down. Putting all his strength and weight into a mighty chop. A gurgling groan escaped the Vryko-Ghoul¡¯s torn mouth as its hand was lopped off at the wrist. Cole grimanced, he preferred to end these matters quickly and cleanly. He did not know how aware the soul trapped inside the corpse was, but he feared it could still experience any pain he inflicted on its fleshy-prison. The sheer size and weight of the Vryko-Ghoul hindered the regeneration of its ruined knee. It would require almost complete repair for the undead brute to put its weight on. Reattaching a severed limb required more intelligence than the Vryko possessed and regrowing the hand would take days. Cole had successfully maimed a walking corpse, now he would take its head. Lifting its freshly crippeled limb up, the Vryko-Ghoul swung its stump like a bludgeon. Again Cole dodged, backing up towards the half-sunken boulder and its surrounding sacred line. Being able to quickly move behind that defense would be useful. Splayed out on its belly and flailing its arms madly, the Vryko-Ghoul made a bizarre sight. One that would almost be comical except for the undead¡¯s grotesqueness. Like some bloated toddler having a temper-tantrum. Cole only felt sadness and pity for it, all undead are tragic things, Vryko-Ghouls especially. To die alone out in the wilderness and be trapped inside your own corpse, hungring eternally for offal. To be denied rebirth or anointment as promised by the Gods in the covenant was truly terrible fate for any to befall. Softly, Cole started to pray. A slow chant of mourning and departure. Wishing a quick journey through the halls of Master Time and a better life after rebirth. Death is the end of oneself, but not one¡¯s soul, rebirth awaits all those under the God¡¯s protection, as promised in the covenant. The Vryko-Ghoul reached out with its still intact hand, crossing the line of salt and silver. Instantly white flames erupted on mottled flesh and reflexes dulled by death reacted. Pulling back the undead let out a pitiful gurgle, as cleansing fire ate at its fingers. Cole saw his opportunity, using the boulder¡¯s elevation to his advantage, he lept down, swinging his halberd in a great arc. It struck true, hitting where skull and spine meet, cleaving off the grotesque head. The Vryko-Ghoul fell limp, the magical energies animating it denied control over unliving nerves. Panting slightly, Cole pulled the Halberd free and stared down at the corpse at his feet. By their very nature the Undead defy the laws of the living. Persisting with broken, mutilated bodies, animated by magic woven into a perverse parody of life. A soul trapped inside its own dead flesh, tricking the Aether into bestowing a false existence. Yet despite this strange perversion of all that is natural, undead still fall to certain blows. Destroying the Brain or the Heart might not free the trapped soul but it would cut the corpse-puppet¡¯s strings or at the very least stun them. Nobody except the Gods know for sure why. Maybe at that point the Aether can¡¯t be fooled? Life becomes so impossible that Undeath fails to take hold. No matter why, the Vryko-Ghoul was broken. It would not heal from this wound, and lacked any ability to do true harm. All that was left was to free the trapped soul. The soul does not want to part with its body, its existence is tied to the flesh it inhabits. It must be forced from its home and into the Beyond. Every culture that worships righteous Gods has a method to do this. Some bury the dead in ground blessed by faith, others burn the corpse, some even leave the body for Carrion, relying on wild spirits to free the soul. Cole would use fire; creation, destruction and transformation all in one, the perfect symbol for magic and its myriad forms. Cole let himself relax a bit, the hard part was over. Now he just had to gather material for a pyre. Maybe the tree the Vryko-Ghoul had destroyed would be useful in that regard? The crack of a snapping branch grabbed Cole¡¯s attention and he whirled towards the surrounding forest. He¡¯d been focused on his religious duties and failed to notice he was not alone. Three hulking shapes stood at the clearing¡¯s edge, each an image of bloated decay. Three more Vryko-Ghouls, one of similar size to the one he had slain, the other two slightly smaller. Even through decay and degradation Cole saw similarities in the Vryko¡¯s faces. The same heavy brow and deep set eyes. Cole felt his blood run cold as realization filled him. The tragedy and threat of these undead were greater than he¡¯d imagined. A family, lost in the wilderness, had perished and risen together. Maybe they were caught in a blizzard or trapped by an avalanche? It did not matter, by some fell circumstance four Vryko-Ghouls had arisen and posed a far more serious threat. This also raised other questions, why hadn¡¯t the family of undead attacked Glockmire or at least killed some of its citizens? Judging by their size they were feeding well and that would be difficult to do with four of them. Gritting his teeth, Cole leveled his halberd at the three approaching horror¡¯s and prepared to fight. His adrenaline had already started to fade and the polearm felt heavy in Cole¡¯s hands. This was not going to be pleasant, he might even die in this fight. Idly Cole wondered how long it would be before his personal effects were thrown away by Natalie or her father. Chapter 3- Possibilities once Impossible

Chapter 5: Possibilities once Impossible

¡°Longevity and power are often mistaken for Immortality. True Immortality is exceedingly rare and almost exclusive to the Gods. They hold a monopoly over eternity and guard it jealousy¡± - Attributed to the Archmagi Ciaran the Ancient, shortly before his death at the age of Seven hundred and Seven.
It had been three days since Cole left Glockmire. The first day Natalie spent considerable energy trying to keep the strange pilgrim out of her mind, trying not to let the vivid imagination, which was key to her artistry, summon up images of Cole being torn apart like her Mother. The first night Natalie stayed up late, hoping the scarred man would wander back into the Silly Goat. On the second day, Natalie found herself compulsively checking the third room on the right. Making sure it was locked and the skull hidden within it stayed secret. By the third day, with no sign of Cole, Natalie and Wilhelm discussed what to do with their probably dead guest¡¯s belongings. Wilhelm decided they would wait for as many days as Cole had paid and donate anything found in the room to the local Temple. Natalie agreed, but internally she fretted on what to do with the bloody skull! It was an illegal artifact, contraband, and a desecrated corpse all in one! There was no simple solution to this problem. A dozen different plans, all with various levels of risk and possible complications, flooded her mind. It was Freeday, the fifth day of the week, marking the start of the weekend. A busy time in the Silly Goat, and Natalie was distracted, making simple mistakes. Only years of experience kept her from making huge errors. As for the small ones, familiarity with her customers afforded her much grace. Eventually, after hours of exhausting work and worrying intrusive thoughts, the last few raucous customers were gently but firmly shooed from its tables and the tavern shut for the night. Wilhelm had noticed something was wrong with his daughter and stayed up later than usual to help her clean up. The privacy of the empty bar provided a place to ask questions that had been gnawing on Wilhelm for years now. ¡°Natalie, what do you want to do with your life?¡± It was such a simple question, but it had taken his daughter¡¯s recent distance to force Wilhelm to ask. With his wife dead and his daughter, a young woman, Wilhelm faced some uncomfortable truths. She should have her own life and decide her future. It was fine if she wanted to take on the Silly Goat and live her life like Wilhelm and his forefathers had. But if she wanted something else, Wilhelm could not deny her that, even if it left him alone. Natalie paused at the question and cocked her head. Slowly she responded with a slight uncertainty to her voice: ¡°What do you mean by that father?¡± Wilhelm sighed and tried to provide clarity: ¡°You are twenty now, an adult with her whole life ahead of her. Natalie, you are intelligent, resourceful, strong-willed, and beautiful, if you desire it, a future beyond running an inn in a small mountain town could be yours.¡± Wilhelm realized he had been polishing the same mug for a solid five minutes; putting it down with a noise of exasperation, he continued talking. ¡°The last few days, you¡¯ve seemed distracted, and it has me concerned.¡± Wilhelm let out a long, slow, steadying breath. ¡°When¡­.when your Mother died, our lives were thrown into chaos. Any plans I had for the future crumbled, and your last few years of adolescence were soaked in grief.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been putting off this conversation, I didn¡¯t want any more change, but your mother would never forgive me if I weren¡¯t honest with you.¡± Natalie was taken aback; she¡¯d been so wrapped up in her mind it had not occurred to her that her Father might be taking her remoteness as some sort of worrying sign. The strange attention of a powerful being, the mystery of Cole, not to mention the horrible mess with Felix, had kept her preoccupied. Natalie slowly repeated her Father¡¯s original question, ¡°What do I want to do with my life? Dad, I honestly haven¡¯t thought about it. Mom¡¯s death often overwhelms me, but I - don¡¯t understand what you are asking.¡± Natalie felt annoyed at her own confusion; Barnabas always joked the only thing sharper than her tongue was her wits. To be befuddled and beset by worries struck a very sour cord in her. Wilhelm stopped his half-hearted cleaning and stared Natalie in the eyes. There she saw a tiredness she¡¯d somehow missed. Grief, guilt, and pain wore away at her Father like a glacier carving through stone. It pained Natalie to see the cheerful, kind man who raised her with such an expression. Had she been so wrapped up in her own pain to not notice this? Had her Father hidden it from her, or only just realized how much pain he was in himself? ¡°Natty, you have so many possibilities before you, and I feel I would be doing a disservice to you... and your Mother if I didn¡¯t help you find your path. I also know Glockmire is not the place for you to tap into your potential. This town is dark, with secrets and sorrows down to the marrow. There are places in the Blood Duchies where someone like you might shine brighter. Noct-Bucuros, for example, or even beyond our homeland.¡± That earned more silence and confusion from Natalie. She had honestly not considered a life outside of Glockmire. Few people leave the relative safety and security of a town like Glockmire. Numerous settlements had experienced calamities like the one that killed Iona, that the town survived and rebuilt was unusual. Despite their hunger and dark ways, the Vampire Nobles provide protection that should not be taken for granted. Natalie knew she was lucky to be born into a loving family and had so many contented years with her parents. They gave her the tools to thrive. The stable life of an innkeeper was all she had known, and it provided much in the way of comfort and security. Even more confusing was the idea of leaving the Blood Duchies; such emigration was rare and frowned upon. The aristocrats did not like the idea of their subjects (or livestock depending on how you looked at it) moving about easily. It took coin and connections to leave this place, things Natalie doubted her Father had in abundance. Then even if she were to leave, where too? The Holy League to the northwest was a collection of piecemeal kingdoms barely united by a common faith and mutual enemies. In the south, the Sultanate of Jannah was home to strange beliefs and practices she knew nothing about. Towards the northeast lay Gobavi, the empire of Goblins and Witches, a place even darker and fouler than the Blood Duchies. Wilhelm saw the wheels turning in his daughter¡¯s mind and guessed at her thoughts. ¡°Your Mother had a troubled past; I can¡¯t tell you the details; I never pressed her on them. The circumstances that brought her to Glockmire were painful, and she feared them catching up to her. Iona, your Mother, was prepared for that possibility. There is a provision, more than enough to bribe and buy our families a way into another land.¡± With a heavy sigh, he continued, ¡°I don¡¯t have any use for it. Iona is buried here, and I intend to join her eventually. You, my darling Natty, could make great use of it.¡± Tentatively Natalie asked, ¡°What ¡­ what do you mean ¡­ a provision? To that, Wilhelm simply smiled, got close to his daughter, and whispered in her ear. Upon hearing exactly what her Mother had hidden away for all those years, Natalie¡¯s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Wilhelm gave a little smile, his daughter¡¯s shock bringing up memories of when Iona had told him this particular secret. ¡°I think you can guess where I keep it. Please think about what you want to do, but I need you to know something. No matter what, I will always love you, and there will be a place here at the Silly Goat for my darling Natty.¡± At that, Natalie wrapped her arms around her Father and wept quietly. Day of stress and prolonged unresolved pain pouring out of her. They sat like that, Father and daughter, holding each other for maybe twenty minutes. Eventually, Natalie pulled away and whispered softly, ¡°Thanks, Dad, for everything.¡± Wilhelm felt a genuine smile, one untarnished by grief, spreading across his face. Giving his daughter a final hug, he responded, ¡°And thank you, Natty, for growing into a person both your mother and I can be proud of .¡± He kissed her on the forehead before moving towards the staircase. Wilhelm yawned and said. ¡°It¡¯s getting late; I think it¡¯s time for me to sleep. Please think about where your path could lead you, but don¡¯t stay up too late; it has been a long day. I Love you, and I¡¯ll see you in the morning.¡± Natalie nodded, sent her Father love, and wished him good night. Now alone, she set to work on the final few chores of the day. A weight felt lifted from her, and she could almost forget the stress of the past few days. Thinking about all the possibilities raised by her Father was breathtaking. Even if she never pursued them, the option gave her a feeling of freedom she¡¯d never experienced before. For the first time in a long time, Natalie thought about the future without the gnawing pain of grief. Maybe half an hour later, Natalie was finishing drying the last pot. Humming a tune she¡¯d picked up, Gods knows where, while Stockings the cat, watched with the mercurial disinterest of all felines. It was a warm night, and Natalie had one of the windows open to help get the smell of stale beer and dirty people out of the Silly Goat. Staring at one of the carvings her Mother had made, a silly-looking bird perched atop a cabinet, Natalie suddenly felt terribly cold. The deep bone-chilling cold that invaded her twice in the past week surged through her again. This time it was strong enough to force Natalie¡¯s breath from her lungs. Shocked, she dropped the pot she had been drying, it crashed to the floor with a loud clang. Wisps of frozen breath exited her mouth, and Natalie almost collapsed. The crushing weight of that inscrutable presence pressing down on her. Natalie could not breathe, she could not think, she could only stare into the void that so casually peered into her. Then as quickly as it came, it left. Whirling around in shock, Natalie saw Stocking¡¯s tail disappear out the window through the corner of her eye. The cat, startled by the falling pot, did what cats do, fleeing to safer parts. Returning to herself, Natalie swore at Stockings in three languages, a skill Barnabas had been happy to teach her. Natalie shut the window and prepared to find her runaway cat. As she grabbed her coat and a lantern, Natalie promised herself she¡¯d talk to someone tomorrow about these episodes. Before she left the inn, Natalie pocketed her carving knife; caution is something you can never have an overabundance of. It was probably the last decently warm night of the season, and a gentle breeze came down off the mountains. At another time and another place, it would be pleasant to take an evening stroll. But here, in Zaubervold, the night being is something to be admired from behind a threshold. The logical thing to do would be to just leave Stockings to her fate and hope the cat was smart enough to survive whatever dangers lurked after dusk. But Natalie and her Mother adopted the cat as a kitten when Nat was eight years old. With everything her Father had said that night and Natalie¡¯s own grief returning, she refused to lose the cat. First, Natalie checked around the Silly Goat by circling the inn¡¯s exterior. When Natalie got back to the front door, she saw her familiar striped feline stalking north, not three meters from the entrance. At Natalie¡¯s appearance, the cat startled and looked at her, the light of the lantern reflecting in Stocking¡¯s eyes. As Natalie moved to fetch the cat, Stockings turned and strode away. The feline didn¡¯t flee into the dark but slipt maybe another two meters away from the inn. Incensed at this, Natalie followed after the cat. Every time she got even relatively close, the bloody furball would scamper out of reach. Grinding her teeth at the cat¡¯s audacity, Natalie continued her pursuit. This was not like Stockings; the cat was usually even-tempered and cooperative, at least by feline standards. She¡¯d never hurt Stockings, but right now, trudging through dark streets at eleven at night brought forth some spiteful thoughts, and Natalie fully planned to grab her cat by the scruff and toss it down in the pantry for a few nights. Stockings movements suddenly changed; she became tense and moved along the cobblestones as if she were stalking some invisible prey. Till now, the clouds obscured the Moon, hiding the silver glow of a waxing gibbous. Then they parted, and clean moonlight fell down on the street, showing Natalie exactly where the cat was leading her. She was not far from the town¡¯s north gate. Natalie followed her stalking cat as it approached the gate; when Stockings froze in an ambush stance, Natalie¡¯s eyes caught sight of something that almost stilled her heart. The door in the gate was left ajar. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Cold ugly fear ripped its way up out of Natalie¡¯s gut, and terrible memories of her Mother¡¯s death came with it. Without thinking, Natalie rushed forward, ready to raise the alarm and secure the gate. To her shock, Stocking pounced through the gate door. Natalie cursed the cat with some particularly foul Dwarvish oaths Barnabas had taught her when she was twelve. Rushing up to the gate, she peered through the ajar door, hoping to scoop up Stockings and then find the gate guard. Before her eyes could focus, a deep groan issued from beyond the gate. She froze instantly, expecting a shambling corpse to reach out from the gap and grab her. The smell of blood hit her nose, and she almost recoiled on sheer instinct. Then her eyes adjusted, and what she saw laying crumpled on the ground stopped her. The scarred behemoth was slumped just outside the gate door, covered in fresh and drying blood. His cloak was tattered and pale moonlight illuminated his even paler face. Stockings was licking his hand, a pair of silver pieces clutched in red-stained fingers. He was still breathing, which surprised Natalie, considering how much blood covered him. A small puddle of it, black in the moonlight, painted the ground around him. The pilgrim had obviously found what he was looking for in the wilds and almost paid with his life. Natalie was no healer, but she knew Cole would die if he was left here. The only question was how to get the large man through the gate door and back to the inn undetected. Fortunately the gate¡¯s inner door hinges were well oiled and well made, making little sound when Natalie pushed it open enough to grab Cole by the heels of his boots. With all her strength, she pulled the hulking man through the threshold, his head thudding against the cobbles, eliciting a long groan; under different circumstances, Natalie would have felt bad, but there was no time to be nice about this. Panting with exertion, she dragged him into the town proper. He was not yet literally dead weight but close enough to make the task arduous for the young woman. Natalie was by no means weak, tall for a woman, standing a hundred-seventy centimeters, and kept fit by a myriad of chores, but still dragging Cole back to the Silly Goat would be impossible without aid. With Cole safely inside, she shut the gate. An easy enough task, but Natalie could do little more to secure the north gate with the simple deadbolt. The rest of the complex system of gears and locks required both specialized keys and an understanding of the mechanism. Natalie had no desire to leave the gate at anything but fully secure. Glancing around, she first noticed Stockings curled up next to Cole, then a shadow passed in front of the gatehouse window, and an idea struck her. Leaving Cole under Stocking¡¯s protection, Natalie slipt over to the gatehouse and peeked inside. Sure enough, a familiar form slumped over asleep in the rickety chair. Snoring loudly in an alcohol-induced stupor, Jean the Gate Guard sat in total dereliction of duty. How the fat old drunk kept his job was beyond Natalie¡¯s understanding. Glancing around at the gatehouse, Natalie started piecing together the evening events. Years of working in an inn helped her deduce that the fool had fallen asleep shortly after the shift change and had not locked the gate. Even if that was not the whole story, it was damning enough for Jean to find himself in the Larder if this latest incompetence was discovered. Natalie quietly opened the gatehouse door, went over, and shook Jean, rousing him from his drunken stupor. Watery, bloodshot eyes opened and stared up at her in confusion. Pressing the advantage, Natalie spoke. ¡°Listen to me, Jean, it¡¯s me, Natalie, Wilhelm¡¯s daughter. You got drunk, passed out, and left the gate open.¡± Confusion quickly turned to fear as understanding filtered into the man¡¯s sodden mind. Jean opened his mouth to respond, but Natalie cut him off. ¡°Luckily for you, I need a favor, and I¡¯m willing to say nothing to anybody if you are willing to say nothing about the help you are about to render. Do you understand?¡± Momentary wariness passed, and Jean nodded in agreement. Whatever Natalie asked of him could not be worse than what the Lord would do if he found out about this. Suddenly, Natalie grabbed his chin and looked him square in the eye, ¡°And don¡¯t you ever leave the gate unlocked again.¡± Natalie let go of him, and he nodded in agreement so vigorously that his double chins slapped together. With that, Natalie pulled Jean to his feet, and he followed her out of the gatehouse. She pointed at the collapsed form of Cole. ¡°I need your help getting him back to the Silly Goat. He touched silver but is badly hurt.¡± Upon seeing the blood-drenched giant who looked more monster than man, Jean decided he didn¡¯t want to know what Natalie was up to. With the last of his drunken haze clearing his head, he stammered, ¡°I ¡­ I think there¡¯s an old hand cart next to the gatehouse; we can use it to move him. Let me lock up the gate first.¡± Natalie nodded curtly and went to find the cart. It was stashed on the other side of the gatehouse. With two wheels and a wooden handle, the cart was little more than an oversized wheelbarrow. It would do the job and make hauling what had to be at least a hundred kilos of pilgrim possible. Natalie returned, pulling the cart behind her, praying nobody noticed or cared about the small racket it made being pulled over the gravel and cobblestones. Jean was by the gate, having finished locking it up, and was now poking Cole with a boot. Glancing up at the approaching Natalie, Jean pointed at Cole and asked, ¡°You sure he isn¡¯t already dead?¡± The fact that the guard asked that, not: ¡°Who is this? Where did he come from? Why are you helping him?¡± Spoke volumes about Jean. The man had little in the way of faculties, and a lifetime of drinking had not enriched his mind. Natalie gritted her teeth and sighed. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s not dead yet; now help me get him in the cart.¡± Shrugging at that, the portly guard helped the innkeeper¡¯s daughter lift the scared pilgrim into the cart. Together they pushed and pulled the wooden transport through the empty streets. Stockings, the cat led the way like some gallant knight at the head of a triumph. Natalie could only roll her eyes and sigh, the cat had gotten her into this mess, but it was at least now cooperative. It took them a few minutes, but they got the cart to the Silly Goat. Wheeling it behind the inn proper and towards the shed tucked against the building¡¯s rear. Opening the shed, Natalie, with Jean¡¯s help, pulled her hopefully still-living cargo inside. The shed was used for storage and washing; it had water, privacy, and a small cot in one corner. Wilhelm, like his daughter, was not especially devout, but he followed the tenets of Earth Mother and guest rights. He would make sure even those who couldn¡¯t pay had a place to sleep if they needed it. To which end, he kept the cot here in the shed. They got Cole onto the cot, Natalie grimacing at the stains he was sure to leave; thankfully, blood is relatively easy to clean. ¡°Alright, Jean, this night never happened and don¡¯t ever leave the gate open again.¡± Jean looked away, but nodded his agreement. He trundled off with the cart relieved he¡¯d escaped the consequences of his failing . Soon the rattling of the cart faded into the quiet sounds of the night, and Natalie was alone with Cole and her cat. Chewing on her lip, Natalie stared down at the still unconscious pilgrim. She¡¯d never considered herself a kind or compassionate person, not with her razor tongue and aloof air that got her in and out of trouble on numerous occasions. Yet now, she had risked herself rescuing a stranger she didn¡¯t even particularly like. Natalie questioned her actions, then with a sigh, decided to see this through. Barnabas had once explained to her something called the ¡°Sunken Coin Curse¡± of how a merchant might continue a foolish choice simply because they had already put so much into their decision. Maybe that was what motivated her? Or was this some weird manifestation of grief? Hells, could she just be more caring than she¡¯d ever given herself credit for? Gingerly she pulled away the tattered cloak that had covered most of Cole. Blood dripped from the ruined garment, and she dropped it on the floor. Stockings, who had decided to stay for the ordeal, sniffed it and then bizarrely sat down on a relatively unsoiled patch. In the candlelight, Natalie got her first proper look at what exactly happened to Cole; his clothes were ripped and covered in blood. Most of it was dried brown or fresh red, but there were spatters of tarry black. The horrible undead attack from three years ago had taught Natalie what color a walking corpse bled. Cole had fought some undead horror and survived, but barely. Next, she pulled off the leather armor and shirt he wore. The numerous tears and rips made it easy. Cole¡¯s pants and legs were comparably unscathed, and that strange axe he carried was still fastened to his hip. Natalie had not noticed it earlier because it was so coated in black blood that it reflected no light. Grabbing a few clean cloths, a bucket, and a bottle of strong alcohol, Natalie got to work. A copper pipe stuck out of one of the shed¡¯s only stone wall, which it shared with the Silly Goat. Of all the wonders lost when the Old Empire fell, plumbing was thankfully not one of them. Quickly filling the bucket with cold water, she started washing away the mess of dried blood that covered Cole¡¯s chest. The pilgrim did not stir as she doused him repeatedly in chilly mountain water, his breathing the only sign he still lived. With the majority of the blood washed away, Natalie got a clear look at Cole¡¯s injuries. Four large lacerations stretched across his gut, any deeper, and they might have disemboweled him. Upon his chest, left shoulder, and neck were a series of what had to be bites. Natalie could not guess what could possibly have made them, only marveling that they¡¯d not gotten deep enough to hit a vein. Cole¡¯s right arm was swollen and red like it had taken an incredible blow. The knuckles on that hand were skinned, and a ring of lacerations circled the forearm. Individually each of the injuries would be painful and unpleasant; together, they should have been lethal. It was astonishing that Cole had not been killed in whatever fight he¡¯d been in, let alone that he¡¯d managed to drag his way back to Glockmire was honestly a miracle. Natalie decided if and when Cole woke up, he owed her some answers. It was the least he could do after saving his life and keeping his secrets. Taking a clean cloth, Natalie poured some of the most potent alcohol the Silly Goat had onto it. Honestly, she had no clue what she was doing, but figured that anything she did was better than nothing. Natalie got to work cleaning the myriad of wounds, even managing to slightly turn Cole to get the cuts and bruises on his back. Those were relatively minor, more like the result of falling or being knocked over than a fight. Cole did not awake, only occasionally letting out a hiss of pain when Natalie touched a particularly deep wound. All of the injuries seemed literally skin-deep, painful but hopefully not life-threatening. With the last of the wounds cleaned, Natalie debated what to do next. Sighing and staring down at the scarred and battered man before her, Natalie decided her best course of action would be to bandage him up and hope for the best. She had no confidence in her ability to stitch Cole¡¯s injuries; it could not be as easy as mending cloth. Taking him to a healer at this hour without explanation would raise far too many questions. Helping Cole like this was already a considerable risk; Natalie just hoped the fact that Cole had been wounded outside of town would protect him from the Lord¡¯s enchantments. Natalie did not know precisely what spells were woven into Glockmire by the Lord, but she knew they could at least detect the violent spilling of blood beyond a threshold. Something Felix had gotten to see first hand. The Lord¡¯s Dayman, the mortal official tasked with communicating the Lord¡¯s will to his living subjects, claimed the spells were for the people¡¯s protection. Ensuring their esteemed protectors were aware of any violence perpetrated within Glockmire. Dark mutterings only voiced on the brightest of days told a different story about how the spells existed to ensure the Nobles never missed an opportunity to stock their larder. Natalie left the shed for a few moments, heading to the clothesline hanging nearby. Grabbing a clean but well-worn sheet, she got to work, cutting it up into strips to use as bandages. Upon returning to the shed, she paused for a moment and decided she¡¯d done enough charity for one day. Cole would pay for the sheets. Rifling through his pockets, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the task, Natalie found a few Bronze coins and set them aside. She¡¯d looked for the two silver coins Cole had been holding, but they were nowhere to be found. Anyway, the Bronze would pay for these torn up sheets and some fresh linens for the cot. Cole¡¯s blood would probably wash out; but Natalie had doubts about removing the stains caused by undead ichor. With Stockings still watching, curled up on Cole¡¯s bloodstained cloak, Natalie continued her work. She¡¯d helped bandage people up before. Bar fights at the Silly Goat were rare but not unheard of, and Natalie had learned from her Mother how to dress a wound in the wake of some of those more violent altercations. Tending to those not being dragged away by the Castle Guards, while they waited for proper healers to arrive from the local Temple. Trying to tie one bandage around Cole¡¯s broad chest, Natalie found herself increasingly annoyed. Getting the fabric around the big lump was proving to be difficult and required her to basically hug him while trying to get the bandage underneath him. Grumbling to herself, she muttered as she worked. ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you bother to get yourself injured in a more convenient manner? Like maybe just an arm or a leg? So I don¡¯t have to clamber over you like a fool.¡± This close to Cole, Natalie tried not to feel incredibly awkward, it wasn¡¯t like she had no experience with nearly naked men, but that had been different. The results of weeks of flirting and youthful passion erupting in entertaining ways. This was her trying to save a stranger¡¯s life and not embarrass herself in the process. Natalie tried to focus on her work but couldn¡¯t help but notice the strange lack of smell. Cole had been out in the wilderness for days and been badly injured. He should have stunk like a troll; instead, all her nose caught was the spirits she¡¯d use to clean his wounds. Finally, she got the stupid bandage around his chest and secured it. Looking down at her handiwork, Natalie felt reasonably confident in her actions. Letting out an exhausted sigh, she slumped to the ground next to the cot. Finding a clean spot on the wooden floor to sit upon. Sensing her weariness, Stockings got up and came over to her, curling up with Natalie and attempting to provide some comfort. Slowly Natalie let herself lean back against one of the cabinets and relaxed slightly. The stress of that night and the last few days hit Natalie hard, and before she knew it, her eyes had shut, and sleep had taken her. Chapter 3.5: Coincidence is Their Domain.

Chapter 6: Coincidence is Their Domain.

¡°The Storm Knight took his lance of iron and drove it into the Jotunn''s chest. With his mighty blow came a clap of thunder and a lightning strike. Eyes burning with Stormlight the Knight slew the Jotunn. Piercing its hearts and scouring its soul. Freeing the lands of its rapacious cruelty.¡± The Book of Paladins
The crow of a rooster pulled Natalie from sleep with a jump. Earning an indignant yowl from Stockings, who protested having her own sleep disturbed. Surprise and confusion flooded Natalie as she glanced around her surroundings, trying to figure out where she was. Memories of the previous night flooded back, and she quickly shot up to her feet. Muscles protested their treatment; sleeping on the floor, knees curled to her chest, had been anything but comfortable. Only the faintest light peaked through the shed¡¯s loose wooden panels. Dawn had just arrived and hadn¡¯t even peeked over the mountains yet. It was still early, and hopefully, nobody would have noticed her disappearance. Stretching slowly, to tease out the aches, Natalie yawned and then idly addressed the unconscious form of Cole. ¡°You better be thankful for this, you suicidal Pilgrim.¡± A cracked voice answered her. ¡°I am very appreciative of your aid, but I am not a Pilgrim.¡± Natalie jumped like a frightened cat and swore. ¡°Infinite Hells! You¡¯re awake?¡± Cole responded with a dry-sounding chuckle. ¡°Yes, yes I am. I hate to inconvenience you more, but would you mind getting me some water? I lost a considerable amount of blood.¡± Still slightly shocked, Natalie mouthed to herself, ¡°inconvenience?¡± but quickly got a cup and filled it from the pipe. Cole tried to sit up to take the desired drink but promptly failed. Natalie held the water to his lips and helped him. ¡°After everything that happened last night, I don¡¯t think getting you some water counts as anything of an inconvenience.¡± Finishing the cup, Cole sighed appreciatively and asked, ¡°Yes, what happened last night? I last remember collapsing against the gate; I think the inner door was unlocked. Natalie snorted. ¡°Yes, it was, and it¡¯s nothing short of a miracle that you made it that far. If I hadn¡¯t found you by complete happenstance, you¡¯d have bled to death¡± Gesturing around her, Natalie continued, ¡°I dragged you back to the Silly Goat and patched you up the best I could. We are in a shed behind the inn, and we really should get you to a healer. All I did was clean your wounds and try to bandage them. Cole looked down at his body as if only now noticing the myriad of bandages covering his scarred form. ¡°Again, I must thank you, Miss Natalie. You have provided me much aid, and I find myself in your debt. That being said, a healer will not be necessary.¡± At that, Natalie raised an eyebrow and scoffed. ¡°Goatshit, I don¡¯t know if you noticed, but you¡¯re practically torn open. Even with healing, magical or mundane, you will still have a whole new set of scars for your collection. Cole, I used honest-to-Uncle Maker Lunashine to clean your wounds. We keep a bottle of that stuff for non-human customers, ones who require what¡¯s practically poison to get drunk.¡± At that, Cole just chuckled and managed to sit up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. To her surprise, Natalie only saw a hint of red underneath his bandages; she¡¯d expected them to be soaked in blood by now. Grunting slightly in pain, Cole responded. ¡°Many of my scars come from wounds as bad as those that received even less aid. I will be fine, just a day or two of rest, and I¡¯ll be back on my feet. Days of rest that I will, of course, be happy to pay the Silly Goat for.¡± At that, Natalie just rolled her eyes and sighed. ¡°I find that hard to believe. Anyway, if you are not a Pilgrim than what are you? Actually forget that, what in the Pantheon did this to you.¡± Gesturing at Cole¡¯s torn-up body, Natalie found herself annoyed at the scarred man¡¯s attitude. Did he not get how close he¡¯d been to death? Natalie had been often accused of being painfully stubborn, but Cole had her beat in that regard. Chewing on her lip for a moment, Natalie continued. ¡°I changed my mind; I want answers to both of my questions and any other I can think of. You owe me at very least an explanation for all this.¡± Cole was silent for a moment, contemplating his following words. Speaking slowly, he said. ¡°I will tell you what I can. But this knowledge is dangerous.¡± A slight chill went up Natalie¡¯s spine at that; she expected something like that, but to hear it confirmed was harrowing. Cole picked his words carefully. He seemed to be trying to tell the truth with as little detail as possible. ¡°I am not a Pilgrim; I am a Paladin. One of Master Time¡¯s sworn knights, tasked with enacting his will and protecting his domain.¡± Natalie¡¯s nodded and said ¡°Ah, well, that explained some things.¡± Then the meaning of his words sunk and she dropped the empty cup she¡¯d been holding in sheer surprise. If Cole was telling the truth, which he seemed to be. Then she was in the presence of a true Holy Warrior. Priests serving a God are fairly common; priests who even take up arms to face evil are not unheard of. A Paladin is a special and exceedingly rare type of Priest, who are vested with divine authority and responsibility, acting as chosen agents of their particular God. They are the type of being whose songs are written about, whose legends and deeds might define an entire era. Every culture had its own accounts of Paladins, with different names but similar stories. Twelve Paladins supposedly served the first King-Elect of the Holy League, and their students founded the Knight-Errant tradition. The Goblins sing of the righteous Bogatyr and their gallant quests. Even in the far distant east, in the land of the Golden Dragons, they tell of Youxia-Warriors who battle against injustice and cruelty. To be a Paladin is to have the trust of a God, to be chosen to act as their mortal agent. The Gods are limited in how much they can influence the world. Ever since the Gates Beyonds were closed at the start of the Age, they cannot act without consent. Requiring devotion and prayer to enact their will. Reacting to an ever-changing world, not acting as they please. Paladin¡¯s are the exception to this rule, a way for a God to influence the world through an empowered agent. Cole, it seemed, was a powerful and exceptionally dangerous servant of an enigmatic God. A long silence filled the shed, but eventually, Natalie found her voice. ¡°Okay, assuming I believe you, what could injure a Chosen servant of Master Time to this extent.¡± Cole made an expression that was both a smile and a wince. ¡°I miscalculated and found myself facing four Vryko-Ghouls, well-fed ones at that.¡± A shudder went through Natalie; she had heard legends of those undead. How they could tear apart entire buildings looking for prey and could survive anything less than their entire head being destroyed. Cole lifted up his right arm, examining the bandages wrapped around the strange cuts in it. Natalie had not known how to bandage his bloodied knuckles and left them exposed. Looking down at his hand, Cole experimentally flexed his fingers and seemed pleased with the result. ¡°One of the smaller ones tried to bite my arm off, managed to get my entire forearm down its throat. I got myself free, but it was not pleasant.¡± He then ran his hand across his stomach. ¡°People talk about the Vryko-Ghoul¡¯s strength but fail to mention their nails. I guess most strikes are so destructive they leave little sign of sharp claws.¡± Continuing exploring his wounds, Cole glanced at his shoulder and chest. ¡°When the small one got my arm, the others started taking bites out of me. It¡­ was unpleasant.¡± Stunned and more than a little horrified by the truth of Cole¡¯s ghastly injuries, Natalie managed to ask. ¡°How did you manage to survive that? They should have ripped you apart!¡± Cole only smiled at that. ¡°I am a servant of Master Time, and he chooses us wisely. Everyone has a talent; mine happens to be fighting the Undead.¡± Leaning against a cabinet, Natalie chewed on this information. It was shocking and unbelievable. The thought that Cole was simply delusional or worse crossed her mind. She¡¯d heard stories of the Fell Gods tricking people into believing they were Paladins. Or even their own empowered servants masquerading as true Paladins in order to do terrible deeds. Yet, something in Natalie¡¯s heart told her that was not the case. For all his strangeness, Cole was polite, kind, and survived something he had no right to. All classical features of a Paladin, he was just missing the shining armor and stunning beauty. Which considering what God he served, was understandable. ¡°I don¡¯t want to believe what you are saying, Cole, but I don¡¯t think I have a choice,¡± whispered Natalie. At that, Cole only let out a slight laugh. ¡°That¡¯s the nature of truth; it does not care what we want. I had hoped to simply complete my mission here and leave. Miss Natalie, I must sincerely apologize for getting you caught up in all of this.¡± Natalie felt herself smile at his words, and she went to refill the cup. ¡°Stop calling me Miss; you really do talk like some gallant knight from the stories.¡± Moving over to hand Cole the cup, Natalie paused and asked a question that had been nagging at her. ¡°Something else I¡¯ve been wondering about. While you were gone, I cleaned your room and found this skull¡­.¡± Cole shot out a hand and grabbed Natalie¡¯s wrist. Squeezing with intimidating strength, not enough to hurt but still an inescapable grip. Dropping the cup, Natalie¡¯s eyes went wide in fear as the Paladin¡¯s countenance completely changed. Gone was the kind and soft-spoken wanderer; instead, she saw an iron-hard warrior glaring at her with icy eyes. This new intensity froze Natalie, and she only started to process what was happening when Cole growled: ¡°How did you find that skull? Did you tell anybody about it?¡± ¡°It was under the bed! I saw the bag and got curious! Nobody knows. I made sure to lock your room up so it wouldn¡¯t be found!¡± stammered Natalie. Cole¡¯s grip relaxed slightly but did not break. ¡°I wove a spell on that bag; you could not simply find it by accident. Quickly tell me everything. Did you touch the skull?¡± Natalie recovered and pulled her hand away. Cole glanced down at his hand and hers with confusion, like he didn¡¯t realize what he¡¯d done. ¡°No! I didn¡¯t touch the skull, at least I don¡¯t think so.¡± Taking a large step back, Natalie checked to see if she still had her carving knife. Wrapping her fingers around its hilt and holding it behind her back. ¡°If you really want to know, I nearly passed out while cleaning your room. Felt like someone was squeezing the life from me, and when I collapsed, I saw the stupid skull!¡± Seeing the anger and fear in her eyes, Cole¡¯s expression softened into guilt. ¡°I¡­ I am sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to scare you. The skull is precious and incredibly dangerous. Fear makes us weak, and in mine, I acted poorly.¡± Pausing for a moment, Cole looked down at his hands and then back to Natalie. A slight smile appearing on his face, an apologetic tone coloring his words: ¡°If I scare you like that again, please feel free to stab me with that knife of yours. It would be well within your right.¡± Stolen story; please report. Natalie released the handle of the knife. Was this a bizarre attempt at humor to calm her nerves? Or a subtle way of informing her he knew about the blade she carried? Probably both with an honest apology woven in as well if his tone was anything to go by. Cole pondered her words in silence as Natalie relaxed slightly. With his left hand, Cole idly adjusted his bandages and spoke. ¡°You said you almost passed out. Could you describe what you felt in more detail? I have an idea of what you experienced, but I am not certain.¡± That got a raised eyebrow from Natalie. It was true these episodes only started when Cole arrived and seemed related to him. Maybe he had answers; he owed her that much, at least. So Natalie described what she¡¯d felt. The crushing cold weight of some alien presence, how she needed to fight to breathe, and the acute sense of mortality that came with it. Cole listened quietly and seemed to grow more still with every word Natalie spoke, letting her explain the strange feeling had come three times. By the time she finished, Cole looked like some tragic sculpture of a wounded soldier. Finally, Cole broke the almost-trance he seemed to be in. ¡°I know exactly what you speak of, Natalie. Thank you for sharing this with me; it can be incredibly distressing to experience it without context. It seems you fit into my God¡¯s plans in some manner. Master Time felt it necessary to push events on a certain course.¡± Natalie was quickly becoming tired of being shocked and surprised. ¡°You are telling me that Master Time is the cause of this? But that is supposed to be impossible? I didn¡¯t pray to him, and I¡¯m not sworn into his service like you or a priest!¡± Cole smiled sadly and gestured to himself. ¡°When it comes to matters involving their Paladin¡¯s, the Gods are allowed some carte blanche in this matter. I cannot speak for certain, but it seems you are related to my reason for being in Glockmire. Natalie, you saved me and uncovered one of my most dangerous secrets by sheer coincidence. And coincidence is where the God¡¯s influence is most easily felt.¡± Natalie was not sure if she liked what she heard. While she had nothing against Master Time, or any of the Pantheon, being used as a pawn rankled her. Surely one of the most powerful entities in existence could find a way to aid his champion without nearly crushing her under its own presence? Cole gathered up his strength and pulled himself up from the cot. Natalie was surprised; she¡¯d expected him to be bedridden or at least close to it. Looking at the bandages and scars that covered the Paladin, Natalie mused that he must be used to this sort of thing. Flexing and tensing his muscles, Cole experimented with his body¡¯s current limits. Again Natalie found herself admiring his sculpted form; even under the scars and wounds, it drew an appreciative eye from the young woman. She caught herself staring and felt a slight blush on her cheeks. Annoyed at herself, she pulled her eyes away. Ogling the divinely appointed champion of the God of Time and Death, was not her best moment. Trying to find a topic and keep her mind on task, Natalie asked. ¡°So, what do you plan to do now?¡± Cole finished his stretching, attempting to not wince in pain with every movement. ¡°That depends on several factors. I¡¯d hoped the Vryko-Ghouls were my reason for being called here, but that does not seem to be the case. Something else requires my attention, and I must find out what it is.¡± ¡°So you survive being torn open by a quartet of monsters, and now you are looking for more trouble? An undead-hunting champion of Master Time is not exactly welcome in the Blood Duchies. Your existence is practically anathema to the Nobility, and if they discover you, I doubt even your God could save you.¡± Chided Natalie as she checked the cot for bloodstains. Cole reached down to pick up the tattered remnants of his clothes and cloak. Seeing if any of his garments were salvageable. Between the dried blood, rips, and cat hair, Natalie doubted any of them would be of much use. Turning to her, Cole asked. ¡°Indeed, I would meet with a gruesome fate. So that leads us to the question of will you tell others what you have learned? If so, I will disappear as quickly as possible and continue my task through more clandestine methods. I would not blame you if you did alert the Guards, Glockmire exists in the shadow of undeath, and it is wise to fear the Vampires who rule over you.¡± Bundling up the ruined undershirt and leather armor, Cole continued. ¡°If you were to keep my secret, then I would be in your debt. A debt Master Time or any of his servants would gladly honor.¡± Seeing Cole ready himself and the sharp axe buckled to his side, Natalie felt her mind wander back to that terrible night three years ago. The sounds and smells of her Mother¡¯s death, refusing to go away. The sight of her Father¡¯s grief gnawed at her. What Cole was offering might be an opportunity to put those terrible memories to rest. Closure could come in many forms, including that of a swinging axe. Squeezing her hands into fists, Natalie gave Cole her answer. ¡°I will keep your secrets and hold you to that debt.¡± Pausing for a moment, Natalie took a deep breath, fighting back the tide of terrible memories but keeping hold of the anger they stirred in her. ¡°My Mother was killed by a Varcolac three years ago. It escaped the Lord¡¯s knights and is still out there in the wilderness. Find it, kill it, and that will settle your debt.¡± Cole gave Natalie an appraising glance then slowly got down on one knee. ¡°Natalie Striga, I swear by my God, Master Time, and my oaths as a Paladin to honor this debt. It is my duty to be a spear and shield against the darkness. The Varcolac will be laid to rest; may its end bring you a measure of solace.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t know if she should feel embarrassed or awestruck. Seeing Cole kneel and the look of solemn duty on his face, she was reminded of the Bards¡¯ songs during festival time. Stories of great heroes who vanquished evil at the request of a noble youth; while neither Cole nor Natalie fully matched the mythical archetypes, the similarities were striking. For all her aloof and sharp-tongued airs, Natalie loved those old stories. The sense of wonder they¡¯d given her as a young girl still struck a cord within. Natalie knew reality is little like the stories; the world is much murkier and crueler than the fantasy depicted in those tales. But at the same time, every story had a grain of truth in it, and maybe the Paladin kneeling before her was one of those grains. Getting up to his full towering height, Cole looked down at Natalie and spoke. ¡°It will take me a few days to fully heal, and I must finish another matter first, but I will honor this pledge.¡± Now it was Cole¡¯s turn to look slightly embarrassed; he gestured down at his ruined clothes and asked. ¡°Since I seem to be developing a considerable debt to you, I¡¯d like to add to it. Could I trouble you to grab a spare shirt from my belongings in my room? I¡¯d feel tremendously awkward retrieving one wearing nothing but a tattered cloak.¡± At that, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. It was surreal, saving the life of a Paladin, discovering she¡¯d somehow attracted the attention of Master Time, getting an opportunity to avenge her Mother, and now being asked to retrieve a shirt for the near-mythical warrior who¡¯d been passed out in the laundry shed. After an uncharitably long period of laughter, Natalie recovered herself and turned to leave. Stopping at the door to ask another question that had been bothering her. ¡°You said you put magic on the skull, so it wouldn¡¯t be found. If so, then how did I find it?¡± Cole looked pensive a moment before he answered. ¡°I truthfully do not know, but I can hazard a guess. The Gods are allowed a measure of atypical influence around their Paladins, but they still must respect the Covenant and cannot breach the Gates Beyond. I believe Master Time helped you see past my spell, which admittedly would not be that difficult. Similarly, I think your cat¡¯s strange behavior last night might also be related. Master Time prefers to use Crows, but Cats are not unheard of. I cannot say for certain why my God felt it necessary to involve you like this, but he has.¡± Natalie found this information extremely disconcerting. She knew the Temple preached of how the Gods influence the world in a million minor ways every day. Answering prayers and providing protection with subtlety. But the difference between knowing something and experiencing something is like night and day. Like, Natalie knew the world is but one of countless touched and connected by the Beyond. A dimension of pure magic and creation, home to Gods, Spirits, and Strangeness beyond reckoning. Now she had experienced a taste of that cosmic domain, having nearly been crushed by the mere attention of a being from that part of existence; and better understood the strange truths involved. Showing that disturbing knack for insight he possessed, Cole addressed the unspoken anxiety Natalie felt. ¡°It¡¯s natural to feel uncertain and disoriented when the truth of the Gods and their actions become clear. My own experience was dramatically different from yours, and I don¡¯t know how much it relates, but I can tell you this. The universe is far, far larger than we mortals can comprehend, but we still have the power to change it for the better or, the worse. I take comfort in that, knowing I can help fix the universe, even in my own tiny way.¡± Natalie did not say anything; those words resonated in her in a way she hadn¡¯t expected. ¡°To fix the world,¡± a grandiose notion, but one familiar to her. Iona, her Mother, had said something similar once. The words escaped her at the moment, but the idea was the same. Other words did, however, enter her mind. Words she¡¯d heard half-whispered at her mother¡¯s funeral. ¡°It¡¯s not right. Why did Iona have to die? She was so kind, for her to suffer such a fate proves the world is broken.¡± Looking up at Cole, his heavily scarred face wearing a kind smile. Thinking of the terror in her Mother¡¯s eyes before she died. Natalie felt the truth in both Cole and that unknown mourner¡¯s words. She just didn¡¯t know which of them was correct. The world is indeed broken, a place of monsters and horrors beyond counting. That did not mean you had to accept that status quo and could not try and better it. Natalie¡¯s eyes glanced down toward Cole¡¯s exposed neck, where hundreds of scars were visible. This man who seemed to exist solely to try and help others had suffered terribly. Tortured and wounded in myriad ways, and he still preached an optimistic creed. Was he the ultimate vindication of his own worldview or the ultimate refutation? Had his attempted good deeds done anything more than earn him scars? Natalie could not say and was afraid to ask Cole for the truth. While she wanted to believe in the hope Cole espoused, Natalie could not bring herself to. She¡¯d already seen so much terror in a young and relatively sheltered life. Both Cole and her mother tried to fix the world in their own small ways, and all they got for their efforts were death and suffering. Finally leaving the shed, Natalie slipped back into the Silly Goat and up towards Cole¡¯s room. It was early on Godsday, the first day of the weekend, and most people slept in. In other parts of the world, Natalie knew that people woke up before dawn on Godsday to pray and attend Temple. In Glockmire, services were held in the evening. Better to lose part of an evening than being forced out of bed on a day of supposed rest. There was supposedly complicated religious reasoning behind this practice, found in Glockmire and across the Blood Duchies. In truth, when dusk fell, and the Nobles arose, any protection the Gods might offer was needed. There were laws about how the Nobles fed, but if one truly wanted to take someone as a thrall little could be done to stop the Vampire. Wilhelm was not awake yet, and it was too early for customers, so retrieving the shirt was uneventful. Natalie had resisted the urge to go snooping through Cole¡¯s belongings. The possibility of discovering something else like the skull quashed any curiosity she had. Even thinking of it and how Cole had reacted to learning she knew of it, sent a shiver down Natalie¡¯s spine. Returning to the shed with the shirt and a few clean rags, Natalie found Cole engaging in a staring contest with Stockings as he cleaned his blade with a dirty rag. Acknowledging her return, Cole spoke. ¡°Thank you, one other thing, make sure you burn anything with the Vryko-Ghoul¡¯s blood on it. It¡¯s mildly toxic, usually not enough to be dangerous, but it is best not to let such things fester.¡± Cole finished wiping the tar-like ichor off of his axe and examined the metal. ¡°Actually, if you wouldn¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to take them. I¡¯ll dispose of it when I release the Vryko-Ghouls.¡± To that, Natalie squawked. ¡°The Vryko-Ghouls? What do you mean? You said you destroyed them?¡± Returning his axe to his belt, Cole looked at his bandages before responding. ¡°That is the unfinished business I need to attend to before tracking down the Varcolac. I destroyed the Vryko¡¯s bodies or at least damaged them enough to stop them. Their souls are still trapped; my injuries prevented me from properly consecrating the bodies. A failure on my part, I must admit. The quicker I can return and release those poor souls, the better. The few days they must wait while I heal are on my head.¡± At that, Natalie scoffed and gestured at the shredded form of her Paladin-Patient. ¡°Are you serious? You want to go back out there after a day or two of rest? What if you run into something else, a Feral Vampire, Bandits, or the Varcolac? You would be in no condition to fight.¡± Cole shrugged off her concerns with an apologetic tone, giving her the same beatific smile she¡¯d grown accustomed to. ¡°Your concerns are appreciated, but I will heal quickly. Anyway, it would be three days, not two.¡± ¡°What?¡± asked Natalie, not understanding his point about the number of days. With what might be the first bit of actual humor she¡¯d seen from him, Cole raised up three fingers. ¡°A few is three, not one or two.¡± To that, Natalie gave an exasperated sigh and left the wounded knight to his rest. Natalie could not tell if Cole was overconfident, insane, or simply this used to dangerous and horrible circumstances. The latter seemed the most likely, and that was not comforting. He¡¯d only survived his experience with the Vryko-Ghouls thanks to literal divine intervention and was now ready to leap back into the jaws of danger. Barnabas had said something once when she¡¯d tried to tell him about a new tale she¡¯d read. The crotchety old merchant had scoffed at the story of a Dragonslayer and commented. ¡°Anyone who willingly goes into that much danger is a fool. Anyone who goes into it for no reason aside from faith or duty is worse than fools; they are mad.¡± As a little girl, hearing Barnabas denigrate her beloved stories had provoked a playful if vicious argument between the two. Now having met Cole and seen what exactly is involved in a life like his. Natalie had to wonder if Barnabas was right. Chapter 4- Stories on the Road

Chapter 7: Stories on the Road

¡°And lo! The Gods descended from the whirling stars. A host of Seraphs at their call and a sacred mission in their hearts. In saintly tongues they imparted cosmic truths; and with silver tears they warned of the coming threat. For they might be the first to find our home, but they would not be the last.¡± - The Book of Miracles, Arrivals 1:3
True to his predictions, Cole recovered much in the next three days. His wounds had scabbed over, and the worst of the pain was gone. Natalie thought he was lying until she helped him change his bandages and saw how much he¡¯d healed. Even then, she remained unconvinced and took time every day to tell Cole he was being foolish. The two of them managed to concoct a story about Cole suffering a bad fall off some rocks to tell Wilhelm and anyone else curious enough to ask. It was believable if you didn¡¯t see the full extent of his injuries, which were not challenging to conceal considering the distance the patrons of the Silly Goat gave the hulking and scarred ¡°pilgrim.¡± Cole was used to the virtual isolation, spending much of his time recuperating in his room with an occasional trip to the market or Temple to break up the monotony. Natalie found herself mystified by the affection Stockings had for Cole. The Cat followed him around the Silly Goat and could be found batting at his door when he left for an errand. Cole returned the affection. And Natalie was on more than one occasion greeted by the surreal sight of Cole sitting by the fireplace in all his scarred glory, with the small tawny Cat perched on his lap like some mighty Lion surveying its domain from a clifftop. On the evening of his third day of rest, Natalie found the pair sitting thus; cat watching the fire and Cole relaxing in a chair with his eyes shut. It was late, Cole and Natalie being the only inhabitants of the tavern, aside from the cat. Stockings heard Natalie approach and swiveled on Cole¡¯s lap to look at her. Giving Natalie that look of aloof judgment only a cat can muster. To Natalie¡¯s intense amusement, Cole mimicked the action, so man and Cat were synchronized. Coming over to stand in front of the fire, with Cole and Stockings'' eyes tracking her the entire time, Natalie debated her words carefully. Over the past few days, she¡¯d debated asking Cole if she could come along during his hunt for the Varcolac. It was an idiotic idea, and Natalie knew it, but it wouldn¡¯t leave her mind. Every night when she tried to sleep, the ruined canine face of the monster filled her dreams, accompanied by the screams and crunching sounds of her mother¡¯s death. Before now, the idea of vengeance had seemed an impossibility. The Varcolac was driven off by one of the Lord¡¯s Knights; escaping judgment and not seen since. Until now vengeance had been nothing but a fantasy beyond Natalie¡¯s reach, and she hadn¡¯t even bothered to dwell on it. Now with Cole offering her a path to brutal justice, Natalie couldn¡¯t stop thinking about it. More than that, she wanted to witness this Paladin strike down the Varcolac and see its evil destroyed. It was becoming a visceral need to vicariously experience the death of what had killed her mother and brought so much pain to Natalie and her father. So now that brought her to this. Looking to risk her life accompanying a possibly insane holy-knight on his quest. Clearing her throat and preparing herself to make a passionate argument for why she should join him on a likely lethal mission, Natalie started. ¡°I want to come with you when you hunt the Varcolac. I know it¡¯s going to be dangerous, but I need this Cole. I need to see the thing that killed my mom die.¡± Cole looked at her for a long moment, his expression matched by the Cat on his lap. The Paladin saw the anger in Natalie¡¯s eyes. It was a look he knew far too well, the most destructive form of grief. Anger burns hot and can push people farther than they thought possible, but it sears their very being and so easily hurts those around them. Righteous fury like what Natalie felt could be the worst form of anger. How could one deny the anger of someone who has suffered so? How can you deny and invalidate the rage born of injustice and evil? Cole had much experience dealing with grief, and he knew if he handled this poorly, it could be damaging to the fiery young woman who¡¯d gone out of her way to help him. The rage he saw in Natalie had been kept bottled up and now had broken free. She wanted an enemy, a monster, to slay. Hoping to find some sort of solace in vengeance and destruction. She thought that Cole could help her get that form of catharsis, which he could, but Natalie failed to understand Cole and his duties. The Varcolac was a near mindless beast, comparable to a rabid wolf in intelligence and actions. It had once been a person. One who¡¯d been consumed by the curse of Lycanthropy and then trapped in undeath. While much suffering had occurred because of it, the Varcolac was not a true monster. It was another victim, whose tragedy washed onto others. Cole would hunt down and destroy it not out of vengeance and hate but as an act of mercy. Freeing the Soul trapped within and perhaps bringing a measure of peace to those who had suffered. Gently Cole picked up the Cat sitting on his lap and set it on the ground next to him, the indignant feline letting out a yowl as it was displaced. Facing Natalie, Cole made his decision. He wanted her to see what he did and why he did it. He hoped in doing so, he might help her heal from the loss of her mother in a healthy way. ¡°Natalie, I¡¯m not going to insult your intelligence with dire warnings of how dangerous following me on this hunt would be. I will take you and protect you to the best of my abilities, but under one condition.¡± Natalie was surprised, her practiced arguments fading from her lips as Cole continued. ¡°I want you to accompany me tomorrow when I lay the Vryko-Ghouls to rest. I wan to give you an idea of what exactly I do, and prepare you for the Varcolac. They are a terrible mixture of bestial fury, undead resilience, and ravening hunger but also capable of surprising cunning. I cannot deny your wish to accompany me, but I refuse to let you die needlessly.¡± The fire crackled, casting changing shadows on Natalie and Cole. Stockings had adapted to her eviction by curling up around Cole¡¯s feet, uncaring of the serious conversation occurring around her. Natalie found Cole¡¯s habit of blindsiding her both endearing and annoying. He subverted her expectations and acted with both gentleness and thoughtfulness. Every time she readied herself to bash through any obstacle he might present, he simply stepped aside. Infuriatingly polite and decent of him, constantly throwing Natalie¡¯s confrontational self off balance. Finally, Natalie said, ¡°That¡­ that seems reasonable to me. Tomorrow shouldn¡¯t be that busy; I¡¯ll be able to convince my father to let me have the day off.¡± She knew she couldn¡¯t exactly tell Wilhelm the truth that she was accompanying Cole on this dangerous errand. Natalie already had several excuses planned out, and worse case, she could sacrifice her pride and claim she¡¯d been with a boy, which wouldn¡¯t be strictly untrue. A few questions did percolate, and she figured asking them now was as good of a time as any. ¡°This might sound strange, but why did you say you won¡¯t let me die needlessly? That seems a strange thing for a worshipper of Master Time to say. Wouldn¡¯t you want people to die since that is what your God oversees?¡± To her surprise, Cole chuckled slightly. ¡°The Nobles of this place have done a fine job in muddying the nature of my God. Every God is in truth, a much more primordial and powerful being than we mortals usually understand. We view them through the peephole of our limitations and fail to grasp the whole truth. Master Time is the name we give to a living, thinking cosmic force. An emanation of the light of creation, residing in the Beyond and reflected in our World.¡± ¡°The facet people so often observe of this being is entropy and how time destroys all. That is a valid perspective but an incomplete one. Time is more than just the end of something; it is everything from the beginning onwards.¡± ¡°It is my duty to serve Master Time in his entirety. Not just in ensuring things meet a proper end, but to ensure they have a proper everything. So in helping you, Natalie, I seek to preserve who you are and what you could be. Death is inevitable, but that does not mean we should run freely to it. To be born and live life to its fullest; is as much something my God oversees as death.¡± For most of her life, Natalie had attended temple services and listened to the various Priests talk about the Pantheon, whom humanity has worshiped since history began. They told stories and parables about much more¡­ personal Gods than what Cole described. Of how the Gods once walked the earth and brought wonders to the worthy. How the Gods helped Mira the Martyr shut the Gates Beyond. Weeping tears of gold at being separated from their people. But still willing to be cut off to protect us from the predators of the Beyond. The priests demonstrated miracles of healing and protection, proving even now, despite millennia of separation, the Gods still listen to our prayers. Viewing them as these alien forces of nature felt cold and strange. If that was the creed Master Time¡¯s followers preached, then Natalie could understand why the Nobles had been so successful in virtually stamping out the faith. That being said, Natalie understood what Cole was trying to convey and got a bit more insight into the Man. This was perhaps the most words of substance she¡¯d gotten out of him. He seemed so surreal, a scarred warrior who¡¯s clearly suffered from torture and worse, that leaped into battle against Undead nightmares. While acting with a serene yet polite aloofness that made little sense to Natalie. She honestly couldn¡¯t tell if Cole was mad or simply saw life in a way she couldn¡¯t. Natalie had gone this far, and Cole seemed to be in a sharing mood, so she asked another question. One that had been gnawing on her for days now. ¡°Okay, so now I have to ask. How did you become a Paladin of Master Time? How¡¯d you start worshiping and serving such a God?¡± That strange calm smile of Cole¡¯s cracked for a split second, but he quickly recovered. ¡°I¡¯d rather not share the details, but you¡¯ve earned an explanation. Bluntly I wanted a boon from Master Time and thought serving him would be the best way to get it. So I started to hunt Undead and try and better the world where I could. My actions caught his attention, and he offered me this role. At first, I did it solely to earn what I desired from Master Time, but that changed. It might sound silly, but I found purpose, doing something with my skills and nature that others cannot. It¡¯s been ten years since I became a Paladin, and for all its hardships, I feel at peace in this role.¡± Again, that was not what Natalie expected; she¡¯d imagined fantastical scenarios of divine intervention and faith born of struggle. Not what, in essence, boiled down to Cole getting a job from a God and finding out he enjoyed it. In her eyes, it humanized him; finding a purpose or at least a trade you enjoy is something many people hope for. Cole had managed to find one in an unlikely place. Throughout this conversation, Natalie had been standing in front of the fireplace, and she¡¯d entirely forgotten its heat. Stepping away gingerly, trying not to show how¡¯d she almost cooked herself. Natalie leaned against the nearby wall and asked the last question on her mind. ¡°The boon you wanted. Did you ever get it?¡± Cole made a noise that was half a chuckle, half a sigh. Idly he reached up to his neck, where Natalie knew hundreds of scars were hidden by his shirt. Stroking the covered skin, he answered her. ¡°Yes and no, I need only ask for it, but I have not.¡± Staring into the fire, Cole slowly got to his feet and gently moved the sleeping Cat from his boots. Turning towards Natalie, Cole carried a mournful look. One she recognized in the mirror far too often, the face of grief. Natalie was suddenly struck with the urge to apologize for breaching this topic, but Cole spoke up. ¡°I would like to leave before the eleventh bell tomorrow, so prepare traveling clothes and anything you will need. It is not far, and I remember the way, but it is best to over-prepare.¡± Cole walked towards the staircase leading up to his room, pausing at the foot of the steps, he turned back to Natalie. ¡°Thank you for the company Natalie, it has been¡­ refreshing.¡± With that, he headed to his room and left Natalie alone in the Tavern. Slightly confused and more than a little bit uncertain about her idea of joining Cole on this expedition, Natalie sighed and headed to bed. An aloof Stockings followed her, having lost her new favorite lap to sleep on and settling for Natalie. Once in her room, Natalie found the unfinished sculpture of the Cat and looked it over. She decided she¡¯d bring it with her tomorrow, something to do rather than be bored, hopefully finishing the piece in the next few days. For now, she needed to sleep to be ready for tomorrow.
It had taken some convincing and some half-truths, but Wilhelm let Natalie take the day off. The fact she had gotten up early to do his morning chores and brewed him some of his favorite tea probably had something to do with the decision. So Natalie gathered up her pack, a cloak and prepared to set out with Cole. They¡¯d agreed to meet near the north gate that morning, and Cole was waiting for her when she arrived. While Natalie was dressed in layers and carried a small pack, Cole looked much as he usually did, with only a new cloak draped over his broad shoulders. To this unpreparedness, Natalie raised an eyebrow. Cole had stressed the importance of preparation and yet carried no backpack or even a simple traveling sack. Slightly sheepishly, Cole answered her unspoken question. ¡°After fighting the Vryko-Ghouls, I was forced to leave my equipment. Getting back to Glockmire was the priority.¡± Natalie snorted at that. ¡°I am no huntress, but even I know your pack is probably strewn across half a kilometer of woods. It¡¯s been nearly a week; any enterprising fox or similar would have rooted after your rations and not been gentle.¡± Cole actually smiled at that. ¡°A spell hiding my pack from scavengers is woven into its material. Additionally, the Vryko-Ghoul¡¯s bodies would discourage all but the most desperate creature. Do you have any more questions, or are you ready to depart?¡± To that, Natalie simply shrugged her shoulders, and the duo left Glockmire, passing through the same gate that Natalie had dragged Cole through just a few days prior. It was shortly after the eleventh bell, and they had maybe nine hours of daylight to complete the task. Cole wasted no time in heading out on the path, Natalie tagging behind him. The day was crisp but not unpleasant, Fall had so far been gentle in Zaubervold. It took Natalie little time to strike up a conversation with Cole, sharing stories of her life and of life in Glockmire. At first, the large man found it off-putting but quickly grew to enjoy her curiosity and forthrightness. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Listening to her talk Cole realized how much he missed this kind of simple contact. He¡¯d been alone on the road far too long, and he¡¯d gotten so used to the quiet isolation that he¡¯d forgotten what it was like to have pleasant company. Watching Natalie animatedly describe this year¡¯s Summer Solstice Festival and the revelry that occurred with it, Cole¡¯s mind drifted back to old memories of times when he¡¯d not been so alone. When he had a family, or at least something close to it. That was gone now; only ash and bone remained. His memories the only record of his lost home and the people he lost with it. Natalie saw the strange wistful expression on Cole¡¯s face. ¡°Are you alright? You seem distant; I¡¯m not boring you, am I? Stories about a small mountain town must seem trite compared to what you¡¯ve experienced.¡± Cole waved off her concerns. ¡°No, no, I just got caught up in some memories. I¡¯m finding your company interesting. Please continue.¡± Cole then paused for a moment and considered his words. ¡°I¡­ do not have much experience with the things you would call trite. Life in a place like Glockmire is probably as interesting to me as any story I have of dangerous wilds, and hungry monsters is to you.¡± That made Natalie pause. It was strange to think about but made a certain kind of sense. It¡¯s all about perspective. That had been one of her mother''s first lessons when teaching her to carve. How a piece might mean different things to different people, and how you can use that to breathe life into art. Absently Natalie reached up to her hair, stroking the metal hair-clip and the bird engraved into it. Cole interrupted her from her thoughts with his usual armor-piercing words. ¡°Are you thinking about your mother?¡± Natalie opened her mouth to ask how he knew, but he answered before she could. ¡°I can see it in your eyes when your mind goes to her.¡± An irrational feeling of shame and exposure flared in Natalie; having her thoughts and emotions read so easily was distressing. Cole saw this and felt a twinge of guilt himself. He¡¯d not meant to hurt Natalie, but his own honest nature had gotten the better of him. Cole didn¡¯t like to lie; he¡¯d seen how dishonesty could weave webs that strangled everyone involved. At the same time, he knew the importance of secrets. So avoiding or deflecting questions or truths had been his compromise. Something that he¡¯d managed to slip up on already. Speaking the truth in what he saw in Natalie, when it might have been better to stay quiet. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that was tactless of me.¡± was the apology he mustered, and Cole prepared to settle back into his usual patterns. His nature and duty kept him at a distance from everyone, and that isolation had become natural. A slight shift towards more sociability, and he opened his mouth at the wrong time. He¡¯d done the same thing when he¡¯d first arrived in Glockmire and was kicking himself for making the same mistake. Natalie took a deep breath, pushing back the welling of grief that Cole¡¯s words had brought to the surface. It was silly really, any emotional strife she experienced, no matter how small or petty, would provide an opening for the grief. Three years should have been enough time to heal, and it seemed like it was until recently. Maybe she¡¯d just gotten better at bottling it up, or maybe there was some eldritch aura around Cole that brought it front and center. He was a Paladin of Master Time, and if the legends were anything to go by, he should have gifts given to him by his God. Wouldn¡¯t that be perfect, his blessing being the ability to dredge up unaddressed guilt? ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Natalie told both Cole and herself. ¡°How can you tell? How can you see what I¡¯m experiencing? Is it magic?¡± The idea that his insights were somehow arcane occurred to Natalie just as she said it. She certainly hoped that was not the case. It was hard enough dealing with all of this without the idea of Cole being able to magically read her emotions. Cole let out a deep sigh and tried to assuage her worries while providing an explanation. ¡°Undead only typically arise in the wake of a calamity. The suffering and unconsecrated bodies left in the wake of the tragedy easily rising up as all matter of the Undead. So in my duties, I often find myself arriving in the wake of a terrible event. I¡¯ve seen thousands of survivors of virtually every kind of disaster. Survivors who I often have to speak with to track down a Risen friend or family member. Natalie, I have seen more grief than the common tongue has words for. With that much experience, one gets a knack for seeing loss and all that comes with it.¡± Smiling sadly, Cole did not let Natalie voice the new worry that he saw surface on her face. ¡°And no, before you ask, your grief is not somehow less or invalid compared to others I¡¯ve seen. Don¡¯t let your mind go in that direction; it helps no one and is false no matter what our darkest thoughts might tell us.¡± That brought a bit of solace to Natalie, and she returned his smile with a weak one of her own. ¡°Thank you, Cole, but stop that.¡± ¡°Stop what?¡± he responded, genuine confusion coloring his voice. ¡°Answering questions before I ask them, responding in ways I can¡¯t predict. That whole thing!¡± was Natalie¡¯s response, colored by her gesturing at Cole with a vague flapping motion. That brought a genuine laugh to Cole¡¯s lips. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can help it, but I will try.¡± The two shared a small chuckle, a release of tension followed by silence. They were far from Glockmire now; it wouldn¡¯t be long before they would have to leave the road. That idea scared Natalie more than she wanted to admit. For her entire life, the wilds around Glockmire had been a source of healthy fear. The stories she and every other child were told painted a grisly picture of a monster-infested place of shadows and death. Dwelling on that would not be good, so Natalie tried to reignite the conversation. ¡°You said you¡¯ve been a Paladin for a decade, right? And that you¡¯ve traveled a lot, tell me about that.¡± Cole pondered for a moment, picking out what stories would be good to share. ¡°Well, my duties have taken me all across the Western Continent, and I¡¯ve seen much of its peoples. Recently I passed through the Dragon-spines and helped some Dwarven prospectors who had accidentally unearthed a collapsed mine shaft and the Knockers still inside. Poor souls had been trapped in a cave for years, and nearly twenty of them had Risen. It was a difficult fight, but there¡¯s nobody I would rather have at my back fighting in a tunnel than a Dwarf.¡± Natalie felt a slight shiver go down her spine as he told the story. With its quarries and mines worming through the mountains, Glockmire was no stranger to things like Knockers. A blanket term used to refer to any Ghoul or Ghost resulting from deaths in a Mine. It was one of the first scary stories Natalie had ever heard in her childhood. Of miners hearing that tell-tale ¡°Knock... Knock¡­.Knock¡± of a hungry Ghoul slowly chipping through the stone. Trapped in an accidental tomb, trying to break its way through solid rock. Most Knockers wore themselves to dust, but one gets free from poor luck or poor digging every now and then. Absently Cole ran his hands through his hair. His giant finger roving over pale locks and scarred scalp. It had not been his intent to unnerve Natalie with that tale. It had been one of his more pleasant stories; the Prospectors all survived, and the Knockers were to rest. He idly thought how telling it was that even his tamer exploits involved horrible death and undeath. Cole was genuinely trying to be social and connect with Natalie, but his context for ¡°normal¡± was skewed beyond belief. They walked in silence for a while before Natalie spoke up again. ¡°Tell me another story, like that one.¡± Cole was surprised, and it showed on his face. It was Natalie¡¯s turn to answer a question before it was asked. ¡°If I¡¯m going to accompany you to destroy the Vryko-Ghouls and eventually the Varcolac, I need an idea of what this all involves. Wouldn¡¯t it be better to hear some scary stories now and try to toughen up, then fall apart when I need to be strong later?¡± Cole had to agree with her. It was a prudent choice, and Natalie was far past the point of burying her head in the ground. Before he could tell another similarly grisly tale, Natalie asked another question. ¡°Yesterday, you talked about Master Time being the God of more than just Death. With him protecting all of life, not just its end. Then why do you just hunt Undead? Aren¡¯t there other duties you could do? Why are you wandering around destroying the Undead if your God is more than a God of Death?¡± That earned a pause from Cole before he tried to best answer her. ¡°Numerous reasons, the first is what exactly a Paladin is. We are warriors in service to a God; it is our duty to defend what they oversee. In Master Time¡¯s case, the part of his domain that needs the most protection is Death. The Undead, in their myriad forms, are the most common and dangerous violations of the natural order of time. A contamination in the Aether that if unchecked will swallow the World, as it has done to others.¡± Natalie did not fully understand what Cole was talking about. She knew other worlds existed, places out in the cosmos also touched by the Beyond and the Gods, but she¡¯d never heard of them being consumed or destroyed. For the first time she could remember, Natalie thought it was acceptable to not want to know more about something. ¡°Secondly,¡± continued Cole. ¡°Fighting the Undead and putting them to rest is what I am skilled at. I am sure other Paladins of Master Time exist with broader duties, but I am not one of them. My skill is ensuring the dead stay that way, so it is what my God tasks me with.¡± Natalie mulled this over for a while and found herself lost in her thoughts. It was true the ability to fight and survive was a valuable skill. Soldiers, Mercenaries, and all manner of warriors proved that. So it made sense that even a God would require such a person, but it also felt strange. When she thought of Holy Warriors, she thought of Griffon-riding Knights leading armies of the faithful against unleashed Demon swarms. Not a vagabond warrior who crept through dark places fighting walking corpses. Lost in thought and musing on all of this, she didn¡¯t notice Cole stop and turn from the road. Natalie thought she was alone on the road for a split second before Cole¡¯s arm waived from the nearby forest. Natalie scampered after him, trying to not show the momentary panic she¡¯d felt at the idea of being abandoned. Here near the road, the forest was relatively thin and easy to traverse. Something that was lost on Natalie as she followed the trail Cole made. She had lived her whole life in Glockmire, and moving through the brush required a set of skills she hadn''t contemplated. The conversation died off as Natalie was forced to put much of her focus on not tripping over the forest floor. The small but constant grade of the ground quickly wore on her legs, and Natalie felt increasingly annoyed at the difficulty of simply navigating the wilderness. Cole, in contrast, slipped through the brush with practiced ease. He seemed to flow between bushes and trees like some large predator. The contrast of his grace and size was bewildering. Natalie quickly sensed that he was slowing himself down to not leave her behind, and she was equally grateful and incensed. Eventually, they stopped at a small stream flowing through the forest to get a drink. Natalie had packed a water skin and was thankful for a chance to refill it. As they prepared to continue, Cole grabbed Natalie¡¯s pack and tossed it over one shoulder. Letting out a defeated sigh, Natalie followed him, glad to have her burden lightened. She wouldn¡¯t let her wounded pride get in the way of courtesy, though. ¡°Thank you, I¡¯m not used to this sort of thing.¡± Cole simply nodded in response and kept walking. He wasn¡¯t trying to be rude, but his focus was firmly on the forest around them. While the Vryko-Ghouls were no longer a threat, that did not mean other dangers did not lurk in the woods. Cole was reasonably confident he was headed in the right direction but knew it would be easy to get lost in these woods. Eventually, they came across what he¡¯d been looking for. A tree with a gash in its bark. After facing the Vryko-Ghouls and trying to make his way back to Glockmire. He marked his trail with his weapon. Natalie saw the mark and followed Cole¡¯s gaze as he looked out into the forest. It was Natalie who found the second mark, maybe five or so meters away on a different tree. ¡°Is that what you are looking for?¡± she asked. ¡°Yes, we follow the marks; we will get to the clearing where the Vryko-Ghouls are.¡± Cole¡¯s responsed. With the trail to follow, he could spare Natalie some of his attention and decided to ask her a question. ¡°You have seen a corpse before, correct?¡± That got a shiver from Natalie. ¡°Yes, during the Plague and the attacks afterward, I saw lots of bodies. Some destroyed undead, some their victims. Why do you ask?¡± ¡°Vryko-Ghouls are particularly foul appearing Undead, and I wanted to prepare you. We will be getting close soon. Do you have any questions?¡± This was true, but Cole was also trying to restart the conversation with Natalie. He enjoyed it, more so than he thought he might. Now he only had to manage not to poke Natalie in her emotional wounds as he had done previously. ¡°Not really, no. But I am curious, what happened with the Dwarf Prospectors you met?¡± Natalie wanted to strike up a conversation again as well. Cole smiled, thinking back to the few days he spent with the prospectors. He liked Dwarfs on principle. Sturdy of mind, body, and soul, the Children of the Deep Stone are by and large, honest, hardworking folk. When referring to them, the old saying went, ¡°No better friend, no worse enemy,¡± and Cole had to agree. Thankfully his experiences had been typically cooperative, with his aid greatly appreciated. ¡°The patch of mountain they were digging in is rich with iron, and they had found an old abandoned Imperial mine flush with ore. The foredwarf assumed the mine had been forgotten when the Old Empire collapsed, and the group quickly got to work. As I mentioned earlier, the truth was that the mine had partially collapsed and buried many workers with it. Some of which rose up as Knockers and attacked the Dwarfs when they cleared out the collapsed tunnels.¡± ¡°Thankfully, the Dwarfs reacted quickly, and they all managed to escape. It was around then I arrived and offered my help. I remember the Foredwarf, Zarad was his name, looking at me bug-eyed when I just wandered up the trail and asked if they needed any aid. He and his miners were skeptical at first, but together we managed to clear out the mine and release the Knockers. None of the Dwarfs had been badly injured, but I took some hits¡± A slight contented smile then formed on Cole¡¯s face. ¡°So I stayed with the Dwarfs for a few days, and it was nice. They had something of a mix between a camp and hamlet set up around the mine, and some of the Miners'' families lived with them. While I recovered, I had four proud Dwarven homemakers forcing all manner of food on me as thanks for helping their spouses. Have you ever had homemade Dwarvish cooking, Natalie?¡± She shook her head no and tried to stifle a laugh at the nostalgic look on Cole¡¯s face. ¡°It¡¯s fantastic stuff. Hearty, filling, with all manner of spices.¡± As they walked, Cole continued to describe the meals he¡¯d eaten among the Dwarfs with a level of detail and animation Natalie had not seen in the man. It seemed to her that the Paladin of Death was something of a gourmand. Eventually, Cole trailed off, and Natalie asked. ¡°Is this what it¡¯s like for you? You come to a place, fight, usually get injured in the process. Then have a meal or two and leave?¡± Cole was silent for a moment. ¡°Yes, that summarizes it fairly well actually.¡± Natalie thought about what her father had said to her days before, about having a life outside of Glockmire. To escape the trap, she had been born into and never noticed. She wondered if Cole had been born into a similar situation and this path he walked was his escape. Or was this the trap? Was he stuck doing something he felt obligated to do until it eventually killed him? Natalie debated breaching the subject when a horrid smell reached her nose. She doubled over and gagged as the odor of rot and filth assaulted her senses. Coughing at the smell, Natalie gasped, ¡°What in the Infinite Hells is that?¡± Cole didn¡¯t respond at first, moving closer to her, grabbing her cloak, and pulling it up towards her face. She understood what he was trying to do and quickly covered her mouth and nose with the cloth. Cole seemed unbothered by the smell as he talked. ¡°That is the Vryko-Ghouls; we are getting close now.¡± Chapter 4.5: A Drained Corpse

Chapter 8: A Drained Corpse

¡°We are creatures of blood and darkness. Never forget that. Our power comes from stolen blood and our survival depends on soothing darkness. We are Vampires, the Nocturnal Nobility, the heirs the Empire. Know the truths of our kind and embrace them. Or die a true death under the Sun''s hateful gaze.¡± Collected Words of Archduke Ferenc Drakovich
Trying not to gag, Natalie followed her chaperone in the direction of the smell. The makeshift mask helped some, but the smell was so thick she could practically feel it on her skin. Looking around the forest for any sign of the odor¡¯s source, she noticed an odd-looking tree up ahead. It had been smashed apart, reduced to splinters, and it was not alone in being damaged. She saw another tree that was slightly uprooted, listing to the side like something had tried to push it over. On a closer look, Natalie saw what had to be claw marks on the trunk and realized something had, in fact, tried and nearly succeeded in capsizing the solid pine. It was only a few more steps before Cole and Natalie entered the forest clearing. When Cole arrived here almost a week ago, it had been a serene meadow of mountain flowers and wild grass. Now it was a scene from a nightmare. Four hulking corpses were strewn around the clearing, each covered in black tarry blood and sporting hideous wounds. Pools of foul-smelling ichor spattered the meadow and killed any plant they touched. Whole patches of earth and stone were torn up. Salt and silver dust still formed a crude but now broken ring around the rocky outcrop at the center. The protruding boulder was covered in ash from a bonfire, with a familiar-looking pack sitting at the highest point of the rock. Cole ran up to the outcropping and picked up his pack. It was intact, and he let out a sigh of relief. While he¡¯d told Natalie the magic he placed on it would protect its contents, he hadn¡¯t been sure. Applying stable enchantments requires stable materials. It¡¯s why gems and metal are so commonly used for it. The crude perception-blocking spell Cole put on the canvas and leather bag was bound with a smear of his blood. Not exactly standard for any decent enchantment. Fishing in the bag, Cole grabbed hold of what he was looking for. A fine silver chain and the pendant attached to it. It was his hourglass amulet of Master Time, he¡¯d taken it off before facing the Vryko-Ghouls, not wanting to damage it in the fight. Gently Cole slipped the necklace on and then slung his pack over his free shoulder. With that settled, he turned back to Natalie. She hadn¡¯t moved; she simply stared around the clearing in horrified shock. The smell of the bodies, black blood, and twisted undead forms brought back horrible memories. Against her will, Natalie felt a sob start to rise in her chest. She tried to choke it back, but it was no use. She began to cry, not because of the ugly scene around her. That was more gut-wrenching than painful. She cried because of memories welling up, of death, destruction, and the terrible look in her Mother¡¯s eyes when the Varcolac shut its jaws. Hot salty tears flowed down her cheeks, every sobbing breath sucking in more of the stink of offal and rot. Natalie dropped her head into her hands and wept, trying not to let her misery escalate into wails of grief. Her entire life Natalie had prided herself on her inner strength. Even as a child, when other youths would go crying to their parents for help, she¡¯d try her hardest by herself. It was a point of confidence for Natalie, not falling apart when others did. Even in the wake of the undead attack, she had kept it together, helping distribute supplies and aiding others where she could. So to have that stoic resolve crack, just drove the pain deeper. Three years of repressed and buried grief flooded Natalie, triggered by the scene of horrors surrounding her. She felt incredibly stupid and weak to fall apart like this. Head buried in her hands, wracked by sobs, Natalie didn¡¯t notice Cole approach. She flinched in surprise as his arms wrapped around her in a hug. Part of her wanted to step back, to glare daggers at him for presuming she needed his help. That part was drowned out by the simple warmth of Cole¡¯s comforting embrace. Natalie didn¡¯t know how long they stood like that, tears flowing freely down her face. Eventually, the sobs stopped and Natalie leaned back, looking Cole in the eye she whispered. ¡°Thank you.¡± Shakily stepping away, she didn¡¯t see the odd, almost confused expression sweep over Cole¡¯s face. Natalie looked over the clearing and shuddered. It really was a grisly sight; the battle hadn¡¯t been clean. The Vyrko-Ghouls were each in multiple pieces, limbs scattered about, two were decapitated, another¡¯s head was pulped like a crushed gourd. Natalie was not an expert in war and death, but she was certain there were burns on some of the Undead. Turning back to Cole, she took a deep breath and spoke. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I shouldn¡¯t have fallen apart like that.¡± Cole raised his hand in a gesture of refutation. ¡°You have nothing to be sorry about. This is a terrible sight, even to one not burdened by memories such as yours. It is why I wanted to bring you with me, best to face these feelings now in relative safety.¡± ¡°I guess that makes sense, so what happens now?¡± Natalie asked Cole shrugged both his and Natalie¡¯s packs onto the ground, pulling out a pair of thick leather gloves he said. ¡°I complete my responsibilities to Master Time and free these souls¡± He then detached his weapon from his belt and nicked his forearm. With a few murmured words, the axe grew into its halberd form, its back hook also stretching to a good twenty centimeters in length. Natalie gasped in surprise; she¡¯d seen magic before but not like this. Cole paid her shock little heed and started his duties. Gathering up the bodies was an ugly task, and Natalie had to turn away from it in disgust more than once. Cole used his gloved hands and his polearm to drag and leverage the corpses onto the rock in the clearing¡¯s middle. Using the long beak hook to flip and turn the bodies like a woodsman moving logs. Eventually, after some effort, he had all four Vryko-Ghouls lying in a row on the rock. It didn¡¯t take him long, and Cole didn¡¯t seem at all tired by the effort. Natalie morbidly mused on how much practice he had in this sort of thing. Putting down the Halberd, Cole moved over to the four bloated corpses and gingerly made final preparations. Making sure dead eyes were shut, and severed limbs lay where they should; a last act of respect for those who¡¯d long suffered as hungry corpses. Returning to where Natalie stood, Cole removed his gore-stained gloves and rifled through his bag. Finding a small metal flask, he pulled it free and held it up. Natalie caught sight of what looked like a flowing script etched onto its side; she didn¡¯t recognize the characters and couldn¡¯t even guess what they said. Taking the flask, Cole returned to the make-due resting place and unscrewed the dull metal cap of the container. The flask fit comfortably in Cole¡¯s palm, but its mouth was strangely narrow. Natalie quickly realized why as she saw Cole carefully pour just a few drops over each of the bodies, using the substances sparingly. Satisfied with his work, Cole resealed the flask and returned to her. Grabbing the spark-stone he bought from Barnabas, Cole glanced at Natalie and answered her unspoken question. ¡°Corpses don¡¯t burn easily, it takes much to properly cremate a body. Sometimes speed and efficiency hold precedence over ritual and in those cases, I use Pyre Wine. It¡¯s something a Alchemist invented a few centuries back during the Second Sacred War. It reacts with rot and burns hot; reduces a body to ash quickly and cleanly.¡± Moving back to the makeshift pyre, Cole focused his will on the Spark-Stone. A small bolt of fire shot from his palm towards the bodies. Little more than a flicker of sparks, but enough to ignite the Pyre Wine. White-hot flames erupted across the stone and swallowed up the Vryko-Ghouls¡¯ bodies. The roar of the fire and the wash of heat jostled Natalie, making her take a step back. Cole paid it little mind, standing at the edge of the flames, staring into the fire. The sounds of the pyre were joined by a deep melodic chant as Cole started to sing. His voice echoing through the clearing, crystal clear above the fire¡¯s tumult. Natalie didn¡¯t recognize the words, but their meaning was still evident. It was a mourner¡¯s lament, a song meant to honor the dead and wish them safe passage to another life, a crucial part of any Rite of Death. Natalie watched what she realized was a funeral service from a distance. It felt strange to her, mourning these monsters, creatures that would gladly glut themselves on living flesh. Destroying them made sense; turning it into a religious ceremony did not. She kept these thoughts to herself and watched Cole. He never stepped back, standing so close she feared his hair or cloak might catch flame. The reason became apparent when the fire shifted. Its flames faltering and then exploding upward. Swirling into a blazing column like some inverted whirlpool of flame. Natalie swore she saw shapes in the fire, four silhouettes wrapped in fire and ash. Figures dancing at the edge of awareness, only detectable by the shifting of flames. Natalie blinked, they were gone, and with them was a mental weight she hadn¡¯t noticed. A moment later, the fire returned to normal and continued to burn, reducing the Vryko-Ghouls to ash. Still, Cole did not leave his strange watch; he was looking for something, Natalie was now sure of it. Her mind was still processing what she just saw and was not prepared for what happened next. The fire turned oily and dark. Smoke billowing up in great black and green clouds. Now Cole turned to her, a stern look on his face. Whatever he had been searching for, he¡¯d found it. Returning to her, he picked up his pack and halberd. As he did, Natalie saw an expression on his face she did not recognize. It was hard to decipher under all the scars. But when she saw his hand gripping the halberd shaking, Natalie understood. He was angry; something had made him furious. There was a coldness in his eyes she had not seen before. This was not the rage she knew personally or witnessed in others. This was something darker, harder, with icy focus and cold steel. It sent a shiver up her spine, and with it came a realization. Natalie saw it then, clad in the black cloak, wielding his great reaping blade, consumed by frozen wrath. She saw the Paladin of Death divinely tasked to wage a one-man war against the darkness that might devour the World. For some reason, that sight is what made it all real. Natalie believed Cole when he told her what he was, but it hadn¡¯t felt real. She¡¯d accompanied him and befriended him, some part of herself in deep denial.The truth now slammed into her, and she shuddered. Natalie knew firsthand what terrible things lurked in the dark and could scarcely believe Cole dedicated his life to fighting them. It seemed a horrible duty, but she couldn¡¯t disagree with its necessity Natalie watched as Cole collected himself, letting the anger slough off him. Approaching her, he spoke as he usually did, no hint of whatever turmoil had taken him. ¡°The souls are free, and some of my questions have been answered. The Vryko-Ghouls were acting strangely. They should have already attacked Glockmire. Someone was controlling them, and I need to find out who.¡± ¡°The thick smoke and oily fire is an omen of Necromancy, my powers can reveal that much at least. Something was binding these poor people, controlling them for a purpose. Nothing good could come of that, and no one good would think to do it. We still have a few hours before we need to head back to Glockmire; I want to find the Vryko-Ghouls lair and investigate further.¡± With that, Cole set out, following some trail Natalie couldn¡¯t sense. Quickly grabbing her pack, Natalie hurried to keep up with Cole, questioning him as she did. ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Cole stopped and seemed uncertain for a moment. He himself did not know why he shared this information with Natalie. She did not need the level of detail he provided, and he usually preferred to keep people at arm¡¯s length. Realization suddenly struck, and he felt embarrassed. His reason was simple, he missed having someone to talk to, and Natalie was good company. Cole stammered out a secondary explanation ¡°I¡­ I want you to have context for my actions, so they do not confuse ¡­ or frighten you. Natalie, you are following me into unknown territory, and ignorance will be no shield against any danger.¡± Then for some unknown reason he added, ¡°That being said, I¡­ I enjoy talking to you, and it¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve had that pleasure.¡± As he said this Cole gave her a smile she couldn¡¯t classify as anything other than timid. It was surreal, this scarred and battle-tested hunter of the undead acting like an awkward youth. Natalie mulled over his words and added to her picture of Cole. A contradictory man, confident in so many ways but uncomfortable in simple conversation. It would almost be endearing if they were not currently out in the wilderness investigating hungry corpses. Cole then pointed into the distance and continued speaking. ¡°I can feel Master Time¡¯s influence pulling me that way. A God¡¯s aid is rarely straightforward or simple, but it should be enough to put us on the right path.¡± With that explanation, he set off. Natalie quickly grabbed her pack up from where Cole had set it and followed after him. They left the clearing, leaving the smoking pyre behind and returning to the forest. As they walked, Cole would occasionally pause and reorient himself. It reminded Natalie of someone checking a map or compass. Except Cole used no navigational aid, he just shut his eyes and held still. After maybe three of these calibrations, Natalie had to ask, her curiosity getting the better of her. ¡°So how exactly does this work? The whole ¡°divine-communion¡± thing. When it happened to me, it felt like I was being choked and frozen to death at the same time.¡± She left out the part of how it also felt like her entire self had been pulled apart, measured, judged, and found wanting. The physical symptoms of experiencing a God¡¯s attention were bad enough, no need to dredge up the mental toll as well. Cole took a moment to plan his words. He had experienced the raw, crushing focus of a God many times, but it was different from the subtle pull Master Time used when guiding him. ¡°Natalie, What you experienced, could best be described as your soul being put under intense pressure. A flicker of a God¡¯s focus is enough to nearly crush something delicate like a soul. Forgive me if this question is rude, but do you know what a Soul is?¡± Now, this was an opportunity for Natalie to embarrass herself. Years of Temple services and her own reading gave her some understanding of the spiritual but that knowledge probably paled in comparison to an actual Paladin¡¯s. ¡°I think so; it¡¯s how a person is connected to the Beyond. The Beyond is the realm of Gods and is composed of raw magic. While the Aether is where the Beyond and the World overlap, infusing magic into everything. A soul is what we call the magic infused into a person, right? At least that¡¯s what I have learned; how accurate am I?¡± Cole gave Natalie an amused look, and she couldn¡¯t tell if that was a good or bad thing. ¡°Your answer is remarkably accurate. While any Magi would tear into that description for a dozen myopic reasons, it¡¯s impressive for someone of your background.¡± Natalie decided to take the compliment and let Cole continue speaking. ¡°A Soul is the intrinsic magic bound up in a being''s life. Like everything else in the Aether, it reflects the World and effects it. Souls are the magical essence of a being and change depending on the being¡¯s status. Vibrant, healthy, happy individuals will have robust, powerful Souls, protecting them from some magical dangers, attracting friendly spirits, and even enhancing some types of magic. The opposite is also true; a weak soul can be just as debilitating as a wounded body. I¡¯m sure you have seen what that looks like. Pain and suffering wears a person down to a husk of what they once were.¡± The lecture on Souls was a bit of a surprise to Natalie. She¡¯d heard Priests speak of similar things but with much more grandiose and mysterious airs. Whereas Cole talked like some scholar discussing a favored topic. It was interesting though, and kept her mind off memories of the Varcolac or Vryko-Ghouls. ¡°The magic of a Soul is potent and somewhat unique. Part of that uniqueness is a protection from external control. A Soul cannot be permanently altered or taken without its owner¡¯s consent. Nothing can actually get into your Soul and do things to it without you giving consent, sure that consent can be forced but that''s difficult to do. I¡¯m sure you have heard stories of people selling their souls to Demons or Fae, this is where those legends come from. Poor desperate fools offering up their very essence in a deal they most likely don¡¯t fully understand.¡± Natalie had indeed heard stories like that. Every child in Glockmire was taught from an early age what dangers to avoid. While the stories of silver-tongued Sidhe and talking shadows summoned at a Crossroads had not been as prominent as the tales of Ghouls and Werewolves, Natalie remembered them. Again, the topic was interesting, but Natalie started to wonder if Cole had gotten so wrapped up in the joy of speaking to someone he had forgotten her question. He hadn¡¯t, actually. Cole rarely shared his knowledge with others, but it was a secret pleasure of his. He¡¯d once been a social man who talked the nights away on myriad topics. While that had been a lifetime ago, and much had changed, but maybe not as much as Cole thought. Talking with Natalie, he found mental walls erected after a decade of lonely duty starting to break. Where only a few days ago Cole would have deflected or outright ignored Natalie¡¯s questions, now he wanted to provide context and understanding. ¡°Now the Gods are bound by the same rules of other darker entities. It¡¯s why the Rites of Birth and Youth are so important. The Rite of Birth gives children the unconditional protection of the Gods, and the Rite of Youth offers that protection as part of the Covenant. Without it, the Gods would not be able to help Souls reincarnate or ascend. By the standards of deals involving Souls, the Rites are practically nothing. The Rite of Death, where a Soul is released into the Beyond, does not even require a God¡¯s influence to work properly. Things get more complicated with Priests and Paladins, we open ourselves up to a God, and they change our souls. Adding some of their power and essence to it. It¡¯s where Blessings and Miracles come from. When a Priest talks about ¡®opening up your soul to the Gods,¡¯ they are being quite literal.¡± Now finally, Natalie spoke up. ¡°This is fascinating, but I was asking what it feels like and what it does, not the mysteries behind it.¡± Awkward silence took the place of Cole¡¯s lecture, and he made a slight cough before continuing. ¡°I was going to get to that, but I did get away from myself. My apologies for being so verbose.¡± Natalie snorted and gave Cole a playful push on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t apologize; the silent, stoic routine gets boring quickly. I¡¯ve talked so many people¡¯s ears off; it¡¯s only fair it happens to me now and then. Anyway, I wasn¡¯t just trying to be polite. This is interesting; please continue.¡± A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Cole smiled again, the same timid expression Natalie would have never guessed him capable of. ¡°Well then,¡± he continued, ¡°Master Time put a small piece of his power into my Soul with my consent. It grants me a few abilities useful for my duties and lets him guide me slightly.¡± Absently, Cole put a hand on his torso, right where the cold empty feeling was. ¡°It¡¯s like that piece of my Soul, that is mixed with him, is being pulled on. Tugging at me, guiding me in the direction I need to go. I just follow the hollow inside me, and it takes me where I¡¯m needed.¡± Glancing around him, Cole continued but spoke quietly. ¡°It¡¯s not much use for delicate things. The pull won¡¯t guide me out of a maze, but it will point me towards the right town. I have to do the rest myself, like now.¡± Cole took a few deep breaths, and Natalie watched his stance change. He seemed to loosen up and grow taught at the same time. She was reminded of Stockings preparing to hunt a Mouse. After a few more inhales through his nose, Cole whispered. ¡°We are close to the Lair. I can smell death, both old and new.¡± With the Halberd still firmly gripped in one hand, Cole reached into his pack and pulled out a small drawstring bag. He tossed it to Natalie before speaking. ¡°The powder in that bag is a mix of silver and salt. Anything unholy will burn on contact with it. I don¡¯t expect you will need to use it, but it¡¯s better to be prepared.¡± Natalie looked at the bag, peeked inside, and ran the powder between her fingers. She looked at Cole and idly wished she had a nice sharp weapon like his Halberd. Still, she understood, this bag was not a weapon. It was meant for buying time to run or hide. Clutching it close, she followed Cole as he tracked the scent. They had walked maybe thirty meters before she also smelled it. The sweet stink of decay mixed with the musty odor of rot. Hurriedly wrapping her cloak over her face, Natalie followed Cole as he stalked towards the smell¡¯s origin. It didn¡¯t take them long to find it, the forest gave way to a rocky slope and the entrance of a cave set into the stone. Natalie could see what looked to be bones piled up by the cave entrance, and she had little doubt where the smell was coming from. Cole glanced around and moved over to a small scattering of rocks near the entrance. His trained eyes scanned the stone and found what he had expected the moment he saw the cave, scratches on the stone. Undead by their nature are bound to their death, drawn to where they died by some arcane instinct. Vryko-Ghouls, like many other types of unintelligent Undead, make lairs of where they died. As Cole examined the cave he decided lair might not be the most accurate word. This was a grave and a nest, where the Ghouls might hide from the sun between ¡®meals.¡¯ Looking over the cave, Cole started to understand the tragic story of the Ghouls. A family of four lost out in the wild takes shelter in a natural cave. A rockfall traps them inside and starvation or the elements kill them. All four trapped bodies rise as Vryko-Ghouls, and their newfound strength is enough to escape this accidental tomb. Cole¡¯s heart ached at the tragedy, these people had suffered a terrible fate and he was glad to have intervened. A startled shriek pulled Cole from his investigation, and he ran towards Natalie. Gripping his halberd, ready to drive it into an attacker, Cole found his companion pointing at something hidden between two of the larger rocks and trying to calm herself with deep breaths. Following Natalie¡¯s pointing finger, Cole found a corpse; lying on its back, face and glassy eyes staring up at the sky. A look of mortified horror contorted Natalie¡¯s face and Cole quickly realized her reaction was more than simple surprise; she knew who the body was. Fighting through the initial shock, Natalie found her voice. ¡°That¡¯s Felix, he¡¯s from Glockmire! The Lord¡¯s guards took him maybe a week ago.¡± Natalie looked closer at the body, fighting off the fear and revulsion flowing through her. She¡¯d broken down enough for one day. This was not the first time she¡¯d seen the body of someone she knew; it rattled her, but Natalie was adapting. She¡¯d seen the body¡¯s face first by sheer accident. Now she had time to look over what remained of Felix; he was naked and gaunt like he¡¯d been starved. But that was not what drew Natalie¡¯s attention, the pattern of cuts around his neck and wrists did. He¡¯d been fed upon by Vampires; Felix was eaten alive by the blood-drinking nobility of Glockmire. Natalie looked to Cole, catching him tracing his neck and the scars it held. Cole quickly pulled his hand away, but Natalie had seen the motion. Gritting his teeth, Cole approached the body and started to examine it. Natalie took the opportunity to step back. As he began to flip the corpse, Cole asked. ¡°Tell me everything you know about his death.¡± His tone was curt and businesslike, lacking its usual gentle politeness. Natalie fought down more shivers and answered. ¡°It was the day after you arrived, I think. He got into an argument with another man, and it escalated badly. Felix shed blood in open violence, which is against the Lord¡¯s laws. So the Castle Guards tracked him down and dragged Felix to the Castle. I don¡¯t know exactly how they found him, but there¡¯s magic in the town that lets the Nobles know when blood is violently spilled.¡± Cole raised an eyebrow at her detailed description. Natalie answered his question before he could ask. The stress of the situation robbing her of any joy in reversing that dynamic with Cole. ¡°I saw it happen. Felix was never that great of a man, but it was an accident or at least a stupid mistake. He didn¡¯t deserve this.¡± Returning the body to its original position, Cole muttered to himself. ¡°No one ever does.¡± Taking a deep breath, Cole loomed over the corpse and looked into its vacant glassy eyes. After a second, a sharp pain hit Cole. It felt like his eyes were being dunked in ice water. Blackness followed it, and then a vision. Flickers of hungry shadows, beautiful corpses, and animal-panic filled Cole¡¯s mind. He was looking through a dead man¡¯s eyes and watching his last moments. At times like this, Cole found himself mildly envious of other Paladins whose Gods granted kinder blessings. Master Time gifted what he deemed practical for his servants, the ability to look into the recently deceased''s eyes and see their death for example. Cole once read in an old tome of Paladin-lore this ability was called Corpse Sight; an overly dramatic name, but an accurate one. The images he pulled from Felix¡¯s eyes were neither clear nor pleasant, they did, however, confirm and elaborate on Natalie¡¯s story. Felix had been kept in a dark cell somewhere cold, probably underground, where he was visited by at least a dozen Vampires, who took turns drinking him to death. The last sight the poor man saw was ruby lips and sharp fangs stained with his blood descending for a parody of a kiss. He¡¯d been devoured alive, and now his body lay discarded like refuse. Cole pulled himself from the visions and blinked away the horrible sights. He snarled in a mixture of pain and rage, stepping away from the body. Natalie had watched the entire thing and wore her fear openly, Cole¡¯s spell only lasted a few seconds, but even with no magical training, she could sense something arcane. Natalie watched Cole cover his eyes and sit for a second, it was the most distressed she had seen him. Only the fear and intensity he¡¯d shown when the skull was involved matched this. After a moment, Cole let out a low groan of pain and returned to the Corpse. With bare hands, he opened Felix¡¯s mouth and reached inside. Gently Cole plucked something out of the dead man¡¯s mouth and dropped it on the ground. To Natalie, it looked like a small black teardrop. After the surprisingly rough act of extracting whatever he¡¯d found. Cole shut Felix¡¯s eyes and mouth, then set the man¡¯s arms at his sides. Reaching down, Cole picked up the black droplet and held it out between fingers. After a second, he crushed it into powder and threw it into the air. The fine black dust erupted into a flash of fire and was gone. Looking back at Natalie, a mixture of sadness and anger on his face. Cole asked: ¡°Does Felix have any family in Glockmire?¡± Natalie nodded in affirmation and asked. ¡°What was all of that? What just happened?¡± Cole did not answer, giving her an appraising look. It was cold, with a level of judgment and analysis Natalie hadn¡¯t seen from him before. After a second, Cole responded. ¡°I think involving you in this was a mistake. I will still honor my oath to free the Varcolac, but you will not accompany me.¡± To that, Natalie scoffed and crossed her arms in indignation. ¡°Why? What did you just learn, Cole? I¡¯ve followed you and trusted you, and if I¡¯m not mistaken, you¡¯ve done the same with me. What is the problem?¡± Glancing down at Felix¡¯s body and up at the cave, Cole weighed his words carefully. The walls he¡¯d let slip around Natalie were returning. ¡°Barnabas, the Merchant; he seemed quite concerned about your well-being, and I promised him I¡¯d not bring you any trouble. I have already failed in that regard, but now the danger is beyond anything I can hope to protect you from.¡± Rubbing his face, Cole continued. ¡°Natalie, you are intelligent and a survivor. I¡¯m not underestimating or dismissing your abilities. I was willing to take you when I free the Varcolac because even in that situation, I could be confident in keeping you safe. That is not the case anymore; I trust you will fit together the pieces and understand my logic.¡± The start of a good argument died on Natalie¡¯s lips as she mulled over those words. Damn, she hated his knack for ending a debate before it began. She didn¡¯t think Cole was lying to her, and she seriously doubted he was misinterpreting whatever secrets he¡¯d uncovered. Whatever had occurred was beyond her scope. To Natalie, the Varcolac seemed to be the ultimate monster; Cole treated that lupine horror like a relatively minor threat. For him to be unnerved meant this was bad. She faced Cole and started to speak. Natalie didn¡¯t want to agree with Cole, but she couldn¡¯t make an argument other than sheer stubbornness. Then she noticed something, Cole wouldn¡¯t meet her eyes. So far, he¡¯d unfailingly met her eyes when they spoke. Amber and pale blue mirroring each other. Now he looked away and held a solemn expression. One she¡¯d first seen when he¡¯d first deduced her mother¡¯s death. A cold feeling rippled across Natalie like she had walked through a curtain of nearly frozen mountain water. It forced a breath from her, and Natalie felt the now familiar shiver of a God¡¯s attention. This time it was not a crushing weight, more like a gentle but firm push. A push that edged an instinctual thought towards the surface. It was just a flicker of an idea with practically no evidence supporting it, but with the push, it was enough to get her to voice it. ¡°Cole, you know who was controlling the Vryko-Ghouls, don¡¯t you? It¡¯s someone in Glockmire, isn¡¯t it?¡± Still, he refused to meet her eyes, a frown of concentration on his marked face. That was enough confirmation for Natalie. So she continued the chain of logic springing from her initial deduction. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about Necromancy, but I can guess controlling a monster like that, let alone four of them, would be difficult. Requiring power and skill you¡¯d only find in one place in Glockmire. The Vampires are involved with this. They were controlling the Vryko-Ghouls.¡± Cole let out a sad-sounding sigh and finally looked into her eyes. ¡°That is most likely correct. Can you understand why I do not wish to involve you in this any further? For all its strength and hunger, a Varcolac is little more than feral instinct powered by dark magic. Vampires are on an entirely different level of danger; the wisdom, knowledge, and malice they can accumulate over centuries of unlife is staggering, Natalie. The nobility of the Blood Duchies are some of the most ruthless and cruel beings to exist in our World. I cannot with good conscience pull you into their dealings.¡± Natalie felt a flash of anger course through her. With an accusing finger, she pointed at the drained husk of Felix and almost shouted. ¡°I am already involved! This poor stupid man was one of my neighbors, part of my community. My home is ruled over by bloodsucking horrors looking for any excuse to devour or do worse to people. You can¡¯t expect me to go back to my life with the knowledge that the ¡°Nobles¡± are engaged in some horrible scheme and act like everything¡¯s normal!¡± To her extreme annoyance, Cole actually laughed at that. He caught himself and looked abashed, but he¡¯d still snorted in derision at her statement. Regaining his composure, he met her eyes with a cool hard glare. He wasn¡¯t angry, or annoyed, simply serious. ¡°Horrible schemes make up everything Vampires do. Every action over centuries of unlife is part of a constant contest of influence and power. Your entire life, you have been surrounded by plots and plans like this. Glockmire, and every other settlement with Vampire rulers, is a web of conspiracy and cruelty that its people are usually lucky enough not to notice.¡± Reaching down and touching his necklace and the pendant on it, Cole continued. ¡°I do not know what comes next, except that I have been tasked to disrupt some of those schemes. No matter what happens, the wrath of some of those Vampires will fall on me. And I cannot let the ripples of my actions hurt people like you. Natalie, you have a good life ahead of you, even in a place like Glockmire. You being ruined because of my duties is not something I want to haunt me.¡± They stood in silence, only broken by the rustling of leaves and the call of distant birds. Despite the somber mood, Cole smiled to himself. With the Vryko-Ghouls destroyed, the actual inhabitants of this forest felt safe again. Natalie was lost in her own thoughts. As much as she wanted to argue and push Cole on this, that was not where her mind went. Natalie made up her mind then, she¡¯d needed to leave Glockmire. She wouldn¡¯t live as comfortable livestock, helpless to the whims of mercurial predators, trapped in a web of schemes she¡¯d never even considered. Glockmire was no place to live, survive maybe, but not a place to truly live. Letting out a defeated sigh, Natalie looked up at the sky and felt suddenly tired. So much of her energy had been wrapped up in grief, thoughts of vengeance, and this whole ordeal with Cole. Having it come to such an unsatisfying conclusion, one she couldn¡¯t even dispute, felt hollow and depressing. As clouds drifted overhead, scraping the rounded peaks of nearby mountains, Natalie felt herself become more certain of her decision. Leaving Glockmire would be difficult; saying goodbye to her father would be heartbreaking, but she couldn¡¯t stay. Cole opened her eyes by sheer accident, forcing her to see truths she and every other citizen of Glockmire were trained to ignore. Natalie would leave and find a place in the world where fear and danger might not be ever-present. ¡°Fine, I don''t like it, but I understand. Are we heading back to Glockmire, or is there something else?¡± Natalie asked dejectedly. Cole looked to the small cave that had been the Vryko-Ghouls¡¯ tomb. He felt terrible for hurting Natalie, but he knew this was the best way to keep her safe; That was his duty after all; protecting the living and the dead. This was the right decision; he just hoped she wasn¡¯t already too involved. ¡°I need to do a few things, then we will return. I must ensure this never happens again, and then we will take Felix back to Glockmire. His kin deserve closure and a proper Death Rite,¡± as he said that, Cole moved towards the cave entrance. Calling it a cave was a bit of an exaggeration, more of a nook in the rock. The opening was barely large enough for a Vryko-Ghoul to squeeze through; and sure enough, when he checked, Cole found patches of dried ichor and rotting skin on some of the rock where the largest of the Ghouls scraped itself with every entrance or exit. The Sun¡¯s rays barely entered the cave, but it was enough for Cole to see. Piles of broken bones and mounds of rotten offal covered the cave floor. With his halberd, Cole poked at one of the piles and saw what he was looking for. Tattered remnants of cloth. People had been eaten by the Vrykos, most likely fed to them like Felix was meant to be which could spell problems. The utter destruction of a Corpse would do much to prevent an Undead, but it was no actual guarantee. He would have to ensure whoever those clothes had belonged to was at rest. Animal bones and fur were mixed in with the refuse, but that was not a concern. Animals rarely rise as natural undead, their souls easily separating from dead flesh. Some Priests believe the lack of divine protection was the cause; Cole thought it probably had more to do with a lack of ego and sapience. Only intelligent Beings, it seems, hold onto their bodies with such intensity. The study of the creation of Undead, both through natural or artificial processes, is a complicated subject, and Cole¡¯s practical knowledge had more to do with the destruction of Undead than their creation. Still, he knew more than enough to ensure that none of the Vryko-Ghoul¡¯s victims would be trapped. Leaving the cave, Cole set his halberd down and placed both hands on either side of the opening; bowing his head, he started to pray. A long practiced hymn of consecration and protection flowed from his lips. Cole sang it like all his prayers in Saint-Speech, the language taught to mortals by the Gods when they first arrived in the World. All words have power, but more so when spoken in that hallowed tongue. With his prayer, Cole channeled that little bit of power invested in him by Master Time. Reaching down to the cold spot in his soul, where a bit of Entropy itself had become part of him. Pulling up that power, he felt a chill spread through his limbs, into his hands, and finally into the stone of the cave. It was not painful like some might expect; this was a crisp, clean, cold, that flushed the skin and shocked the nerves. A touch of death invigorating life. The power passed into the stone and flowed through the cave, severing any lingering spiritual attachments and bringing a bit of divine purity to such a cursed place. It was nothing compared to the power invested in a truly consecrated place like a Temple or shrine, but it was enough. Gasping slightly, Cole stepped back. He had invested a small piece of his very soul into this endeavor. He would heal, most spiritual wounds can, and his connection to a God would accelerate the process. In a few hours, his soul would be restored and actually be infinitesimally stronger for the effort. With the spiritual danger of the cave erased, Cole moved onto the physical danger. The rockfall which doomed that poor family could happen again; Cole would need to shut the cave. Returning to his halberd, Cole focused his thoughts. Pouring his focus into the spell he intended to cast, he prepared his source of power. Using the halberd''s blade, Cole made cuts into his palms. Wincing at the pain but accepting it as necessary. With blood trickling down his hands, Cole returned to the cave entrance and placed his bloody palms onto the stone. Under his breath he whispered ¡°Stained Stone comes apart with a mighty Groan¡± and then small rivulets of blood flowed out across the rock. A dozen tiny serpents of crimson slithering towards cracks and fissures. Each line of blood found an entrance and slipt inside. Any flaw or weakness within the stone was detected and exploited. Soon traces of the red fluid were smeared into every imperfection in the rock. With a final push of focus and a last splatter of blood Cole completed the spell. As one, every drop of his red ichor instantly super-heated. Stone cracked and split under the stress. Cole stepped back and disconnected from the boiling blood just in time for the cave to collapse. Grabbing his weapon, the Paladin moved back towards Natalie and Felix¡¯s body, avoiding any debris as the rocky slope settled into a new shape. Panting slightly, Cole slumped against the halberd, using its shaft to prop himself up. He¡¯d used both of his forms of magical power in quick succession, taxing mind, body, and soul. But it was worth it to put an end to the tragedy of the Vryko-Ghouls. Natalie silently watched the whole ordeal with morbid fascination. She¡¯d considered asking Cole what he was doing probably a dozen times but figured he needed to concentrate. By the end, when the worming trails of blood had erupted into red steam, she decided maybe a little ignorance was acceptable. As Cole rummaged through his pack and pulled out bandages for his hands, she tentatively broke the silence. ¡°Are¡­ are you alright? I¡¯ve never seen magic like that before. It looked...painful?¡± As he wrapped his bleeding palms, Cole let out a half-hearted chuckle. ¡°It can be, but I¡¯m used to it; just a little bit tired from the effort, I¡¯ll be okay.¡± Looking back at the now-collapsed cave and the veins of black scorch marks covering the rock, Natalie shivered. In her experience, magic was a colorful, vibrant thing. Fireworks that followed the direction of Glockmires alchemist; Pools of muddy water turned pure and soothing by a Priest¡¯s calm words; That sort of thing. She¡¯d gotten a glimpse at Cole''s magic earlier when he¡¯d turned his axe into a polearm. Now with a better view of it, Natalie found it deeply unsettling. There was something primal and vicious to this ¡°blood magic.¡± The doubts and worries she¡¯d had about getting involved with Cole were returning. Curiosity and a desire for vengeance losing to a well-honed sense of caution. Fully bandaged, Cole slipped on his leather gloves and grabbed Felix, lifting the corpse over one shoulder with ease. After a moment of adjusting the dead weight, he headed out, using his halberd as a walking staff, seemingly untroubled by the weight of his pack and the dead body. Taking a moment to check her own pack, Natalie followed after him and tried not to look at the drained corpse slung on Cole¡¯s shoulders. They walked in silence, only stopping for Cole to occasionally get his bearings. After maybe an hour of walking, Natalie asked. ¡°You know bringing Felix back to Glockmire will cause problems. The Vampires left his body to feed Vryko-Ghoul, right? They probably won¡¯t take kindly to us showing up with the corpse of a dead criminal and knowledge of their schemes.¡± Cole glanced at her and responded. ¡°Yes, it will provoke quite a stir, which is why we are going to be arriving separately. Once we get to the road, you will head back to town by yourself. I¡¯ll wait a few hours and arrive separately. With a little luck, I will be the focus of everyone¡¯s attention, so you leaving to pick mushrooms for a few hours will not be suspicious.¡± Natalie scoffed to herself and mouthed, ¡®pick mushrooms.¡¯ Just before she could voice any mockery to the idea Cole pointed at a tree not five meters away. Sure enough, a few mushrooms were nestled among its roots. Cole smiled at her surprise. ¡°I noticed them earlier, figured they might prove useful. I don¡¯t think any of them are poisonous, and they¡¯ll corroborate your story if anyone asks what you were doing beyond the gates.¡± So they paused while Natalie picked the mushrooms. She was no expert and didn¡¯t find Cole¡¯s vague assurances that they weren¡¯t poisonous, very assuring. She¡¯d get them checked by the town¡¯s Apothecary before letting her father use them in his cooking. When Cole saw that she had the mushrooms stowed away he heaved Felix onto his shoulders and they continued their trek towards Glockmire, carrying a bounty of questionable mushrooms and a drained human corpse. Chapter 5- Uncertain Times

Chapter 9: Uncertain Times

¡°Today we march on the Leech¡¯s Castle! Today we reclaim the night and our lives! People of Bistrita fight with me and take back what they stole from you!¡± - Recorded words of Bran the Smith, ringleader of the failed Bistrita revolt. Who infamously took three days to die while impaled on the spires of Castle Bistrita.
When Natalie left Cole a kilometer from town, she reviewed the events of the day and it became clear to her that Cole fully intended to kick the hornet¡¯s nest by bringing back Felix¡¯s body. This gave her extra motivation to get back to the Silly Goat as soon as possible. She had her fill of dangerous and foolhardy things for one day, and didn¡¯t want to get stung by what was about to happen. It was still an hour or two from dinner, and the Silly Goat was practically empty when Natalie returned, with only Wilhelm and Barnabas sitting at the bar, engaging in their usual back and forth. The two men looked up when they saw Natalie, and Wilhelm greeted his daughter with a smile. Natalie had been lost in thought. Stewing on her expedition with Cole, and did not think to hide the worry on her face. ¡°Natty, your back earlier than I expected. When you have a day off, I know not to expect you till dusk. Is something the matter? You look tense?¡± Like most parents, Wilhelm could tell much from just a glance at his daughter. He¡¯d found her request for the day off odd, but not exceptionally so. Barnabas had spent a good part of the day postulating theories on what Natalie was up to. Most of them involved her sneaking off with other eligible young bachelors or bachelorettes. Wilhelm tried to refute these ideas, but then Barnabas would regale him with vivid descriptions of his daughter¡¯s teenage antics and memories flooded in of the many broken hearts and calamitous romance that followed in Natalie¡¯s wake. After Iona¡¯s death, Natalie mellowed somewhat in that regard, but Wilhelm knew for a fact she¡¯d entertained and ended multiple attempts to court her. Before Natalie could respond to her father¡¯s worries, Barnabas voiced his mind. ¡°Gallivanting off with a boy, no doubt! Up to all sorts of mischief, I bet.¡± Barnabas meant his comments in jest, he did not expect Natalie to stare at him with a strange mixture of surprise, shock, and a hint of guilt. The old merchant took this as confirmation he¡¯d been right and snorted with laughter. Sighing softly, Wilhelm chided his daughter gently. ¡°Really Natty? Is this going to be more broken hearts like with Raddicks son and daughter? Look, I understand, youth is a time to explore and enjoy life. Believe me, before I met your mother, I found myself in similar situations. But I can also say from experience that it¡¯s not good for anyone involved to continue this sort of thing. I¡¯m not asking you to settle, but maybe consider how far you want to take a relationship before starting it? Just as a favor to me, so I can feel like you''re utilizing at least some of my wisdom.¡± Wilhelm ended his paternal if mildly patronizing speech with a chuckle and returned to the stovetop where that night¡¯s dinner was cooking. Natalie wanted to defend herself, but couldn¡¯t look a gift horse in the mouth. If her father thought she was off having a tryst, it was better than him knowing what she¡¯d been really up to. ¡°It¡¯s good advice, Father. I don¡¯t think the relationship is going anywhere, but I want to see it through. Do you need my help with anything? Since I¡¯m back early, I might as well make myself useful.¡± To that, Wilhelm waved his daughter off with a smile. ¡°No, no, I planned for you to be away all day and won¡¯t be needing anything. Enjoy the rest of your time off, but I will expect you for dinner. We haven¡¯t eaten together in what feels like ages, and it would be nice to talk with you before the evening crowd arrives.¡± ¡°That sounds nice; I¡¯ll see you then.¡± Now she¡¯d have a few hours to unwind and process the ordeals of the day before having to face reality. And her father was right about dinner; it had been some time since the two of them had a proper meal together. In the wake of her mother¡¯s death, they¡¯d fallen out of the habit of family meals. A slight return to normalcy after the horrific sights she seen would be comforting. Leaving Wilhelm and Barnabas behind, Natalie went upstairs and headed towards her room. After a moment¡¯s thought, she took a slight detour and checked the door to Cole¡¯s rented room. It was still locked, and there was no sign it¡¯d been opened while she¡¯d been out. Natalie let out a sigh of relief; things were complicated enough without her father finding the skull. Cole claimed the bag was hidden by enchantment, but if Natalie could discover it by accident, then maybe other people could as well. A little part of Natalie twinged at that chain of thought. She wanted to think it was an accident when she now knew it was anything but. The influence of the Gods is well known and even somewhat familiar in the world, but still, the words ¡®divine intervention¡¯ are powerful ones. Words that were scarily accurate to what had happened in the past week. Shaking her head and moving towards her room, Natalie tried to put all such matters out of her head. She wasn¡¯t foolish enough to think not thinking about something would solve the problem. But a few hours not focused on the disorienting and disconcerting knowledge she¡¯d gained would be helpful. Slipping into her room, Natalie set down her pack. Thankfully neither her Father nor adopted Uncle had asked about it. Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out the unfinished sculpture of Stockings and her carving knife. Natalie set them on her dresser, stripped off her traveling gear, and tried to relax. Grabbing her sculpture and tool, she slumped into her chair and got to work. Practiced hands started shaving away bits of wood freeing the image Natalie could see trapped in the wood. Bright cool autumn sun streamed into the room and provided plenty of light to work by. Dozens of finished carvings decorated the makeshift studio; some by Natalie, some by her mother, some a collaboration. The ones in her room were Natalies favorites with special meaning and memories attached to them. These and the others around the Silly Goat weren¡¯t her only work. Maybe two dozen of her sculptures had been purchased by impressed patrons over the last few years. Despite the gloomy appearance of Glockmire, almost every home kept a little bit of art inside of it. Art, happiness, joy, and all good things in life were kept private and secluded in Glockmire. That was just how things were; everyone had their personal pleasures and hid them just enough to not attract attention. As Natalie worked on the carving of a lounging cat, this Glockmirian habit struck her as odd for the first time in her life. Wasn¡¯t happiness supposed to be shared? Something to be proud of? Why keep it clutched away like a magpie hoarding shiny trinkets? The answer was, of course, fear. Fear of being noticed, fear of attracting attention, the fear of catching a predator¡¯s eye. Unwelcome memories of Felix¡¯s drained corpse and rictus of terror captured in death entered Natalie¡¯s mind. A deep shiver passed through the young woman, and she stopped her carving. Absently she got up and went to the window. Craning her neck awkwardly, Natalie looked up at Castle Glockmire. She¡¯d never really taken time to study the towering structure cut into the mountainside. Doing so now sent a lurch in her stomach. Some instinctual fear of what dwelled in that ornate lair bringing bile into her throat. As Natalie fought nervous revulsion, she understood she needed to get out of this town. She needed to be free, to not feel the oppressive shadow of the Vampires upon her. A terrible realization came to Natalie; as she forced herself to stare up at the haunting Castle. She was livestock; protected and herded in by hungry undead unwilling to share their food. Of course, she had known this on some level for years; everyone in Glockmire understood the hell-bargain they made. Safety from monsters, demons, famine, and war; in exchange for their blood and freedom. Some would say it was a fair deal, but Natalie wanted no part of it. Really seeing Castle Glockmire for what it was, Natalie swore she¡¯d leave its shadow by the coming Spring. Returning to her seat and picking up her tools and unfinished work, Natalie started to make plans. While few people come to Glockmire unexpectedly as Cole had, several seasonal trade caravans come through the town every year. Using the mountain pass the town occupied to cross into Zaubervold proper. A large and well-defended group of merchants would be perfect for getting Natalie out of the Blood Duchies. She¡¯d get Barnabas¡¯s advice on where to go and who to trust. The old man was spending his elder years as a shop owner, but he¡¯d traveled the trade routes much in his youth and still had plenty of connections. Leaving with one of the Caravans headed out of Zaubervold and towards the northwest in the spring would be her best option. It would give Natalie time to say her goodbyes, make more concrete plans. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. The skeleton of a scheme was quickly coming into shape, but its most crucial part was still uncertain. Natalie did not know where she wanted to go. Glockmire sat at the northern edge of the Blood Duchy of Zaubervold. Its neighbors on all sides were also Blood Duchies. Leftover scraps of the Old Empire taken over by Vampires and loosely united under Archduke Drakovich. Beyond the neighboring Blood Duchy of Roloyo, in the northwest, was the Alidon River. She could follow it towards the great city of Vindabon. The City of Music and Dreams, one of the nine city-states of the Holy League. Barnabas had visited the city once on his travels and had told Natalie stories of Vindabon. Despite his gruff and often sarcastic tone, Natalie knew the old merchant had been impressed by the city''s sights. Baroque Opera houses where musically trained Mages wove song and spell into magnificent shows. Streets and buildings decorated by statues of Elected-Kings, and revered Saints. Plaza¡¯s that bustled with thousands of people from all walks of life and corners of the world. Vindabon was a place where Elven merchants from across the Ocean could be found negotiating with Wyrm-blooded Nobles of the far East. A place where one might walk into a tavern and order a plate of Guyenneian food, listen to a Lusitanian Bard and share drinks with a Goblin rebel hiding from the Tzars wrath. The more Natalie thought about Vindabon, the better an option it seemed. Maybe not to settle, but most definitely to visit and get a taste of the wider world. Natalie felt her attempt at planning slide into daydreaming as she thought about life beyond Glockmire. Till now, Natalie had thought such wondrous sights would be beyond her reach. Only tasted through stories but never actually seen. It had been a bitter truth she¡¯d swallowed as a child but one that no longer needed to apply. A bit of that buried childhood excitement creeped into Natalie, and she found herself smiling. Yes, she was running from Glockmire and its horrors, but that didn¡¯t mean she couldn¡¯t be heading towards something incredible. Shouts and a clatter from downstairs pulled Natalie from her small moment of joy. Startled, she almost dropped her carving knife. Getting up quickly, setting down the statue she¡¯d failed to put much of any work into, but keeping the knife ready, Natalie moved towards her bedroom door to investigate the source of the noise. She¡¯d just opened the door when a voice called out, ¡°Someone found Felix¡¯s body! They¡¯re taking him to the Temple now!¡± Natalie stopped dead in her tracks. She¡¯d almost forgotten about why she¡¯d decided to leave Glockmire. What, or more accurately, who had given her that push. Cole had returned and apparently, with no subtlety. She¡¯d foolishly assumed he¡¯d bring Felix¡¯s corpse to be interred discreetly. Considering the noise and shouts coming from the streets, he was doing the exact opposite. Cursing under her breath, Natalie opened the door and prepared to face whatever new challenges this would bring.

(An Hour or so earlier) Cole sat where Natalie left him in the shadow of a great oak tree, maybe ten meters from the road to Glockmire. His only company the withered corpse of Felix. Looking down at the drained body, Cole mulled over how often he¡¯d found himself in this situation; alone with just a corpse for company. At least Felix, unlike many other dead things he¡¯d found himself with, had the decency not to try and kill him. Away from Natalie and with a level of privacy, Cole thoroughly examined the body. What he found confirmed his decision to send the fiery young woman away even though stonewalling her left a bitter taste in Cole¡¯s mouth. This entire situation had become far, far more dangerous than he anticipated. The unusual behavior of the Vryko-Ghouls had been his first hint that something was very wrong. So when he¡¯d freed the trapped souls of those tragic undead, he¡¯d looked for possible answers in the flames. The unnatural oily black flames and foul smoke confirmed his worst fears of Necromancy. In Glockmire, the only beings skilled in Necromancy would be the Vampires or their direct servants. Controlling a Vryko-Ghoul was also not an easy feat. Those hungry dead falling into a dangerous middle ground in terms of strength and intellect. Vryko-Ghouls are too powerful to be simply dominated like a throng of Skeletons and not smart enough to be negotiated with successfully. It requires special preparations and skill to control them properly. None of this boded well, and the discovery of Felix¡¯s body only worsened the omens. Congealed drops of Vampire Blood had been forced into the dead man¡¯s mouth. Dried up and placed in a corpse, it wouldn¡¯t turn Felix or raise him as a subservient Ghoul. It would, however, act as ¡°poisoned bait.¡± When the Vryko-Ghouls ate Felix, they¡¯d have consumed the blood in their gluttony. Forming a dark connection, a skilled Vampire could use it to control the Vryko-Ghouls. This painted a deadly picture of a Vampire capable of binding multiple powerful Undead to its will. Cole had accidentally discovered and taken off the board, four powerful game pieces. Potentially upsetting whatever balance of power existed here, and inviting all kinds of unintended consequences. Looking over the corpse on the ground, Cole found a series of scratches and tears along Felix¡¯s limbs. These were not the clean punctures of Vampire fangs nor the brutal rips of a scavenging Vryko-Ghoul. To a layperson, the injuries would blend in with the tapestry of pain that marked Felix¡¯s corpse. Someone with knowledge of medicine and death might recognize the scratches were inflicted after Felix died. Cole knew enough to know that and reasonably guess the source of the injuries. A cauldron of Direbats carried the corpse through the night sky under orders of their Vampiric master. On principle, Cole disliked bats. While he could logically appreciate their role in the world and the certain majesty a flying colony could provoke. He¡¯d spent far, far, too much time stalking through dark caves and forests, being startled, harassed, or otherwise inconvenienced by bats. That¡¯s not even mentioning what Vampires do to them. Many breeds of Vampire possess some magical talent in controlling nocturnal creatures. With Bats, Wolves, and Rats being some of the most favored species to use. Yet merely enslaving wild animals to their will is not enough for some Vampires. Bats breed quickly and can be easily cultivated into new forms by a patient Vampire. Many forms of twisted Bat-creatures have been created over centuries of unnatural selection and mutation brought upon by dark alchemy. While almost every colony of these abominations is different, they share a general label. Direbats, the hunting beasts and flying eyes of the Vampires These were large specimens, judging by the claw marks on Felix, far removed from the insect-eating cave-dwelling creatures of countless generations previous. At least the size of a small hunting dog, perhaps larger. Cole once faced a Vampire who owned a small cauldron of similar Direbats. This Vampire had been almost feral, a Strigoi living out in the far wilderness and using its pets to feed. Unlucky travelers would be literally picked off by a swarm of leather wings and sharp claws. Lifted into the sky and dropped into the Vampire''s nest. Which was exactly how Cole found the nest, letting the Direbats fly off with him. It was a gamble but one that paid off. The Strigoi was so used to panicked screaming villagers; it hesitated when a calm Cole dropped into the ravine it nested in. That hesitation cost it its head, and Cole ultimately had a more challenging time killing the Direbats as they tried to avenge their master. He doubted the Vampire behind this group of Direbats would be so easily killed. Standing up and looking around him, Cole started to pace. He needed to wait longer, to give Natalie time to get into Glockmire. Being alone in the wilderness with a corpse is something Cole knew all too well, but waiting and doing nothing was not something he did well. Sure, if he was watching a potential lair and had to wait, he could do that. Waiting for another person and, by extension, being worried about that person had become almost alien to Cole. He¡¯d been by himself for a decade and only made brief passing connections. He¡¯d expected something similar with Natalie, just another local who he¡¯d help. Instead, the young woman was stuck in his mind, and he found himself missing her company. Something about her just struck a chord with Cole, and it left the scarred man slightly wrong-footed. Leaning against a tree Cole reached into his pack to fish out his usual source of comfort. He paused for a moment as he remembered it wasn¡¯t with him. He¡¯d left the skull back at the Silly Goat, something he now regretted. It was how he kept sane, being able to hold the skull and feel the presence inside of it. The slight spiritual touch of the skull¡¯s owner reminded him of happier times; and why he did what he did. After a decade of service, he¡¯d truly come to believe the creed of Master Time, but that hadn¡¯t always been the case. He¡¯d entered into this divine pact out of purely selfish desires, something that he still felt a twinge of shame for. At first, he wanted something that was well within Master Time¡¯s power to give. A self-centered and ultimately self-destructive boon that his god had been hesitant to give. Yet, the years of service and the good he¡¯d done changed Cole. Moving him away from his original bitter path and eventually pushing him to where he was now. He¡¯d almost given up on his original desire, but he still dreamed of a way to see the woman he loved again. To hold her in his arms, and to be able to look into her eyes, not just the empty eye-sockets of her skull. Chapter 5.5: The Temple of Glockmire.

Chapter 10: The Temple of Glockmire

¡°The Temple accepts all who wish to serve the Gods. Any who can open their heart to the Pantheon can become a Priest. It is not the path for everyone, but for those who can walk it, it is wondrous. To be a vessel and extension of the Gods¡¯ love. To make miracles and bring solace to those in need. There is no higher calling.¡± - Priestess Zenna of the Second Temple.
After more than an hour of brooding under the branches, Cole had enough. It was time to start this whole mess in earnest. Hoisting Felix¡¯s corpse onto his shoulders, he set out towards Glockmire. Carrying the body Cole was thankful it was only a day or two old and that Vampires'' feeding distorted the natural rate of decomposition. So the dead weight he hefted at least only smelled somewhat of rot and death. Continuing towards the road, Cole mused on his first obstacle, getting into Glockmire. Arriving with a corpse on his shoulders might cause some complications. The gate soon came into sight and before Cole was close enough to even knock, he heard a horrified gasp, coming from inside the gatehouse. Apparently, this time the Guard was both awake and paying attention. A slightly panicked voice called to Cole through the narrow windows as the Guard asked the obvious questions. ¡°Who in the God¡¯s name are you, and what in the infinite hells are you doing with that body?¡± Cole knew he struck an intimidating sight, with his height, wrapped in a dark cloak, and carrying a naked corpse on his shoulder. So he needed to answer the guard as gently as he could. ¡°I¡¯m a traveler who''s staying in Glockmire. While hunting in the mountains, I found a body,¡± Which was the truth, or at least close to it. Adjusting the corpse so the guard could see its face, he continued. ¡°Glockmire is the only town for kilometers, so I thought he might be a resident. I want to ensure he¡¯s returned to his family and laid to rest.¡± More half-truths but no overt lies. Even fouler curses erupted from the gatehouse as Felix was recognized. ¡°Oh Gods, you found Felix! Quick, quick, get him inside.¡± The myriad locks of the gate clicked and clattered as the guard swung it open. Out from behind the door came the guard, short, with sandy blond hair, he couldn¡¯t have been more than twenty. The leather jerkin he wore as a uniform was ill-fitting, and his eyes were wild with fear and disbelief. Rushing over to Cole, he stared at the withered corpse and seemed to freeze for a moment. A familiar series of expressions passed over the guard¡¯s face. Expressions Cole had seen many a time before. Shock, disbelief, anger, confusion, the various faces of grief on display. Tentatively the guard reached out to touch the corpse, his fingers grazed the side of Felix¡¯s head, and he quickly pulled away as the reality of the situation became clear to the young Guard. Gently, Cole spoke. ¡°We should get him to the Temple, there will be time for grief, but he deserves to be put to rest.¡± The slightly stunned Guard nodded and followed as Cole passed through the gate. Getting back into Glockmire was being significantly easier than Cole expected. The guard quickly relocked the gate then ran to catch up with Cole. the Guard spoke up. ¡°Wait ¡­ What¡¯s your name? I¡¯m Yakov.¡± For someone supposed to guard the gate with healthy suspicion, Yakov was surprisingly open with his words and quick to abandon his post. Cole knew shock had something to do with the young man¡¯s verbosity and distractedness. As they walked, Yakov continued talking, not even giving Cole time to answer his first question. ¡°I¡¯ve known Felix since I was a child; he and my older brother used to be close. He could always be a bit rough around the edges, got angry quick, but, but dammit, he didn¡¯t deserve this¡± With his last word, Yakov gestured at the ruined body of Felix. Even to an untrained eye, the drained and tormented state of the corpse was apparent. It had not been a good death; those at the hands of predators usually aren¡¯t. Soon the grisly sight of Cole, Yakov, and the body caught the attention of onlookers. Whispers turned to mutters and finally into frantic conversation; as scared townsfolk observed the procession. A terrible mixture of fear, dread, and uncertainty poured off the people of Glockmire. They¡¯d known what fate Felix would suffer when the Castle Guards took him. He¡¯d spilled blood and doomed himself over the price of a clay pot. Dragged away by unspeaking guards clad in dark armor; a goat slaughtered on its owner¡¯s whims. A small crowd started to line the streets, watching them walk by. Whispered conversation ceased as Cole approached. Faces colored by worry peered out from windows or doorways. No one got close to Cole and Yakov; and no words were spoken to them. There was a solemn terror to the whole event. The mournful quiet of a funeral procession coupled with the tense nerves of a grisly execution. It was enough to silence Yakov, the grim atmosphere smothering his nervous chatter. Cole ignored the dreadful tension and kept moving. The temple was not far now, its steeple rising above the crooked roofs of Glockmire, a dagger of white stone jabbed into the skies, contrasting with the haggard buildings around it. Whispers and the sound of rapid feet on cobblestone were the only noise. An unnatural stillness had settled in Glockmire. Its population collectively held its breath in anticipation and fear. No one dragged away by the Castle Guards returned, alive or dead. Even those scant few offered mercy by the Lord spent the rest of their lives as servants in the Castle. Joining the gaunt host of attendants and staff that waited on the vampires hand, foot and blood. The return of Felix, even as a corpse, was something new, something different. A change to patterns centuries in the making. Change is stressful under the best of times, and these were certainly not the best of times. Finally, after what seemed a small eternity, they reached the threshold of the Temple. The great wooden doors were inlaid with silver, reinforced with steel and adorned with an intricately carved ten-pointed star, the symbol of the pantheon. Around the star there were beautifully inscribed inscriptions of protection and safety. Like many Temple doors, this portal was meant to guard against threats both physical and spiritual in nature. Cole, Yakov, and the corpse stood in front of the door, surrounded by a small but growing crowd. The increasingly nervous-looking Yakov decided to make his exit. ¡°I need to report to my superiors; they will know what to do. It¡¯s just my first day, can¡¯t expect me to know what to do in a situation like this, right?¡± rambled Yakov. He seemed to be trying to convince Cole, the listening crowd, and even himself with his words. A type of frantic fear showed on Yakov¡¯s face. The fear of an uncertain man exposed to the unknown and expecting danger. He looked young and unsure, but he managed to pull up some hidden reserve of strength and spoke again before leaving. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure Felix¡¯s family knows. Maybe the news will be better taken if it comes from me.¡± The youthful guard disappeared into the crowd, its members easily parting to let him pass unhindered. Cole took a moment to watch Yakov leave before he returned to his task. With his free arm, he wrapped on the temple door, creating a series of harsh knocks on the time-worn wood. All who seek solace and sanctuary can freely enter a Temple of the Pantheon, but certain respect was due. It was better to be invited in and show courtesy to a place like this. Temples and other such locations, where magic is channeled over great lengths of time, get a certain power to them. Centuries of people communing with the Gods and receiving their blessings leaves a mark in the Aether; a mark some might call holy or sacred. Something that even those who renounce the Pantheon and spit on their names are forced to acknowledge as powerful. Here in a Temple with more than a century to its name, the protection of the Gods could be felt most acutely. So it was best to announce yourself and await a host, especially if one was a stranger like Cole. Before the last of Cole¡¯s knocks had fully faded, the great double doors swung outwards. A mournful-looking man of maybe fifty years stood in the doorway. Lean and of average height, he was clad in gray robes and curiously black gloves. Sad and tired-looking gray eyes rested on the body of Felix, and the man stepped to the side before gesturing for Cole to enter. In a reedy voice, he half-whispered. ¡°Bring him inside.¡± Cole entered the Temple, and the officiant shut the doors behind them. Made of polished white stone, taken from the surrounding mountains and furnished with carved wood, the Temple could have been any of the thousands like it that dot the Western Continent. A large main gallery filled with rows of wooden seats and a central altar. Multiple corridors branched off this central room, and back behind the altar was a secluded circular room, where the individual shrines of the Pantheon were held. Large tapestries covered the gallery¡¯s walls, each depicting a momentous event in the world¡¯s history. Just from a cursory glance, Cole could see one of St. Mira the Martyr burning her soul in the grand ritual to separate the world from the Beyond. Another showed Iskandar the Hero leading the Old Empire against the perfidious Sidhe. Suitably the tapestry opposite Iskandar¡¯s showed the Empire¡¯s fall and the start of the Bloody Centuries, with the Accuser dueling the Adversary in the ruins of the Once-Eternal City. The tapestries were not masterpieces of weaving, but they were beautiful in their own way. Powerful stories captured on a loom and displayed so their lessons might never be forgotten. Softly Cole addressed the middle-aged man who invited him into the temple. ¡°I seek a Priest of Master Time. I want to ensure this man¡¯s soul is laid to rest.¡± In response, the man turned to Cole and leaned on one of the nearby chairs. With one gloved hand, he reached into his robes and fished out a familiar-looking pendant. the hourglass symbol of Master Time. Running the small metal medallion through his fingers, the man answered. ¡°That would be me. I am Priest Matthias, servant of Master Time and Keeper of the Dead.¡± With an exhausted gesture, Matthias signaled for Cole to follow him as he passed into one of the adjourning hallways. Cole followed the Priest to a stone staircase which they descended. The stairway went surprisingly deep, at least three stories down. Here the gloomy light of the day was but a memory, and a series of glowstones laid into the rock provided all the illumination. The small marble-sized gems react to magic, and here in the Temple, they always shine a pale light, picking up the power of the sacred place. At the bottom of the staircase was a metal slab of a door, one shut by several locks. Locks, which Cole noticed were on the outside of the door. This door was meant to keep things inside, not people out. A logical and painfully necessary feature to a mortuary.. After a few seconds of fiddling with the locks, Matthias opened the door, and the two worshippers of Master Time entered the corpseroom. Cold stone and clever engineering provided a chilly space where bodies could be safely stored. Something that was rarely needed, judging by their only being five slabs in the small room and none of them occupied. The priest gestured to the nearest one, and Cole placed Felix¡¯s body onto it as gently as possible. Matthias made a strange gesture with his hand, and the room brightened, the glowstones reacting to his attention. For a few moments, neither man said anything as Matthias looked over the corpse. Then with a resigned sigh, the Priest looked up at Cole, rubbed his eyes, and swore. ¡°Damn, of course, it couldn¡¯t be a dream.¡± Cole raised an eyebrow and started to ask what the Priest meant but was interrupted. ¡°The last few weeks, I¡¯ve been having these terrible dreams. I tried to ignore them, hoping there was no reason to think they were anything other than odd nightmares. I mean, what else could they be? Messages from my God? That would be ridiculous, and if I said anything, I¡¯d never live it down. Everyone knows the story of the Dozing Prophet, and I¡¯d hate to have that sort of reputation.¡± The irritable priest was, of course, referring to an age-old parable. Of an egocentric Priest who interpreted every dream as a sign from the Gods. Leading himself and his congregation into a series of morbidly hilarious fates by following these supposed ¡®signs.¡¯ While it¡¯s true a God can more easily communicate with their worshiper through dreams, it is anything but an everyday occurrence. Gesturing back at the body of Felix, Matthias continued. ¡°But of course these dreams had to be true. Of course, the sights of drained corpses, scarred warriors, and bloody shadows couldn¡¯t just be my unconscious mind being temperamental. You show up at the Temple the first night I don¡¯t have the dreams and bring with you this whole jagged mess.¡± With an unbecoming harrumph of displeasure, the Priest plopped down on one of the empty slabs. In the stark light of the mortuary, exhaustion was plain on the man¡¯s face. Staring at the drained and brutalized corpse of Felix, the Priest seemed to deflate. The irritation left him and was replaced with pure weariness. Taking a few deep breaths, Matthias seemed to center himself. Looking up at the still silent Cole, the Priest tentatively spoke again, his tone changed. ¡°My apologies, the reason I didn¡¯t have those dreams last night is that I didn¡¯t sleep at all. Exhaustion and stress got the better of me. I should not have taken it out on you.¡± Cole silently processed everything he¡¯d heard before asking. ¡°Master Time sent you dreams about my arrival? Could you tell me more?¡± Matthias rubbed his eyes and sighed. ¡°They were dreams and don¡¯t exactly form a coherent picture. What I did manage to piece together was the arrival of a scarred stranger sent by Master Time, and that stranger would bring a corpse to Glockmire but leave with a different one.¡± Blinking away the exhaustion, a thought seemed to form in Matthias¡¯ head. ¡°Wait, what¡¯s your name? I forgot to ask when I was busy losing myself. Also, now that I think about it, the dreams said you would come, but not who you are and why you are here. ¡± ¡®Arrive with a corpse and leave with a different one.¡¯ Ominous words and ones Cole would have to dwell on later. It stunk of prophecy, and that in itself was worrying. Master Time, ironically, considering this God¡¯s domain of purview, did not usually grant his followers glimpses of the future. Such disruptions to the flow of events ran anathema to the deity¡¯s purpose. For Matthias to receive such a warning was in itself a more dire omen than the dream¡¯s contents. These facts and what they represented sent a shiver down Cole¡¯s spine. Something foul was brewing in Glockmire, something dangerous enough to require the attention and intervention of a God. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Pulling himself from these dark musings, Cole answered the Priest''s questions. ¡°You can call me Cole, and I¡¯m a fellow servant of Master Time, one who specializes in dealing with the undead.¡± Matthias reached out a hand, one that Cole took. As they shook hands, Matthias spoke, ¡°Cole, huh? You¡¯re a Rest-Bringer, then? One of those Priests who tramp through tombs hunting the hungry dead? That¡¯s an honorable but dangerous path, even more so in these parts. I trust you are not advertising that fact? The Lord barely tolerates me, and at least more than one of my predecessors disappeared under queer circumstances. I cannot imagine he or his court would take kindly to someone who practices our faith like you do.¡± A slight thin smile crossed Cole¡¯s scarred lips. He was indeed technically a Rest-Bringer, just in the same way a Wyvern was technically a Dragon. Of the same order of beings, but you would not mistake a winged animalistic reptile for a mighty god-beasts unless you were very poorly informed. But that faint smile dampened as another thought crossed his mind, he¡¯d not advertised the truth of what he was, but still, it had been discovered. Natalie knew the truth, or at least enough of it to get her killed. An idea that left a bitter taste in Cole¡¯s mouth. Innocent people getting caught up in the consequences of his actions worried him; Natalie suffering such a fate worried him even more. Part of Cole wanted to leave Glockmire to spare its people the danger his presence provoked, but he could not do that. Duty and the unknown threat he¡¯d been summoned to deal with prevented such flights of fancy. You can¡¯t solve a problem by fleeing from it, no matter how hard you try. ¡°I have not advertised who I am or what I am. I¡¯d hoped to be subtle in my dealings here in Glockmire,¡± responded Cole to Matthias¡¯s questions. To that, the middle-aged Priest scoffed. ¡°If you wanted to be subtle, then why in the infinite Hells did you hold an impromptu funeral procession for poor Felix here! If the Court doesn¡¯t know of this by now, they certainly will by sundown. The opportunity for subtlety is long gone. Bluntly Priest Cole, what were you thinking?¡± Cole didn¡¯t bother to correct Matthias on the use of the title; he was a servant of Master Time but never truly ordained as a priest. He also didn¡¯t explain why he¡¯d taken the path he had. By providing a momentous distraction, he¡¯d hoped to shroud Natalie¡¯s involvement. Everyone would be too focused on the grim spectacle and not notice the young woman¡¯s comings or goings. So Cole provided a secondary explanation. ¡°I found Felix outside the lair of hungry Undead, and someone was feeding Felix¡¯s corpse to them, hoping to strengthen and control the Ghouls. I freed those undead and recovered Felix¡¯s corpse, and that alone would draw attention, so my arrival mattered little.¡± Matthias¡¯s mouth fell open, and he mumbled language you¡¯d not expect from a Priest. ¡°Jag me, you really have gone and kicked the hornet¡¯s nest.¡± The Priest shivered slightly and looked over at Felix before continuing. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know how to say this politely, but I¡¯d rather not get further involved in this. Look, I have no qualms about meeting Master Time in person, but I worry about the exact process. I¡¯ve told you everything I know, but I can¡¯t provide you with any aid. This town needs a Keeper of the Dead, and I¡¯m the only one left. Priest Cole, I serve the best way I can and do not wish to try my hand at the way you follow our God.¡± Others might have castigated Matthias for his seeming cowardice. Rebuke him for not doing everything he could to serve his God¡¯s champion. Decrying his choice as foolishness, if the situation was worrying enough to draw Master Time¡¯s attention, then any attempt to flee was pointless. Cole did none of those things, and not just out of courtesy. Many unpleasant dealings with those gripped by fear had taught Cole his words would have no effect. Fear, especially the eldritch kind evoked by the Undead, could cripple a person¡¯s mind and weaken their soul. Matthias was fearful and not without reason. Cole would not push the matter but find a more agreeable solution. ¡°I understand but I have one request for you. Make sure Felix is laid to rest, and a funeral is held. He deserves that much, at least.¡± The momentary trepidation that marked Matthias¡¯s face at the start of Cole¡¯s words; faded into a sad smile. ¡°Yes, I will make sure it is done. I can do that much; I swear it on my faith.¡± ¡°Good,¡± remarked Cole, ¡°I will take my leave now. And may time pass you gracefully.¡± Cole moved to leave the chamber, and Matthias answered the traditional blessing. ¡°And may it pass you gracefully as well.¡± The metal door of the Mortuary shut behind Cole, and he retraced his steps back to the main Temple gallery. While he¡¯d been honest about his desire for Felix to be laid to rest. His motives in that request had been slightly more complicated. In asking Matthias to do his duty as a personal favor, it helped the fearful Priest feel like he was helping Cole without actually doing so. It was a clever little trick that could help alleviate guilt and doubt in the weak. This little bit of manipulation was something Cole had learned years back from an elderly Rest-Bringer he¡¯d fought beside in eastern Norica. While he disliked lying, Cole was not above a little bit of cleverness like that. His duty was to protect the living and the dead. Something that occasionally required more than a strong sword hand and good steel. Back in the gallery proper, Cole decided to make a small stop by the local shrines. In the back of the Temple were ten alcoves, each dedicated to a member of the Pantheon. A quick glance at the various shrines could tell a person much about the community. Each was maintained by the faithful of each God. Usually the local Priests but with offerings and adornments provided by local worshippers. Mother Earths¡¯ shrine was filled with flowers, some fresh, others dried. The God¡¯s sigil took the form of a pregnant woman with her arms stretched up, with leaves and flowers erupting from her fingers and hair, forming a distinctly matronly tree. It was beautifully carved from rich wood and lovingly painted by someone with no small degree of talent. The state of the humble but well-kept shrine spoke of a devout following in this small town. Nearby, the alcove to Uncle Trickster was a chaotic mess of scrawled graffiti, random knick knacks, and interestingly a few game pieces from a Crowns board. On closer inspection, Cole was mildly amused to see the graffiti was a mixture of foul language, poetry, and riddles, or a mix of all three. Which was fitting for Uncle Trickster and his followers. The actual sigil was a bizarre bit of sculpture work. A collage of scrap cloth, metal, and wood forming what could either be a grinning face or a swirling smoke cloud, depending on how you looked at it. Eventually, Cole ended his little tour at the left-most shrine. The one to his god. This alcove was practically barren, with just a pair of gray vases holding a handful of dead flowers as decoration. It was hard to tell, but the flowers might have once been chrysanthemum. A funeral flower, which was probably where the flowers had come from. No candles or offerings marked the shrine, and the oversized hourglass sat stark in the alcove. Sighing to himself, Cole fished in his bag and grabbed a single golden coin. He dropped the small disc of precious metal on the altar and carefully flipped the hourglass that was his God¡¯s sigil. Dark sand started to flow down through the neck, and Cole took a moment to stare at the shrine. A gold coin was a lot of currency to leave as an offering, especially at a humble shrine like this. Matthias was right; he was fooling nobody with his paltry attempts at being subtle. It had never been his strong suit. Simply avoiding people to keep his privacy was his favored tactic, one he¡¯d miserably failed at in Glockmire. Continuing his musings, Cole laid out his knowledge and thoughts. He¡¯d been called to Glockmire by Master Time to deal with an Undead threat. One he¡¯d initially thought was the Vryko-Ghouls that was where his God¡¯s guidance led him. But in freeing the Vryko-Ghouls, he¡¯d exposed his nature and purpose to Natalie, while also discovering the local Vampire aristocracy was attempting to bind and empower dangerous undead to their will. Something that was apparently enough of a threat for Master Time to be send prophetic dreams alongside one of his most important servants. These were all important pieces of the mystery, but the full complexity alluded Cole. He needed information and a better understanding of what was happening. It seemed clear that he¡¯d stumbled into a complicated scheme of some Vampire. Which raised all manner of questions, ones he needed to answer and fast. By blundering into this whole mess, the element of surprise and subtly were lost to him. It was just as Matthais had said if the Vampires didn¡¯t know by now, they would soon enough. Vampires are by their very nature intelligent, clever, and incredibly paranoid. The literally cut-throat court intrigue of the Blood Duchies makes it so only the most calculating and vicious of their kind live for centuries. While the small brood that inhabited Glockmire could not compare to the millennia-old horrors that made up the courts of the various Duke and Duchess of the Blood Duchies. They still should not be underestimated. So Cole¡¯s problem was how to successfully outwit a cabal of cruelly intelligent, manipulative undead monsters. A prospect that daunted him greatly. He¡¯d fought Vampires before and claimed many kills. But those had been feral or barbaric Vampires. Solitary predators that haunt the lands outside of the Blood Duchies. Not the organized, and vaguely united Nocturnal Nobility, bound as vassals to Duke Drakovich; The founder and overall master of this Vampire controlled regime. So Cole¡¯s skills in traversing the wilds and hunting the undead were practically useless. He couldn¡¯t simply walk up to Castle Glockmire and ask to meet the bloodsucker responsible for this mess. No sooner had that sarcastic thought entered his mind when it sparked an idea. He couldn¡¯t win at the Vampires game, there was no doubting that. But he could utterly upend the board and force the Vampires into a situation he doubted even they could imagine. The skills and resources cultivated in century-long games of manipulation and deceit were of little use if their opponent was honest. Cole had failed the subtle approach, so he might just try the total opposite. Turning away from the shrine, Cole started to leave the Temple. The beginnings of a plan started to take shape. Schemes and subterfuge define Vampires, they dance a terrible dance of death, deceit, and depravity. Where every action is calculated, and centuries of potential repercussions are considered. The idea of trying to be subtle or otherwise play this game had been foolish. Cole couldn¡¯t beat the Vampires at their own game, so he needed to force them to play a different one. It was time to upend the table and keep the bloodsuckers guessing. Reaching the great doors of the Temple, Cole threw them open with surprising force. The resulting bang and thump startled the crowd still gathered around the Temple¡¯s entrance. Maybe a hundred or so residents of Glockmire were clustered together in the small square by the Temple. Cole did not let the people have any time to settle. If he was going to do this, he needed to make a large splash. Adjusting his cloak so his ruined face was visible to all, Cole started his new gambit. Speaking in a deep booming voice that surprised even him in its volume. ¡°People of Glockmire, my name is Cole, and I am a Rest-Bringer of Master Time,¡± he proclaimed. Shocked mutters erupted but quickly quieted as Cole continued. ¡°I have come to Glockmire in service to my God. To hunt and destroy the Restless Dead who hurt the innocent. In doing so, I recovered the body of one of your own, a man who I¡¯ve been told was called Felix. I found his body near the lair of some Vryko-Ghouls. Undead that I have laid to rest, as is my duty.¡± The crowd¡¯s murmurs grew in volume. Shouts of disbelief and confusion joined the din. Cole raised a gloved hand to call for silence. He had little to no experience in public speaking, but the rudimentaries were coming naturally. Which was a good thing; if he mishandled this, Cole could easily create an angry mob that would attack him or, worse yet, the Vampires. A possibility that would lead to far more death and suffering. ¡°Felix was apparently a criminal and subject to the Lord¡¯s justice.¡± Cole barely managed to not choke on the word ¡®justice.¡¯ Whatever happened to Felix was certainly not just. ¡°I am not disputing that, but I wish to know why and how his naked corpse found itself at the mouth of a flesh-eating Ghouls lair? I know little of Glockmire and its people, but I¡¯ve learned some in the few days I have been here. It seems to me the Lord is harsh but not unnecessarily cruel. A Vampire but not one who¡¯d engage in such terrible foolishness as feeding a Vryko-Ghoul.¡± The crowd flinched in unison at his use of the word vampire. It painfully reminded Cole of a beaten dog. Reacting to its master¡¯s raised voice with trained terror. As the moment of fear passed, a few voices in the crowd started to agree with Cole. ¡°The Lord has done alright by us. His knights and guards protected us three years ago, and he keeps to himself as long as we follow the rules.¡± shouted one townsfolk. ¡°Glockmire is a lot nicer place to live than most. We have food, water, shelter, and protection, which isn¡¯t always the case in these parts. We¡¯ve prospered here, even recovering from the Plague when other towns were ruined.¡± said another. The people of Glockmire were well-tended livestock, and they didn¡¯t even see it. This was to be expected, but it still gnawed at Cole. In all his conversations with Natalie and other locals, they¡¯d talked about how there were worse places to live than Glockmire. This was true, especially in the Blood Duchies. But a good life in the Blood Duchies was still a miserable existence under fear of predators compared to myriad other lands. Cole had seen much of the western continent, and few places matched Zaubervold and its fellow Blood Duchies in sheer uncertain danger. In the Holy League¡¯s lands, you had to journey deep into forbidden forests or abandoned tombs to find horrors you¡¯d encounter just traveling the roads of Zaubervold. Swarms of hungry Ghouls, feral Werefolk, twisted Bandit clans led by Hells-touched Magi. These things were not supposed to be ¡®the usual dangers of life.¡¯ The people of Glockmire and settlements like it were under constant siege, and they didn¡¯t even notice. It reminded Cole of an allegory he¡¯d learned from a scholar he¡¯d met in Vindabon. The story of a group of prisoners raised in a dark cave, chained to face one wall and only knowing that life. How for their entire life, the only thing the prisoners would know was the dancing shadows on the cave wall. To them, those shadows and their movements were reality. Never knowing they were but specters cast by other people moving freely in the cave around them. As the allegory went, one of those prisoners was freed and saw the outside world. Learning the truth of light, reality, and what the shadows on the wall were. This freed man would return to his brethren and seek to illuminate them to the truth he¡¯d discovered. But because he was unable to free the still shackled prisoners and only convey what he¡¯d learned through words. The still bound prisoners would dismiss their freed kin¡¯s words as lunacy. The lessons of this story were apt and brought a bitter taste to Cole¡¯s mouth. Worse still in this metaphor, he was not a freed kinsman returning to his brethren but a stranger whose words would more easily be dismissed as heresy and madness. No matter how much he¡¯d like to, Cole couldn¡¯t convince the people that their reality was but shadows on a wall. He could, however, make sure his own shadow danced in a way it helped these poor prisoners. Cole gestured up at Castle Glockmire and continued his speech. ¡°It seems to me that another force is behind this. Someone perhaps seeking to harm the Lord and his subjects. A fact I intend to bring to his attention. I am a Rest-Bringer, one who ends the false-life of the Undead. Even so, I come not to quarrel with the Lord or his vassals. Only to put an end to the threat posed by whoever was mad enough to try and feed a Vryko-Ghoul. Also, while I am here in Glockmire, I will gladly listen to any petitions people might have. I know these lands are stalked by many terrible undead horrors, horror I intend to destroy. Come to me and name the thing that haunts you, and I will do what I can to free you.¡± Internally Cole was feeling incredibly self-conscious. This flowery dramatic way of speaking felt ridiculous and alien to him. Cole was, in truth, trying to imitate some of the preachers and heralds he¡¯d encountered over the years. This was far, far outside his expertise, and it seemed a small miracle he hadn¡¯t bungled it. But as he finished his speech, the crowd reacted as well as he could expect. Now came the easy part, marching up to a Vampire infested Castle and ruining the plans of centuries-old bloodsucking monsters. As that thought went through his head, Cole had to suppress a laugh. Public speaking made him uncomfortable, but plunging into mortal danger? That''s just another day in the life of a Paladin. So as the crowd parted and Cole made his way towards Castle Glockmire, something approaching a smile crossed his face. He¡¯d been a fool trying to play the Vampires games. Now it was time to return to his element and put the fear of Death back in these Unholy terrors. Chapter 6- The other side of the Coin

Chapter 11: The Other side of the Coin

¡°It was one man who broke the siege! Cep¡¯t he was no true man! His armor was red and his sword was as big as me. He smashed through the gate with a single blow, and turned the enemies'' own dead against them! I never saw something like it and Gods willing, I¡¯ll never see it again¡± - Rastko Zebic. (Mortal Levy in the Rolograd garrison)
Dietrich Freymond¡¯s life had been defined by service and slaughter. The son of a Mercenary and raised in that grim life, Dietrich spent his childhood and adolescence fighting in a dozen different conflicts, serving a dozen different lords. Growing up in the war-torn eastern regions of the Holy League, where petty nobles squabbled and fought with each other as much as they did with their actual enemies. In that bloody time and place, Dietrich learned how to fight and, more importantly, survive. Earning a name for himself among the mercenary companies that wandered the Eastern Marches. With this success and talent for the art of war, Dietrich¡¯s story might have ended the same as the hundreds of other mercenary captains who¡¯ve lived and died across the Western Continent. Except for one fact about Dietrich, he had ambitions that lay beyond gold and the pleasures it brings, which put him head and shoulders above most mercenaries. Ambition is not unheard of in those circles, with many successful sellswords ending up as knights in service to some noble who noticed their talent. But Dietrich desired something different, not lordship or power like some might expect. Dietrich wanted to become a knight in service to a Lord who he viewed as worthy to follow. Such a Lord crossed paths with Dietrich in an utterly unexpected manner. In the wake of a bloody battle where almost all of Dietrich¡¯s company was destroyed, the young mercenary encountered the enemy commander. Archduke Drakovich, first of his kind and ruler of the Blood Duchies, leading an army of living and undead to defend his subjects from invaders. Offering mercy to those who deserved it and grave-cold cruelty to those who earned it. In that fearsome immortal warlord, Dietrich found a master worthy of serving. That chance encounter was over a hundred and fifty years ago, and just as Dietrich¡¯s life had been defined by service and slaughter, so, now was his undeath. Dietrich Freymond found a liege, and with it a new existence as a Vampire of the Duke¡¯s bloodline. Becoming one of the most fearsome warriors in the Western Continent, at a hundred years of undeath, he¡¯d been sworn into the Scarlet Knights, the elite martial order who acted as Duke Drakovich¡¯s sword. On becoming one of this elite cohort, Dietrich had been assigned the traditional duty of a newly inducted member. Acting as bodyguard and executioner for one of the Duke¡¯s vassals. The vassal in question was Lord Johan Glockmire, an aloof Vampire, over a millenia old, who ruled over the hamlet bearing his name. As a Scarlet Knight, Dietrich was sworn to serve Lord Glockmire as a valuable enforcer, an enforcer who could as easily enforce the Duke¡¯s will on Lord Glockmire as enforcing the Lord¡¯s will on his subjects. This tenure of service would be for a single century and work to teach Dietrich skills not found on the battlefield but still needed by a Scarlet Knight. The assignment was just barely halfway over, and Dietrich had loathed every minute of it. As a warrior who¡¯d fought against myriad foes and survived dangers most folk could not imagine, spending fifty years as a glorified nanny for the twenty-four Vampires who made up the Court of Glockmire had been his most unbearable challenge yet. Vampires are fickle, arrogant, and paranoid creatures by their very nature. Tendencies that had been quashed in a newly turned Dietrich before they¡¯d even had a chance to form. So to him, the neverending politicking and backstabbing of the Court seemed like the behavior of spoiled, petulant children, who squandered the great power they¡¯d been given. It painfully reminded Dietrich of the petulant highborn heirlings he¡¯d dealt with in his mercenary youth. Youths born to status and utterly conceited with it. Lord Glockmire seemed utterly unbothered by his Court''s behavior. Rarely if ever, involving himself in the Vampires squabbles and leaving them to their own devices. So it had fallen to Dietrich to enforce something resembling order onto the Court. Aside from himself and the Lord, the court¡¯s membership included twelve vampires of Lord Glockmires blood, sired by either him or one of his spawn; six barbarian vampires who¡¯d migrated to Zaubervold, five native Vampires of differing bloodlines, and Petar the Steward. Dietrich knew little about Petar, other than that he was nearly as old as Lord Glockmire and had served as his aide-de-camp for as long as Glockmire ruled over the town bearing his name. As enforcer of both the Duke¡¯s and Lord¡¯s will, Dietrich oversaw the town¡¯s defenses and ensured its citizens were safe from monsters other than the Nocturnal Nobility. It had been Dietrich by and large who¡¯d led the fight against the attacking lesser-undead three years ago. Commanding the voiceless legions of the Castle Guards and his fellow Vampires to repulse the invasion. The effort had been no small feat; plague ravaged Zaubervold that year and the undead attacks that followed it had totally destroyed towns larger than Glockmire. For his efforts, Dietrich had earned a modicum of respect from his subordinates, which had made the last three years of dealing with them relatively painless. This, combined with the action provided by hunting down remnants of the undead horde, had made his service much more pleasant. Which, of course, would not last, as Dietrich Freymond was awoken one afternoon to the news that a Vampire Hunter had come calling. When he awoke, Dietrich felt two things, fresh blood on his lips and the supernatural knowledge that the Sun still shone overhead. He¡¯d been awoken early from his daily slumber, which could only mean one thing, an emergency worthy of his immediate attention. Red eyes flaring open, Dietrich sat up instantly from his crypt. The clatter of his armor filled the underground chamber he used as a lair. Dietrich only removed his armor for maintenance and cleaning. His undead nature let him spend weeks at a time encased in the red plate mail he wore like a second skin. This was a strange habit most Scarlet Knights adopted, ensuring they were always ready for war. Dietrich swept his eyes over his lair, seeing the two nervous-looking servants standing beside the sarcophagus he slept in. The servants were thralls of his, bound by his magic to serve him till death. Closer to him was Yara, who¡¯d cut open her forearm to feed him the precious blood needed to awaken him before dusk. Farther away, towards the room¡¯s entrance, was Vichiry, holding a torch, providing the only illumination in his lair. Seeing the worry and fear in their eyes, Dietrich growled.¡°What is it? What is the matter¡± both servants jumped at his snarl . Unlike many Vampires, Dietrich treated his thralls well. But still, the prospect of waking up an incredibly dangerous Vampire and delivering ill tidings would unnerve all but the bravest souls. Yara spoke up, wrapping a bandage over her cut even as she did. ¡°A stranger has arrived at the Castle. He¡¯s at the front gate and wants to speak with the Lord. He says he¡¯s a Rest-Bringer, and he has information about a rogue Vampire he wants to bring to the Lord¡¯s knowledge.¡± That got Dietrich¡¯s attention. Rest-Bringers rarely came to the Blood Duchies, not because their talents were unneeded (the opposite is true) but because they rarely left alive or intact. For one to willingly approach the local Vampire Court was bizarre and worrying. His servants had done well to wake him; this was indeed something he needed to personally deal with. Rising up fully from his crypt, Dietrich addressed his two thralls. ¡°You did well to wake me. Do you know if any other Nobles have been alerted to this?¡± In other parts of the world, Nobility could refer to all manner of people; in the Blood Duchies, it meant only one thing. All Vampires, in the eyes of the local people, were Nobles. A literal breed apart, who ruled over them with supernatural power. Rulership that Duke Drakovich asserted was superior to any mortals. A claim Deitrich agreed with, even the problematic tendencies of the Glockmire Court''s younger members, was more than balanced out by the experience and talent of Vampires like himself, Petar, and even Lord Glockmire when the mood suited him. Yara shook her head as she answered. ¡°I don¡¯t believe so; we got the information first and rushed here as fast as we could. That could change, but you should be the first awakened.¡± Dietrich nodded at this and went over to one of the only pieces of furniture in his lair. A weapon rack that held his sword. At two meters long and weighing an obscene fifty kilograms, Dietrich¡¯s blade was a true behemoth of a sword. Shaped like an oversized greatsword, with a dull square tip, it was a tool of execution, capable of killing through its sharpened edge or its sheer mass. Only a being of supernatural strength could hope to wield this weapon, which Dietrich had put to good use on countless occasions. In a rare moment of humor, Dietrich had named the weapon Lex, an Old Imperial word of Law, which the sword often embodied. Armed and armored, Dietrich left his lair, leaving Vichiry to lock the chambers while Yara trailed after her master. Moving quickly, Dietrich stormed past frightened-looking servants and unmoving Guards. Yara, to her credit, managed to keep up with the avalanche of polished metal that was Dietrich. Soon they reached the antechamber of the Castle''s great hall. Extravagantly furnished and the size of a small house, the antechamber acted as a less formal meeting area for the court members. A scattering of tables, chairs, and the like filled the chamber. Suits of armor also stood at attention at the far walls, which were far from simple decor; each could animate to defend the Castle at any moment. The antechamber was like much of the Castle, and anywhere powerful Vampires laired; ostentatious, intimidating, and macabre. Using such subtle power to gain an advantage over this stranger would have never occurred to Dietrich before coming to Glockmire. But fifty years of learning to manage his fellow Vampires had taught him much. Turning to Yara, who waited nervously by the room¡¯s entrance, the Scarlet Knight spoke. ¡°Have him brought here; I will speak with him.¡± and after a moment¡¯s thought, he added. ¡°Check him for weapons but do not confiscate any you find.¡± This Rest-Bringer would not be a threat to him in a place of power like this, and it would be good to subtly inform the stranger of that fact. A few minutes later, the Rest-Bringer arrived in the antechamber. Flanked by Castle Guards and guided by the ever-nervous Yara. The first impression Dietrich got of his unusual guest was his strange appearance. The stranger was larger than Dietrich, even accounting for his plate mail. Clad in worn but well maintained traveling clothes the stranger was covered in more scars than any living person Dietrich had seen. The stranger looked around the antechamber, his blue eyes noting exits and dark corners. Dietrich recognized the behavior of a fellow professional. This Rest-Bringer was no foolish amateur as he¡¯d initially assumed upon hearing the stranger simply walked up Castle Glockmire. For a moment, neither man said anything, simply sizing each other up until Dietrich broke the silence. ¡°I am Sir Dietrich, Castellan of Glockmire. What business do you have with me, mortal?¡± While it was true that Dietrich held the title of Castellan, it was not how he usually introduced himself, revealing his formal title of Executioner of Glockmire tended to hamper attempts at diplomacy. The stranger gave the room one final appraisal before speaking. His voice was the type of rich baritone you¡¯d expect from a man his size and colored by an unusual accent. A lifetime and unlifetime of war had taught Dietrich to recognize regional accents; the Rest-Bringer was from Atreidia originally, but his accent had faded and warped from years of travel, he guessed. ¡°I¡¯ve uncovered an issue that needs addressing. One of your kind has involved themselves in some very dark magic. The type I doubt even the Nobles of Noct-Bucuros would approve of. ¡° That got a raised eyebrow from Dietrich, and an itch of concern started to form. While he had no doubt that some if not all of the Court¡¯s Vampires were dabbling in magic a Rest-Bringer would find abhorrent. That this corpse hunter felt the need to approach him in such a brazen fashion was bizarre and very curious. The Stranger pulled out a small amulet from his neck and only decades of strict training stopped Dietrich from flinching at the sigil of Master Time. Symbols of the Gods could harm a Vampire; even a tiny bit of intent poured into them was enough to turn even a simple necklace into a lethal weapon. Holding up that amulet, the Stranger started to explain. ¡°I am a servant of Master Time, sworn to face the unquiet dead who trouble the living. My travels have brought me to Glockmire, and in the process, I discovered some powerful lesser Undead stalking the nearby wilds.¡± Dietrich was on edge now; he personally oversaw the culling of monsters in the region, be they alive or undead. It seemed likely the Stranger was lying, but the question was why. Finally, Dietrich asked the question that had been on his mind since the stranger had not recipcitated his introduction. ¡°These are bold claims; what is the name of the man making them?¡± ¡°Cole, my name is Cole,¡± responded the now-named stranger, who betrayed nothing through his voice or stance. Cole continued describing what had occurred, ignoring the subtle warning in Dietrich¡¯s words. ¡°I put the four Ghouls to rest, found their lair, and discovered someone had been feeding them. The corpse of one of this town''s citizens had been left out for the Ghouls to consume.¡± Dietrich processed this information and decided to push on this Rest-Bringer. ¡°Leaving the dead out to be consumed by Ghouls is a not unheard of way of disposing of the dead.¡± This was true, but a practice considered horrific and heretical by all but the most twisted cultures. Cole did not rise to the bait and instead grimaced. ¡°That may be the case, but I doubt anyone of sound mind would feed Vryko-Ghouls.¡± Now, this was ridiculous; something as dangerous as a Vryko-Ghoul would have caught Dietrich''s attention long ago. And the idea that this simple priest could destroy four such horrors? It defied belief. Dietrich scoffed and asked. ¡°Well, how did you kill not one but four Vryko-Ghouls?¡± Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. That got a thin smile from Cole. ¡°With great difficulty. The corpse meant to feed those trapped souls was apparently a criminal in your custody. A criminal that was transported to the lair by Direbats and given a drop of Vampire blood. I¡¯m sure I do not need to tell you the implications of that.¡± He did not, even dried and in small amounts, a Vampire''s blood could have power over creatures, especially fellow undead. If Cole¡¯s claims were true, a Vampire had been trying to not only strengthen a quartet of dangerous Ghouls but also bring them under their control. Moving faster than a human eye could track, Dietrich crossed the room and stood in front of Cole. Both men, Vampire and Vampire Hunter, were face to face. Cole¡¯s hand gripping his axe, but no sign of fear on his scarred face. Normally mortals jumped back, screamed, or ran when Dietrich pulled that little trick. That Cole reacted only by preparing to fight earned him some credit in the Vampire knight¡¯s eyes. Dietrich wanted to dismiss this stranger¡¯s words as lies or lunacy but could not do so easily. The unconcerned focus of Cole felt familiar to Dietrich; it was that of a soldier delivering a worrying report to a superior. Still, he wanted to test this man and the unusual problem he represented. ¡°How do you know this practice is not done with Lord Glockmire¡¯s permission? You risk much by approaching me on the assumption this is the work of a Court member defying our will?¡± To that, Cole glanced around the room and gestured around him. ¡°This is a perfectly good Castle, is it not? Filled with dungeons, crypts, and dark magic. Things that would be useful for containing and experimenting on Vryko-Ghouls. No, if this madness had the Lord¡¯s approval, then it would be taking place in this Castle¡¯s bowls, not out in the wilderness for me to discover by happenstance. Also, I doubt you personally are involved; no Scarlet Knight would stoop to such methods. ¡± The fact that Cole recognized his armor¡¯s heraldry was a valuable clue about this Rest-Bringer. While not exactly secretive, knowledge of his Order was not commonplace. Dietrich then asked. ¡°A valid point, but why come to the Castle with this information? You are a Rest-Bringer, are you not? Yet you provide crucial information gladly.¡± Cole¡¯s eyes flicked to the side just for a moment, and Dietrich saw the first sign of hesitation in the man. But Cole quickly recovered and answered, with a low growl coloring his voice. ¡°I despise everything this castle and its denizens stand for. The corruption and consumption of innocent lives by monsters like you. Undead horrors ruling over the living and treating them like livestock. It disgusts me, and if it was in my power to burn this nest of leeches to the ground, I would.¡± The brutal words hit Dietrich like a slap, and he suppressed a feral hiss. Composed and stoic by Vampire standards, Dietrich still felt the domineering pride and haughty cruelty innate to his species. To be insulted by a sack of blood too stupid to know its place in the hierarchy of existence rankled him fiercely. For a single moment, Dietrich wanted to rip Cole''s heart out and drink its lifeblood before its owner¡¯s dying eyes. Iron-hard personal discipline, the product of multiple lifetimes of service, quickly quashed the vindictive rage, just in time for Cole to continue. ¡°That being said, I lack the power to free this town, and by the standards of the Blood Duchies, the people here live well. I¡¯m not a blind zealot who refuses to see that the Vampires of Glockmire are most definitely a lesser evil in this situation. I hope to point said lesser evil in the direction of a greater evil. Whoever was feeding the ghouls is a problem for both of us. I hoped to ensure the power at your disposal did some good for once.¡± Dietrich bit back a retort. He wanted to explain to this stupid mortal how the Vampires ensured the survival and success of their subjects. How the fall of the Old Empire proved without a shadow of a doubt that mortals could not be trusted to rule themselves. Archduke Drakovich witnessed the collapse with his own eyes and hoped to rebuild that lost glory as something better in the Blood Duchies. A land where people would be ruled by immortal nobles who could use centuries of experience and skill. But Dietrich also knew his words would fall on deaf ears. Cole was a man of faith, shackled to the dogma of fickle alien minds; it would be pointless. Instead, Dietrich decided to try and throw Cole off tempo. ¡°I thank you for bringing this to my attention. It will be dealt with.¡± When used correctly, courtesy is just as effective a weapon in verbal sparring as insults. What was it that old philosopher said? ¡®The view from the moral high ground is quite pleasant.¡¯ Before Cole could respond, a new voice interrupted him. Feminine, sinfully rich and dripping with a heavy lilting accent, the voice said. ¡°Oh darling Dietrich, why didn¡¯t you tell me we had guests?¡± As the newcomer entered the antechamber, both Cole and Dietrich took a step back from each other and exchanged looks. A flicker of unspoken communication passed between the two warriors; an agreement not to involve the woman had just entered. Dressed in a flowing Lusitanian dress and slinking into the antechamber with a deliberate sway to her hips was Dame Lorena Sartori, a powerful Vampire of the Court. It seemed the rest of Glockmires¡¯s Vampires were waking up. Dietrich gritted his teeth. Lorena was not the worst of his kind to intrude into this mess, but she was close. The use of sexuality as a tool of manipulation and hunting was common among Vampires, but some breeds prefer it to other methods. Mastering seduction as a sinful artform that could ensnare all but the most resistant souls. Chief among those Vampire breeds were Moroi like Lorena. Sired as a Vampire two centuries ago in the southern Blood Duchies, she fled a rather messy situation in her home Court to Glockmire. Where she quickly embedded herself as one of the more powerful and fickle vassals of the lord. Slinking around Dietrich and Cole, like a hungry lioness, Lorena asked. ¡°My, my? Who is this exotic stranger you¡¯ve been keeping from me? A comrade from your soldiering days? He certainly has the scars to match. You must have been incredibly brave to earn such marks of valor Sir?...¡± Her voice trailed off with the question, which Cole did not answer. An awkward silence filled the room as Cole refused to take the bait laid for him. Dietrich eventually broke it with a believable explanation. ¡°This is Cole, a Mercenary who is staying in Glockmire. He offered his services, and I had just finished explaining we had no need, but pointing him where he might find work.¡± That got a wicked grin from Lorena. ¡°Oh, how thoughtful of you, Dietrich, but I am sure such a strapping warrior could surely find some work here. A tall, brooding man like you must have all sorts of interesting stories. Stories I¡¯d love to hear you tell; after all, a gentleman like you must know how to entertain a lady.¡± Cole, to his credit, did not react to the entendre-laden entries of the Dame. In fact, where most men would be flustered or at least surprised by the Vampresses'' obvious flirtation, Cole seemed tense and cold. Dietrich ideally wondered if the Rest-Bringer was truly uninterested, or simply experienced enough to handle behavior that would stun most Priests. While only the most extreme sects of the Temple discouraged intimacy in its Priests, most viewed it as a private affair, something between committed lovers, not something to be flaunted and even weaponized as Lorena did. Turning away from both Vampires, Cole growled. ¡°I will decline your offer Madam.¡± and turned to leave. After a half-second of consideration, Dietrich gestured for two of the Castle Guards standing by the entrance to escort Cole out. He did not know what problems this Priest would bring, but he would deal with them when they came. Until then, Dietrich had larger issues to deal with. Investigating the worrying situation Cole uncovered and, more pressingly, dealing with Lorena. Like most Moroi, her blood ran hot, an impressive feat for a cold corpse. Passionate, fickle, and extravagant even by Vampire standards, Lorena would certainly try and tease the threads of this situation. While it was unlikely she was involved with the Vryko-Ghoul incident, Deitrich could not be certain. He idly thought that if Lorena made a play for the Lord¡¯s seat or whatever the unknown enemy was doing, she¡¯d strike through more subtle means than cultivating powerful monsters under her control. That thought led to another about the current predicament. This ¡°Feeder,¡± as Cole had called the unknown Vampire, had to be working towards something. Even as paranoid as Vampires typically are, they don¡¯t take such extreme risks as binding dangerous lesser undead to themselves unless for a singular purpose. Such preparations would be costly to the Vampire¡¯s strength and would not be done recklessly. The question was, what was that purpose? The most obvious was attempting a Coup against Lord Glockmire. Four Vryko-Ghouls and Night knows how many other Undead could prove a formidable fighting force, especially when guided by a Vampire''s hand. Of course, Cole could be lying, that was the easiest answer, but Dietrich doubted it. He recognized a fellow warrior, one with experience and grit. Not the type to engage in subterfuge with any level of success. At the same time, he could be a pawn of another Vampire, convinced of the truth by illusion or other mental manipulation. The sheer number of variables at play was staggering, and Dietrich needed time to think and investigate. Time he did not currently have, as Lorena stared at him, her hip cocked proactively and a knowing smile on her tan face. Vampires naturally lose their bodies'' pigment over the centuries, but with a little effort, it could be maintained. Usually out of vanity or to more easily walk among mortals, Dietrich suspected Lorena did it for both reasons. Tossing a lock of raven hair over her shoulder, the Moroi asked. ¡°Well now, What was that all about? You cannot seriously expect me to believe your little show?¡± Dietrich decided it was best to mix truth and lies together. A spice of truth ensures a lie is swallowed easily. ¡°He is a mercenary, just not one we could hire. A Rest-Bringer in service to the Final God. I don¡¯t know what madness possessed him, but he approached the Castle looking for work, but he did. Perhaps he came looking to claim one of our heads but changed his mind?¡± Lorena slithered towards a nearby couch, seating herself like a contented serpent after a meal. Propping her head up with one arm, she said. ¡°That is certainly an interesting story, dear Dietrich. But not what my pets are telling me. Why I¡¯ve heard a most interesting tale about this Cole character. Something about him marching into town with some of our scraps and outrageous claims about us feeding ghouls. Proclaiming for all of Glockmire to hear that he intended to confront the big bad Vampires in the name of his god.¡± Dietrich gritted his teeth; he¡¯d rushed to this meeting right after awakening and had not learned of the day''s events. He¡¯d met with Cole, not knowing the foolish Priest had apparently made a spectacle of telling everyone in Glockmire his intent and purpose. This was sure to get the livestock anxious and cause trouble. His moment of surprised hesitation was exactly what Lorena had been hoping for, and she pressed the advantage. ¡°Oh, was that a surprise to you, dear Dietrich? I do so hate to be the bearer of such dreadful news. But I am sure you have a solid grip on it, being our noble protector and all that. Why, surely you must have been aware of the terrible scheme darling Cole was ranting about. Or at the very least ready to deal with such a rabble-rouser. We can¡¯t let the mortals run around spreading such nasty lies about us after all.¡± In response, Dietrich gave the perfidious Vampress a glare that could instill terror, a glare that had stopped trained soldiers in their steps. While most Vampires preferred to use their arcane talents of mental manipulation for subtle work, Dietrich had found a more appealing use. Lorena shivered slightly and bit her lip as the weight of Dietrich''s mind slammed into her. She apparently found the whole ordeal titillating, or at least she¡¯d like Dietrich to believe. Her free hand tensed in fear and put holes in the couch¡¯s fabric, showing she was not immune to such a psychic assault. This was Vampire politics encapsulated, clever words, dark powers, and a mixture of subtle and unsubtle intimidation. Dietrich turned away from Lorena, which in itself was a display of dominance. Exposing his back to a fellow predator, certain she dared not strike. ¡°The additional information you¡¯ve provided is most welcome, Dame Lorena. It will make investigating and dealing with this incident go more smoothly. I am sure you will gladly inform me of anything else your agents learn.¡± Recovering, Lorena smiled sweetly at Dietrich and said, ¡°Well, of course, dear Dietrich, are we not all just one happy family united in undeath?¡± As a Moroi, Lorena¡¯s supernatural talents lent themselves to subtle manipulative powers. Controlling servants and manipulating the minds of weak-willed mortals. Dietrich, by contrast, traced his bloodline to Duke Drakovich himself and the Vampiric breed the Duke had sired. The Wyrmoi follow their founder''s example and are meant for war and rulership. Strong, Fast, and dominating, Dietrich had risen from the grave, ready to lead armies from the front. That power was put to use as he moved to loom over Lorena in less than a second. Large, heavily armored, and grim, his presence pressed on the Vampresses senses. Dietrich had long learned the value of quickly overwhelming and intimidating the fickle Vampires of Glockmire. ¡°Of course, but I need not remind you that as the Executioner of Lord Glockmire and Archduke Drakovich¡¯s will, any interference with my duties will be treated as an act against our liege.¡± Lorena moved back slightly onto the couch and smiled. ¡°But of course, I wish you good hunting, Sir Deitrich.¡± Just as the Vampire Knight was hoping this little detente was over, yet another voice intruded into the antechamber. ¡°And what might our esteemed Knight be hunting?¡± Petar the Steward arrived. Just by looking at him, you would never guess Petar was a Vampire. Of average height and flabby build; He¡¯d been turned in his early sixties, with pale stringy hair and a collection of liver spots that contrasted with alabaster skin. To be turned into a Vampire at such an age was virtually unheard of, and he¡¯d survived for untold centuries appearing like a sickly old man. The only real indication of his nature and age were his eyes. Waxy and unblinking, they were the eyes of a corpse. Of all the Vampires in Glockmire, Petar was the only one Dietrich found worrying. He presented too many unknowns and dangers for the Knight to ever be comfortable with. Fixing those disturbing eyes on the pair of Lorena and Dietrich, Petar asked again. ¡°Well, what is your quarry? Surely you will need resources and aid in this task, which I will happily provide Sir Knight.¡± As steward, Petar controlled much of the court''s night-to-night mundanities. Much of the administrative staff of Glockmire was composed of mortals enthralled to him. Poor souls whose life consisted of never-ending streams of parchment and paper. Worked to a slow death by the mind-numbing bureaucracy of running a town. Such a waste of life had shocked Dietrich, and he''d asked Petar why he didn¡¯t treat his thralls better. In response, the Steward¡¯s thin lips had just tightened in a cruel smile, and he said, ¡°Why waste the resources on maintaining easily replaceable tools? I can take any random fool, stamp the required knowledge into their mind, and set them to work. It yielded a four-point six percent increase in general productivity. Those three sentences encapsulated the steward and why the rest of the Court treated him with a mixture of respect and fear. While Dietrich found such practices distasteful, it was not his place to countermand the steward. It was, however, well within his right to not share every detail about his current challenge. No one was above suspicion, even this old monster who¡¯d served the Lord faithfully for centuries. ¡°Ah, Steward Petar. There is a Rest-Bringer in town who is making some extreme allegations. Allegations that I intend to investigate.¡± Petar¡¯s expression did not change, and his words were the same dusty monotone Dietrich knew to expect. ¡°Well then, I trust you will have matters well in hand. Inform me if that changes.¡± Dietrich nodded and left the Antechamber and the two scheming Vampires. While Lorena¡¯s motivations were easy to decipher, mainly power and pleasure. Petar, by contrast, gave little away and was utterly inscrutable to Dietrich. The Knight needed to keep his fellow Vampires at a distance while he investigated the matter. Having a Rest-Bringer loose among the townsfolk could prove troublesome, and if his claims had any validity, that would open up another mess of complexity. Dietrich resolved to get answers quickly and have something to tell Lord Glockmire, assuming the Lord was even interested in potential dangers to his fiefdom. Chapter 6.5: Guilt and Grief

Chapter 12: Guilt and Grief

¡°My sister is dead. The monster got her. Dad tryed to fite it but coudnt. It was so scary. Please bring her back. Please bring her back. Please bring her back. Kill the monster. Smash it up and make sure it is gone. Please stop the monsters. Please stop the monsters. Please stop the monsters.¡± a child¡¯s prayer.
Cole returned from the Castle unscathed, much to the surprise of the town¡¯s people. Ignoring their shocked looks, he headed to the Silly Goat. Wilhelm and Natalie had heard about the whole ordeal and both were surprised Cole returned to the inn. For different reasons, of course, Wilhelm didn¡¯t expect Cole to survive, and Natalie assumed Cole would attempt to avoid her. Cole, to their shock, simply walked back into the Inn, approached both of them, and asked. ¡°I assume you are both aware of what has occurred?¡± Natalie bit back a few blistering comments on the idea of subtly and just looked away from the scarred man. Wilhelm nodded shakily and asked. ¡°I assume since you¡¯re breathing, the meeting went well?¡± ¡°That¡¯s up to interpretation, but not what I wish to discuss. I would like to continue to rent a room here, but I understand if that is no longer possible.¡± Wilhelm and Natalie looked at each other, and the Innkeeper spoke up before his daughter could. ¡°Where would you go? This is the only place to rent a room in town?¡± Cole shrugged, ¡°I¡¯ve camped in worse places than outside a town¡¯s walls.¡± That answer incensed Wilhelm; his family had been providing shelter and food to travelers for centuries; hospitality and honesty the watchwords of the Striga family. While not having Cole under his roof would probably be a better option, the idea of turning out a paying and courteous customer went against everything Wilhelm believed in. ¡°As long as you have coin and proper manners, I see no reason for you not to stay at the Silly Goat.'''' was Wilhelms¡¯s answer. Cole felt a slight smile touch his lips. Honest, decent folk like Wilhelm were one of the reasons Cole did what he did. They deserved lives and deaths untainted by the darkness Cole fought. With that settled, Cole returned to his room to rest, and more importantly, tend to the skull. It was still hidden under the bed; Cole hadn¡¯t bothered to move it, even after Natalie found it. Pulling it out of its bag and then sitting on the bed, Cole held the haunting piece of bone in his hands and stared into its eye-sockets. Memories of the woman the skull once belonged to drifted into his mind, imagining her smiling face where only a grinning rictus remained. But that wistful image quickly bled away to another more bitter memory, of the first time Cole had seen the skull. Ashen and worn atop a pike in the middle of a ruined castle. A grim reminder to anyone who might repeat her crimes. Tracing the skull¡¯s cheekbone in a morbid parody of how he once touched her, Cole let out a pained sigh. ¡°I¡¯m a hypocrite, aren¡¯t I, Isabelle?¡± he asked the skull. It didn¡¯t answer, but that didn¡¯t stop him. ¡°A champion of the God of Death, who helps the dead rest and the grieving move on, and yet, I can¡¯t let go of you.¡± Still, the skull said nothing, even as Cole held its fangs to his neck. More than a decade old, yet the serpent-like teeth slid through his skin with ease. Cole didn¡¯t react to the twinge of pain and simply shut his eyes, remembering happier day. Blood should have flowed down his neck, Cole¡¯s heart forcing blood out of the two incisions, but not a drop escaped the wounds, all of it greedily devoured by the skull. When his love was satiated, Cole pulled her skull free and clasped a hand to his neck. The bite mark was already scabbing over and would soon join the myriad scars around his throat. Holding the skull up like a sacred chalice, Cole looked into those empty eyes. A few lingering drops of blood fell onto his hands, not that he noticed, at that moment, Cole felt what he¡¯d been hoping to experience. A feeling of soft coolness on his skin, like fresh sheets or, more accurately, an inhuman lover¡¯s embrace. She was still there, or at least part of her was. Isabelle was dead, but when had that ever stopped a Vampire from persisting?
Downstairs, Natalie and Wilhelm threw themselves into chores, both falling back on the distractions provided by labor. Wilhelm was nervous that he might have made a grave error letting Cole stay; he¡¯d followed his heart but worried that had been foolish. Natalie was worried about that well, and a bushel of other stresses to boot. How would she tell her father she wanted to leave Glockmire? What had happened with the Varcolac? Why had Cole bloody walked up the Castle? And what was going to happen next? While Wilhelm worked on that evening¡¯s supper, Natalie started cleaning the Inn. She had long learned to not be surprised by the sheer amount of dust and grime that could accumulate in the Silly Goat. Having a never-ending stream of customers of all walks of life ensured that cleaning the Inn was an eternal battle that Natalie would not miss when she left. Natalie winced when that thought entered her mind; she was doing this drudgery in the first place to avoid thinking about leaving! Letting out an annoyed sigh, Natalie turned to wet the washcloth she was using and knocked over a bucket of soapy water. As the dirty and sudsy water spilled onto the floor, a moment of irrational anger surged through Natalie. With a ferocity that surprised even her, she threw the washcloth onto the ground with a resounding splat. Grumbling, she bent over to pick up the poor rag that received her wrath and upright the bucket. She¡¯d need to get a mop to clean up this mess, but just for a moment, Natalie wanted to sit and just not think. Slumping onto a nearby stool, she rubbed her forehead absently. Her father¡¯s amused voice interrupted her attempt to relax. ¡°You know we just finished cleaning the floor?¡± Natalie snorted at her dad¡¯s attempt at humor and looked up at him. Leaning on the bar, Wilhelm had a sad sort of smile on his face. A mixture of resignation and care. He knew his daughter well and could guess what was giving her so much stress. ¡°You¡¯ve made up your mind, haven¡¯t you? About leaving Glockmire,¡± he said gently. Natalie looked up with the startled eyes of a child caught pilfering sweets. Wilhelm sat next to his daughter and reached out to hold her hand. ¡°Part of me hoped you¡¯d stay. But the better part of me is glad Natty. You have potential and deserve to have it realized.¡± Natalie said nothing; she was focused on holding back tears. Even if she wasn''t crying, she wouldn¡¯t know what to say. She didn¡¯t know how to explain how Glockmire felt like a trap, how she didn¡¯t want to be afraid anymore. Natalie Striga didn¡¯t want to live as livestock, but she also didn¡¯t want to leave the world she knew behind. Not simply out of a fear of change, but because she knew they deserved better. The people of Glockmire deserved lives outside the Vampire¡¯s shadow, and while she might be able to escape it, they couldn¡¯t. Trying to force these thoughts into words, Natalie croaked out. ¡°Dad, I¡­¡± But before she could say anymore, the Inn¡¯s door opened. Both father and daughter looked to see who had arrived. Standing at the entrance, looking unsure of himself, was a boy. He couldn¡¯t be much older than eight and had a nervous air about him. Natalie went to the boy, fishing his name out of her memory. ¡°You are Filip, right? Matko¡¯s youngest? What brings you here, child?¡± Filip looked around anxiously like he expected the shadows to swallow him up. Mustering up all of his courage, the boy entered the Inn proper and shut the door behind him with the type of desperate energy only a scared child could manifest. After another furtive glance around the room, he asked. ¡°Is the Rest-Bringer here?¡± Wilhelm and Natalie exchanged worried looks, and Natalie answered. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s here. What business do you have with him?¡± A look of pained determination filled Filip¡¯s face; it would have looked comical on him except for its intensity. ¡°I want him to destroy the thing that killed my big sister.¡± That got a surprised reaction out of both Natalie and Wilhelm. They had heard Cole was offering his services to the people of Glockmire, but they hadn¡¯t expected anyone to actually approach him, or at least not so blatantly. Nodding, Natalie went towards the stairs. ¡°I¡¯ll go get him.¡±
Cole heard a knock at his door and pulled himself out of the chair he¡¯d been dozing in. While not properly asleep, he¡¯d lost a fair amount of blood and had quickly sank into a stupor. Rousing himself, Cole got up and answered the door. Natalie was there, looking perturbed. In an attempt to ease tension Cole said, ¡°I see you¡¯ve learned to knock, Miss Natalie.¡± Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. His attempt at humor fell flat, and Natalie gave him a neutral expression. She was still upset he¡¯d locked her out of his plans after dragging her into this mess. ¡°You have a visitor downstairs, someone who wants your help.¡± was her only response. Raising an eyebrow, Cole followed after the curt young woman. She led him to an unused room where to his surprise, a nervous-looking child sat. The youth¡¯s eyes widened in shock at Cole¡¯s appearance. The large man filled the door frame, and the tapestry of scars decorating his skin was harrowing. Cole looked at the boy expectantly, and for a moment, both the small child and towering warrior stared at each other, both expecting the other to speak. Natalie broke the silence. ¡°This is Filip; he wants you to destroy an Undead that attacked his family three years ago. Flip, this is Cole, the Rest-Bringer.¡± Filip reached into his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins, all bronze except a single silver. He put the coinage on the small table and said.¡± I don¡¯t know how this works, but here¡¯s the offering. I hope it''s enough?¡± The coins were barely enough for a good meal and drink. Cole didn¡¯t even bother to look at them before he answered. ¡°Yes, they will be enough. Take them to the altar of Master Time when the deed is done. But to help you, I need to know whatever you can tell me about the Undead that hurt your family.¡± A look of relief washed over Filip, and Natalie couldn¡¯t help but be impressed at the Paladins'' generosity. With his nerves starting to calm, the boy told his story. Filip¡¯s father was a miner working in the shaft mines that dig into the mountains around Glockmire. His family was large, with six other siblings, which had originally been seven until three years ago. When the gates of Glockmire were breached during the Undead Invasion, the family had hidden in their home. One of the worker houses built into the mined-out sections of the quarry in the town''s southwest. Far from the densely populated parts of town, few Undead had entered the area, and they¡¯d been safe. Their house''s sturdy door, their father¡¯s trusty pick-axe, and his sister''s religious training had been enough to ward off any Undead that got too close. Filip¡¯s older sister Lina had been an Acolyte of Mother Earth, getting close to her ordination as a full Priest. Her faith had been strong enough to keep away any stray Ghouls or Rattlers, but not the ¡®thing¡¯ that killed her. A pile of human bones formed into a vaguely bipedal shape smashed down their front door, pushed through his sister''s miracles, and crushed her to death. Before leaving just as quickly as it had come. Filip was reduced to a trembling tearful state at this point. Cole was impressed with the child''s strength, and Natalie gave the boy a gentle hug, her own terrible experiences of that night flashing through her mind. Eventually, Filip recovered enough, and Natalie poured some water out for her and Filip. Cole gave them both a moment to collect themselves before saying. ¡°I am sorry for this terrible loss you experienced, Filip, and I wish there were other options, but I need you to tell me more. I need more information about what killed your sister to destroy it.¡± Filip flinched at that but took a deep, rattling breath before looking up at the towering warrior across from him. Aborted tears still glistened at the corners of his eyes, but the child showed a mettle that even some adults fail to develop. Willing himself to focus on the trauma and pain, not fleeing from it in denial or fear. Filip nodded at Cole¡¯s request, and the Paladin started his questions. ¡°You said it looked like a pile of bones shaped almost like a person, correct?¡± Filip nodded again, and Cole continued. ¡°Was it made up of certain bones, large ones, small ones, skulls, or just a random collection?¡± Filip shut his eyes, summoning up his frantic recollections from that night. Flinching at the painful memories, he replied. ¡°It was random, I think, but a lot of them, just all piled together, I think there were a couple skulls where a head should have been, but I don¡¯t remember how many.¡± Cole nodded at that, and Natalie¡¯s thoughts idly went to the skull Cole carried around. She quickly shut it out of her thoughts and listened to the strange interview. ¡°You said it was large; how big? Larger than me?¡± was the next question the Paladin asked. ¡°Yeah, like twice as big as you, it had to¡­ squeeze itself to fit through the door, when it¡­ got my sister.¡± was Filip¡¯s response. ¡°It was dark, and I only saw glimpses of it, but it shoved part of its body through the doorway and grabbed Lina.¡± After a moment of consideration, Cole asked. ¡°The doorway, did you have salt or anything to block it?¡± ¡°Yes!!! People say we didn¡¯t because the monster got through the door, but my Sister put salt at the door and windows. She blessed it herself; I saw the glow of the magic. She did everything right!¡± Cole¡¯s words had touched on a soft spot for the boy. For a moment, Filip looked frightened and shocked, surprised at his own anger. Cole didn¡¯t let him have time to stew on his fear. ¡°I believe you, but I take it others don''t?¡± Nodding vigorously, Filip spat out. ¡°My Dad told the Daymen, and they called him a liar and a fool. Saying we should have followed the Lord¡¯s orders and went to the Temple. But if we had, we¡¯d been torn apart! I saw the corpse-tide, all those Ghouls marching down the main streets. We did the right thing, but they said we deserved what happened because we didn¡¯t follow orders. They said my Sister got herself killed and almost the rest of us with her!¡± The boy fumed, angry at the injustice and blame heaped on his family. Natalie took the opportunity to interject. ¡°Filip¡¯s house is about as far from the Temple as you can get in town. It was a gamble to not evacuate, but it makes sense.¡± Cole took all this in, and asked his final major question. ¡°How do you know, the Lord¡¯s soldiers didn¡¯t destroy the Undead?¡± Filip looked down, his anger fading into exhausted sadness. ¡°When the attack was over, my Dad joined the clean-up. He said it was because it was the right thing to do, but he really did it to find what killed my sister. I overheard him telling my Mom one night, he searched every burn pit; he didn¡¯t see the monster. It must have gotten away when the Castle Guard fought back.¡± The boy answered his question before Cole could ask how Filip¡¯s father was sure. ¡°It had multiple skulls, but the main one was a Dwarf skull with gold teeth. Bright yellow teeth.¡± With a more pronounced brow ridge, denser bones, and generally larger, A Dwarf¡¯s skull could be easily told apart from a human¡¯s. The Dwergaz, as they called themselves in their own tongue, were not common in these parts. Only two Holds existed in the Dragon Tail Mountains, and they were small things. Far from the mighty subterranean city-states, you might find in the Holy League¡¯s White Mountains, or the Giant¡¯s Keel of the distant north. Still, the distinct dense, and compact forms of the Dwarfs were recognizable to all but the most ignorant people. So a distinct skull with golden teeth, that was the sort of thing Cole was looking for. A way to tell he had the right Undead. He also had a good idea about what exactly killed Filip¡¯s sister. A Walking Charnel, another type of rare and dangerous Undead. The perfect sort of thing, Cole''s unknown enemy, would be looking to get under its control. This Feeder had bound four Vryko-Ghouls; a Walking Charnel would not be out of the question. Cole glanced at Natalie and dwelled on a thought that had bothered him since he first realized the complexity of this situation. A Varcolac, like what killed her mother, would be another prize for the Feeder. By offering to help the citizens of Glockmire and hunting down the Undead that terrorized them, Cole hoped to hit a whole flock of birds with a single stone. He would be completing his duties by freeing trapped souls. Helping the people of Glockmire get closure with their grief and hopefully, put a significant dent in the local population of horrors. While also taking the pawns and potential pawns of the Feeder off the board. To his own mild surprise, Cole had managed to devise a fairly solid plan by simply doing what he already intended to do. Returning to the conversation before him, Cole said, ¡°The information you have provided will be valuable. Filip, I will do everything within my power to ensure no one else suffers your sister''s fate.¡± That did it; that broke through the surprising strength Filip had mustered up. The boy broke into tears. Cole reached out a large scarred hand to set on Filip¡¯s shoulders. Cole said, in a whisper barely loud enough to be heard over Filip¡¯s gasping sobs. ¡°You did the right thing. It took strength to come here and relive that night. I never met your sister, but I can confidently say she¡¯d be proud of you. Now go back to your family. When the deed is done, I¡¯ll let the Priests at the Temple know.¡± Shakily Filip got to his feet, gave the strange duo of Cole and Natalie a final grateful look then left with himself much straighter than when he entered.. Natalie shut the door of the room behind Filip and turned to Cole. ¡°So, what was it? What killed his sister?¡± Cole just blinked at her in surprise; Natalie scoffed at his surprised reaction. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to take me with you when you kill the Varcolac, and you¡¯ve shut me out of whatever mess you got into up at the Castle. But not this, I can help you with whatever weird Rest-Bringer charity act you¡¯re trying to do.¡± Now it was Natalie¡¯s turn to cut off Cole before he could ask more questions. ¡°It''s a small miracle; Filip even came to you at all. The rest of the town is scared, scared of you, and whatever mess you might bring down their heads. You need someone who knows these people and knows who you are to help.¡± Cole pondered her words and felt competing desires war inside him. He¡¯d greatly enjoyed Natalie¡¯s company, and having someone to talk to and help him would be invaluable. At the same time, he¡¯d already done his best to disentangle her from all of this; letting her help would be the exact opposite of what he¡¯d tried to do. After a moment, Cole decided to try and get a better understanding of this fiery young woman. ¡°Why do you want to help?¡± he asked. Natalie just froze for a second. The entire time Cole had been questioning Filip, she¡¯d been concocting her own plans. She wanted to leave Glockmire to escape the Blood Duchies. But leaving her family, friend and community behind felt wrong. Sure she could escape, but would her conscience ever sit right again? Cole had helped open her mind up to leaving Glockmire; now, he offered an opportunity to keep her conscience clear. If she could help him defeat whatever threat he¡¯d uncovered, Natalie could leave Glockmire with her head held high. The only problem was convincing Cole to not shut her out again. Picking her words carefully, she made her argument. ¡°I want to leave Glockmire. I don¡¯t want to spend my life here. And I think I could do it, escape and have a better life. But I know I¡¯d be leaving good people behind. So by helping you, I could help make life here a bit better, make it so when I left my hometown, I¡¯d leave it a bit happier and safer than it was for me.¡± Cole smiled at that, but as he did, he cursed. ¡°Fixed stars above¡­¡± Natalie exceeded Cole¡¯s expectations, and he couldn¡¯t turn her down at this point. Scratching at his head in an uncharacteristic display of nerves, Cole sighed and spoke. ¡°Well, I guess we¡¯d better get to work then, shouldn¡¯t we?¡± Chapter 7: Taxonomy and Tension

Chapter 13: Taxonomy and Tension

¡°Ghouls are easy. They are slow, stupid and you can smell them a kilometer away. Just smash their thought-cage and burn the body. Easy as chicken. Rattlers aren¡¯t much harder. Big hammer will do for most of them. But be careful. Bone Witches love to play with Rattlers, mixing skeletons together, and making all sortsa nasty shit. Run from those and get a Shaman.¡± - Grettir of Jokulstead, Monster Hunter and Werewolf.
Natalie grinned in victory; her foot was in the door, and now to make the next big step. ¡°So, really, what did kill Filip¡¯s sister? A moving pile of Bones? I¡¯ve never heard of something like that?¡± Cole hesitated for a moment before answering, debating how much to tell her but eventually deciding that ship had sailed, and ignorance would be dangerous at this juncture. ¡°A Walking Charnel. What do you know about the various classifications of Undead?¡± Natalie shrugged at that. To her, Undead were unimaginable horrors, not something you cataloged like types of flowers. Cole seemed to figure as much and continued without her verbal confirmation. ¡°Lesser Undead are Undead without a proper mind or will. They are animated corpses, trapped or insane souls. The vast majority of Undead fall into this category, with only a fraction being Greater Undead, intelligent self-driven creatures like Vampires. Then among Lesser Undead, there are three main categories. Ghouls, Rattlers, and Wraiths.¡± Now the topic was moving towards something Natalie recognized. She¡¯d heard of those three types, mainly from folklore and ugly stories. Why a person might become one of those monsters was something she¡¯d always wondered, so Natalie asked. ¡°What causes a person to end up as one of those types over another?¡± Cole grimaced slightly as he spoke. ¡°That¡¯s actually the reason I wanted to see how much you knew about this. A Walking Charnel is a type of rare Rattler created by very specific conditions. While a Ghoul comes from an unconsecrated Corpse, and a Wraith is born of a tormented Soul refusing to let go of the world. A Rattler is a distinct product of Necromancy or botched Consecration.¡± ¡°You see, freeing a Soul from a body is also supposed to protect the remaining corpse. Letting it rot away unmolested by dark forces and the like. But that protection can be overcome through magic, but it¡¯s easier to do on old bodies, ones where the holy power at work has faded somewhat. It¡¯s why those who dabble in Necromancy typically animate skeletal remains to do their bidding, which is often the origin of Rattlers. Walking skeletons following their master¡¯s commands, or just rampaging about as unguided automatons.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes narrowed, and she asked. ¡°So someone created the Charnel? It¡¯s the product of Necromancy?¡± Cole made a gesture indicating the negative. ¡°No, it¡¯s not. And that¡¯s the problem. The other way that Rattlers can rise is not well known. The standard wisdom is once a body is consecrated, it cannot rise up like a Ghoul. While that is true most of the time, there are exceptions. Like when great quantities of dark magical power saturate a graveyard, breaking through unmaintained protections and infecting the bodies within.¡± Slightly confused and more than a little bit worried, Natalie asked: ¡°You¡¯ve lost me, how is that possible? And let me ask again, what exactly is a Walking Charnel?¡± Cole sighed slightly. ¡°In short, a Walking Charnel is the product of a mass grave. Its occupants fused together and reanimated by a taint in the Aether. Normally such piles of corpses rise up as individual Ghouls or rarely some fleshy conglomerate. But if that mass grave had been poorly consecrated, that can have long-term consequences. Unmaintained and unmanaged gravesites can lose their protection, something that can happen especially easily with a mass grave.¡± Moving over to the single window in the room and gazing out at the distant mountains, Cole continued. ¡°An abandoned mass grave dug to provide some dignity to victims of some calamity, blessed by a Priest, but then eventually forgotten about. Without the focus of Priests and the Faithful, the God¡¯s protection fades. This can take years, but it will happen. Leaving a pile of tangled bones, ready to soak up whatever ambient magical rot is close by and rise up as a Walking Charnel.¡± Turning back to Natalie, Cole¡¯s voice dropped in volume. ¡°Being the product of dozens or more bodies piled together and saturated in miasma, they are durable, mindless, erratic, and violent. But the real problem with them is their resistance to holy power. They can practically ignore weak divine protection as a byproduct of their origin. While a true Temple would still block them, and a fervent Priest could still purify them; anything less would do nothing to stop a Walking Charnel.¡± Realization hit Natalie like a physical blow as she understood what Cole was saying. Tentatively she asked. ¡°So you¡¯re telling me a rare and stupid Undead just happened to attack a young acolyte whose power would be next to useless against it?¡± Cole nodded and grimaced. ¡°It, of course, could be a coincidence, but too much added up. The Walking Charnel was under the control of someone or something. All but certainly the same force that had been feeding the Vryko-Ghouls. A force with enough power and influence to direct a strategic attack during the Breach of Glockmire three years ago.¡± As all these pieces fell into motion, Natalie had to ask.¡°Was he behind it? Did someone order the attack that almost destroyed my home? Was whoever is controlling these monsters the reason my Mother died?¡± Jerkily, Cole nodded. ¡°I doubt this threat was the source of the Plague or even the attack, but they most definitely made the situation worse. I don¡¯t know why, but I intend to find out or at the very least stop them.¡± Natalie balled her fists. Normally her fury burned hot, the raging fires of passion. Now it seared her with its cold, focused intensity. Natalie had known rage, anger, and fury; But now, she had met something new, the elder sibling to those base emotions. For the first time in her life, Natalie knew hate. It hadn¡¯t been a calamity that took her Mother; it hadn¡¯t been a disaster and the jaws of a mindless horror. Someone with intelligence and purpose had helped bring about all that loss and suffering. Natalie thought she hated the Varcolac, but in truth, you couldn¡¯t really hate something without true sapience. It was an ugly monster doing what its perverted instincts told it to. This was different; this was a person making a choice to do harm. Once she just wanted closure with the Varcolac¡¯s death; now she wanted revenge, cold pure revenge against whatever bastard killed her mother. Visibly shaking with this newfound hate, Natalie snarled. ¡°Take me with you.¡± Cole started to protest, but Natalie marched up to him and jammed a finger into his chest. ¡°Don¡¯t give me any of that bullshit about not wanting to risk my life over your own guilt. I¡¯m not some stupid kid you have to coddle and warn. I¡¯m a grown woman who¡¯s making her own choices. And I want to come with you on this hunt and any others you do. I¡¯ve stuck my neck out for you and have no problem continuing to do so, but only as long as you bring me into this fully. You need someone who knows this town, its people and the area. A role I¡¯m happy to fill, so let me damn it!¡± Looking down at the fiery young woman attempting to poke a hole in him, something finally clicked for Cole. The reason why he¡¯d taken a liking to Natalie and let her into his world, she was just so full of life. Cole spent more than a decade surrounded by death in all manner of forms. The dead, the dying, the undead, and the grieving. Natalie¡¯s passion was something he rarely saw, and it called to him like a campfire would on a snowy night. On some instinctive level, he knew his options were limited. If he were to reject Natalie and try to continue alone, he¡¯d have little success. But more importantly, Natalie would attempt to involve herself even without his consent or aid. Something that would almost certainly result in her death or worse. She¡¯d made up her mind and was driven simultaneously by benevolence and hate. If Cole really wanted to help Natalie, he needed to let her help him. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Sighing in a moment of acceptance, Cole stepped close to Natalie. His full imposing height looming over her. To her credit, Natalie didn¡¯t step back or even remove the finger prodding Cole. Slowly Cole spoke. ¡°If you are to accompany me, you will need to listen to what I say, follow my directions and do as I tell you to.¡± Natalie opened her mouth, but Cole interrupted her. ¡°Two things, in particular, you need to promise me. One, if I tell you to run and leave me, you do so. No hesitation, you run till you are back in the Silly Goat or the Temple. Two, you will not tell anyone of what you see unless I give you permission to. Do you understand?¡± Cole¡¯s voice had an intensity Natalie had only heard once before. When she told him about the skull, He was serious, this was not a game, and Natalie fought off an unconscious shiver as she agreed. ¡°Yes, I swear it.¡± Nodding curtly, Cole sat back down at the table, and Natalie joined him in the chair Filip previously occupied. After a moment of silence as the reality of this new situation settled in, Natalie asked. ¡°So what exactly happened at the castle?¡± Cole took another moment to organize his thoughts before recounting what had happened. How he was led into some kind of lounge and met with a Scarlet Knight bound to Lord Glockmire and how the Knight claimed to be unaware of what was transpiring until Cole told him. As he finished, Natalie asked. ¡°How do you know this Knight isn¡¯t behind everything? He was the first to meet with you, and as you keep telling me, Vampires are good liars and manipulators.¡± Absently, Cole traced some of the scars on his face as he answered. ¡°I considered it, but it¡¯s doubtful. The Scarlet Knights are¡­ honorable in their own way. They face their foes on the open field with ready armies and their own strength. Our Knight would have had to stray very far from his Order¡¯s tenets to do what the Feeder is doing.¡± Musing on his words, Natalie said. ¡°You call them honorable? That¡¯s the closest I¡¯ve heard you come to complimenting a Vampire. What are they, this Knightly order? I¡¯ve not heard of them.¡± ¡°The elite enforcers of Duke Drakovich, his most trusted lieutenants and most vicious Champions¡± murmured Cole. As that grim truth settled in, he elaborated. ¡°If I found a village of innocents impaled on spikes and left up for the Crows. A warning against others who might question the Duke¡¯s rule. I would suspect a Scarlet Knight, but not in this matter. Amassing a secret army of powerful Undead? That goes against the rigid mindset the Duke pounds into them.¡± As he spoke, Cole played with one of his oldest scars, a terrible mark that went from the corner of his mouth to nearly his left ear. It was a product of the only time he¡¯d ever faced a Scarlet Knight in battle; it had not ended well for him. As if almost sensing where Cole¡¯s mind wandered too, Natalie absently asked. ¡°Eventually, you¡¯re going to have to tell me about where you got all those scars.¡± Quickly, Cole pulled his hand away from the long-healed wound, like a child caught picking a scab. While many he¡¯d earned fighting in the name of Master Time, a large portion were products of events he preferred not to revisit. Changing the topic, Cole asked: ¡°Do you know how many Vampires are in Glockmire?¡± Natalie didn¡¯t pursue her inquiry and turned her mind to the task. She¡¯d only seen the Nocturnal Nobles on a few occasions, during major town events or in the chaos surrounding the Breech three years ago. Flitting through the memories and snippets of conversation she¡¯d heard serving tables, Natalie made an educated guess. ¡°At least twenty, less than forty.¡± Cole had hoped for more specific numbers, but that estimate gave him somewhere to start. Glockmire was an average-sized town in a fairly remote area; its population couldn¡¯t be more than three thousand people. That many people could easily support a hundred Vampires as long as they weren¡¯t too greedy or violent. Of course, Natalie¡¯s estimate could be off, but Cole doubted it. Vampires rarely ever sired the maximum amount possible for an infested settlement. Excess blood and lives made things so much easier for the Parasites. He could come back to the problem of how many Vampires were in Glockmire, and Natalie¡¯s estimate gave him a good starting point. Till then, the Scarlet Knight¡¯s attention would hopefully keep the Feeder and any allies busy while Cole worked. A Walking Charnel was still out there, and it needed to be destroyed. Even though souls were trapped inside that shambling pile of bones, it still presented a serious danger on multiple levels. Cole needed to destroy it, and to do that he needed to find it. ¡°Alright,¡± said Cole, ¡°Let me grab something and see if you can help.¡± Gesturing for her to wait for him, Cole got up, returned to his own room, and retrieved something from his bag. Natalie hadn¡¯t known what to expect, but certainly not a map of Zaubervold, recently purchased from Barnabas. Gesturing at it, Cole said. ¡°I need to know the locations of any villages destroyed in the past few decades. Places that were abandoned quickly and messily.¡± With quick understanding, Natalie asked. ¡°Potential places where the Walking Charnel was born?¡± It was common knowledge that most Undead preferred to return to their place of ¡°birth.¡± Often hibernating during the day, near to where they died or were buried. Cole nodded, a momentary smile at her deduction crossing his battered face. He¡¯d never considered the joys of teaching, but now he could see the appeal. ¡°Yes, It can¡¯t be too far away, and it had to be destroyed before the plague. Not enough time between it and the Breech for this to be a product of plague victims buried in a mass grave.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t take long to note down three locations on the map. Two were still marked on the map, having still been inhabited less than a decade ago. The third she marked with a lightly drawn X and a scribbled notation. Natalie pointed to the two marked villages and said: ¡°Jonker and Arcos weren¡¯t so much destroyed as collapsed. Eight years ago, drought forced the people from Acros, and if I remember correctly, a Werewolf and its wolf servants made shepherding impossible around Jonker.¡± Her fingers returned to the X she¡¯d drawn, and she tapped for emphasis. ¡°Lungu, however, was truly destroyed. Its well went sour, and scores of people got sick and died. This happened maybe fifteen years ago? I remember some of the survivors moved here in the aftermath.¡± Pondering this, Cole asked. ¡°Jonker and Acros seem unlikely, as you suggested. But Lungu has potential. Do you know anything more about it?¡± Nodding vigorously, Natalie animatedly explained: ¡°A lot of the survivors passed through the Silly Goat, and I heard bits and pieces about what happened. My parents tried to shelter me, but few things can suss out secrets like a curious child. It was never proven, but I know a Rot Cultist was suspected of having purposely tainted the well. Too many people died too quickly for it to be natural. Just one day, people got up, used the well, got sick, and died.¡± The Pantheon of Humanity are not the only Gods in existence. Other things inhabit the Beyond, many malicious through choice or nature. Mortals called the worst of these entities Demons, and the most powerful of Demons earned the title of Fell God. One of these Fell Gods, the Chieftain of Lepers, had its hooks deep in parts of the Zaubervold. It was not inconceivable one of his poor, damned servants was behind the destruction of Lungu. This thought worried Cole, a Walking Charnel was bad enough, without possible demon worshiper involvement. Normally Natalie¡¯s educated guess about Lungu would be enough for Cole to investigate. He¡¯d trekked out to more remote and dangerous places on less cause. But if Natalie were to accompany him, he needed more details. It would take much to kill Cole and if he were to die, few people, if anyone would miss him; the same could not be said for Natalie. So Cole asked. ¡°Do you know any of the survivors of Lungu still in Glockmire? I¡¯d like to speak with them if I could.¡± A moment of trepidation passed Natalie¡¯s face. Cole hadn¡¯t noticed or seemed to care about the worried glances and distrustful distance the people of Glockmire were giving him. Returning from the Castle unscathed had unnerved people. At best, they assumed Cole was now under the Vampire¡¯s control. At worst, they feared he was something even worse than the Nobles. Natalie knew differently but could still guess the thoughts of her fellow townsfolk. After all, she¡¯d only just noticed the trap her community was still unaware of. Slowly, Natalie started to speak. ¡°That might be a prob-Oh!¡± A flash of insight struck the young woman. There might be one former resident of Lungu who would talk with them. He was stubborn enough to not care what the rest of Glockmire thought. The only question was if Natalie could convince him to help. ¡°There is someone who could help. Gurni, a local prospector, used to live in Lungu. He¡¯s a Dwarf, so maybe he might know something about the Walking Charnel.¡± Cole was impressed, Natalie was already proving to be a useful ally. But he had one more obstacle to put in her way. ¡°That¡¯s good, I can speak to him tomorrow, but before then, you should speak with your Father. If you intend to follow me on this hunt, he should be made aware.¡± That caught Natalie off guard; she¡¯d been hoping to avoid explaining this whole ordeal to her Dad. She understood why Cole wanted her to do this, but it would be a difficult conversation. Smoothing her dress absently, Natalie spoke: ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll also make contact with Gurni so we can meet with him.¡± Cole nodded and turned to leave, speaking as he did. ¡°I have preparations to make; I¡¯ll be in my room. Knock if you need anything or change your mind; there is no shame in it.¡± With that, he left Natalie and her racing mind. She¡¯d been making plans around deceiving or misdirecting her father. Those were now useless, and she was faced with one of the more daunting tasks a child can have. Convincing her father to accept her choice to walk headlong into danger. Chapter 7.5: Tragedy and Teeth

Chapter 14: Tragedy and Teeth

¡°Nothing is older than stone. The deep rock lay undisturbed long before even the Gods walked the surface, and it will be there long after they lose interest in the long-bones. Remember that youngling, and remember if we stay true to stone, it will stay true to us.¡± - Words of Korr, Grandmason of Gurdwa Hold.
The rest of the afternoon passed, and Natalie kept herself busy with the minutia of running an Inn. She surreptitiously questioned Barnabas about Gurni¡¯s schedule. The two of them did business, and the old Merchant was confident the Dwarven Prospector would be in town tomorrow. True to his word, Cole kept to himself, only leaving his room to collect dinner and make about a minute¡¯s worth of polite conversation with Wilhelm. Natalie¡¯s father had questions about Filip¡¯s visit, and Cole provided barebones answers. Stating that Filip''s sister died during the breach, and that Cole planned to hunt down the responsible Undead. Eventually, nighttime came, and the Silly Goat emptied faster and more thoroughly than normal. The day¡¯s chaotic events provided plenty of impetus for people to not risk the streets at night. The Nobles rarely abducted nocturnal travelers anymore, but that was not a gamble many were willing to take. So by the time the Inn¡¯s bar officially shut, the Silly Goat had been practically empty for close to an hour. With only Natalie and Wilhelm on the ground floor. An unusual silence hung between the two as Natalie wondered how to breach the subject. Wilhelm did her the favor in the profoundly uncomfortable way only a Father can. ¡°So are you sleeping with Cole?¡± he asked with an almost matter-the-fact tone. Natalie almost dropped the glass she was cleaning, barely catching it after a few mid-air grabs. As Natalie caught the glass and her focus, Wilhelm continued. ¡°I¡¯ve not objected to any of your past romances and only want to voice my concerns, not try and control you. I do worry about the danger he could get you in. Rest-Bringers live a hard life, even more so in Zaubervold. It¡¯s commendable of him to try and help; it¡¯s actually practically heroic of him. And he wouldn¡¯t be the first heroic type to attract a young woman¡¯s attention.¡± Fighting the slight pink blush that was filling her normally pale face, Natalie snapped, ¡°I¡¯m not sleeping with Cole! Hells, I¡¯m not even interested in him romantically.¡± While that was true, memories of Cole¡¯s sculpted torso flashed unbidden into Natalie¡¯s mind. She ignored the treacherous part of her that wondered how Cole¡¯s scarred skin would feel against hers. Now it was time for Wilhelm to look awkward and confused. ¡°Oh! I¡¯m sorry, I just assumed. Well, he seems the polite sort, and while I¡¯m happy to let him rent a room, I do think getting entangled with him wouldn¡¯t be the best idea.¡± ¡°Jag it,¡± thought Natalie, she¡¯d hoped to do this with a degree of subtlety, but that option was sailing away as fast as the wind could carry it. After a steadying breath, Natalie dropped her hammer blow of a statement. ¡°I¡¯m not courting Cole, but I am working with him. Helping him hunt some of the Undead that attacked three years ago.¡± It was Wilhelm¡¯s turn to fumble in shock, dropping the mop he had been using. Natalie continued talking even as Wilhelm¡¯s eyes bugged out slightly. ¡°He can help Glockmire and help us get revenge. The Varcolac is on his list, and so is what killed Filip¡¯s sister. Cole¡¯s strong enough to destroy them, but he needs someone to help him, and that¡¯s going to be me. It¡¯s where I was this morning; I accompanied him to where he found Felix¡¯s body. It¡¯s what I¡¯ll be doing tomorrow as well when he goes after the Walking Channel.¡± Had that only been this morning? Natalie found her thoughts drifting slightly as she spoke. So much had happened, and yet little time had passed. Telling her father all of this was a gamble and not one she¡¯d wanted to make. But the deed was done. Now Natalie needed to manage what came next. Before a truly tense silence could settle between them, Wilhelm asked: ¡°Why?¡± He looked at his daughter with the type of deep concern only a parent could muster, and the worry in his eyes almost made Natalie falter. She saw the fear in his face, the fear of losing the only family he had left. It would be one thing for Natalie to leave and start a new life. The idea of having her die horribly at the hands of some undead terror was beyond what Wilhelm could stand. Doubt and guilt flushed through Natalie, but she stood her ground. ¡°I want to leave Glockmire a better place. When I leave and find something else beyond here, I¡¯ll still be wracked with worry about you and everyone else. How could I live the life I want if my hometown was overrun by monsters! Dad, I want to leave Glockmire, but I want to do so with my head held high and my heart not weighed down with guilt.¡± Wilhelm slumped against a nearby table and asked. ¡°And you think getting involved with Cole will help you? Do you think becoming entangled in the affairs of Gods and Monsters will help you have a happier life? Dammit Natty, this isn¡¯t one of your stories! Your Mother and I worked so hard to protect you from that part of the world. To keep you safe and give you the tools to survive our world. Not to dive headlong into danger out of some misguided sense of nobility!¡± Natalie felt like she¡¯d been slapped; her Father had never before spoken to her with such venom. It was not truly directed at her, she could tell. But it was the acrid pain of grief turned inwards and allowed to stew in hidden misery. Natalie knew she should feel sympathy for her father and try to comfort him. Instead, she felt a bolt of anger go through her. This was exactly why she was walking this path. Her father had lost the love of his life and was robbed of anything resembling closure or justice. While he hid the pain and anger well, it spilled out like bile and pulled forth a quiet fury from Natalie. ¡°Yes, you and Mom taught me to be careful, how to survive and avoid danger.¡± spat Natalie. ¡°We did everything right, we followed the laws of both Gods and Monsters, we made a happy life for ourselves. And still, that didn¡¯t stop the monsters from coming and killing Mom!¡± Wilhelm flinched, and Natalie continued. ¡°Dad, we kept safe and tried to help others in our own tiny way. But that didn¡¯t stop that thing from killing Mom. The Varcolac ripped into our lives and hurt us because it could and all we could do afterward was hold a jagging funeral, hoping it didn¡¯t happen again. You, me, everyone in Glockmire did the same thing. Because we didn¡¯t have any other options. We accepted all that death and destruction as a fact of life and just tried to move on. But it doesn¡¯t have to be like that anymore! There are good people in this world who stop the monsters, and I want to help them do it!¡± A slight crack came to Natalie¡¯s voice as she continued. ¡°Dad. Mom died terribly, and we couldn¡¯t do anything to stop it. Now I can help make sure no other little girl or husband experiences what we did. I know I¡¯m risking my life, but if anything is worth it, it¡¯s this.¡± Silence heavier than stone and pregnant with stress filled the air between Father and Daughter. Eventually, after a small eternity, Wilhelm broke it. ¡°Oh, Natty ¡­.¡± Slowly he got up from where he slumped against the table and approached his daughter. With tired arms, muscled by decades of repetitive chores, Wilhelm hugged his only child in silence. Tentatively Natalie returned the hug and felt wetness on her shoulder and felt her father shaking slightly. He was crying silently, and soon her own tears joined with his. They stood like that for a time, holding each other and weeping. Eventually, Wilhelm broke the embrace and spoke, his voice still gravelly from sadness. ¡°I guess it¡¯s to be expected. We worked to raise you to be a good person who stood her ground. So I really can¡¯t complain that you are holding fast on something your heart is saying to do.¡± Reaching down, Wilhelm ran his fingers through his daughter¡¯s hair and rasped. ¡°I can¡¯t stop you, and even if I could, I don¡¯t know if it would be right. But you need to promise me one thing.¡± Natalie nodded her head, and Wilhelm put both of his hands on either of her shoulders. Looking into his daughter¡¯s amber eyes, the Innkeeper spoke with a firm strength he¡¯d rarely called on before. ¡°You must survive. Whatever happens with Cole and whatever fury he brings down on himself. You must survive it. Promise me that Natty, promise me you will survive and find your own piece of happiness.¡± Trying not to cry again, Natalie croaked. ¡°I will Dad, I¡¯ll survive and make you and Mom proud.¡± A slightly sad smile touched Wilhelms face as he chided. ¡°You have for a very long time Natty. I might be afraid for you, but I cannot stop being so proud of who you are becoming.¡± They hugged again, and when it broke, Natalie headed off to bed. Her heart was simultaneously lightened and burdened by her Father¡¯s words. Wilhelm sat down and looked at a sculpture above the fireplace. It was of a Bride and Groom at their wedding. Something his wife had carved for their tenth anniversary. Speaking both to himself and the memory of the woman he loved, he said: ¡°Iona, I don¡¯t know where you are out there. Maybe your soul has already been cleansed and taken a new body. Maybe one of the God¡¯s anointed you as one of theirs. It doesn¡¯t matter, just, if you can, help our daughter. She is going to do the right thing, and I am afraid it¡¯s going to destroy her.¡± Then in the heavy silence that followed. Wilhelm sat and stared at the fireplace, watching the flames die as he prayed to every God who might listen.
Cole met Natalie at the entrance of the Silly Goat the next morning. Wearing a utilitarian dress and carrying a restocked pack, Natalie hoped she was ready for whatever happened today. She¡¯d grabbed the hatchet her father used to split firewood. It was no longsword, but few tools rival the utility and violent potential of an axe. Aside from that, she¡¯d packed some dried meat and bread, enough for two days, and a collection of anything else she thought would be useful. Natalie knew she couldn¡¯t carry everything she wanted, but she came close. Cole, by contrast, carried his usual pack and cloak. A slight bulge in the bottom of his bag betrayed the skull¡¯s presence. Aside from the skull, the only thing different about Cole was an unusually sunken look to his eyes, like he hadn¡¯t gotten enough sleep. Natalie noticed his apparent exhaustion but didn¡¯t bring it up. She did, however, announce. ¡°I told my father what we are doing, he didn¡¯t approve, but I think he understands.¡± A slight smile quirked up the left side of Cole¡¯s face. ¡°I know. Today was the first time he didn¡¯t say good morning to me.¡± Natalie let out a slightly annoyed sounding huff at that. ¡°It¡¯s my decision to help you with this. I would expect better from him than blaming you.¡± Cole just shrugged at that. ¡°Parents are rarely rational when it comes to their children, or at least that¡¯s what I¡¯ve been told.¡± His words snagged on something in Natalie¡¯s mind. ¡®At least that¡¯s what I¡¯ve been told?¡¯ Natalie hadn¡¯t asked about Cole¡¯s childhood, but it suddenly occurred to her it probably didn¡¯t match hers at all. Perhaps he was an orphan, raised by the Temple? That would explain much. But now wasn¡¯t the time to ponder such things. Maybe she could ask him later? ¡°Well, let us head to Gurni¡¯s home. Barnabas gave me directions,¡± said Natalie as she refocused on the task at hand. So they set off, walking through the waking streets of Glockmire. The duo got many strange looks, and more than one pedestrian scurried out of their way as they walked along. It was strange for Natalie, and she turned to ask Cole but lost her chain of thought upon seeing his face. A heavy scowl marred his already damaged face. A confused Natalie asked. ¡°What has you looking so grim?¡± Cole¡¯s face relaxed, and he seemed momentarily confused before realization clicked into place. ¡°Oh, my apologies! I didn¡¯t even notice. I guess some of the fear I saw was warranted.¡± Looking around, Natalie understood what he was saying. Fearful eyes watched the two of them from behind drawn curtains or cracked doors. Terror saturated the air around them, and once she noticed it, Natalie felt a chill go down her spine. A memory came to her unbidden at that moment, of the time she¡¯d helped a childhood friend and her family shepherd their flock into town. Another Shepherds dog had come across the flock, and the Sheep had reacted with the same sort of nervous intensity Natalie saw around her. The livestock of Glockmire sensed another predator but didn¡¯t know its intent. Cole had picked up the fear around him, and it had agitated him enough for it to show on his face. This, after all, was exactly the sort of thing he¡¯d sworn to fight. Mortal folk reduced to nervous sheep, awaiting the hunger of cursed corpses. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Cole let a mask of aloofness fall into place and followed Natalie to their destination. Glockmire nestled itself right up to the sheer cliff and jagged rock of the nearby mountains. With a series of quarries, mines, and neighborhoods built into the stone. The constant digging into the mountains resulted in patches of mined-out rock converted into cheap housing. It was not a slum by any standard but far from the (relatively) well-maintained homes and businesses of the Silly Goat¡¯s neighborhood. Natalie led Cole into one of the mine-turned-burgs in the district¡¯s middle. Cole was forced to duck when they entered the tunnel; its crudely carved ceiling barely reached a hundred and eighty centimeters, forcing the large man to stoop. Shortly after the entrance, they saw doors on either side of the tunnel, small signs hung from them, marking out ownership and purpose. Most were storage chambers, but a few had names scrawled on them. Cole didn¡¯t have a frame of reference, but he guessed these were some of the smaller or shabbier apartments in the rock. Eventually, after a minute or so of walking deeper into the repurposed mine, they reached their destination. Here the Sun¡¯s light was all but absent, and a mixture of cheap glowstones and candles provided the scant illumination. A door that would have required Cole to almost fully bend over to enter sat at the end of the hallway. ¡®Gurni''¡¯ was etched into the wood in a perfectly angular script. While the name was written in Western, the sharp corners of the words reminded Cole of Dwerick, the Dwarven language. They were in the right place. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Natalie looked to Cole, and after a nod of confirmation, she knocked on the door. They waited a minute, and as nothing happened, Natalie knocked again, a little louder this time. A rough voice barked, ¡°I¡¯m coming, you thin-boned bastard!¡± A few seconds later, the door flew open, and Gurni stood in front of them with a distinctly irritated look on his face. He stood at average height for a Dwarf at maybe a hundred and ten centimeters. While short in stature, he weighed about the same as a large man, his bones and muscles denser than any human. A bulbous nose, protruding brow ridge, and thick red beard further marked him out as Dwergaz. Gurni looked at the two of them with suspicion, his green eyes narrowing as he spoke. ¡°You¡¯re Madeline, Wilhelms daughter right?¡± he asked, a single calloused finger pointing at Natalie. Natalie nodded as she corrected him. ¡°It¡¯s Natalie, but yes, I¡¯m Wilhelms daughter.¡± She then gestured to the looming Cole, who had to hunch down to see Gurni properly, and said. ¡°And this is Cole, He¡¯s a follower of Master Time, and we¡¯d like to borrow a moment of your time.¡± Gurni crossed his arms in front of him and grumbled. ¡°I have no use for Gods, especially one who only helps the dead. So if you¡¯re looking to convert me, then you can find a better use of your time pissing down a deep-shaft.¡± This was not going well. The Dwarves, as a rule, had little patience for the religions of their taller neighbors. Their own Gods had abandoned them millennia ago according to their own myths and even now only revered a small collection of ancestors. Many well-meaning Priests of both Human and other varieties had tried to ¡°adopt¡± the Dwarven people into their faith. Something most Dwarves found incredibly insulting and bothersome. Which was what Gurni assumed they were doing. Frantically waving her hands as if she could blow away the misconception, Natalie spoke. ¡°No, no, we¡¯re not trying to do anything like that. Cole¡¯s not a normal Priest; he¡¯s a Rest-Bringer, the one who arrived in town recently.¡± That got Gurni to relax a fraction but not by much. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of him,¡± he growled. ¡°But what does a Rest-Bringer want with me?¡± It was Cole¡¯s time to speak and test the waters with the surly Dwarf. ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain a dangerous Undead is nesting in the ruins of Lungu. I intend to lay it to rest, but to do so, I¡¯d like more information about the village and its destruction.¡± That got Gurni to pause for a moment and think before asking, ¡°Well, why come to me? There are about a dozen of us who survived that nightmare still in Glockmire.¡± Natalie hadn¡¯t talked much with Gurni over the years, but she now understood why he and Barnabas got along. Gurni¡¯s gruff manner was similar to her adopted uncle, so perhaps a bit of brutal honesty, the type Barnabas would respect, would work here as well. ¡°I thought you would be stubborn enough to not care about what Cole is, and I also thought you might know something about the Undead, since we think it might be a dwarf, or at least partially one¡± said Natalie. Gurni stared at them for a few seconds, and then he swung his fist into the opened door with so much strength the wood cracked. Under his breath, he spat some Dwerick oaths foul enough to impress even the most jaded tunnel-rat. A dozen different emotions passed through Gurni¡¯s face before settling on cold anger. The grinding accent of a Dwerick speaker entered Gurni¡¯s voice. Pique stripping away years of practice in Western. ¡°So why do you want to go to Lungu? Did your God decide it was time to help after everyone was dead? Or did the Sangracki¡¯s up in the Castle buy you with gold still wet with blood?¡± Sangracki, literally meaning ¡®Blood Thief,¡¯ and was the Dwerick word for Vampire. The words'' simplicity perfectly encapsulated the language and its speakers. Short, to the point, with no attempts to be delicate. Cole didn¡¯t rise to the bait and simply told the truth. ¡°A child asked me to avenge his sister by destroying the Undead that killed her.¡± As he said it, Cole met Gurni¡¯s eyes, no small task considering the height difference, and both men sized each other up. Natalie didn¡¯t know exactly what sort of unspoken communication was occurring, but it seemed Gunri had confirmed something about Cole. Haltingly as if he feared the answer, Gurni asked. ¡°The Undead Dwarf you are hunting, does it have golden teeth?¡± Cole simply nodded, and Gurni slumped against the door frame. His bitter stoicism was fractured by a painful realization. Letting out a slight groan of pained sadness, the Dwarf spoke. ¡°It¡¯s my Brother, you are hunting what''s left of my Brother.¡± Natalie covered her mouth in shock, and Cole simply nodded and spoke. ¡°When the deed is done, I will need to confirm it with the boy who petitioned me, but after that, the remains will be yours if you wish.¡± Shivering slightly, Gurni muttered. ¡°I buried him already; must I do it again?¡± Before Cole could answer, he continued. ¡°Lungu¡¯s Priest prayed over the bodies, and I used Black Salt to mark his passing. His soul should have been freed, and his flesh safe from corruption. What went wrong?¡± A questioning, almost pleading note colored the Dwarf¡¯s voice, and Cole gave him a moment to recover before responding. ¡°His soul was freed, but the protection on his body was corroded by outside influence. Your Brother has not been trapped in Undeath all this time.¡± Gurni let out a deep rattling sigh of relief. This was the first concern anyone who learned a loved one was undead had. To be trapped in a prison of rotting flesh, subject to maddening pain and hunger, unable to control your mind or ruined body was a fate worse than some of the lesser Hells. To know his brother had not suffered such, took away much of the Dwarves'' tension. Cole broke Gurni from his relief with grim words. ¡°That being said, his body has still been desecrated and is doing harm. Which I will stop, a task that will be all the easier with any information you can provide.¡± Gurni nodded slightly and looked behind him to his home, and grimaced. ¡°Let''s find some privacy. My nook won¡¯t fit you Cole, but I know someplace nearby.¡± He led them to an empty storage room large enough for Cole to stand upright in, and Gurni started to explain. ¡°Lungu was nothing special. It sat among some foothills with decent grazing lands and a few mineral veins. Buri, my brother and I ended up there by chance, but we made the best of it. I¡¯ve always been good at finding good deposits, and he could smith well enough to impress a human. So the villagers accepted us. They liked having people who could repair their tools and find new places to excavate. Gurni leaned against a wall and looked up at the ceiling, lost in memory. ¡°But nothing good ever lasts forever. Buri, that hopeless idiot, fell in love with a human woman.¡± Cole raised an eyebrow at that. Zaubervold was a rural backwater by most standards, but even here, discrimination between Humans and Dwarves was rare. The two peoples had shared a long history of cooperation. Gurni saw Cole¡¯s expression and guessed his thoughts. ¡°No, nothing like that. The girl''s parents were surprised but were open to having the village smith as a son-in-inlaw. The problems came from a rival suitor. He never forgave Buri for stealing away what he felt entitled to, and I¡¯m fairly certain he killed the entire jagging town in response.¡± That brought forth a whole minute of stunned silence from Cole and Natalie. Gurni used the time to pull up a handful of finely ground pipe-weed and put it in his mouth. Chewing on the pungent herb, Gurni continued as if he hadn¡¯t said anything remarkable. ¡°I could never prove anything in the aftermath, and there wasn¡¯t much point. The dumb bastard poisoned himself as well. See, it takes a lot to make a Dwarf sick. Our kind have been working in damp, toxic tunnels since the Gods first arrived. So if you were to poison one of us, half-measures wouldn¡¯t work; and whatever killed all those people was quick and brutal.¡± ¡°The suitor, his name was Dinu, was a shepherd and would have plenty of time to gather poisonous plants. He was also angry and stupid enough to probably dump his failures into the town well. All I know is my brother was one of the first to get sick, and so was Dinu. Buri outlived the dumb bastard, but not his fiance. We buried them next to each other. I think they would have wanted that.¡± As that sobering tale finished. Natalie asked. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell anyone this before?¡± Gurni made a noise that could have been a laugh or a sigh. ¡°I did, but you humans had worked yourself up thinking some mad cultist was responsible. Which it might have been, but either way, the story of Fell Gods and Cults caught more traction than mine about spurned love and stupidity.¡± Natalie digested that as Cole asked. ¡°How were they buried? I know it''s unpleasant to remember, but I need exact details.¡± Shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth as he recalled the ugly memories. Gurni said: ¡°We didn¡¯t want to stay in the village; we couldn¡¯t trust the water or anything else. So at the Priest''s direction, anyone who could hold a shovel helped dig a trench of sorts. Turning old Teo¡¯s herb garden into a pit. We put all the bodies in the pit, trying to make sure they all had space, but¡­ By that point, more of us were dying, and our supplies were running low. So we had to¡­.layer them eventually.¡± Gurni looked slightly queasy at the memory, something supposedly rare for a Dwarf to feel. He was not the only one; Natalie looked a little bit sick as well. Talking about Undead in abstract terms with Cole and hearing the story of a mass grave being created were two very different things. Cole gave them both a moment to collect themselves before asking his next question. ¡°What happened to the Priest?¡± ¡°He was among those who got sick. His god''s protection kept him alive long enough to bless the dead. He was the last one we put in the grave before we covered it up and left Lungu,¡± said Gurni. Shaking slightly, Natalie moved towards the door and excused herself. Cole gave her a concerned look, but she brushed it off. Outside the storage room, Natalie leaned against the hallway¡¯s wall and slumped down, so she sat on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest. It was how she used to sit as a child when something frightened her, and some unconscious instinct pulled up that half-forgotten habit. Burying her face in her dress''s fabric, Natalie let out an exhausted sigh. The last few days, no, the last few weeks; had been a whirlwind of tumult and stress. A virtually never-ending barrage of tragedy, death, and horror; it was starting to wear on her. Letting out an exhausted sigh, Natalie was torn. Part of her was ashamed how much things were getting to her. Another kinder part pointed out these were extreme situations, and with time she¡¯d get stronger. Just as muscle grows with stress, her ability to handle this tumult would increase. Natalie hoped that was true, and all this ¡°exercise¡± would pay off. As she sat there, glumly staring at the far wall, Natalie wondered if helping Cole was a good idea? It wasn¡¯t; she¡¯d known that from the beginning, but that hadn¡¯t stopped her. She¡¯d chosen to involve herself in this, and Cole had given her every opportunity to step away. Natalie was not going to back down, no matter how much it hurt. A terrible mix of pride, grit, and willful determination would see to that. Maybe fifteen minutes later, the storage room door swung open, and Cole stepped out. Natalie hurriedly got to her feet, straightening her clothing and meeting the scarred man. Cole looked at her and started to speak, but Natalie cut him off. ¡°I¡¯ve made up my mind on this. I¡¯m going to accompany you and help this town. I knew it wasn¡¯t going to be easy, but I¡¯m still going to do my best.¡± Cole let his offer of freeing her from any perceived responsibilities die on his tongue and smiled softly. He started walking towards the exit of the strange tunnel complex, and Natalie followed after him. After a quick look around to make sure they were alone, Natalie asked. ¡°So? How did it go?¡± Cole glanced at her before speaking. ¡°He gave me directions to Lungu, a general description of the town and where they buried the dead. He also has no desire to claim his brother''s bones, only asking that they be buried again once the matter is finished.¡± The two of them exited the tunnel, and Natalie had to squint her eyes as the Sun¡¯s bright light stung her. Soon the discomfort passed, and the pair walked towards the south-end of Glockmire. Seeing their direction, Natalie asked. ¡°I take it we are leaving now?¡± She¡¯d anticipated this, but it still sent a momentary flutter of uneasiness through her. This was a big leap, and Natalie doubted she¡¯d ever truly feel ready for it. Cole answered her calmly. ¡°Lungu isn¡¯t that far away, and if we leave now, we can make it there by late-afternoon.¡± A jolt of dread filled Natalie as she realized what else Cole had left unsaid. They would need to spend the night in the wilderness. The momentary pang of fear made her miss a step, and Cole glanced over and offered her what he hoped was a comforting smile. ¡°I¡¯ve spent many nights in lands similar to these safely. We will be fine.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t feel as reassured as Cole probably hoped, but her anxiety abated slightly. Soon they reached the south gate and passed through it. Cole didn¡¯t recognize the guard stationed there, and Natalie tried not to draw any attention by talking to the surly-looking woman in the gatehouse. Leaving Glockmire, they set out down the road and towards Lungu. After maybe a kilometer of walking, once the walls of Glockmire were well behind them, Cole stopped walking and fished in his bag. Natalie watched as he pulled out a line of cord with a pendant attached; it was an amulet of some kind. Cole handed the talisman to Natalie, and she immediately felt a wave of cool power wash over her body. Similar to her previous experience with Master Time¡¯s attention, but much more subdued and gentle. Turning it over in her finger, Natalie saw the pendant was a piece of carved bone, with a crude hourglass etched into both sides. Cole gestured to the odd gift and spoke. ¡°I spent much of last night working on that. It¡¯s a protective charm, invested with some of the power.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she bit back some poorly timed comments on Cole¡¯s artistic skills; he was many things but not a carver. Another darker thought also struck her. Where did Cole get the bone fragment? And did it belong to an animal, or a person? Natalie voiced neither of those concerns as Cole explained the amulet. ¡°It¡¯s crude but fairly powerful, Lesser Undead will ignore you as long as it''s on your person. Still, it''s not foolproof, and if you went out of your way to get something''s attention, you would succeed. Hopefully it will keep the Charnel and any other undead we encounter focused on me, and away from you. It also should help hide you from other unnatural threats but will do nothing to stop a mortal or beast from pursuing you. Which should be fine, I doubt any dangerous predators will be close to Lungu, be they wolf or bandit. Lastly, if something goes wrong and you need to run, the protection should last long enough for you to make it back to Glockmire.¡± finished Cole, an intense focus coloring his voice. Cole rarely drew upon the miraculous powers afforded to him as a Paladin, relying on his skills with a pole-arm and blood magic to fight. So investing much of that divine allotment into something that would protect Natalie seemed obvious choice. He just hoped it would be enough to keep her safe. Natalie nodded nervously and put the necklace on. For a moment, she felt a shiver of disgust as the cold bone touched her sternum, but it quickly faded, replaced by the gentle pulse of Cole¡¯s divine protection. It felt soothing in a strange way, like the comforting chill of spring water or the touch of polished glass. Feeling it wash over her, Natalie looked up at Cole and asked something she¡¯d wondered since she had involved herself in all of this. ¡°What do I do if you die? Do I just run for Glockmire and tell the local Priests what happened? Is¡­ is there somebody I should try and contact?¡± Cole said nothing for a moment, his eyes focused off on some memory or idea in the middle distance. Eventually, he slowly said, ¡°If I were to die, or even if things start to go poorly, you need to run and not look back. Don¡¯t hesitate; just run and survive. If I can, I will return to Glockmire as soon as possible. Even if you are certain I died, wait a week before making any plans. But if I don¡¯t return, I suggest you try and leave Glockmire as soon as you can.¡± What Cole said lined up closely with what Natalie had already planned to do, but one thing stuck out to her. ¡°Why wait a week? No offense, but considering the sort of things you fight, that doesn¡¯t make much sense.¡± Cole¡¯s lips hardened into a smile that looked more like a grimace, his myriad scars flexing with the tightened skin. ¡°Have a little faith that I am very, very, VERY, difficult to kill.¡± And with those ominous words, he set out towards Lungu, and Natalie followed after him, not for the first time wondering about the stories behind his scars. Chapter 8- Buried Bones

Chapter 15: Buried Bones

¡°Blood and Fire are two of the potent magical mediums known to Arcane studies. Blood is the essence of life, and its sacrifice echoes in the Aether, drawing forth magical power. Fire burns both the mundane and the magical; destroying unprotected spells easily as dry tinder..¡± - From the Grimoire of Anasiar Sparrowhawk, Battlemage of Queen-Elect Josefa II.
Cole and Natalie journeyed down the south road and deeper into Zaubervold. Like most roads in this part of the world, the stone path was a memento of the Old Empire. It''s perfectly cut bricks formed a tessellating pattern that went on for miles, only interrupted by the crude repairs of later generations. The two walked in relative silence and made good time on the road. Soon they started to move past the worn mountains that surrounded Glockmire and towards the bleak piedmonts that led into the eventual plains and forests that made up most of Zaubervold. Here away from the mountains and with only sporadic brush and boulders to break up the gentle grassy slopes, the winds grew fierce. Occasionally a gust would come down off the mountains or across the plains and slam into Cole and Natalie. Wrapped up in her cloak and extra layers, Natalie did her best to ignore the biting chill of the wind. Winter was still a few months away, but it was coming. It would not be long now, before the land around them would be buried under meters of snow. When another bitter gale struck the pair, this one powerful enough to make Natalie stumble, Cole reached out a firm hand and helped her steady herself. She nodded in appreciation and hugged her cloak tighter. Soon after, Cole stopped and pointed off in the distance, to where the road forked into two. Leaning down so Natalie could hear him over the wind, Cole said: ¡°We are going to take the left path for a few kilometers more, then we will be forced to leave the road. Gurni said the path to Lungu should be overgrown but told me some landmarks to look for.¡± Natalie nodded, not wanting to unwrap the scarf she¡¯d secured around her face. The bleak wind was not something she was used to. Cold in Glockmire was heavy snow and dark winters. The type of cold that crept up on you, slowly through damp clothes and through sheer intensity. By contrast, the cold brought on by the wind was uglier, and more aggressive. Not content to lull you into its frozen embrace. It actively tried to rip away your warmth with each screaming attack. Shivering and bracing herself against the diabolical wind, Natalie kept on moving alongside Cole. They¡¯d been walking for several hours and it was close to noon. Despite the cold, the walk had been easier on Natalie than her last trek with Cole. Forest terrain is exhausting for many reasons, including the uncertainty of your path and never-ending obstacles provided by foliage. By contrast, the old imperial road was designed for armies to march hundreds of kilometers with little rest. Soon they reached the fork and followed it. Right away, Natalie could tell this was a less used road. The stones were worn and broken, with little signs of repairs. No one felt the need to maintain this stretch of geometric brick. It took another hour of walking before Cole pointed again, indicating a large rocky outcrop in the distance. It was shaped like an arrowhead and the size of a small house. It was exactly the landmark Cole was looking for. Seeing it, Natalie glanced around and saw a slice of the surrounding grasslands didn¡¯t match. A faint path lacking large shrubs and peppered with spots of still visible gravel. Tapping Cole¡¯s shoulder, she gestured to it, he nodded, and they started down the abandoned road. The path took them right up next to the arrowhead rock. Part of its face hung over the ground, an inverted slope providing a little shelter from the elements. The duo hunkered down out of the wind, and Cole pointed at a spot on the ground near them. It was darker than the surrounding rocky soil and well in the shelter of the rock. Here, Cole could actually talk without the screaming wind drowning out his words. ¡°Those are the remains of campfires; lots of them from over the years. Gurni said this was a good rest stop, and I think we should use it as such.¡± Glad to be out of the wind, Natalie nodded vigorously, pulled down her scarf, and slumped down against part of the rock. The stone was frigid and hard, but didn¡¯t tear away body heat like the gale around them. Cole looked at her, her pale cheeks rosy from the biting cold and her hair a mess from where her scarf had wrapped her up. Natalie shook her hair out and let out a contented sigh. The silly little action brought an unconscious smile to Cole¡¯s face. The word that kept coming to his mind was vibrant; she was just so full of life. He let himself admire her for only a second before he refocused on the task at hand. ¡°Let¡¯s warm up and get some food before we continue. Lungu shouldn¡¯t be far.¡± with those words, he sat close to Natalie and started digging in his pack. After a moment, Cole pulled out and unwrapped a small package. Inside was a brick of reddish-brown nobbed material. Cole broke off a strip of it and put the rest away. To Natalie¡¯s slight horror, Cole bit into the strip of what she assumed was semi-rotten jerky. He looked at her shocked expression and smiled slightly. ¡°It¡¯s roadmeat, a traveling food that lasts months if prepared right.¡± Natalie took out her own rations, some bread, cheese, and an apple; then finally asked: ¡°Yesterday when we stopped for food, you ate normal things. What changed?¡± Cole glanced at her collection of foods and smiled grimly. ¡°I always try to eat roadmeat before a fight. It¡¯s light but filling, helps me keep my energy consistent for whatever comes next. Do you want a piece?¡± Natalie wrinkled her nose in disgust and almost said no, but after a moment¡¯s hesitation, she shrugged and held out a hand. Cole dropped a small chunk of it in her hand. With immense trepidation, Natalie nibbled on the corner. It didn¡¯t taste rotten as she expected. Instead, it tasted like slightly sweet dried meat. Her eyebrows shot up as she ate the piece and licked her lips clean. ¡°That was surprisingly good. Where do you get it?¡± said Natalie. As she talked, Natalie broke off a piece of her bread and held it out to Cole. He looked down at her offering and took it with an amused look before answering. ¡°I make it. It¡¯s surprisingly easy to cook with what you would find foraging and hunting. Sometimes my duties keep me out in the wilds for weeks on end, and roadmeat makes it easier.¡± They sat in silence, eating for a little bit before Natalie continued her questions. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it. Which I know doesn¡¯t mean much, but I¡¯m curious. Is it something used commonly outside of the Blood Duchies?¡± Cole shook his head as he answered. ¡°No, the only other person I know who can make it is the person who taught me. He was a Ranger I met on the White Isles, a fellow servant of Master Time. He showed me how to prepare it while we hunted a Keening Ghost together. I know he learned it from some Elvish Monks who lived on Tiaracht Island, so I assume it¡¯s something of Elvish origin. Roadmeat is just what that Ranger called it. I¡¯m sure the Elves have a much prettier name for it in their tongue.¡± Natalie had met Dwarves, Goblins, Werefolk, and once an Orc while working at the Silly Goat, but never an Elf. The Sidhekin had long been a source of mystery, allure, and terror to the peoples of the Four Continents. When the Wyldfolk were cast out of the world by Iskandar the Hero, the Elves stayed behind. Having rebelled against their fickle masters and joined the First Pact alongside the other True Peoples. Even after the war ended, there were still many old wounds from when the Elves served the Fae. So the Elves left to sail across the western sea in ships of enchanted glass and woven song. Building a new home on distant shores, only rarely returning to the Four Continents from across the ocean. Cole could see the vibrant curiosity in Natalie¡¯s eyes. To her, the Elves were a near-mythical people. Again, he found that same word entering his mind, vibrant. Cole chewed on his meal and awaited the next question sure to arise from Natalie. He didn¡¯t need to wait long before she asked. ¡°Have you ever met an Elf?¡± Cole took a drink from his waterskin and washed down the last of the roadmeat before speaking. ¡°I¡¯ve crossed paths with a few over the years, but nothing more than that. They don¡¯t have much reason to come to the Four Continents other than trade. So the few I¡¯ve seen were merchants and sailors in port cities.¡± Natalie mused on that, laying her head back against the cool stone of the arrowhead rock as she chewed her last bit of cheese. The young woman looked forward to these strange little talks with Cole. His experiences and stories were an odd little peephole into the wider world. He gladly shared details and accounts that Barnabas and others were miserly with. In retrospect, Natalie wondered why that was? If she got a few drinks in Barnabas and coaxed him the right way, he¡¯d tell of his traveling days. But without that investment, he¡¯d be tight-lipped about what he¡¯d seen. Maybe he saw Glockmire for the trap it was and didn¡¯t want to focus on it? Or maybe decades of worrying about the attention his stories might bring kept him quiet? She didn¡¯t have time to wonder about it for long as Cole started preparing for the next leg of the journey. Natalie watched as he pulled a small pile of leather strips from his pack and with them a small rounded black stone. Cole pulled off his right glove and started wrapping it with the leather. Forming a belt of the material running from the crook of his thumb, across his palm and back around the hand. Next, he placed the stone in the wrapped palm and wound more layers of leather around it and his hand. After binding the shiny black rock to his palm securely, Cole held out his hand and flexed his fingers experimentally. The stone sat unobtrusively with a few centimeters of its surface visible, a dark spot at the center of Cole¡¯s palm. Content with those preparations, Cole continued by nicking his forearm with his axe¡¯s blade. As he recited the familiar incantation. The shaft stretched out, and the axe head seemed to grow larger. Leaving the protection of the large rock, Cole stood there with his halberd and the spark-stone he¡¯d bought from Barnabas. Looking at his weapon, Cole watched the wind dry the few flecks of his blood left on its blade. He made the weapon take on a larger and heavier form. The added weight would be good for breaking bones, and the spark-stone might prove useful for more than lighting campfires. Natalie watched Cole finish his preparations, and in turn, she pulled out her hatchet and clutched the mixture of salt and silver Cole gave her. The warding amulet also pulsed coolly against Natalie¡¯s skin, its blessed weight a small comfort. She didn¡¯t know exactly why the Paladin was preparing for battle, but she felt it was best to follow suit. Looking at Natalie, Cole nodded and said. ¡°Lungu is only three or so kilometers away, and I don¡¯t know what to expect before we reach it. Only that it¡¯s better to prepare early rather than late.¡± With that, he set out, and Natalie followed. The wind was a little less intense now, becoming a softer but steadier breeze coming down off the mountains in the north. It still was strong enough to rip away heat and drown out the world¡¯s noises, but it no longer threatened to send Natalie sprawling with a single gust. They followed the worn remnants of the path leading to Lungu and descended down the gently sloping foothills. The wind steadily pushed them forward as gray clouds roiled overhead. Cole and Natalie crested a small bluff and found what they had been searching for nestled in a miniature valley below them. Lungu was a ragged collection of buildings sitting in the small flat area within the valley. Time and the elements reduced most of the structures to battered frames. Natalie was reminded of the bones of some fallen creature lying to rot. For just a moment, the two surveyed the ruins, and after a glance at each other, they entered Lungu. Collapsed fences of wood and stone were the first things they passed. Remnants of farm fields and pastures now run wild with large grasses and shrubs. Something about it brought a twinge of sadness to Cole. People carved out a life here despite the inevitable challenges they would face. Bringing their own little piece of agrarian tranquility into existence, only for it to be stolen away through malice, idiocy, or lunacy. He didn¡¯t know if Gurni¡¯s theory about what destroyed Lungu was correct, but it was believable. Among all the tragic deaths and pitiful stories Cole encountered over the years, the majority were products of simple mundane horror, not the influence of the Fell Gods or other eldritch forces. Next, they reached a few worn old barns, smelling of mold and filth even after all this time. A hayloft left to rot would feed generations of mice and produce enough fungus to turn the very air into a spore-filled haze. Natalie bound her scarf tighter around her face as they passed by, hoping to keep out any poisons still filling the air. Here in the valley, the wind had lessened to a faint breeze, stifled by the buildings and the scattering of trees that the townsfolk were probably responsible for planting. Without the constant moan of the wind, the ruins felt ominously quiet. It made the situation all that more unnerving for Natalie. By the time they entered the village proper, it became clear something was very amiss. Many of the buildings were in surprisingly good condition. Vines, roots, and the like hadn¡¯t spread through walls or floors. In fact, all the plant life towards the village center was stunted or dead. Withered-looking bushes stuck out of dry soil. It was more than what the cold of encroaching winter should have done. The grass and moss that pushed through the gravel and packed dirt on the road were missing. While the town was abandoned by its inhabitants and left to the elements, it had not been reclaimed by nature. Edging a little closer to Cole, Natelie softly whispered,¡°What¡¯s wrong with the plants here? Is it the poison put in the well?¡± Looking around them slowly, his eyes scanning for any movement, Cole grimaced and responded sharply: ¡°That¡¯s probably at least partially the source, but not all of it. Miasma born of Undeath, has seeped into this place. Life will find it difficult here until the source is removed.¡± To Cole, this was confirmation enough that they were in the right place. But any lingering doubts were put to rest when they reached the town center. It was a cluster of decrepit buildings surrounding the tainted well. The well stuck out of the ground like a burial marker for Lungu itself, but it was not what Cole was looking for. The village¡¯s dead would be buried nearby. Cole slowly leveled his halberd out before him and gestured for Natalie to stay behind him. Clutching her hatchet tight to her chest, gripping it''s comforting wood hard enough to make her fingers ache, Natalie was happy to oblige. As they crept across the village center, the sun was blotted out by grey clouds. The bleak light it spared for them cast dark shadows. Shadows that might be hiding all manner of nightmares, least of which was the one they hunted. After a few moments, Cole found what he was looking for. A small pile of disturbed dirt smeared across the gravel of the square. Cole followed the trail of the dirt, until his eyes fell upon a mound of dark, rotten-smelling soil. A familiar cold pulse in his chest confirmed what he¡¯d assumed, Cole was looking at a disturbed grave. Unslinging his pack from his shoulder Cole indicated to Natalie to stay with it. Moving with a speed that belied his large frame, Cole bolted to the noxious pile and stood at its edge. With this close inspection, he could see a ruined herb garden turned into a miniature dirt barrow, with a large depression in its middle. The dirt piles formed an earthen ridge surrounding an oval basin, about four meters on its longest edge. Cole had seen dirt and rock piled up like this many times before. The strange hollow and ridge was the telltale sign of a corpse digging itself out of a shallow grave. Looking over his shoulder, Cole gave Natalie a grim look and nodded. She slowly backed away, stopping near the well and a good ten meters away from Cole and the pit. Many forms of the Undead found themselves drawn back to their resting place when the sun rose. While not all Undead burn and wither under the sun¡¯s rays, its light is still painful and draining. So returning to that place where they¡¯d been ¡°born¡± and hiding beneath miasma-soaked dirt was an instinctual method to avoid the sun. The Walking Charnel would be just below Cole¡¯s feet, having re-interred itself in the mass grave that birthed it. Kneeling down on one leg, with his Halberd as support, Cole bent over the depression and started to sift through the dirt slowly. He hoped to find its exact location without awakening the Charnel. Something that would allow for more elaborate preparations. Cole moved his hand gently, mimicking the irregular way the wind might blow away clumps of dirt. He did this for a minute, and then another, all while Natalie watched with bated breath. Without her ever consciously realizing,, Natalie started backing away slowly, her body preparing to run and hide at the first sign of trouble. Suddenly she bumped against the well and nearly jumped out of her skin. To her credit, she cupped a hand over her mouth to muffle the involuntary yelp. Cole shot her a worried glance that turned into something resembling annoyance and concern before he went back to work. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Ever so slowly, Cole continued his strange sifting of the dirt. Spending nearly five minutes burrowing a small hole in the mass grave. A concerned frown marked his face as he found no trace of the Walking Charnel. Such a large and thankfully stupid Undead would not bury itself deep nor leave no trace. He should have encountered at least shed bone fragments by now? A worrying thought soon passed through Cole¡¯s mind. Could it be hiding elsewhere? Or had the Feeder moved it after Cole visited the Castle? The latter seemed unlikely. The Feeder would need to come to the Charnel personally to give it orders as complicated as hiding, and such an act would probably rouse the Scarlet Knights¡¯ suspicion. So, where was it buried? As she watched Cole, Natalie reached out with her free hand and gripped the well¡¯s rim expecting steady and solid stones. She quickly learned the well was not as stable as she¡¯d thought. Her tight, nervous grip on its rim was enough to dislodge a few of the smaller rocks on the inner edge. She let go with a start as the stone partially gave way and bits of it tumbled into the well. Stepping away from the well in surprise, Natalie didn¡¯t hear the tell-tale plop of rocks hitting water as she expected. Instead, a strange clattering noise met her ears. Momentarily confused, Natalie looked to Cole in surprise, only to see his eyes widen in dawning horror. The mass grave may have been where the Charnel was buried, but the well was where it had truly been born. A terrible groaning, cracking noise came from the well, the sound of old bones knocking together. With that surprising speed of his, Cole lept toward Natalie, his eyes wild with tension. In a single smooth movement, he reached Natalie, wrapped her in his free arm, spun her away from the well, letting go of her and sending her sprawling away from the well. The flurry of movement oddly reminded Natalie of a waltz¡¯s twirl, except instead of ending up back in her suitor¡¯s arms, she found herself rolling onto the ground in a ball of robes and surprise. Somehow Natalie managed to keep hold of her hatchet without cutting herself. Keeping it clutched to her as she scrambled to her feet. The tumble pulled Natalie¡¯s scarf over her eyes, and just as she managed to pull it down, her heart froze. A spindly arm nearly two meters in length stuck out of the well. ¡°Arm¡± was the best way Natalie could describe what she was seeing, but it didn¡¯t do the terrible limb justice. Dozens of arm and finger bones were bound together in a woven parody of a normal arm. Strips of ratty cloth and desiccated flesh clung to the arm, grotesque twine shot through a morbid bundle. As silent terror anchored her feet to the ground, Natalie could only watch as the limb found the rim of the well. Its tips split into forearm-thick fingers, each capped with wriggling skeleton hands. Those disturbingly energetic hands found good grips on the well, exactly where Natalie had been standing. With that boney grip, the Charnel started to pull itself free of its lair. The noise it made was tremendous, a never-ending rattle of bone upon stone and bone upon bone. Dragging itself up, a second arm got free and planted itself in the ground next to the well. With both limbs braced, the Charnel began to lift itself out of the well, its main body beginning to peak out over the rim. Cole wasted little time being surprised and swung his halberd at the first arm¡¯s wrist. The blow smashed bone and tore long-dried sinew. The Charnel¡¯s fingers twitched in surprise, losing their grip and sending the Undead sliding back into the well. Turning to Natalie, Cole used the few seconds he¡¯d bought to bark, ¡°Go! Get clear of the village center!¡± His words pulled Natalie from her momentary shock and the young woman backpedaled away for a few steps before turning to run properly. A huge crunch pulled Cole¡¯s attention back to the threat. The Charnel had resumed the process of exhuming itself, and its top half exited the well. Slumping over the rim of the well like a pile of spilled refuse; its body was an indistinct shape, little more than a mound of bones, the two arms it had formed already melting back into the central mass. A thick layer of old mud covered the top half of its torso, part disguise, part protection for when it slept in the well. There was constant movement inside that great mass of tangled bones; a never-ending jittery thrashing of cursed remains. Pulled from the well, the Charnel started to scuttle towards Cole on a carpet of skeletal limbs. It was easy to assume something called a ¡°Walking Charnel¡± would move about on two legs, but instead, it moved like a particularly squat centipede. Cole could understand the name though, it did indeed look like a pile of bones walking towards him, its body twitching in constant painful-looking motion. Free from its lair, the Charnel stood maybe three meters tall and two across, forming a column of thrashing skeletons that now charged Cole. It barreled forward, in a bizarre collapsing motion, like an avalanche or rockfall on flat ground. Cole quickly sidestepped the thing, keeping it within reach of his halberd but not yet attempting another strike. He hoped to pull its focus away from Natalie before the fight in earnest. Sidestepping and backing away, Cole gave the Charnel a few experimental jabs. The halberds'' pike tip found little purchase, stabbing into the rats-nest of remains and pulling free easily. He¡¯d expected enough, but the strikes did their job and kept the single-minded Undead focused on him. That same single-mindedness quickly put an end to Cole¡¯s hopes to reposition more. A massive spike of sharpened bone shot forward from the Charnel¡¯s front. Its entire torso reforming into a single impaling shaft. Its speed was startling, and the full impact of that blow could have easily driven that shaft through plate mail, let alone Cole¡¯s worn leathers. The Paladin managed to leap out of the way in time and respond with his own blow. Swinging the halberd down like a headsman''s axe, Cole tried to lop off a chunk of the bone spike. The weapon struck true but only managed to sink a hand¡¯s width into the shaft. Its blade only breaking through the top layers of encrusted bone. Yanking the halberd free, Cole continued to swing away at the reforming Charnel. Its body flowed like some grotesque liquid and solidified into a broader form. A glint of metal among the worn bones and mud caught Cole¡¯s eye as it changed shape. A hint of gold buried in the Undead''s upper half. The skull of Gurni¡¯s brother, perhaps? Cole put it out of his mind and tried to put more distance between him and the Charnel. He didn¡¯t have the reach advantage like normal. The Undead¡¯s ability to form new limbs of differing shapes made even a halberd¡¯s length insignificant. Two long lanky arms uncoiled from either side of the Charnel. Thinner and longer than those that hauled it from the well, these reminded Cole of whips. Their ends were still capped by those wriggling skeletal hands, hands that Cole quickly learned were meant to grab prey. The Charnel swung its right arm in a haymaker four meters in length, and Cole was forced to parry it. Half a dozen hands gripped onto his halberd as its shaft met the oncoming flail. With a swift yank backward the Charnel tried to pull the halberd from Cole¡¯s grip. Thankfully, each hand¡¯s grip was individually weak, and Cole twisted his weapon free, using his enemy¡¯s own force to break its grip. The second arm came this time, and Cole was ready for it. Instead of parrying or attempting to dodge, he leaped forward. Away from the hands and closer to Charnel. The arm tried to coil while moving, to ensnare him like a snake, but it was too slow. The halberd came down maybe a meter from the end of the limb. This time the heavy axe blade fulfilled its purpose. Cole cut through the tendril with a splintering crack, sending its tip flying. Cole didn¡¯t know if the crude magical anima acting as the Charnel¡¯s mind could feel pain, but it could sense damage. The Charnel pulled what was left of its arm back into its mass and rushed towards Cole. Intending to bury him in its sheer mass. This time Cole didn¡¯t try to dodge or back away. Instead, he held his ground and pricked his right thumb with the halberd¡¯s blade. It was a quick action, something he¡¯d learned to do even in the middle of a fight. Smearing those few drops of blood on the spark-stone, still bound to his hand, Cole forced his will into the stone and the blood covering it. Blood could be spilled to power virtually any form of magic; it was arcane fuel in the form of spent life. That very same fuel could also be added to an existing spell, much like oil can be added to a fire. This arcane tool was a simple thing, crafted by Dwarven artifice to make magic common and easy. Anyone with a soul could touch a spark-stone, focus on it and create at least a few embers. A person with magical training and talent might be able to create a small puff of white-hot fire using it. The spark-stone, while useful, was not something ever meant to interact with the brute power of blood magic, but that didn¡¯t mean it couldn¡¯t. A jet of fire spewed from Cole¡¯s palm like a firebreather¡¯s best efforts. It slammed into the Charnel with red-hot intensity. Dried scraps of flesh and cloth still clinging to the Charnel ignited. The fire spread across the Charnel, and it thrashed madly, its body undulating and spreading out, as its individual pieces tried to flee the fire. For a hopeful moment it seemed the Charnel would split itself apart, its composite nature undoing it, but some piece of it seized control and yanked its shifting mass back towards the well. It was fleeing, hoping to find shelter in the dank depths of its tomb. Cole was having none of that, easing up the stream of fire and ramming his halberd forward. The weapon''s head quickly became entangled in the gyrating bones, pulling it deeper and Cole closer as he wrapped his arm around the halberd. Now somewhat secured, Cole refocused on the spark-stone, letting drops of blood trickle down from his thumb into his palm. The fire got hotter and wilder, thrashing about like a bucking horse. What little protection the leather straps he¡¯d bound to his hand for that purpose offered was becoming inadequate. The spark-stone grew hotter and hotter, and superheated air singed even his wrapped skin. This close to the Charnel, the heat was not the only thing Cole had to worry about. Flailings skeletal limbs thrashed out at him, most little more than a collection of splintered bones, but still sharp enough to draw blood where they hit. A dozen little lacerations cut into Cole¡¯s arms, chest and face. The only comparable experience Cole could think of was being caught in a large tree¡¯s branches during a powerful storm. Except these ¡°branches¡± were jagged, twisted bones actively trying to kill him. As Paladin and Undead struggled, Natalie watched from the inside of a nearby house. Her initial hopes for Cole when she saw his fiery strike were fading. It looked to her like he was being dragged into the Charnel, being slowly devoured like some hideous spider wrapping up its prey. Natalie slipped her left hand over the crude amulet Cole had given her and gripped it so hard it hurt. Her eyes boring in on the slowly disappearing figure of Cole, Natalie found her lips forming absently into a prayer she¡¯d half-forgotten from her childhood. ¡°Master Time, ensure our lives are long, our deaths are quick, and our rest undisturbed. Master Time, protect the living, protect the dead, and strike down that which is neither. Master Time, keep the dead till they live again, and ignore the living till our end comes.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t often pray, only in temple or when she hoped a God would listen. She guessed this situation was something of the latter. After all, what better time to pray to a God than when you¡¯re watching their champion duel an unliving nightmare? Part of Natalie wanted to try and help somehow, but both her logical and fearful sides insisted that she would do more harm than good. So she was stuck watching Cole being pulled into the Charnel, with flames circling around him. Cole, for his part, was not particularly concerned for himself. He still felt fairly in control of the situation. He¡¯d fought Charnels thrice before and developed several plans to destroy them. However, this Charnel was larger and marginally more intelligent than the previous ones he faced. Something Cole guessed was a result of whatever the Feeder was doing to it. Perhaps dumping more bones into the well alongside the Vampire¡¯s blood. It ultimately mattered little at the moment, this thing was a Rattler, and Cole knew how to destroy it. Being a skeleton animated by dark magic, Rattlers are typically fragile. With little more than strings of magic connecting the bones and keeping them moving. Strings that could be cut or snapped with even purely physical force. Drive a warhammer into a Rattler¡¯s ribs and spine, and it will quickly buckle. Its strings unable to stay attached or maintain form. Unfortunately, the strings of a Charnel are less like a puppet¡¯s and more like a large ball of tangled yarn. While enough force could still break them, it would take far more than whatever Cole could produce. So he had to default to a secondary method. Fire has been the oldest ally of mortals since before history began. Nothing better symbolizes the difference between beast and person than the use of fire. It brings light, warmth, safety, and power. While also having incredible power to destroy and ruin those who misuse or underestimate it. Because of this, some scholars claim fire is the first magic discovered and used by the free peoples of the world. Of course, fire can be explained through alchemy and purely material methods. But that does not change its symbolism and power. Fire burning in the mundane burns just as hot in the Aether. Doing to the spiritual what its mundane self does to the physical. So Cole called up fire and burned the Charnel, its magical strings burning away, but not fast enough. He realized this and changed his plans. Blood from his numerous scratches inflicted by the Charnel flowed onto the metal of his halberd; with a thought, he let the weapon''s blade and shaft shrink. Going from something the size of a Greataxe to the shape of a thin spear. Cole pulled on his weapon and himself, putting his weight and muscles into the act. At the same time, he changed the direction his fiery hand was pointing, spitting its flames dangerously close to himself. The Charnel recoiled from the fire, and Cole broke free of the tangling bones. He hit the ground on his back, using his momentum to roll backward and to his feet, the narrow pole of his halberd helping propel him to his feet. Cole backed away from the Charnel as it continued to thrash. Its form compressed tighter, an instinctive attempt to escape the fire and smother some of the flames. Despite this effort, parts of the Undead smoked with oily tendrils of burning rot, but enough of it escaped the flames. Cole managed to wound it, but it would take more to truly destroy the Charnel. Cole gripped his weapon with both hands and let the cut on his thumb run against the Halberd''s shaft. He again transformed the Halberd to its oversized form with a few muttered words. The runes carved into the polearm made such acts of magic trivial, bypassing much of the effort and preparation normally needed to twist metal with a thought. With the Halberd held out, its axe head ready to swing down on the Charnel, Cole called up another spell. He focused on the numerous scratches that decorated his forearms and chest. Feeling the slight trickle of blood there. Blood Magic is rare and considered tantamount to Dark Magic in most places. So its practitioners tend to be secretive and morbid. Withered sages or arrogant youths desperate and foolish enough to shed blood to power spells. Not the type to engage in vicious melee like Cole often found himself in. Because of this, few ever realize the true potential of where Blood Magic shines. On the battlefield. Where every injury might be woven into a deadly spell. ¡°Tears of my Vein, become Spears of Bane,¡± whispered Cole as he let his offering flow into the Aether, and his will reshape the World around him. The weeping blood of three scratches suddenly lifted from his skin and flowed into the air like serpents stalking prey. The blood detached from the wound and hovered in the air as three floating bubbles of crimson. With a thought, Cole commanded each to stretch out into a meter-long needle of blood. All three shot forward towards the center of the Charnel¡¯s mass. Instead of splattering like gory paint, they stabbed through bone and stood firm, like javelins thrown by a mighty hunter. As they hit, Cole watched his enemy intently, seeing something inside the Charnel twitch and pull away from the impact, where the rest of its boney form continued its same thrashing. It was difficult to tell but Cole thought the aberrant section was made of tightly packed skulls. That must be the core, the heart of all those magical strings. Usually, the ¡°knot¡± of a Rattler could be found in the skull, a dark mockery of the brain and nerves of a living creature. Cole suspected the situation was similar here, with the collection of skulls young Filip had described, being where Cole needed to strike. However, that knot of skulls was under layers of bony protection and would not be easy to hit. Turning his attention back to his weapon, Cole lunged forward, smashing the heavy Halberd down on his foe. Bones broke, and a lance made from a cracked femur jabbed out at Cole. He dodged it, letting the jagged bone tear into his cloak as he moved to the side. Again he struck, this time from the side, sending a shower of fragments flying and what he thought must have been a Deer¡¯s ribcage clattering to the ground. Eyes following the shards, Cole didn¡¯t see the real attack coming. A warhammer-sized tendril, capped with a pelvis, smashed into Cole¡¯s legs, knocking him off balance. He tried to regain his footing as the Charnel continued its attack, smashing into him with grotesque limbs made of human remains. Cole tried to shield his body with his halberd and arms but had little success. Each individual strike was not unbearable, and bone makes a poor material for a bludgeon. But the barrage was never-ending and came from at least six different limbs. While Cole was no stranger to pain, the sheer force of the blows kept him off balance and unable to reclaim his footing. A particularly nasty blow managed to sneak past Cole¡¯s arms and smash into his skull. It sent the Paladin tottering backward even as he tried to counter-attack with his Halberd. Motes of multicolored light swam in Cole¡¯s vision, and he tasted something metallic in the back of his throat. Stumbling back, Cole hit the ground, attempting to roll with the impact. Off kilter, He only managed scrabble away from the Charnel. Trying to get some distance between them. The Charnel quickly stopped that as it swung down a jagged bone claw on Cole¡¯s prone form. Desperately Cole pulled away, but not fast enough. Sharp, hot pain and the sound of tearing flesh signaled the Charnel¡¯s success. Cole was on his belly, trying to move away, and the Charnel impaled his calf with a brutal strike. Sharpened bone sunk into the back of Cole¡¯s leg and stuck out the other side. Like some grotesque fisherman reeling in a catch, the Charnel started to haul Cole back with its tendril. Letting out a stifled shout of pain as his entire body weight was put on the wound, Cole tried to flip onto his back, but the claw refused to bend. Desperately, Cole tried to turn his head to get a view of his enemy and was just in time to see a trap-like appendage made of assembled ribcages clamp onto his leg. A sudden jerk pulled Cole up, lifting his body into the air. The unpleasant similarities between a caught fish and Cole only increased as he dangled there. Impaled flesh and a vise-like grip held him up, and blood rushed to his head. For a few moments, nothing happened, and Cole realized he¡¯d managed to hold onto his halberd. He was just about to swing it up at the bone tendril and free himself when the ground came up to meet him. The Charnel thrashed Cole into the ground like a homemaker beating a rug. He hit with literally breathtaking force, the wind knocked out of him and his ribs making an audible creak. Stunned and in even more pain, Cole barely had the cognizance to tuck his head to his chest and bring his arms in close. The impact knocked the Halberd from his grip, and he suspected its sharp edges would do more harm than good in the coming seconds. Cole¡¯s fears came true as the Charnel whipped him into the air and back into the ground again. It repeated the process three times, smashing Cole into the ground like a petulant child torturing a mouse. Consciousness came and repeatedly went throughout the process. The trauma of the impacts fighting with vertigo for dominance. Cole¡¯s world became a whirlwind of pain, red-tinged darkness, and spinning shapes. After a final horrible slam into the ground, Cole went limp, and the Charnel tossed him through the wall of a nearby abandoned house. Chapter 8.5: Death is the Strength of Mortals

Chapter 16: Death is the Strength of Mortals

¡°Saint-speech is by its nature a difficult language. It is the tongue of Seraphs and the Beyond. Spoken not by mouths but by souls. Transfering ideas and concepts in an efficient if alien way. The beings of the Beyond perceive time and information in ways we cannot. Their language reflects this. Missing the articles and conjunctions any mundane language requires.¡± - Lord-Scholar Reuel¡¯s ¡®Celestial Linguistics¡¯
Natalie watched this whole ordeal with mounting terror. With his fire and halberd, she¡¯d been certain Cole would emerge victorious. That hope was quickly dashed after seeing him stabbed and tossed about like a used dish towel. Natalie was no expert on anatomy or violence, but she doubted Cole survived what she just witnessed. Even if he did, much of his body would be broken beyond repair. With her hatchet clutched to her chest like a child¡¯s blanket, Natalie sat in horrified silence as the Charnel scuttled over to where it had thrown Cole. Its body elongated into a snake-like pile of bones as it moved. The thinner ¡°mouth¡± of the Charnel slipped into the hole Cole¡¯s body put in the rotten wood. After a second or two of its strange twitchy movement, the Charnel pulled free of the hole with a bloody and ragged Cole. The Charnel¡¯s mouth unfolded into a lamprey mouth of spikes and bite into Cole, his limp form stuck with perhaps a dozen bone-teeth. Twisting rapidly like some malformed whip, the Charnel spun its head towards the Well, hurling Cole free from its mouth. The Paladin sailed through the air, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. A resounding crack echoed through the painfully silent village center as Cole slammed into the Well¡¯s stone structure. Slumped there, in a slowly growing pool of his own blood, Cole looked dead to the world, or maybe just dead. For a few terrible moments, the only sound was the unending clatter of bone. As Natalie watched the terrible sight before he, acrid bile filled her throat as a stomach-churning shock hit her. A terrible cold feeling settled in her heart, and different thoughts warred in the young woman¡¯s brain. Raw animal panic screamed for her to run; childlike terror wanted her to curl into a ball and cry, while other madder impulses demanded she help Cole. These battling impulses kept her feet firmly planted and her heart beating like a smith¡¯s hammer. The deadlock was broken as two separate promises echoed in Natalie¡¯s mind. She¡¯d promised Cole she¡¯d run if he died, and she promised her father she¡¯d survive. Natalie needed to run. It was the only sane option she had left. Backing away from the doorway she¡¯d been watching from, Natalie skulked through the ruined house. Passing through the forgotten remains of someone¡¯s home, she tried not to focus on grime-coated dishes still sitting on a worn table or the mess of tattered threads once a homespun rug. This had once been a home; now, it was a grave marker, a monument to death and loss. Forcing those thoughts from her mind, Natalie snuck out the back door of the house and into the dirty, forgotten streets of Lungu. The sound of rattling bones pulled Natalie¡¯s attention back towards the village center. The Walking Charnel towered over the ruined buildings, its body stretched out into a spire of shifting bone, at least three stories tall, its grotesque form twitched and shifted, snapping back and forth at random. Natalie stopped mid-stride, surprise and instinctual terror filling her. As she watched, the Charnel collapsed forward. Part falling tree, part avalanche, it crashed into the house she¡¯d just been hiding in. Rotting timbers and worn thatch collapsed under the impact, and the Charnel broke through the roof and into the building. A moment of irrational anger flared through Natalie. Was it not enough that the remains of Lungu¡¯s people were desecrated? Did the mindless malice that animated those bones also need to destroy what little remained of their memory? Stifling those thoughts, Natalie hurriedly moved away, putting distance between her and the still thrashing Charnel. Now confusion had its turn to rule in place of anger, as she tried to understand why the Charnel was after her. Was the amulet not working? Did it ever work, or was it a stupid attempt by Cole to make her feel safe? The splintering of wood and chattering of bones pulled Natalie¡¯s focus back to the abandoned house as the Charnel thrashed its way out of the building. A dozen tendrils of bone flailed about, and the Charnel¡¯s body undulated constantly. Now with it closer, Natalie could see faint plumes of smoke still leaking from the Undead and realization clicked into place. It wasn¡¯t trying to find her; the fact it was so close was just a coincidence. The accursed thing was still on fire and trying to put itself out. Backing away from it, Natalie watched as the Charnel continued its bizarre thrashing dance, slamming its amorphous form into anything it could find. Part of its central mass unfolded, and she could see a knot of skulls shaking and pulling away from the rest of the bones. Forming an outcropping of gyrating skulls in the middle of the thrashing shifting bones. In the middle of the shaking totem was a heavy-browed skull with golden teeth. Teeth that shone even in the bleak cloud-covered sunlight. Natalie stared at the hypnotic yet horrible display, slowly backing away from the monster. As it thrashed, Natalie realized the smoke issuing from the Charnel was decreasing. It was beating out the fire. She knew it was injured, but not enough to destroy it. Splattered with blood and ash, the Charnel was winning the fight. No, that was wrong. Cole was dead, Natalie was running, and she knew nothing of who pulled the strings in this whole disaster. The Charnel had won, and by extension, so had the Feeder. That cold, vicious hatred that was new to Natalie returned. It smashed into Natalie like a wave of icy water and drowned her mind in its depths. She¡¯d had an opportunity to avenge her mother, to maybe free Glockmire. An opportunity to be part of an adventure like the Bards told, to start a new life unafraid of the darkness. That opportunity was gone, lost to Natalie, with only hate remaining. In that terrible moment, that cold icy hatred consumed Natalie and drowned out everything else. With a trembling hand, Natalie raised up her hatchet and threw it at the Charnel with all her strength. She let out a pained screech of hate as the tool spun through the air. The hatchet found its mark with a sharp crack and smashed into one of the skulls. Not the dwarven one she¡¯d been aiming at but still close to it. The Charnel instantly stopped its erratic movements, and Natalie felt the hate drain away. Replaced by one of the few emotions that could triumph over even that level of fury. Raw terror filled her as realization sunk in. She¡¯d not been cognizant of what she was doing before the hatchet was in flight, and now it was far too late to prevent what that pointless act unleashed. Stumbling back, Natalie stared at the Charnel with wide-eyed terror. Her hands flew to the bone amulet around her neck, and she prayed its power would be enough. Slowly the Charnel started to move again, rattling closer on those horrible insect-like limbs. Natalie had seen Stockings the cat hunt enough times to understand what was happening. The Charnel knew prey was nearby and was searching for her. Slowly she crept away from the monster, never taking her eyes off it; she managed maybe a dozen steps before learning why walking backward on unfamiliar terrain was ill-advised. Her heel caught on a piece of fallen masonry, and she stumbled backward. Natalie hit the ground hard, letting out a pained cough as the wind was knocked from her. Desperately she told her limbs to move, to pull herself up, and continue running. They didn¡¯t respond as her body focused on sucking in air and throbbing pain. All she managed to do was pull her head off the ground to look up at the approaching Charnel. It was taking its time, scuttling forwards, with its body covering the entire road. Some part of Natalie wondered if it couldn¡¯t see her well, hence why it was spread out; but most of her was busy panicking and trying to move away. With great effort, Natalie managed to prop herself up on her elbows and start edging away. The Charnel was moving slowly, but so was she, and by merit of its huge size, the Charnel was faster. Natalie wanted to scream in frustration and terror, but her lungs still burned from the impact, and all she could do was glare daggers at the bobbing mass of skulls inching towards her. The hatchet still stuck from one¡¯s front, having cleaved into the bone. A testament to her efforts and why letting hatred run rampant yields only poor results. Hot tears started to form in Natalie¡¯s eyes as she felt the first of the Charnels'' boney feelers touch her foot. This was how she was going to die, torn apart by an undead horror as punishment for her crime of wanting a better world. Natalie shut her eyes, hoping that it would be quick. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. A shout then echoed through the ruins of Lungu. A deep warcry that turned into words Natalie didn¡¯t recognize. ¡° MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!¡± Standing atop the nearest ruined house was a bloody and grim figure. Cole stood there, soaked in his own blood, one arm hanging limply from his side. Like some War-Seraph from the Book of Miracles, Cole lept off the building and directly onto the Charnel¡¯s skulls.
The first thing Cole felt when he awoke was pain. Which was, as far as he was concerned, a good thing. Pain meant he was alive; pain meant he could do something. Blearily, he blinked away blood from his eyes and tried to take in his surroundings. He was slumped against the well, covered in blood and in considerable pain. Cole tried to move his arms, only one responded. He didn¡¯t know if the unresponsive one was broken, dislocated, or ripped off, and it really didn¡¯t matter to him. His legs both still worked thankfully, and between them and his working arm, Cole pulled himself to his feet. Once standing, Cole checked himself over, gauging how bad his condition was. A lifetime of injuries made Cole acutely aware of his anatomy, and he quickly determined that his left arm was torn from its socket, most of his ribs were cracked or broken, his skin was just one large bruise, and he was losing blood rapidly from the myriad cuts across his body. Groggy and unsteady on his feet, Cole felt himself smile. He¡¯d been in worse shape before, and with time and perhaps a bit of healing magic, he would be alright. Except he didn¡¯t have time. Something nagged at the back of his mind, screaming that his time was running out. Which to his concussed and light-headed self seemed ridiculous. If Cole had anything, it was time. Isabelle and his God made certain of that. A tortured scream pushed past the ringing in his ears, and Cole realized why time was short. Natalie was here, and her life was far more fragile than his. Looking around, he spotted his halberd. It wasn¡¯t far away but wouldn¡¯t be practical with one useless arm. So he looked down at his working arm and saw his other weapon. The Spark-Stone was still bound to his palm. Cole looked up and saw the twisted form of the Walking Charnel nearby, and more importantly, his own blood splattered all over it. The pieces of a mad plan came to Cole, and he moved towards the Charnel. It would probably get him killed, but when had that ever stopped him? Trying to move with anything resembling stealth while in his condition was impossible, so Cole simply hobbled slowly towards the Charnel. A cold tug in his chest told him where Natalie was. The amulet he¡¯d given her made sure of that. Looking around, Cole saw a decrepit house next to the Charnel. He was only going to get one shot at what he intended, and getting as close to the Charnel¡¯s core was key. With it flattened out like it was, attacking from above was his best option. Reaching the abandoned house, Cole reached up to grip the edge of its roof. With his great height, he could get a good handhold on the small village cottage¡¯s roof. The leverage was enough to make getting his feet onto the nearest window sill possible. And from there, it was simply a painful process of hauling himself up. It was remarkably unpleasant, and Cole left a trail of smeared blood on the wood; but he managed it, pulling himself onto the roof. Sowly getting to his feet, Cole could only pray that the unmaintained thatch would hold his weight. Another pained noise from nearby forced his hand, and Cole crept quickly across the roof. Despite a few plaintiff groans of stressed wood, the roof held, and Cole reached the other side of the building. The Charnel was badly damaged, and its knot of skulls was exposed. Looking down, Cole felt his heart momentarily stop when he saw Natalie lying on the ground. It started beating again when he saw she was alive.. Moving his focus to the Charnel, Cole felt a cruel grin cover his face. He could finish this. Cole tried to not let emotion cloud him while in combat. He tried to approach his more violent duties like a puzzle. A problem to be solved through skill and technique. That option was gone. His injuries and the threat to Natalie limited him. He had perhaps one last spell in him. One, he¡¯d been unwittingly prepared for during this entire terrible fight. Cole had covered the Charnel with his blood, and more of it leaked out of him every second. So now, all Cole could do was cast that spell and pray it worked. Letting out an uncharacteristic roar of determination, Cole leaped off the roof. Shouting the sacred words of Master Time as he fell. ¡° MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!¡± Translated from Saint-Speech, it roughly meant ¡°Death is the Strength of Mortals.¡± Words that Cole lived by and understood better than almost anyone. He used that oath in place of the usual rhyme he used to focus a spell. The words themselves were not magical but a way of focusing will and power into Magic. Sacred words with the weight of faith behind them would work as well. They would not be much use with a complicated spell, but it would help Cole infuse the last embers of the power Master Time had given him into the Spark-Stone and his blood. Fire erupted from the Spark-Stone and spread across Cole, following the trails of crimson on his flesh. It burned pure and hot; white fire ignited with faith. Like some falling hammer of divine judgment, Cole crashed into the Walking Charnel. He thrust the Spark-Stone into the knot of skulls and let the flames rise. Every drop of his blood touching the Charnel ignited, turning into splatters of white-hot fire. With his working arm thrust into the mouth of one of the skulls, Cole screamed in a mixture of pain and triumph. He was mostly protected from the flames, but he was also covered in them. A fraction of the heat generated escaped the spell''s control, searing Cole¡¯s skin and hair. Yet he held on, willing the fire to burn away the Undead and save Natalie. The Charnel thrashed and gyrated, but these were its death throes. The faith-touched fire charred bone and burned the magical threads animating it. For an entire minute, the flames burned, consuming the shed blood and animus of the Walking Charnel. The undead horror made one last desperate attempt to remove Cole from its body, but it was pointless. With one final hideous spasm of breaking bones and crackling flames the Charnel collapsed into a smoldering mound of ash and blackened bones. The Paladin of Death stood atop it, a hand gripped firmly on his prize. Half-delirious with pain and blood-loss, Cole yanked a charred skull free of the remains. Its orbital bone was cracked, and its teeth were melted together, but the skull of Buri, brother of Gurni, was still recognizable. Unsteadily, Cole wobbled forward, his feet barely finding purchase on the broken bones as he moved to Natalie. For her part, Natalie had managed to scramble a good three meters away from where he¡¯d last seen her and was standing but favoring one foot. Natalie looked at Cole with wide-eyed shock. A mixture of horror, awe, disbelief, and wonder filled her eyes at what she¡¯d just witnessed. Covered head to toe in ash and filth, cloak destroyed, his clothes barely intact with the last few flickers of white fire dancing in the air around him; Cole looked like the survivor and victor of some primordial war between Gods. Staggering slightly with each step, Cole reached Natalie and collapsed forward. While she¡¯d managed to escape the Charnel¡¯s grip when Cole attacked, Natalie¡¯s ankle was badly bruised, and she was in no shape to catch the falling colossus of Cole. So she took the practical if not particularly polite option and sidestepped Cole. With a grunt of exhausted pain, Cole hit the ground and lay still. After a moment of silence in a rasping croak, Cole managed to speak. ¡°My apologies for all of this. It could have gone better.¡± Natalie could only stare at Cole before she started to laugh. Deep laughter from her core, fueled by the joy of surviving certain death and the sheer absurdity of Cole¡¯s words. She laughed for what felt like an age, and eventually, Natalie fell to the ground next to Cole, landing on her hindquarters and still doubled over in laughter. A weak cough from Cole refocused Natalie, and she turned to see her companion¡¯s condition. He coughed again, this time a little harder, his chest shook with it, and it took Natalie a moment to realize he was laughing as well. So the two of them sat next to each other, laughing like fools over the joy of being alive. Eventually, the laughter died down, and Cole rasped. ¡°My bag and the amulet I gave you, could you please bring them to me?¡± Natalie complied, getting up and limping over to where Cole left his pack a few houses away. She returned and slipped the amulet from her neck. Finding Cole trying to flip himself onto his back with little success. Gingerly, Natalie approached Cole and helped him. Together they got Cole onto his back, and he let out an exhausted-sounding sigh as he settled. Cole gestured for the amulet, and Natalie slipt it into his hand. He squeezed his hand into a fist, and Natalie heard the bone of the trinket crack, and with it, Cole let out a pleased sounding noise. A slight cloud of unnatural fog slipped between Cole¡¯s fingers and traveled up his arm and to his head. Cole inhaled the fog with a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. He exhaled nothing but normal air and then started to sit up. Natalie moved to stop him, but he motioned her back with newfound strength. Cole pulled himself to his feet and picked up his pack with still shaky hands. Next to where he had collapsed was the skull of Buri; he picked that up as well with a pained groan and put it in his bag. Exhausted, in a considerable amount of pain but triumphant, Cole gave Natalie a weak smile before speaking. ¡°The power I reclaimed from the amulet should be enough for us to get to shelter. The arrowhead rock will be a safer place to spend the night than here; let¡¯s go.¡± Natalie wanted to argue, Cole seemed to be in no state to travel, and her bruised ankle would slow her down. But as she looked around the abandoned ruins of Lungu and the still smoking remnant of the Walking Charnel, a shiver went up her spine. So Natalie decided to continue doing what had led her into this insane situation and trust Cole. Chapter 9: Paths forward

Chapter 17: Paths Forward

¡°Mortals proved they cannot be trusted to rule! Ten centuries ago great works and glorious causes were inherited by petulant children and squandered by them. I will not allow such mistakes to occur again. Only the worthy shall rule, and their rule shall be eternal as the night! ¡± - Ferenc Drakovich, Duke of Dux Bucuros, first among the Blood Duchies
Cole and Natalie left the ruins of Lungu worse for wear but victorious. Before they left the abandoned hamlet, they scavenged a few things to help their trip. Natalie found a solid piece of wood to act as a makeshift walking stick, while Cole just used his Halberd to support his weight. Battered and exhausted the two of them retraced their steps out of the village, passing between lifeless houses, and overgrown gardens,, with the Dwarven skull of Buri safely tucked in Cole¡¯s pack. They walked in silence, Natalie still trying to absorb everything she¡¯d witnessed; while Cole focused on just staying conscious. Eventually, the smell of rot and death started to fade. The clear cold breeze coming off the mountain washed away the horrid stench, and Natalie felt like she could breathe properly again. She hadn¡¯t even noticed she¡¯d been taking shallow uneven breaths while in Lungu until they were a kilometer from the village and back in clean air. Finally reaching the safety of the rock, Cole¡¯s legs gave out as he collapsed into its shadow. Slumped against the huge boulder, Cole took in deep, ragged breaths, reminding Natalie of an exhausted Horse. She¡¯d seen a Horse run itself to death once, and that memory sparked new concerns. Cole survived the fight, but there was no guarantee his injuries still wouldn¡¯t kill him. Such thoughts didn¡¯t seem to cross Cole¡¯s mind as he dropped his pack and shakily got back to his feet, using the rock¡¯s leverage to stand. Natalie started to move towards him, words of concern on her lips. Cole didn¡¯t seem to notice as he positioned his useless left arm against the arrowhead rock and shoved his weight into it. A sickening pop, followed by a sharp hiss of pain, told Natalie that Cole had got his arm back into its socket. With that over, Cole dropped to his spot on the ground and went through his bags with shaky fingers. Natalie pushed his tired hands away and said, ¡°You look like you¡¯re about to keel over dead. Let me help.¡± Cole didn¡¯t fight her and just grunted, ¡°There are bandages and ointment somewhere in there.¡± It took Natalie only a few seconds to find a small glass bottle wrapped in strips of cotton. Unwinding the bandages, Natalie looked to Cole, preparing to bind his worst wounds. This close, she could actually get a good look at the extent of his injuries. His entire upper body was covered in lacerations. There must have been three dozen cuts across his arms, chest, and head. Only a few were still leaking blood. The majority had been cauterized during Cole¡¯s mad leap onto the Charnel. Natalie just glanced down at the bandages and then up at Cole. She doubted they would be enough to dress his injuries. Even if they were, where the hells would she start? His eyes shut and his head leaning back, Cole rasped: ¡°Take care of any injuries you have first. Mine can wait.¡± In a moment of pique, Natalie reached out and jabbed his chest in one of the few unscathed sections. Eliciting a pained yelp from Cole as she continued her not so gentle prodding. With a quiet anger only a caregiver can muster for an unruly patient, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m assuming you are going into shock or are delusional. Otherwise, you¡¯d not entertain such foolish ideas. Ideas, like thinking your injuries can wait. So sit still and let me help you.¡± Cole let out a groan of surrender and asked. ¡°If you thought I was going into shock, jabbing my bruises seems a curious choice.¡± Natalie got to work measuring out the bandages. Before responding with feigned innocence. ¡°I¡¯m not a healer of any kind. So I was forced to improvise. Now, what does this ointment do?¡± Cole managed to open his eyes and peer at the bottle Natalie held out for examination. ¡°A drop or two on a bandage covering an open wound will prevent infection. Be careful to not get any of it in your eyes or mouth.¡± Natalie had just popped off the bottle¡¯s cork and was sniffing its contents when she got his warning. Sheepishly she set the ointment down and started prepping the first bandage for use. The ointment was a dull metallic color and had the consistency of thick grease. It smelled like tarnished silver and easily dribbled onto the bandages. Scrunching up her nose, afraid to inhale more of the pungent substance, Natalie started to fasten a bandage over a nasty cut on Cole¡¯s left arm. ¡°So what is this stuff? You say not to get it in me, but want me to rub it into your own bleeding wounds?¡± said Natalie as she tied the bandage on. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, which Natalie chalked up to exhaustion, Cole answered. ¡°It¡¯s a poison.¡± Natalie frantically dropped the next bandage she¡¯d been working on and stared at him incredulously. Now it was Cole¡¯s turn to look sheepish as he explained. ¡°At least it is to most people. Silverub is meant for Dwarf use, but some non-Dwarves are immune to its dangers.¡± Gingerly Natalie picked up the dropped bandage and got back to work. Examining Cole¡¯s injuries, she half asked, half mused. ¡°How are you not dead?¡± Cole let out a pained-sounding chuckle and said with a hint of amusement. ¡°As I said before, I¡¯m very very very difficult to kill.¡± Natalie simply made a huffing sound at that and grumbled. ¡°I hope so. I don¡¯t think there are enough jagging bandages here.¡± She was correct. By the time they ran out of cotton strips, about a third of Cole¡¯s wounds were still uncovered. Natalie had debated tearing bits off her skirt, but Cole had her simply pour a few drops of Silverub into the exposed wounds. An act that got more than a few pained grunts from Cole. With the worst of his injuries dealt with, Natalie decided she needed to gather material for a fire, while Cole was incapacitated. The wind was starting to pick up again, and the occasional shiver was the only real sign of life Natalie saw from Cole. His breathing was shallow, and he looked worse than some corpses she¡¯d seen. Taking a final worried glance at him, Natalie left the shelter of the outcropping and started gathering anything that looked dry enough to burn. With one arm busy holding onto an improvised walking stick, Natalie was limited in how much she could carry. Making multiple trips, checking on Cole every time she returned. When she did, Natalie always paused for a moment and watched to see if he was still breathing. A few times, she swore he stopped, and she almost moved to shake him once, but each time his breath returned. They were shaky and shallow but still there. On her sixth return to the outcropping, Natalie smelled smoke. Cole must have awoken and started a fire. But as she approached, Natalie realized he was still unconscious, and her pile of dried brush was unlit. Nervously she whirled around, trying to find the source of the smell. It didn¡¯t take long to spot the cloud of dirty smoke billowing into the sky from the south. Natalie watched the roiling column of smoke in the distance, taking a moment to pay her respects. The fire was Lungu. Enough of the Walking Charnel had been smoldering to ignite the abandoned town. Natalie watched the distant tower of ash, feeling a strange sense of closure to the whole ordeal. The Undead monster had been destroyed, and now Lungu was its funeral pyre. Returning to her task at hand, Natalie found Cole still unconscious, so she set to work setting up a campfire. Natalie hadn¡¯t slept outside the town walls before and had never needed to make a fire outside of a hearth. But she figured enough of the skills of managing an indoor fire had to transfer, and she got to work. After arranging the wood and tinder in what seemed a reasonable shape, Natalie looked for something to ignite it. Rifling through her bag, Natalie found the tinderbox she¡¯d packed. To her confusion and dawning horror, Natalie realized the small metal box, and its contents were soaked. In fact, much of her pack was wet; which she somehow hadn¡¯t noticed it earlier in all the chaos. Searching through her bag, she found the culprit; one of the two waterskins Natalie had packed was split open. The leather was in worse shape than she¡¯d thought and must have torn when she fell. Natalie shut her eyes in annoyed exhaustion. Drenched tinder would be useless, and she had no clue how to start a fire without it. Before real desperation could set in, Natalie remembered the other source of easy fire she had. Turning to Coles¡¯s sleeping form, Natalie saw what she was looking for. The spark-stone was still fastened to his hand. Scooting over to him, Natalie set a hand on Cole¡¯s shoulder, about to wake him. But seeing his worn face made her hesitate. Even unconscious, his face was still twisted with pain. Cole had fought and bled for the sake of her home. He¡¯d trusted her, listened to her, helped her, and treated her with nothing but compassion. If she could let him sleep a bit longer, then Natalie would. Uncertain but gently, Natalie set a hand on Coles¡¯s face, wishing his pain away. He twitched in his sleep, reacting to her touch. Natalie quickly pulled her hand away as Cole muttered a single word. It was so quiet she almost didn¡¯t hear it but Natalie still made out the name on Cole¡¯s lips. ¡°Isabelle,¡± he whispered in an almost pleading tone. Something twinged inside Natalie, a slight ugly feeling she didn¡¯t recognize. It passed as quickly as it came, and Natalie resumed her task. Unwrapping the burned leathers from Cole¡¯s right hand. Natalie found the spark-stone. Gingerly, she picked up the palm-sized oval of polished stone. It was still warm to the touch, and Natalie realized Cole¡¯s palm was burned badly where he¡¯d fastened the stone. That brought a moment of hesitation to Natalie, but it quickly died as the wind howled louder. Nervously, Natalie returned to the make-shift campfire and held out the stone. She¡¯d used a magical tool like this once before. It had been an enchanted ring one of Glockmire¡¯s alchemists had let the children play with. By wearing the ring and focusing on it, you could get it to spit streams of multi-colored light. A harmless but dazzling magical effect meant to impress and not much else. So, in theory, the spark-stone shouldn¡¯t be any different. Holding the stone with more than a bit of concern, Natalie brandished it at the unlit campfire and focused on the stone. She willed her intent into the rune etched on the stone and imagined it shooting a stream of fire. After a few seconds of concentration, it worked, a little too well, in fact. A jet of fire erupted from the stone and hit the dry tinder. Natalie let out a surprised yelp and dropped the spark-stone. The moment she let go, the flame died, but it had already spread to the dry brush and wood she had gathered. As the campfire crackled to life, Natalie picked up the spark-stone. Cautiously she examined it in the setting afternoon sunlight. Tiny flecks of red and brown covered parts of the stone, and Natalie realized with slight disgust that it was Cole¡¯s blood. Perhaps that had given the spark-stone that extra boost. Natalie doubted it had been anything she had done. Part of the Rite of Birth was testing a child''s magical potential. Natalie didn¡¯t really have the mind or body to take any arcane paths. Something that hadn¡¯t ever really bothered her, unlike many other children. As far as she¡¯d been concerned, being pretty, strong-willed, and clever were plenty advantageous without magic on top of that. Some had accused Natalie of being arrogant; she wouldn¡¯t be the first beautiful young woman who let it get to her head. But those who really knew Natalie realized she had something infinitely rarer than arrogance, especially among young people. Natalie had confidence fueled by self-awareness. She understood what she had and what she did not and spent little time angsting about that fact. Still, she¡¯d be lying if she said catching the attention of numerous suitors hadn¡¯t brought her a measure of joy and inflated self-confidence. But those relationships or, more often, trysts proved to be nothing special. Which brought her back to Cole, who, despite Natalie¡¯s insistence to herself and others, had caught her eye. Sitting next to the fire, letting its heat soak into her bones, Natalie turned towards Cole. He was perhaps a meter away, still unconscious and breathing fitfully. Tentatively, Natalie crawled over to where he lay. The fire was starting to produce a fair amount of heat, enough to warm up Natalie. But she had layers of clothes and her cloak. Cole had little more than singed tatters to protect himself from the cold. Natalie briefly considered rolling Cole closer to the fire but quickly decided against it as she got a better look at him. She¡¯d assumed the dark splotches that covered his skin were ash and dirt. They weren¡¯t. They were bruises. So many that they fused together in great expanses of discolored skin covering most of Cole¡¯s exposed torso. Slightly stunned, Natalie muttered to herself. ¡°How are you even alive?¡± Cole gave no answer, and Natalie decided moving Cole was not something she wanted to try. So seeing few other options, Natalie unfastened her cloak and laid it over Cole as a makeshift blanket. It barely covered him, he was at least two heads taller than her, after all. Taking a moment to admire her handiwork, Natalie sighed and plopped down next to Cole. His face was uncovered and was still twisted in pain. Crossing her arms and hunkering down from the newly invasive cold. Natalie examined Cole¡¯s features. The fire scorched his short hair to nothing, and a few ugly burns joined the mess of scars already covering him. Yet he still had appealing features. The scars masked the handsome, confident face of a man in his prime. It was difficult to tell how old Cole was. Aside from the burns and scars, his face lacked any signs of age. There were no wrinkles or crows¡¯ feet to mark the years, nor were their laugh lines or gauntness to indicate good or bad times. In fact, Natalie started to wonder if Cole wasn¡¯t that much older than she was. She¡¯d guessed him to be in his mid-thirties when they first met. But as she deciphered the puzzle of scars obscuring his features, Natalie had to reconsider that initial estimate. Cole had said he¡¯d been serving as a Paladin for a decade. Which she doubted was a position you could get as an inexperienced youth. So did that mean Cole was older than he looked, or was there something else at work? Natalie leaned against the cold stone, sitting next to Cole and looking out at the wind-swept piedimontes stretching out around them. From where Natalie sat, she could see the billowing smoke of Lungu. The view was beautiful in its own bleak way, ancient and worn mountains leading into rolling hills. Every breeze sent a wave of motion across the tall grasses and made them dance. Zaubervold was a mix of mountains, forests, and bleak plateau, like most Blood Duchies. With the Dragontail Mountains coiling around the region like some colossal serpent, these lands were isolated but prosperous. Natalie didn¡¯t know much about the Duke who ruled this particular Duchy. Other than that, he ruled from Zaubervold¡¯s capital of Chortburg in the south. All the rulers of the Blood Duchies held the title of Duke or Duchess. But everyone knew the implied equality of that shared title was a farce. Drakovich, founder and master of the Blood Duchies, ruled over his fellow Dukes but technically refused to take a higher title. An idiosyncrasy leftover from the Old Empire, some said. Drakovich had survived the collapse of that civilization, and would only take up the title of Emperor when he¡¯d restored the Empire in his image. The politics of countries and Vampires had once been a distant hypothetical thing to Natalie. That was no longer the case with all of Cole¡¯s talk of the ¡°Feeder¡± and the plots around Lord Glockmire. Natalie had been forced to reevaluate her knowledge and understanding of the world around her. Partially out of necessity, she wanted to continue being a useful ally for Cole. Partially to try and reclaim some modicum of control. It seemed slightly silly to her, but on some level, Natalie hoped that by gaining understanding, she¡¯d reclaim some of the security she¡¯d lost. The illusionary shield of ignorance was gone and needed to be replaced with something sturdier. She sat for hours, pondering the problem facing her town. Checking on Cole¡¯s still sleeping form and fueling the fire occasionally, but mainly, Natalie focused on what to do about the situation in Glockmire. From what he¡¯d told her, Cole¡¯s plan seemed a good one. Cripple the enemy piece by piece while his Vampiric rivals closed in on him. While there were many unanswered questions, one, in particular, bothered Natalie. Why had Cole been called to this particular crisis? Paladin¡¯s couldn¡¯t be common enough to spare for every wayward Vampire. But a God had decided it was necessary to risk a powerful asset over the safety of Glockmire. While Natalie didn¡¯t give any credit to the idea that the Pantheon was secretly malicious, a heretical line of thought propagated by the bitter and the mad. She also didn¡¯t think a being responsible for running the universe would spare much for her little town. Raising the question; shouldn¡¯t Cole be off doing more important work? The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. That question led Natalie to a simple answer, simple, but incredibly worrying. Whatever was happening in Glockmire was not something Master Time could ignore. Something brewing in her town could potentially have consequences even a God felt. According to the Temple, the Gods do not intervene lightly, instead, preferring to give their worshippers the tools they need, trusting them to find the best path. When a God did choose to directly involve themselves, which was what sending a Paladin was tantamount to doing. It meant something extremely bad would happen without their interference. So finding out exactly what crisis Cole was meant to prevent would be crucial. A task Natalie found annoyingly beyond her current capabilities. She lacked information, and her best source was currently lying half-dead next to her. Eventually, the Sun started to dip down, its rays turning scarlet and the shadows lengthening, it wouldn¡¯t be long till nightfall. Unconsciously, Natalie found herself edging closer to Cole. She¡¯d been fearing this, night arriving with Cole still being incapacitated. While she hoped the fire would deter most mundane threats, nothing stopped the more unnatural dangers from attacking them while she slept. The necklace Cole said would protect her was destroyed and its power used by the Paladin. So that left her with one option. Natalie found the bag of salt and silver. She ran the sparkling and shining powder through her fingers while debating her actions. Getting up, Natalie moved to the edge of the little overhang they sheltered under. With uncertain fingers, Natalie grabbed a handful of the dust and started sprinkling it in a line at her feet. It took a few minutes and multiple retracing of her steps, but Natalie had enclosed the small camp with a semi-circle of protective powder. Admiring her handiwork, Natalie winced as she looked into the bag she¡¯d carried. Most of its contents lay scattered at her feet, and neither material was cheap. With that finished, she returned to her earlier spot and looked out at the darkening hills. By now, the Sun touched the horizon, and the distant flames of burning Lungu were visible. The eerie glow of the village¡¯s cremation became more pronounced with every minute. Night had come, and with it, new terrors. Natalie felt it when the Sun finally fell into shadow. A visceral tug in her core, as fading light was replaced by true darkness. All she could do was stare out across the landscape as it faded away. The clouds were thick overhead, obscuring the moon and stars. Leaving only the dancing ghost lights of Lungu to illuminate the growing blackness. The fierce wind from that day had died down as dusk came, but it quickly returned as the last hints of sunlight faded. The wind carried the bitter chill of winter-to-come and set Natalie¡¯s teeth chattering. She put a few more pieces of wood on the fire. The pile she¡¯d gathered was looking painfully small now. She¡¯d drastically underestimated how quickly the fire would eat up her supply. A campfire and a fireplace, it seems, are very different beasts. It was too late to gather more, and it would only get colder. Shivering with the worsening cold, Natalie realized another source of warmth was right next to her. Cole¡¯s unconscious body was giving off a staggering amount of heat. He was wrapped up in her cloak and seemingly unbothered by the cold. Hesitating a moment upon realizing what she was considering. Natalie quickly decided as another bitter gust bit down on her exposed skin. There was a space between Cole and the rockface, about enough room for her to squeeze into. After a few incredibly awkward attempts, Natalie nestled herself between Cole and the rock. Almost immediately, she felt warmer, the large sleeping form of the Paladin acting as a windbreak. Gripping her cloak, Natalie pulled it partially over her. Cole shifted slightly, and she guessed the Cloak wasn¡¯t big enough to cover both of them easily. Letting out an annoyed sigh. Natalie swallowed any growing embarrassment and got closer to Cole. Her back was pressed against his sleeping form, and now, with this awkward form of accidental intimacy, the blanket could cover both of them. Trying to get comfortable, Natalie was glad for the warmth Cole provided but hoped his injuries would ensure she awoke first. It would be better for her pride and forestall any potential awkwardness. Looking over her shoulder, Natalie looked at the sleeping face of Cole. He looked like he was in less pain, which was hopefully a good sign. Turning back to face the rock, Natalie muttered some choice words before trying to sleep. ¡°I was considering getting him into my bed, but not quite like this,¡± she said wryly as exhaustion started to take her.
The past few nights had not gone well for Dietrich. He¡¯d followed the claims of the half-mad Rest-Bringer and confirmed much of what he¡¯d been told. After this ¡°Cole¡± character left the Castle, he¡¯d searched for evidence to corroborate or disprove the claims of unsanctioned necromantic experimentation. It hadn¡¯t taken much effort to show that Cole was, at the very least, partially truthful. Which was exactly why things were not going well for Dietrich. It would have been so much easier if the Rest-Bringer had been delusional or lying. Dietrich could have just killed the man, put his head on a pike, have his day thralls decry the interloper''s actions as the lies of a zealot, and be done with it. But so far, everything Dietrich could investigate matched Cole¡¯s words. The first night, Dietrich tasked some trusted thralls to go through the ledgers and documents about the Castle¡¯s Larder. The almost obsessive documentation in that regard quickly provided results. Innate paranoia over blood sources forced the court to keep extensive records about the Larder and its occupants. One of the most common sources of strife between Vampires is over food. Solitary predators by nature, sharing and storing food is not something the Night¡¯s Children do well; a truth that clashes violently with the civilized ideals the Blood Duchies aspire to. A stable feudal society is not possible if every noble court constantly descends into paranoid butchery over hunting rights. So careful notation about feeding and blood supply helps keep the peace. Those records matched what Cole said and provided more details. A prisoner by the name of Felix Mihai had been taken to the Castle for crimes of unwarrrented bloodshed. Felix was quickly sentenced and dropped into the Larder, where the three youngest Vampires in the court, Corneliu, Camelia, and Bogdan, drank him to death. Such excesses were tacitly permitted in such inexperienced Vampires. With barely two decades each of Undeath, that trio lacked the influence and power to easily acquire blood. So they were forced to curry favor with their betters or hunt for scraps like Felix. It was a crude but effective method to teach fledglings politics and survival within a Vampire court. Corneliu, Camelia, and Bogdan glutted themselves, then reported the Blood-Slave¡¯s death. Dietrich confirmed this with a few quick words to each member of the trio. They knew better than to lie or even annoy him, there used to be five members of their generation before they last caught Dietrich''s attention. So they each eagerly told Dietrich everything they knew, including how they left the body of their meal to be processed. The trio could, of course, be lying, but only if cowed into doing so by another. Dietrich intended to follow that possibility, but the rest of his night was spent tracking the missing corpse from the other end of the matter. Felix¡¯s body ended up in the Temple¡¯s mortuary, which was easy enough to confirm. So was Cole depositing the corpse and his general movements in Glockmire. Dietrich knew where the corpse had been created and where it was now, but the details between were uncertain. The eyes and ears of thralls and spies would only do so much. Dietrich needed to personally investigate. On the dusk of the second night, Dietrich left the Castle to trace Cole¡¯s steps. He didn¡¯t bother taking the switchback route down to the Town and instead bounded along the cliff face. Despite wearing a full suit of plate armor, Dietrich was incredibly agile. Taking a path only a mountain goat would dare, the scattered clefts and bluffs in the cliff let Dietrich reach the town walls without passing through Glockmires streets. Dietrich did this to avoid attention. While some of the court¡¯s Vampires loved to bask in the populace¡¯s terror, taking every opportunity to haunt the night and frighten the livestock, Dietrich found such immature behavior foolish and counterproductive. The entire point of the Blood Duchies was to keep the mortals pliant, obedient, and dependent on the Vampires. A good shepherd has no need nor desire to frighten his flock, acting like a wolf. Descending off the cliff face, Dietrich made it to the city walls. He scaled the old stonework with a single good jump. Barely letting his feet skim the parapet before leaping down to the ground below. Years of practice let him land with little noise. Only the faint sound of scraping metal betrayed his presence. Other court members found Dietrich¡¯s habit of wearing a full suit of armor ridiculous; claiming their kind¡¯s natural speed and resilience was more than enough protection. Those words betrayed their arrogance and ignorance. They¡¯d never stood on a battlefield where the sky turned black with falling arrows. Arrows with silver heads dipped in holy water or flaming pitch. Nor had they faced warrior-priests whose very presence burned undead flesh. Dietrich kept his armor on out of healthy paranoia, something required to survive for centuries. Still, he acknowledged that speed and stealth were valuable tools. And he¡¯d learned to use them in his own manner. Moving away from the town walls, Dietrich reached into the reservoir of blood that powered him, dipping into the stolen life-force that granted him unlife and myriad boons. Dietrich let the sinister power flow up and out of him. Droplets of black blood dribbled from his mouth and nose, before evaporating into a crimson fog as they touched the cold night air. That red mist started to swirl around Dietrich, enclosing him in a cloud of magical power. With focus born of decades of practice, Dietrich forced the mist to congeal into a shape. A shape that formed around Dietrich like another suit of armor. Dietrich felt the lines between his own flesh and the enveloping mist blur. His body melted into the new form he pictured in his mind. Dietrich shut his eyes and let the transformation complete. A sizzling noise like burning flesh and a few wet pops let him know he was ready. Dietrich opened his eyes and adjusted to his new flesh. Where the armored knight once stood was now a hulking black wolf. Easily twice the size of any true wolf, with eyes that glinted red, this new form would serve Dietrich well in his task. After a few shaky steps, Dietrich fell into the rhythm of a canine body. A transformation like this, was not a talent his breed of vampire specialized in. It had taken not insignificant effort to reach this level of skill. But all that toil paid off as Dietrich bolted out into the night with unnatural speed, like some mirage of death, the black wolf ran north of Glockmire, sucking in great lungfuls of the night air. Dietrich had no need to breathe, even in this body, but his sense of smell was magnified like his speed. Canine instinct and Vampiric intelligence sifted through the glut of scents until the tell-tale smell of a corpse caught his attention. Even days later, Dietrich could easily identify the odor of a drained body. With the scent in mind, he bolted off after the trail. Dietrich ran through the dark night, breaking away from the road and into the forest. Here the smells of civilization that wafted from Glockmire were quickly replaced by the odors of nature. Most were familiar to Dietrich; he¡¯d run through this forest and ones like it hundreds of times. So following the abnormal scent proved easy enough. At first, he simply followed the corpse¡¯s trail, but then other odd smells mixed in. A hint of something floral, lily perhaps? Alongside ash, leather, and¡­blood? Dietrich stopped his hunt, he smelled blood, but it was wrong. The smell was a few days old, but that should not have changed it, only weakened it. This blood smelled like nothing Dietrich had ever scented or tasted. It was rich and potent, yet also alien and cold. Trying to sort through the strange smell, Dietrich was baffled . He¡¯d drunk the lifeblood of almost every lin on the continent, Goblin, Human, Werefolk, Elf, and Dwarf, but he still had no context for the bizarre, unnatural blood. That mystery could be added to the growing pile. For now, Dietrich returned to his hunt. Following the trail he soon caught the scent of rot and fire. He was where he needed to be. A forest clearing stretched out before him, with a pile of ash and burnt bone near its center. Dietrich padded up to the cracked and ashen bones and examined them. It was hard to tell with all the damage, but the bones seemed to be warped human remains. These might be the Vryko Ghouls; it was impossible to tell now. Leaving the clearing, Dietrich continued after the scent and reached the cliff and ruined cave of the Ghouls'' creation. Here the smells of death, rot, and that same unnatural blood was thick. And if he really concentrated, he could also pick up hints of Direbats. So far, Cole¡¯s story was lining up with the evidence. A deep growl of annoyance started in Dietrich''s chest as he tried to follow the smell of the Direbats. It was too faint, beyond even his lupine form¡¯s ability to track; but Dietrich would not be so easily deterred. The only Direbats in the area were bound to Castle Glockmire. Roosting in a great Hibernaculum burrowed into the mountain the Castle perched on, where swarms of the useful creatures were bred and trained by the court. Dietrich had the scent of this particular brood and should be able to identify them to continue his investigation. With this information, Dietrich loped back to the Castle. Enjoying the cool night air on his fur and the momentary freedom of his expedition. Upon reaching the walls of Glockmire, Dietrich let his concentration slip. The focus he¡¯d put into changing shapes started to fade. Black fur fell out of his skin in clumps, followed by rivers of black blood. The massive wolf started to melt, its flesh returning to its true form. Soon Dietrich was on his hands and knees, in the center of a great pool of the tar-black substance. He got to his feet as the vampire blood poured back into him. The pool drained into his body in an inverted exsanguination. The whole process took a little under a minute and left Dietrich unsteady on his feet for twice as long. Not for the first time, he envied the Strigoi and their ability to shift between bestial forms with ease, if not their feral temperment. In his true body, Dietrich finished the last leg of his journey, returning to the Castle and ready to continue the investigation. Upon arriving, Dietrich spared no time for his thralls or any other servant he passed in the dimly lit hallways of the Castle. Instead, prowling towards the Hibernaculum with predatory focus. Castle Glockmire clung to the mountainside, its turrets and spires carved from living rock. A mountain face chiseled into a gothic fortress in true Blood Duchy fashion. This structure that loomed over the town below was, in fact, only part of the Castle''s entirety. A cavernous network of tunnels and chambers were hewn into the mountain. The product of centuries of constant excavation. The vast majority of this subterranean system was still unused, with its rough corridors awaiting potential use decades after their creation. It was in these sprawling tunnels Dietrich navigated to the Hibernaculum. Despite living in the Castle for fifty years, Dietrich still did not know the entirety of the network. In fact, Dietrich doubted anyone other than Lord Glockmire, and his Steward knew the full extent of the tunnels. For it was by the Lord''s command that the tunnels were constantly expanded and reinforced. Crews of undead workers chipped away at the rock night and day. Working to some enigmatic purpose only the Lord knew. The Hibernaculum was one of the farthest caverns in actual use. Its external entrance actually poking out the far side of the mountain. Once a natural cave, it had been incorporated into the Castle¡¯s tunnels, and its native population of bats quickly mutated to suit the court''s need. Despite being deep in the tunnels, and rarely visited by Dietrich, he had no issue finding the Colony of Direbats. He simply had to follow the smell of bat shit. The stink of thousands of Direbats filled some of the deeper tunnels and acted as a disgusting compass to guide Dietrich. As he stalked deeper through the dark tunnels, another smell accompanied the reek of guano. The smell of blood intermingled with the filth and brought new urgency to Dietrich''s steps. As he approached the main cavern of the Hibernaculum, he heard panicked shouts. Moving with his full vampiric speed, Dietrich rushed into the cavern, throwing open the sturdy wooden door with enough force to crack its wood. The main part of the Hibernaculum was a great arched cavern that opened up to the night sky but with dozens of smaller caves shooting off of it. A series of wooden walkways hugged the cave¡¯s walls, providing easy movement for the mortal servants who tended the Direbats. Most nights, the cavern was all but empty. Its denizens hunted and patrolled the night as their masters commanded. That was not the case tonight as an entire brood of Direbats swarmed in the chamber¡¯s center. Forming a whirling ball of flying shapes. At least a hundred oversized bats flew in the air in random twisting patterns. As Dietrich entered the cavern, he gazed upon the strange formation of Direbats and realized what they were doing. A constant rain of blood fell from the swarm, accompanied by the occasional falling body. The brood was killing itself. All of the Direbats engaged in a vicious midair melee. Across the chamber on the wooden walkways and platforms, the four mortal tenders scurried about, shouting in panic. Sickly gaunt men, the tenders spent their entire lives maintaining the Direbat population. Keeping the Colony healthy with obsessive commitment, even as the diseases and waste of their charges killed them. Now they were helpless to watch the aerial battle as Direbats tore into each other with mad hunger. Dietrich tried to reach out with his mind to the swarm. Calling upon his dominating psychic presence to bring these beasts to heel. They did not respond, not even acknowledging his call. A call that would bring almost any nocturnal predator to heel. Dietrich was forced to watch as the swarm killed itself, his repeated attempts to control the Direbats meeting with no success. As the final few mortally wounded Direbats fell to the cavern floor, Dietrich went to one of the dead creatures that had crashed into the walkway. This close, he could smell it. This Bat was of the same brood as the ones used to transport the stolen corpse. Someone was covering their tracks. Forcing the Direbats to commit gruesome suicide before he could examine them. Growling in frustration, Dietrich picked up the Direbat and slammed it against the nearby cave wall. Leaving a red smear as evidence of his pique. The wet splat caught the attention of the Tender, who only now realized a Nocturnal Noble was among them. The four men froze in terror. Expecting brutal punishment at Dietrich''s hands. ¡°Gather up all of these dead Direbats and do not let anyone other than myself examine them. If anybody orders the carcasses destroyed, do not do so. Instead, send for me. Am I understood?¡± barked Dietrich, his old Eastern Marches accent slipping back into his words. The nervous tenders nodded vigorously, and Dietrich let them do their foul work. He left the Hibernaculum with bitter anger growing in his heart. There were other possible explanations for what Cole had claimed, but what he¡¯d just witnessed tipped the scales. Nothing proved a crime like an attempt to destroy the evidence. One of the Vampires of the court was behind this, and he needed to find out quickly. But before he could continue the investigation, he¡¯d need to make one crucial stop. Dietrich needed to inform Lord Glockmire of what was happening and discern if he was involved in this matter. Chapter 9.5 Paths Backward

Chapter 18: Paths Backward

¡°Sunlight, Silver and Sanctity. Any one of those will destroy a Vampire. There are other methods but they aren¡¯t as reliable. Fire is a favorite but that can be double-edged real easy. Garlic, or more accurately sulfur won¡¯t kill them but will make them hurt. Of course raw destructive force can also do the trick. Drop a building on the Leech and burn the rubble. Works most of the time.¡± - Philip Hardspade, Archeologist and unofficial Rest-Bringer.
Upon waking up, the first thing Cole felt was something warm and soft touching him, which was a major improvement over the pain and cold he¡¯d felt before sleeping. Blinking away the last bits of sleep, Cole tried to get his bearings. He was still lying on cold hard ground, but a blanket of some kind covered him. Also, someone was asleep and nestled to his chest. Shifting the blanket slightly to see who or what was with him. Cole looked down at the sleeping form of Natalie. Momentary confusion, replaced by surprise, then eventually, embarrassment flashed through Cole''s mind. Even dirted by travel and ash, Natalie was beautiful and very, very close to him. It had been a decade since Cole was this close to another person, platonically or otherwise. And the lovely heart-shaped face of Natalie keenly reminding him of that fact. Cole tried to edge away from his surprise sleeping companion, feeling a rising sense of nervousness and mild panic. An effort that only resulted in Natalie moving closer, her sleeping mind not taking kindly to her heat source moving away. After a few seconds of hesitation, Cole decided to rip the arrow out quickly, partially because he needed to check his own wounds. Freeing himself from the blanket, which he quickly realized was Natalie¡¯s cloak, Cole got up slowly, trying to ensure Natalie did not awaken. He was on his knees and almost free when her eyes shot open. For an incredibly awkward moment, they just looked at each other. Cole¡¯s still stunned expression met Natalie¡¯s sleepy one. The moment broke as Natalie¡¯s eyes widened in dawning horror. Her voice raspy with sleep, Natalie muttered a single word. ¡°Jag¡± The multipurpose curse word encapsulated Natalie¡¯s feelings perfectly. Pulling herself to a sitting position, Natalie started to sputter out an explanation, her face flushing red. ¡°You were freezing and needed the cloak, but it was too cold for me without it. I just thought it was a good idea. It just seemed practical. I didn¡¯t mean to overstep or-¡± Natalie trailed off as she noticed she wasn¡¯t the only one blushing. Cole was looking away from her and fidgeting slightly, with definite color to his cheeks, which she was certain was not caused by the cold. Cole didn¡¯t respond, and the silence quickly turned awkward. Attempting to salvage the situation, Natalie coughed slightly and said,¡°Well¡­ um¡­ you sure are in better shape than you were yesterday. Considering you¡¯re up and about.¡± Cole quickly took the offered topic and glanced over his bandaged body as he spoke. ¡°Yes, the Silverub did its job. I should be good to continue traveling. Is your leg any better?¡± Natalie got to her feet and tested her weight on the bruised ankle. After a few experimental steps, she winced but had her answer. ¡°I¡¯ll be moving slowly, but I can walk.¡± Seeing her discomfort, Cole looked around and found the piece of wood Natalie used previously as a crutch. He handed it to Natalie, she accepted with a grateful nod and hobbled over to the smoking remnant of their campfire. Only a few stubborn coals remained, giving off some wisps of smoke but little heat. As Natalie checked the fire, Cole rummaged through his pack and pulled out a bundle of cloth. For a moment, Natalie thought it was a blanket and that she was about to die of embarrassment. If Cole had a blanket the entire time and she just didn¡¯t check his pack, oh, she¡¯d never live that down mentally. Thankfully, Cole unfolded the cloth, revealing a worn-looking shirt. After taking a moment to shrug out of the burnt scraps of clothes still clinging to him, Cole put the shirt on and with it his hourglass medallion. Watching this, Natalie asked curiously. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything about having spare clothes last night? It couldn¡¯t have been comfortable to sleep in those tatters. ¡° she gestured at the barely intact strips of cloth and leather Cole had just doffed. Grimacing slightly, an expression his scars made easy, Cole explained. ¡°I lost a lot of blood and took a¡­ uncomfortable number of blows to the head. Making it here and not simply passing out in Lungu took pretty much everything I had.¡± Natalie nodded to that and left the large alcove they camped in. Shielding her eyes from the morning Sun. Natalie scanned the horizon until she saw what she¡¯d been looking for. ¡°Speaking of Lungu, do you think that fire will get out of control?¡± As she spoke, Natalie pointed to the pillar of smoke in the distance. Cole saw what she was pointing at and hesitated. ¡°It¡­ should be okay. I didn¡¯t expect my use of fire magic to get so out of control.¡± His words sparked a thought in Natalie. She quickly found her pack and the spark-stone. Picking up the smooth black oval, she returned it to Cole and said: ¡°This worked perfectly to start the fire.¡± Cole felt the palm-sized rock¡¯s weight for a moment before answering. ¡°It''s what it was designed for. I¡¯m thankful my unusual use didn¡¯t damage it.¡± Snorting at Cole¡¯s understatement, Natalie said. ¡°Unusual use? You managed to burn down an entire village with that little thing.¡± A little sheepishly, Cole half-muttered. ¡°While I expected to use the stone in cremating bodies. I¡¯ll be the first to admit, its effectiveness, when combined with Blood Magic, proved exceptional.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Natalie got a concrete answer to what type of magic Cole used. She¡¯d had some theories but lacked any real knowledge about magic to really guess. Since he¡¯d broached the subject, Natalie figured it would be okay to ask a question or two. ¡°So what you use is Blood Magic? Isn¡¯t that dark magic? Like as bad as Necromancy, Flesh-Crafting, and Mind Warping?¡± Shrugging slightly, Cole sat down next to the near-dead campfire and grabbed his nearby pack before answering. ¡°Kind of. If you¡¯re using someone else''s blood, then sure, it''s dark magic. But I use my own, so the morality is not nearly as questionable.¡± Natalie grabbed her own pack and sat across from him. They both started to fish through their bags, gathering some food to start their days. Thankfully Natalie¡¯s burst water skin hadn¡¯t ruined her rations. The dried meat and bread had been packed well. The two of them started to eat in silence until Natalie asked another question. One that she¡¯d been debating for a while. ¡°Is that where your scars came from? Using blood magic on yourself?¡± Breaching this subject felt like a bit of a gamble, but Natalie decided it was worth the dice roll. Cole froze mid-bite into a rather withered-looking apple and looked at Natalie. He set the apple down and hesitantly showed Natalie the underside of his forearm. A network of silvery marks covered his arms and fingers. They were incredibly light, barely visible if Natalie focused. They were old scars, the type that had decades to heal properly, not the semi-disfiguring burns and gashes covering most of Cole. ¡°These are my scars from Blood Magic,¡± he remarked before pointing at the scabbed-over wounds on his hands, the places where he¡¯d cut himself to cast spells the day before. ¡°A big part of using Blood Magic is conserving blood. Every spilled drop weakens me, so ensuring no waste is important. It''s powerful stuff, Blood Magic, and most Blood Mages just pour all that power into their spells. At best, I¡¯m¡­ a mediocre Mage, and directing all that power is beyond my skill. So instead, I channel the extra power back into me. It''s tricky, but I can use the excess magic to help heal quicker. It won¡¯t save my life, but it will make sure a small cut heals fast and neatly.¡± With that explanation, Cole went back to his apple. Natalie noted to herself that he¡¯d only partially answered her question. Cole had evaded mentioning where he got most of his scars, and she doubted it was his habit to meander between topics was why. After that, they ate in silence. Eventually finishing their makeshift breakfast, they prepared to leave, Cole gathered up some of his protective dust from the line Natalie made. Not much, but enough to get the pouch halfway full. Natalie collected a few things scattered around the campsite and they headed out.. The weather was fairer than the previous day. The wind died down and faint autumn sunlight poked through the clouds. Natalie was intensely thankful for this because trying to keep her balance in harsh winds with a bruised ankle did not seem possible. In fact, not having that bitter gale to chill and slow them, the duo made better time than they¡¯d expected. It had been mid-morning when they left the campsite, and by noon they¡¯d gotten into the mountain¡¯s shadow, where rolling hills turned into forests around the base of the mountains. Natalie hadn¡¯t the opportunity on the first leg of their journey to admire the colorful leaves of the forest. She took the time now as they approached the orange, yellow and red canopy that stretched off and up the side of the mountain. Higher up, they were replaced by boney trees devoid of foliage that crowned all but the most jagged peaks. The Dragontails are old and well worn, lacking the rugged peaks of some of their cousin ranges. Still, many showed adamant cliff-faces, and time-worn ridges that stood as a testament to the mountains forbidding nature. Gazing up at the landscape, Natalie felt a smile cross her lips. The wilderness of the Blood Duchies might be a monster-infested waste, but it was still beautiful. It seemed tragic that her people never really stopped to admire the proud mountains that surrounded them. The idea that she would leave this part of the world brought some urgency to Natalie¡¯s admiration. It was best to let the good of her homeland soak in while she could. So Cole and Natalie walked in silence together, both lost in their thoughts. The little bit of calm reverie Natalie had managed to get was quickly broken as her eyes caught a blemish marring a distant mountain. It was barely visible, little more than a squat black smear clinging to the side of a peak. But Natalie could still identify Castle Glockmire. Grinding her teeth, Natalie realized she¡¯d stopped in her tracks, and Cole was up the trail a bit waiting for her. Hobbling up to where he waited, Natalie decided to try and get some more questions answered. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Can you explain to me more about binding Undead? You made it sound like doing so was costly to the Feeder. Why is that?¡± Cole looked up at the sky, figuring out the best way to explain concepts he barely understood. ¡°I¡¯m no Necromancer, and my magical talent is¡­questionable at best.¡± a statement Natalie found a little ridiculous since she¡¯d seen him cloak himself in fire and punch a Charnel pit to death. ¡°So my ability to grasp exactly what¡¯s involved is shaky. I honestly know just enough to make problems for Necromancers. But from how I understand it, creating Undead is not the major challenge in Necromancy. Keeping them controlled is the problem.¡± ¡°It¡¯s actually what kills a lot of beginners.¡± continued Cole. ¡°I¡¯ve dealt with dozens of situations where some fool tries to create a Ghoul servant and only manages to get themselves eaten; leaving a town with a possible plague of Ghouls or similar dangers. But even if a Necromancer gets it right. Keeping Undead controlled is taxing, and the more powerful the Undead, the more taxing it gets. So having at least five dangerous Undead on a tight leash for any extended period would not be easy. Not something done without a major reason.¡± Natalie nodded; she understood so far. But some of what Cole said clashed with stories she¡¯d heard about Necromancy. ¡°That makes sense, but how do the Duke¡¯s armies work? Drakovich and his vassals command entire armies of Undead soldiers. Shouldn¡¯t that keep all their magical power tied up?¡± It was well known across the Western Continent why the Blood Duchies survived despite being surrounded by hostile powers on all sides. Legions of armored skeletons marched at the Duke¡¯s order. Entire armies that didn¡¯t need to sleep, eat or drink. Armies that could recruit from the enemy''s dead, and would never disobey orders. ¡°The Duke¡¯s ¡®eternal legions,¡¯ as he calls them, are very different from other more volatile Undead,¡± remarked Cole, his words touched with venom. The mass desecration of corpses required to create those armies disgusted him. ¡°The magic used to create them ensures they will not act unless directed. There is no actual drive to them, be it instinct or will. Only complicated magic and their General¡¯s focus make them more than idle puppets. Vryko-Ghouls, by contrast, are driven by incredible hunger. To keep one from hunting aggressively would take near-constant focus. It''s one thing to direct that hunger for a time, which is what Necromancers often do with powerful Undead. It¡¯s something else to completely control them, keeping them as some kind of hidden weapon.¡± Pondering this, Natalie continued a line of thought she¡¯d had days ago. ¡°So getting the Walking Charnel to attack Filip¡¯s sister would be much easier than keeping it hidden in that well?¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± said Cole. ¡°There are ways to get around it, but they require complicated and tricky rituals. I knew a situation where a very nasty Ghost was kept under the control of a madwoman in possession of the spirits remains by¡­.¡± Cole trailed off, rethinking if the details of that particular incident should be shared with anyone. When he¡¯d explained what he¡¯d discovered to the haunted city''s Mayor, she¡¯d vomited all over the floor, and two of her attendants had fainted. Shaking the images from his head, Cole found Natalie staring at him and something about the moment stopped his thoughts. Her head was cocked slightly, and a curious expression on her face. Despite, or perhaps inspite of that, Natalie looked strikingly beautiful. She was so overflowing with life, passion, and, strangely, trust. While he¡¯d angst fiercely over endangering her with knowledge or his presence. Natalie had been shockingly open with him after that painful night she¡¯d found him lying against the town gate. The young woman jumped headfirst into matters she should have avoided. Largely, it seemed, because it felt like the right thing to do. Natalie stayed by his side even after his attempts to push her away and her own encounters with nightmarish things. While Cole started to happily explain the world he lived in, he¡¯d not actually opened up in any true way. Bombarding her with information, much of it horrible or extraneous, instead of responding to her interest in him. An interest that he still didn¡¯t fully understand. Cole was fairly certain it was more than Natalie wanting something from him, but more than that, he could only guess. So out of a mixture of guilt and hope, Cole answered her curious gaze with some frank honesty. ¡°I¡¯ve been immersed in a world of horror for a long time, Natalie, and sometimes I forget that it''s not normal to see the things I have. So when I try to talk openly, I either horrify or endanger them. I¡¯ve done both with you, but you¡¯ve continued to accompany me and proved to be a good friend and ally. Something I have not had in a long time, and I¡¯ve practically forgotten how to reciprocate such things.¡± Taking a deep anxious breath, something that almost looked comical on his huge frame. Cole let down a bit of the defense he¡¯d built up after the tragedy that started his path. ¡°We are away from town and by ourselves. Details of Necromancy can wait. If you have any questions about me, I will answer if I can.¡± Natalie had never been hunting, something odd for someone in Glockmire. So she had no context for the saying ¡°frozen like a stuck Deer¡± except for hearing it. But at that moment, she guessed her expression matched that of any Doe caught in a trap. This was not at all where she expected this conversation to go. Cole¡¯s sudden frankness had come out of nowhere and blindsided her. Had he regretted his earlier evasion? Was he serious in his offer? It took one look at the slightly nervous-looking Paladin for her to realize Cole was indeed serious. This man had faced down Gods knows how many nightmares. And was still happy to leap into terrible danger. But the idea of letting her know him a bit better had Cole downright unnerved. Natalie had a million questions, her curiosity having grown insatiable since that first night they met. But the first question to exit her mouth surprised Natalie. It wasn¡¯t what she¡¯d meant to ask, and it just fell out somewhat unbidden. ¡°Who is Isabelle?¡± Cole looked like he¡¯d been struck. His face agape with shock. Cole¡¯s expression cycled through anger, surprise, worry, confusion, and finally settling on cautious intensity. ¡°Where did you hear that name Natalie?¡± he asked in a disturbingly monotone voice. Uncharacteristic for the soft-spoken man. His body language and voice were the same as when Natalie asked about the Vampire skull he kept. A fact Natalie noticed and took as enough answer to her question. ¡°You said it in your sleep, you scaredy-cat. And I¡¯m curious as to who she is,¡± responded Natalie, her voice dripping with snark. An act of bravado, partially for Natalie¡¯s own comfort and to prove that Cole hadn¡¯t scared her off with his moment of intensity. Visibly relaxing, Cole slumped a little bit as he digested her words. A hint of shame in his posture. ¡°I¡­am sorry. She is a tender spot for me, and years of worry related to her have made me jumpy.¡± Natalie just snorted at that. Cole was usually so polite, if a bit evasive. So whatever was involved with this, Isabelle must have left a very much open emotional wound in Cole. Natalie swore she could see the internal conflict in Cole¡¯s eyes. His desire to keep this particular secret at war with his attempts to reciprocate Natalie¡¯s trust. After a few moments, Cole glanced back at the waiting Woman and grunted slightly. The sound of a man setting aside a burden so old it had become familiar. ¡°Isabelle is the woman I love and the reason I became a Paladin. I lost her to a monster and tried to buy her back through service to Master Time. While I¡¯ve found more reasons to continue this path, it still traces back to simply wanting her back. ¡° A flash of shame crossed Cole¡¯s face as he mused on his choices. ¡°I¡¯ve devoted myself to helping people find closure. Hunting Undead and helping the grieving when I can. So how much of a hypocrite must I be to refuse to let go of my own tragedy?¡± The grief and shame in Cole¡¯s voice shocked Natalie. They stood perhaps two or so meters apart, and Natalie couldn¡¯t decide if she wanted to step back from Cole in surprise or step forward to offer him a comforting hand. Ultimately she did neither and instead asked her next question, even though she already knew the answer. ¡°The skull, it''s Isabelle¡¯s, right? She was a Vampire, and you still loved her?¡± Natalie was confused. This revelation did not line up with the sheer hatred she¡¯d seen in Cole when it came to Vampires. But as she considered it, Natalie started to understand. The most powerful hate can only be born from love. That kind of betrayal or loss could make a person hate like nothing else. Nodding in affirmation. Cole reached towards his pack and touched the skull hidden inside. ¡°She was betrayed and destroyed by other Vampires. Their monsters Natalie, all Vampires are monsters. Isabelle is just one of the few who tried not to be.¡± ¡®Is?¡¯ Cole referred to Isabelle as the woman he loves, not loved. Natalie felt a familiar chill go up her spine as she followed her intuition and blurted out: ¡°She¡¯s still alive, isn¡¯t she? Isabelle is still attached to her skull. That''s why you¡¯re so protective of it?!¡± A hint of a smile quirked Cole¡¯s face as he said. ¡°You¡¯re a very clever person Natalie. It''s one of the things I admire about you. You¡¯re right. But perhaps ¡®still alive¡¯ is a bit too generous. Isabelle is dead like all Vampires, but not as dead as she should be. They burned her to death, Natalie, no Vampire can survive that, yet a bit of her still clings to her remains. So I am left with a forlorn hope. If something is not totally dead, then are they not yet a bit alive?¡± That last sentence held an almost pleading air in Cole¡¯s voice. It was the sound of a grieving man still bargaining for his lover''s life. Natalie recognized it well; she¡¯d heard that tone often in the days after the breach three years ago. As often as she talked, Natalie chose to stay silent then and let Cole fill the air with his pain. ¡°I know I¡¯m a hypocrite and deluding myself. Death is part of life, it needs to happen, and Vampires can only cheat for so long. Isabelle had her life and centuries more that she stole. If I was a better man, I¡¯d have buried that skull and said goodbye. But I just can¡¯t bear to do it. The idea scares me more than anything.¡± His words trailed off, and Cole stood, their sadness and shame pouring off him like rainwater. Natalie still didn¡¯t understand everything, and she decided not to push any further. Opening up to her like this seemed to have taken more from Cole than she¡¯d expected. The stalwart man who¡¯d fought monsters and won seemed absent. In his place was a shell of grief and pain. A pain that seemed deeper than even the loss of a loved one could provoke. The loose shirt Cole wore exposed his neck far more than any other clothes Natalie had seen him in, and the collar of scars around his neck was clearly visible. A flash of realization punched into Natalies¡¯s mind as pieces fell into place. Cole hadn¡¯t just been Isabelle¡¯s lover; he¡¯d been her thrall. The Vampire''s favorite food source. Natalie felt suddenly sick as she understood more and more. A Vampire¡¯s venom was addictive and could distort a person''s mind. Judging by the sheer number of marks on Cole¡¯s neck, he¡¯d been dosed with Gods only know how much of the stuff. Seeing the pain in him and beginning to understand his story, Natalie made a decision. Despite his past and whatever demons haunted him, Cole had still decided to help her and her town. He was a good man and one who would gladly bleed to do the right thing. Cole helped her break free of the trap she¡¯d been born into; helping her realizing the terrible truths of Glockmire and her life. So she¡¯d just have to return the favor. Stepping lightly toward him, Natalie wrapped her arms around Cole. Hugging the tall man close, Natalie tried to impart all the care and kindness she could. Her face nestled towards his chest, Natalie whispered a few simple words. ¡°You¡¯re a mortal like the rest of us, Cole. You can make mistakes and have flaws. It¡¯s okay and doesn¡¯t change the fact you¡¯re a good person.¡± Cole said nothing, uncertain of the accuracy of her words but still willing to accept them. After a moment, he gently returned the hug, and they held each other for a moment. Before a pained grunt from Cole made Natalie step back. He was still badly bruised, and being squeezed in an embrace had hurt. An awkward silence hung in the air between the two for a moment before Cole said. ¡°You continue to amaze me, Natalie; I¡¯m glad I met you. Thank you for your kind words. I cannot continue to stew in my pain. I may have started this path in a twisted place, but that doesn¡¯t mean I have to let it be a twisted path.¡± He put a large hand on Natalie¡¯s shoulder and lightly squeezed before turning to walk towards Glockmire. Natalie watched him for a second, seeing that the stalwart Paladin had returned and the husk of pain had been banished. A faint smile crossed Natalie¡¯s face, and she started to follow after Cole. He¡¯d saved her, she would save him, and maybe in the process, they¡¯d save her Hometown. Chapter 10: Arts and Crafts

Chapter 19- Arts and Crafts

¡°The first Homunculi were stitched together corpses, crude attempts by Necromancers to create new life. A natural progression of Necromancy and its techniques involving chimeric corpses. Early successes in this art were catatonic or insane. Falling apart in a few hours as the ¡°salvaged parts¡± rejected each other and the animating magic burned out. Eventually, certain amoral Alchemists became involved with these projects, and more stable creations became possible.¡± - Excerpt from the text ¡° Alchemical Abominations ¡± authored by Aureolus Bombastus, Master Alchemist of the Salted Citadel.
The central spire of Castle Glockmire reached dizzying heights. Its gothic mass jutted out of the main structure like a jagged lance into the heavens; surrounded by a nest of stone keeps and smaller towers which made up the rest of the Castle. Despite being the largest and most ornate of the Castle¡¯s structures, the central spire had the least inhabitants, reserved only for the Lord and his most trusted servants. Lord Johan Glockmire, ruler of the town bearing his name, rarely left his spire. Spending most of his nights hidden in its opulent heights. A habit that never failed to irritate Dietrich. While the importance of a good lair could never be underestimated. Dietrich found such reclusive behavior distasteful and worrying. Ancient Vampires like Lord Glockmire faced little danger from the outside world. Their magical and political power protects them from all but the most devastating threats. Yet all that power could do little to prevent them from going mad. A fact that troubled Dietrich every time he visited the Spire. This night was no different, as Dietrich was ushered inside by a spindly-looking manservant. Sealed doors and guarded corridors were designed to close off the spire from the rest of the castle, a fortress within a fortress. This prevented Dietrich from entering without permission, but he could get permission easily enough considering his position as castellan and executioner. So that led to Dietrich climbing the grand staircase of the spire, a colossal stone structure that snaked around the inner-edge of the Spire¡¯s outerwall. He followed behind the manservant whose practiced steps on his rickety legs betrayed decades of taking this path. He easily led Dietrich past shut doors and dark hallways as they passed by each landing. Dietrich had visited many of the spire¡¯s rooms, but still, many more remained a mystery to him. Though the floor they finally stopped at was not unknown to Dietrich. ¡°The Studio,¡± as Lord Glockmire called it, was an entire floor of his spire dedicated to hobbies and crafts. Most Vampires picked up an art or similar distraction as a mechanism to maintain their sanity, with some of the most mechanically talented musicians and craftsmen on the continent being Vampires. Lord Glockmire followed this paradigm but with a small exception. He never stayed with a hobby for more than a decade. Dropping it once it bored him or he became content with his skill. This is why the Studio came into being. The floor was divided into perhaps half a dozen rooms, each a workshop of different specialty and focus. There were centuries worth of clutter strewn in and around these rooms, the products and byproducts of projects that once captivated the Lord¡¯s attention, but were never finished. Dietrich knew for a fact the servants who cleaned the Spire did little more than dust these piles of junk. They reightfully feared their Master''s ire if they were to disturb something he¡¯d ¡°soon get back to¡± even if it hadn¡¯t been touched in thirty years. Upon entering the Studio, Dietrich was confronted with a horrible smell. It hit him like a physical blow, a wave of acrid chemicals, rot, and what he suspected was urine. Dietrich covered his face with an armored hand and felt incredibly grateful he didn¡¯t need to breathe. The smell was worse than the Hibernaculum or even a rotting corpse. It was bad enough to make even a Vampire gag, which should be virtually impossible. Growling slightly in disgust, Dietrich turned to the servant who¡¯d guided him here. The wiry man seemed undisturbed by the scent, and Dietrich wondered if exposure had inured him to it or simply burned out his sense of smell. ¡°Servant. What is the Lord''s current distraction?¡± growled Dietrich, his mouth still covered by his gauntlet. The manservant paused in his steps and rasped, ¡°The Lord is experimenting with Leatherworking in all its aspects. Including tanning hides.¡± ¡®Well, that certainly explained the smell.¡¯ thought Dietrich as he delved into the Studio¡¯s depths. Dimly lit and cluttered, the Studio was also incredibly lavish in its accouterments. Plush velvet chairs, ornately carved tables, and gold-framed paintings filled the space. A ridiculous display of ostentatious wealth, especially for a private workshop. The furnishings matched the rest of the Spire and much of the larger Castle in opulence. Lord Glockmire boasted assets and connections many Dukes would be envious of, despite ruling over a small territory and being practically negligent in his duties. The source of this wealth was something Dietrich was never able to uncover. Despite decades of investigation, the only information Dietrich gained was vague claims that Lord Glockmire earned Archduke Drakovich¡¯s eternal favor centuries ago. Something Dietirch¡¯s master hadn¡¯t mentioned before assigning him to this task. In fact, Dietrich had been told remarkably little about his assignment beforehand. Instead he was forced to learn through experience and discovering many irregularities he¡¯d reported to his superiors. Including the fact the Lord seemed to pay virtually nothing in taxes and didn¡¯t tithe any of his Risen to the Eternal Legions. Dietrich''s reports had been met with laconic responses. Which boiled down to ¡®We are aware, and are not concerned. Continue your duty.¡¯ These oddities swam through Dietrich''s mind as he walked between tottering shelves, following the manservant. The lack of information itched at him like an annoying rash. Feeding the paranoia innate to his kind. Trying to force back these thoughts, Dietrich centered himself, just in time for the manservant to reach an oddly worn-looking door and knock. A clatter of movement behind the door followed by its opening revealed Lord Johan Glockmire. Short and thin, with large ears, a short beard, and close-cropped silver hair. The Lord did not look like the classical image of Vampire nobility. The dirty robes he wore and the wild look to his eyes made him look more like a mad prophet than an ancient Child of the Night. While his appearance was deceiving, the sheer pressure of his presence could not be mistaken. Dietrich could physically feel the elder undead¡¯s magical power push against him. Not as an attack or even challenge, but a side effect of simple potency. Age brought power to Vampires, and Johan Glockmire was a millennium old. Looking at Dietrich, Lord Glockmire smiled a manic grin and beckoned the Scarlet Knight to come into the room. Dietrich entered, listening to the Lord speak in his thick Old Imperial accent. ¡°Ah! Dietrich, it is good to see you. Come here, let me show you something.¡± Despite speaking the modern western tongue, Glockmire had never lost the clipped tone of Old Imperial. His accent was a memento of his birth tongue, a language he¡¯d managed to outlive. Dietrich did as instructed and entered the dimly lit workshop. Here the smell was at its worse, soaked into the room like some olfactory stain. Glockmire paid it no mind and bustled over to a central table. Atop the table was the incongruous form of a vase filled with flowers. The Lord gestured at the vase and said. ¡°My latest creation! I know you are no man of the arts, Dietrich, but you must admire the technique required.¡± Slightly confused, Dietrich approached the flowers at his Lord''s command. He¡¯d never heard of a Vampire enjoying gardening, but anything was possible. The flowers were crisp roses, unusual only in their coloration. Unlike normal Roses, these were dull brown. Looking closer, Dietrich wondered if the fumes of this room withered the plant. The texture of the petals was also wrong, with a slightly bumpy cracked look to it. Dietrich was about to ask if Lord Glockmire was enjoying horticulture when he noticed something else. The flower petals had vein marks. These weren¡¯t roses of root and stem, but roses of flesh and bone; the flowers of the bouquet were made from leather. Just as that realization set in, another smell caught Dietrich''s attention. The smell of dried blood, human blood. One that had been smothered under the stink of tanning hides. Dietrich looked to his left, following the smell, and found its source. Hanging from the nearby wall was a flayed human corpse. Its ruined body, a mess of red, kept upright thanks to the meat hook sticking through its throat. Shocked, Dietrich took a step back from the ¡°flowers¡± and turned to face the smiling Lord Glockmire. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°For a first attempt, I think it turned out rather nice! I call this work ¡®Bloodborn Bloom.¡¯ What do you think?¡± said the excited Vampire Lord. The eagerness of the artist discordant with the gruesome artistry. Picking his words carefully, Dietrich said. ¡°It is an impressive accomplishment, my Lord. I thought they were normal roses at first. But¡­ If I may ask, why use human skin?¡± Glockmire seemed to take Dietrich¡¯s words as a compliment. An excited smile split his face as he answered. ¡°It adds a level of gravitas that pig or cow leather could never attain. It¡¯s a funeral bouquet made of the deceased. That''s certainly striking, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°It¡­is,¡± replied Dietrich, the Knight at a loss for words. ¡°Where did you acquire the materials, my Lord?¡± Glockmire gestured to the flayed body, his voice taking on a harder tone. ¡°One of our town guards was caught asleep at his post. It was not his first offense, and he had proved himself incompetent. So a message needed to be sent to his colleagues. He and his ilk are this town''s first line of defense. My subjects are better off without him.¡± That surprised Dietrich. Glockmire usually never showed more than passing interest in his subjects. The gruesome act of turning a criminal into artwork was worryingly less surprising. In the fifty years Dietrich was in the Castle, the Lord''s hobbies tended to be on the morbid side. Anatomical drawings, scrimshaw, and ballet were recent examples. But this latest hobby seemed to cross some sort of line, and Dietrich found himself disconcerted. Except he couldn¡¯t exactly understand why it bothered him. The execution of a negligent servant was not unusual, and the use of their remains as the Lord saw fit was standard practice. Yet the use in something as silly art? That irked Dietrich and left him feeling unnerved. Dietrich spoke up, hoping to steer the conversation in a more productive direction. ¡°My Lord, on the topic of security in the town. I need to bring a matter to your attention. It pains me to say this, but a threat has slipped by my notice until now. It seems one of your vassals has taken worrying steps to gain power. They are binding dangerous Undead as thralls for an unknown purpose.¡± Glockmire cocked an eyebrow and gave Dietrich a stern glare. A look packed with all the imperiousness of a great lord and the predatory focus of a Vampire. It caught Dietrich slightly off-guard. It was the type of expression he¡¯d expect from his Master or another Duke, not the eccentric Lord Glockmire. ¡°Tell me, Dietrich, which of my vassals is engaged in such foolishness? It¡¯s been decades since I¡¯ve had a proper challenge to my authority.¡± asked the Lord. Wincing slightly, Dietrich answered plainly. ¡°I do not know yet, Lord Glockmire. They have hidden their tracks, but I am hunting them.¡± No scathing rebuke or punishment came as Dietrich expected. Only clipped words. ¡°I trust you will find answers soon? But before you resume the hunt, inform me of what you¡¯ve learned.¡± Nodding, Dietrich did as ordered. Explaining the encounter with the Rest-Bringer and his subsequent investigations. He didn¡¯t spare any details, including those about his recent encounter at the Hibernaculum. When Dietrich finished, Lord Glockmire simply stared at his morbid bouquet, processing Dietrich''s information. After a long moment of contemplation, Glockmire spoke softly. ¡°Have someone watch this Rest-Bringer in case he causes more trouble, and continue your investigation. You¡¯ve done well to bring this to my attention Dietrich.¡± after another moment of deliberation Glockmire added. ¡°Most of the Nobles entitled to a Knightly bodyguard are Dukes and Counts. A lowly Lord in control of a single town and its surrounding region does not merit such a privilege. So why do you think you were assigned to me Sir Dietrich??¡± Dietrich had dwelled on this topic many times and never reached a reasonable conclusion. Glockmire was also incorrect about Lords never earning a knightly bodyguard. Some of the more important minor nobles had this privilege as well. Like the Marcher Lords in the northern Blood Duchies or some of the Baron''s ruling port cities on the Atreidian coast. So it stood to reason Lord Glockmire was similarly important. His fortune and its source put him in the same echelon as nobles defending key regions or overseeing maritime trade. ¡°No, my Lord. I¡¯ve had some ideas, but no clear answer has been given to me, nor have I found one,¡± answered Dietrich. Of all the Vampires in the Castle, the only one he was required to be forthright and honest with was Lord Glockmire. One of the stipulations of a Scarlet Knights'' service and something that suited Dietrich just fine. Glockmire nodded at his bodyguard''s words and cupped one of the leather flowers in hand. Stroking the treated skin gently as he spoke. ¡°Centuries ago, I dealt with a problem that threatened my liege. A threat to Archduke Drakovich¡¯s vision and the lands he rules over. In ending that threat, I acquired an asset of considerable power. Which I have never used against the Archduke despite many opportunities to. For this act of loyalty and the subsequent centuries of consistent service I have been rewarded handsomely.¡± ¡°Archduke¡±. The old Imperial title for the heir to the throne. A title Duke Drakovich purposely eschewed, but one used by Vampires old enough to remember the old Empire. By using the title, a Vampire recognized Drakovich as the rightful restorer of the Empire, and pledged their absolute loyalty to him. For prideful beings like Vampires, such an act of submission and subservience is not easy. Glockmire did it without any hesitation. Continuing his words, Glockmire said: ¡°The problem is this asset is still a threat. If it were to leave my control or should I go mad, the consequences would be dire. So the Archduke assigns me a newly minted Scarlet Knight every century; to watch me and watch over me.¡± Pondering this, Dietrich asked the obvious question. ¡°If this asset is so powerful, what value is my presence here? If someone is capable of taking it from you, or you decide to use it, even I would fare poorly.¡± Snorting slightly, an unusual sound for a creature who doesn¡¯t need to breathe. Glockmire replied. ¡°You, my good Knight, are the Songbird in the Shaft. Whose chirps, or lack of them, will alert the Archduke. You¡¯re here to watch, warn, and potentially die in a heroic final stand delaying whoever is foolish enough to unleash what I keep sealed.¡± Dietrich started to ask the next obvious question, but Glockmire saved him. ¡°You also were never informed of this duty to prevent temptation. It would be easy for a steadfast knight to decide they were better suited to holding this power. Justifying usurping me through claims of greater loyalty and service.¡± Part of Dietrich wanted to rise to the subtle insult in those words. But instead he ignored it and made an educated guess. ¡°Telling me this means you think the asset is in danger. You think the events I¡¯ve uncovered suggest someone seeks to steal it from you.¡± Glockmire¡¯s face didn¡¯t change, but he did grip the flower he was caressing with sudden, brutal strength. Reducing the carefully folded leather to a crumpled scrap of skin. ¡°Exactly. This usurper is smart enough not to challenge me in the typical means. If they attempted to dominate or devour me, it would end poorly for them. I may not unleash the asset, but I¡¯ve learned to use it in some ways. I am immune to the usual methods a Vampire would use to defeat me. And no thief can claim their prize before I am ash. Leaving an army as the best method to wrest the asset from my grip. This ¡°Feeder¡± knows this and is building their strength to take what is mine.¡± Glockmire dropped the ruined flower to the ground and turned back to Dietrich. ¡°You have proven yourself competent and capable, Sir Dietrich. Do not make me reevaluate that assessment. Continue your hunt for which of my disloyal vassals seeks to dethrone me.¡± Bowing deeply, Dietrich felt a strange sense of pride at Glockmire¡¯s words. He¡¯d never thought much of Lord Glockmire. His normally negligent attitude irritated Dietrich. But seeing this more commanding regal side to the Lord forced Dietrich to reconsider that attitude. He also was surprised by how intelligent the old monster was. Quickly deducing the presence of a threat and moving to face it. Still this new display of intelligence and will didn¡¯t fully placate Dietrich, and he asked an impertinent question. ¡°My Lord, while I hunt your enemy, what will you be doing to resolve this matter?¡± The question was layered with unspoken accusation and doubt. It bordered on insubordination. Asking a superior to divulge details he¡¯d chosen to keep secret, while at the same time questioning his actions. Dietrich knew the old Vampire understood the implications, but Glockmire showed no anger, nor did he push back at his disrespectful servant. Instead, he spoke very quietly, with a hint of exhaustion to his words. ¡°I will be busy keeping the asset contained. We face more dangers than a simple usurper. My treasure wants to be free and will use any opportunity it can.¡± Those words made Dietrich pause in momentary surprise. Whatever power Glockmire kept for himself was not a simple artifact or treasure. It could think, and act. Abilities which made it infinitely more difficult to deal with. Chapter 10.5: Threats to Body, Mind, and Soul

Chapter 20- Threats to Body, Mind, and Soul

¡°Trolls don¡¯t actually turn to stone in sunlight. They do however grow dense patches of calloused tissue upon sunlight exposure. Trolls are very sensitive to sunlight and lack any natural protection against it. So their incredible regenerative abilities compensate by creating sheets of scab tissue across exposed skin. Unfortunately this armors the Troll in what¡¯s virtually leather armor.¡± - Helmut Braggi¡¯s ¡®Practical guide to Troll-slaying.¡¯
The rest of the trip back to town proved uneventful. Cole had returned to his usual self, and Natalie was glad to see him doing better. They passed back through the forest and quickly reached the southern gate of Glockmire. This time there was no need to call the guard, unlike their previous expedition. As they approached, they saw a troop of town guards standing in the gateway. Cole stopped mid-stride, seeing the ten or so guards in poorly fitting armor approach them. Natalie didn¡¯t stop walking. She¡¯d expected this and had a few plans. As she got closer one of the Guards yelled ¡°What¡¯s your business Ms. Striga?¡± Natalie didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead she whispered ¡°Give me the skull,¡± to Cole. Gesturing to him with an outstretched hand. Momentarily confused, Cole¡¯s mouth opened in slight befuddlement and worry. Before he could say anything, Natalie clarified. ¡°The Dwarf skull.¡± she fought to not roll her eyes at Cole¡¯s moment of worry. The level of stress and paranoia the man had around his lover¡¯s skull was unreal. But, as Natalie considered what she now knew, perhaps that paranoia was warranted. Obliging Natalie¡¯s request, Cole dug Buri¡¯s skull from his pack and handed it to her. Natalie didn¡¯t even wince as she touched the charred bone, something that brought her a bit of confidence. Maybe she could adapt to this blood-drenched madness after all? Holding the skull up so the guards could see it, Natalie walked closer to the guards while half-shouting: ¡°This is the skull of an Undead nesting in the ruins of Lungu. Rest-Maker Cole destroyed the monster as Master Time commanded and we¡¯re going to take the skull to the Temple. Then Cole¡¯s going to continue staying at the Silly Goat, where he¡¯s renting a room. Any questions?¡± Working in a tavern her entire life, and having a talented merchant for an adopted Uncle taught Natalie a thing or two about the art of manipulation. She knew full well the town guards were a ragtag bunch used to collecting tolls and occasionally arbitrating the rare dispute. Not exactly a stalwart fighting force capable of cool collected planning. So she needed to seem authoritative if polite to get through to the jumpy pseudo-soldiers. Natalie knew it was harder for people to countermand something phrased as a fact, not a question and no one in their right mind wanted to interfere with the God of Death and his servants. Master Time was a nice enough deity, just not one you wanted to catch the attention of; or at least that was the common folk wisdom. Both of these facts Natalie gladly used to her advantage. The guards shuffled nervously, not responding. Sighing to herself, Natalie trotted up to the gaggle of tollkeepers and addressed one she knew by name. ¡°Andrei! What''s going on here?¡± The guard, a squat man in his fifties with a belly betraying how often he visited the Silly Goat, jumped slightly at her words. The other guards leaned away from him slightly. After a moment of looking to his herd for help, Andrei saw he was on his own. Natalie had singled the man out and hoped to force an answer from the usually congenial man. ¡°It''s Jean, Ms. Striga. The Nobles took him last night. Saying he was deri-derel-derelict in his duties.¡± sputtered the guard, not making eye contact with Natalie. A jolt of worry passed through Natalie. Jean was the guard who helped her get an injured Cole back to the inn. Was that what this was about? Natalie decided playing ignorant and conciliatory was a good option. ¡°Damn, I¡¯m sorry to hear that, Andrei; vut does that have anything to do with Cole and me?¡± The guards looked at each other, and eventually, another one spoke up. A skinny youth named Yakov. ¡°It''s this Cole fellow Ms. Striga. He¡¯s trouble, the type that spreads it around. We can¡¯t have him running about town bringing Pantheon knows what sort of mess to us.¡± Natalie stuck Yakov with an imperious glare. The type she¡¯d learned from her mother, the type reserved for customers trying to sneak free drinks. ¡°Did you lose anyone in the Breach Yakov?¡± Slightly taken aback, Yakov half-muttered. ¡°My brother, he was by the north gate when the Troll broke through.¡± Natalie digested that and asked, ¡°The one the knights destroyed?¡± Yakov nodded and started to speak. Natalie cut him off. ¡°I saw that thing in the burn pit. All that rotten flesh, it had to be the size of two draft horses, a terrible sight, like everything else that night. But the Knights destroyed it, making sure it couldn¡¯t hurt anyone again. That isn¡¯t the case with all of those monsters. Some escaped. Like this one here.¡± Natalie held up the burnt skull. Yakov glanced at the mottled bone and shivered. She made sure all the guards could see the grisly trophy as she spoke. ¡°This thing killed some of our friends and neighbors, and Cole destroyed it. He burned the monster to death and made sure it couldn¡¯t ever hurt anyone again. Cole told the Nobles he intended to do, and didn¡¯t stop him. Now he¡¯s returned from a hunt to make sure these bones are laid to rest.¡± Looking around at the guards. Natalie saw a mix of fear, nervousness, and doubt in their eyes. While not ideal, she could work with those emotions. ¡°Cole did his duty as a Rest-Bringer, avenging one of our fallen neighbors at the behest of another. He did so with the consent and permission of the Gods, the Nobles, and us common folks. Cole has a mandate to do what he¡¯s doing, are you sure you want to get in the way of that?¡± Those words got a stir out of the assembled guards. They slowly started to part, some of them mumbling apologies and Yakov saying he¡¯d check in with his superiors. With the path clear, Natalie turned back to Cole, a cocky grin on her face. The bemused Paladin returned it with a deferential nod. She was certainly living up to her end of the agreement. Cole and Natalie walked through the empty streets of Glockmire; her little performance with the guards had cleared the streets better than an oncoming storm, leaving the pair to head to the Temple in privacy. As they did, Natalie gladly returned the Dwarf skull to Cole, and the large Paladin asked. ¡°You talked with Yakov about a Troll. Was that what breached the gates?¡± Natalie shook her head in affirmative but then paused and elaborated. ¡°No one knew exactly what it was. All I really know is that it was strong enough to batter down the front gate before the Lord¡¯s Knights could kill it. One of the Priests said it was an Undead Troll, and that stuck, but others claimed it was a Rawhead, and crazy old Mertal said it was a miscarried Giant brought back from the dead.¡± Cole took that in. ¡°It was probably an Undead Troll from what you describe. Another rare and dangerous form of Undead, but at least this one¡¯s already destroyed.¡± He paused for a moment and decided to confirm what he hoped was true. ¡°They burned it, right? They burned the Troll¡¯s corpse.¡± ¡°Of course, it''s what we did with all the Undead.¡± replied Natalie, ¡°Isn¡¯t that what you¡¯re supposed to do with Trolls anyway? Burn the body, so they don¡¯t heal from whatever killed them?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± replied Cole, ¡°Nasty things, Trolls. They heal from virtually any wound and are unpredictable at the best of times. Killing them requires excessive force, usually enough to render the body useless for Necromancy. But if by some stroke of ill fortune they are successfully raised from the dead¡­ Well the resulting Ghoul would require an absurd amount of effort to destroy, like burning it to ash for example.¡± Natalie listened and mused, ¡°Can a Ghoul Troll exist naturally?¡± ¡°Almost certainly not. The number of factors involved makes such a coincidence thankfully unlikely,¡± replied Cole. As his own thoughts turned to the burn pits Natalie mentioned. There would probably be nothing there, but it might be worth a check. Natalie wasn¡¯t done with this topic however and asked, ¡°Then the Feeder made the Ghoul Troll and perhaps some of the other Undead involved in this whole mess. Doing more than just dominating ones he finds, but creating servants,¡± Those words pulled Cole from his own thoughts and brought a curse to his lips. ¡°Jag! You¡¯re right. I hadn¡¯t even considered that.¡± Cole felt foolish for not taking that possibility into account. ¡°This changes things slightly for both the better and the worse. There is potentially far more Undead to worry about, but raising them up isn¡¯t easy or simple. It will leave evidence I can track to figure out who is responsible.¡± Beaming with pride, Natalie felt a surge of confidence at Cole¡¯s words. ¡°How many of these powerful Undead do you think the Feeder has under his control?¡± asked Natalie. ¡°If he¡¯s raising some of them, shouldn¡¯t that reduce the ultimate number? Since it would take more time and power.¡± Cole shrugged at that, seeming uncertain. ¡°Remember when I told you the main cost with Undead isn¡¯t raising them but keeping them under control? Well, that still applies, perhaps even more so here. Really skilled Necromancers can do things during the ritual to make the Risen Undead much easier to control. Minimizing the cost of their focus and power, in exchange for more ritual work. Meaning the number could be theoretically larger than the ten I was expecting. With as many as fifteen to twenty all together.¡± finished Cole. His words got a nervous gulp from Natalie. Dealing with the Walking Charnel had been harrowing¡­ the idea of finding and destroying another dozen or so nightmarish Undead made Natalie feel a little sick. Cole noticed her worried expression and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. An act of affection he could have scarily imagined himself doing even a day before. Slightly surprised at his own action, Cole spoke what he hoped were reassuring words. ¡°There were four Vryko-Ghouls. Meaning, with the Charnel destroyed, a quarter or more of the Feeders minions are gone. This fight is not unwinnable.¡± Cole¡¯s words had the intended effect, Natalie relaxed slightly and spoke ¡°Thank you. We¡¯re almost at the Temple. What¡¯s the plan?¡± Smiling slightly Cole answered, ¡°I¡¯ll give Buri¡¯s skull to the Priest of Master Time. Then we get to work looking for the rest of the Undead. I¡¯ll need your help finding places the townsfolk consider cursed or foul. Locations like that often get reputations due to Undeath¡¯s miasma polluting the Aether. They¡¯ll be where I can find the Undead or possibly ritual sites.¡± These tasks were something Natalie could do. Gathering up the information Cole needed and mapping it out would be easy. She¡¯d lived in a Tavern her entire life, if there was one thing Natalie knew how to find, it was gossip. Just off the top of her mind, she could think of two locations Shepherds talked about. Places the flocks avoided and were stupid sheep disappeared. The Temple soon loomed overhead, and the duo approached their destination. Natalie pushed the sturdy wooden doors open. Leading Cole into the Temple gallery. He trailed after her, trying to show a modicum more respect than Natalie had. While he understood that her being a resident of Glockmire granted her certain levels of flippant familiarity. A decade of dealing with Temples and Priests had taught Cole to err on the side of politeness. Being midday during the middle of the week, the Temple was empty except for two people standing at the far end of the main gallery. Priest Matthias and a matronly woman engaging him in a fierce argument. ¡°Master Time called me to aid him! I can¡¯t jagging refuse, can I Trude?¡± spat Matthias, his reedy voice reaching a nasal pitch of anger. The woman, dressed in beautifully tailored robes of orange and black, had an irate expression on her face as she spoke. The large silver hammer medallion around her neck told Cole she was a Priestess of Uncle Maker. The Priestess pointed a gnarled finger at Matthias with an accusatory air. ¡°You had a few strange dreams, Matthias! You are weighing that against your life and that of every other person in this town. The Nobles barely tolerate us as-is, aiding a Rest Bringer will bring their wrath down upon us!¡± The wiry middle-aged Priest stared down his counterpart and snarled. ¡°My God gave me a message and a duty to fulfill. He nor the rest of the Pantheon would send us to our deaths pointlessly. We will weather whatever storm this brings to us, the Gods and our own mettle will see to that. I have faith in that fact, Trude, something you seem to be lacking!¡± The Priestess, Trude, Cole, assumed, looked like she¡¯d been slapped. To Cole¡¯s surprise, her robes changed color to match her expression. Shifting from orange to white, then back to orange, before settling on a bloody red. Offended shock was replaced by hot-headed anger, and the Priestess looked ready to bite Matthias¡¯s head off, figuratively or literally. Natalie coughed loudly, grabbing both Priests'' attention. Trying not to show any nervousness at interrupting two of the most respected community member¡¯s argument. Natalie said. ¡°Priest Matthias, Priestess Trude. I¡¯m sorry to bother you, but Cole here needs the Temple¡¯s aid.¡± Priestess Trude caught Natalie in a paralyzing gaze. Her face conveyed her thoughts perfectly to Natalie, even though the Priestess hadn¡¯t said a word. ¡®I¡¯m disappointed you¡¯ve gotten involved in this. I care for you as a Priest, neighbor, and fellow artist, and I cannot understand how you could be so foolish?¡¯ Natalie did her best not to wither under Trude''s stare. The fierce matriarch was the town¡¯s Priestess of Uncle Maker and the best weaver in Glockmire. Something helped by her own magical savantism. Few people in the town demanded and earned respect like Trude did. Previously the two women had a good relationship, Trude offering Natalie advice on her art and other matters. Now, Natalie wondered if that bridge had been burned. Cole saw this exchange and only grasped the surface level of it. Such social nuances had never been his talent, and he¡¯d long learned to accept the deeper levels of communication some women seemed naturally capable of. A talent more than one Magi had unsuccessfully tried to prove was a form of minor telepathy. Seeing no better option, Cole leaped into the tension and hoped to draw the Priestess ire away from Natalie. ¡°I apologize for interrupting your¡­ conversation. And I am sorry for intruding on your town. I mean no harm, and I hope to do some good while I am here.¡± Cole reached into his pack as he spoke, gripping the Dwarf skull. ¡°I also must agree with Priest Matthias. Our God''s attention has been drawn here, and not without good reason.¡± with those words, he pulled the burnt skull free and showed it to the Priests. ¡°This is what is left of the Undead that killed one of your Temples Acolytes three years ago. It was still out there, capable of killing more people. This Undead was not alone in that regard. Many of the horrors from three years ago are still loose. I intend to fix that, at my God¡¯s command¡± Trude had recoiled slightly from the sight of the skull, but Matthias only raised a quizzical eyebrow, then asked, ¡°I assume you brought that here for me to consecrate and inter?¡± Cole nodded and handed the skull to the Priest. Matthias pulled a handkerchief from the pockets of his robes and gently took the skull in cloth-wrapped hands. It was a moment of quiet reverence and understanding between the two servants of Master Time, both understood the respect such remains deserved. ¡°The soul has long been freed, and the family has no desire to claim the skull. I trust you will see it laid to rest?¡± spoke Cole as Matthias tucked the Skull away. Nodding, the Priest spoke with a slight uncertainty in his voice. ¡°I still wish you¡¯d not come to Glockmire, but you¡¯ve proven your point Rest-Bringer. You do your duty, and I will do mine.¡± It seemed the Priest was still resistant to the idea of helping Cole in any major way. However, he also seemed unwilling to fully remove himself from matter. Matthias wouldn¡¯t take a step forward like Natalie had, but he also wouldn¡¯t take a step back like his community demanded. Not a small feat of bravery and Cole had to acknowledge the haggard priests'' efforts. Trude turned her glare upon Cole. The sharp eyes of a talented craftswoman appraising him like so much wool and cotton. Cole suddenly felt slightly self-conscious of his appearance. His clothes were either dirty or nearly destroyed. While bandages and smears of ash still covered his face. After a few seconds of appraisal, she stuck out her hand and spoke in a curt authoritative tone. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°I am Loom-Matron Trude Dalca. Your apology is acknowledged and accepted. Just as Matthais says, we of the Temple have no desire for you to be here. But if it is the Pantheon¡¯s will, there is little I can do to countermand that.¡± Then, with unexpected strength, she pulled Cole towards her. Calloused fingers and an iron grip trapped his larger hand as she half-whispered in his ear. ¡°But if I have any reason to believe you mean this town or its people harm, I will cut you like an errant thread.¡± Cautiously, Cole nodded in understanding, and Turde released him. ¡°Now, Rest-Bringer, follow me. The idea of a divine servant running about in rags is an affront to both the Gods and your peers.¡± Cole looked to Natalie for an explanation or assistance. She just shrugged and said. ¡°I will be at the Silly Goat. I¡¯ll see you when you¡¯re done.¡± Natalie purposely ignored the confused and pleading look on Cole¡¯s face. He could handle himself, and Trude was right. He was in need of new clothes and it would be a good opportunity to check in with her father. Seeing no other option, Cole followed the stern Priestess down a side passage into a small tailoring workshop. A serpentine shape flew through the air and into Trude¡¯s waiting hands as they entered. Cole stepped back in surprise, reaching down to his axe before realizing the brown length was a measuring rope with different colored bands at intermittent lengths; the rope was a common tool of tailors, which still didn¡¯t explain how Trude had summoned it to her. Turning to the startled Cole, Trude saw his hand on the axe. She tutted slightly and, with a gesture, sent the rope flying towards Cole. He braced for impact, but all it did was bring itself up to his shoulder span, change color where it touched each arm, and returned to Trude. She examined the rope and explained. ¡°You are a big one, aren¡¯t you? I hope I have enough fabric to cover your bulk. Estimating such things is not my strong suit. Weaving is my preferred craft, but I am a capable tailor.¡± Trude jotted down the measurements of the rope on a scrap of paper. Then with a gesture, she got the cord to continue its dance around Cole, measuring his body and delivering the results to her. Trying to break the uncomfortable silence and trying not to flinch every time the rope sped past, Cole asked. ¡°Is it enchanted? Or is this some boon from Uncle Maker?¡± ¡°Neither,¡± remarked Trude, not turning to face Cole. ¡°I am a Savant. My talents lend themselves to thread and fabric.¡± ¡®That explains it.¡¯ Thought Cole. Savants were rare people born with an innate magical gift for one particular type of magic. They came in as many varieties as there are spells to cast. Which in Trude¡¯s case appeared to be thread magic. A curious art that wove magical energy and strings together in a unique way. Additionally Trude¡¯s savantism might not be the limit to her talent; many skilled Spellweavers started as Savants, using that innate talent as a stepping stone to greater things. ¡°A considerable talent, I can see you put it to good use,¡± remarked Cole as he glanced around the workshop. Several unfinished but still beautiful rugs and tapestries took up large parts of the chamber¡¯s walls. Trude grunted in response and pulled a sheath of black cloth from a drawer, and started making marks on it. After perhaps two minutes of silence, Cole decided more thick-headed bluntness was required. ¡°Why are you doing this, Loom-Matron.¡± Trude kept working, and Cole thought she would ignore his question, but after a few seconds, she exhaled and answered. ¡°To keep my conscience clear.¡± A pair of scissors tied with thick string floated over to Trude, and so did a sewing kit with similar adornments as she said ¡°I think you are going to get yourself killed and probably drag poor Natalie down with you. But that girl is stubborn, and I know nothing I¡¯ll say will dissuade her from this course. So I¡¯m going to do what any good tailor would do and give you a good set of clothes to die in.¡± Digesting that, Cole answered plainly. ¡°You¡¯re right; I will probably die. But I¡¯ll do everything in my not insignificant power to make sure Natalie does not.¡± Turning to him, Trude eyed the large man standing awkwardly in her domain and asked. ¡°You care for her that much?¡± Cole got the message, the unspoken question of his interest in the beautiful young woman, woven together with the spoken question like a strong rope. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I want what she does, but I do care for her. But even if I didn¡¯t, I¡¯d still stand between her and the dangers I face, that is my duty and purpose.¡± Trude''s hard brown eyes met Cole¡¯s pale blue and neither broke the contact. Cole could tell the woman was trying to get the measure of him. It didn¡¯t take long for Trude to let out a pained-sounding exhale and said. ¡°I understand. The Gods don¡¯t give anyone a set purpose, but they do help those who find one. I found mine making my home a more beautiful place. Somewhere where the winter¡¯s chill is muted by good fabric, and the dreariness of life is lightened by spun artistry.¡± Returning to her work, Trude begrudgingly admitted. ¡°I cannot blame anyone who follows their purpose. People lucky enough to find their place in the world shouldn¡¯t throw that away. So I¡¯ll make you a good cloak and hope it hides you and Natalie from the darkness around us. Return to me tomorrow. I should have it done by then.¡± Cole took that as his sign to leave and moved towards the door. Trude called after him in a strangely hollow voice. ¡°And Restbringer, if you harm Natalie or anyone else in this town. I¡¯ll strangle you to death with your own Jagging clothes.¡± That actually brought a smile to Cole''s lips. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time someone threatened to kill him, and it was refreshing to have it be for an actually righteous reason. ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to that promise Loom-Matron Trude. Thank you for the cloak,¡± Leaving the workshop, Cole returned to the main sanctuary of the temple. Finding himself in the small alcove dedicated to Master Time. The sad flowers were the same, and so was the austere hourglass, but someone had put a handful of coins at the altar¡¯s base. He couldn¡¯t know for sure, but Cole guessed they were the offering Filip had made to avenge his sister. The boy had delivered it before Cole had even returned with proof of the deed. An act of faith, it seemed. The Gods weren¡¯t sadists who demanded their followers prove their devotion through constant leaps of faith and self-destructive acts of reverence. They did, however, ask for their worshippers'' trust. With little acts like Filips being exactly what they wished for. To most people, the whims and wills of the Pantheon were unknowable things, interpreted by Priests and shrouded with mystery. A natural product of the separation the Gates provided to the world. The Gods¡¯ voices were muffled, a price the world paid to be protected from Demons and worse. The few exceptions to this rule are the most devout and powerful servants of the Gods. As a Paladin, Cole counted in that number, and he had a pretty good idea of what Master Time wanted. With the cold feeling in his core pushing him ever towards his goal and the rare whisper in dreams to help guide him. Leaving the altar, Cole set out to the Silly Goat. Trying his best to understand but also ignore where that internal chill was guiding him. The gentle icy thrum inside his soul pointed him in one direction, towards the Castle and whatever horrors he might find there. In another time or place, Cole might have simply broken into the Castle and done his damnedest to kill its Vampire occupants before the Sun went down. Now he had more than his own tattered skin to worry about. In most anywhere else in the world, you were hailed as a hero if you killed the Vampire terrorizing a town. In the Blood Duchies, you instantly became a wanted criminal and danger to those around you. So he''d have to try and play this smart, something easier said than done when dealing with centuries-old paranoid monsters.
It didn¡¯t take Natalie long to make her way back to the Silly Goat. She¡¯d taken this path probably a hundred times before. Except this time, she wasn¡¯t accompanied by her family or friends. In fact, nobody even got close to her on the streets as she headed home. No one did anything as dramatic as crossing the street to escape her, but Natalie could tell she was being avoided. The people of her home considered her a threat now. Someone who might bring monsters and mayhem down on them all, something she needed to fix as soon as possible. The Silly Goat was nearly empty, something not unusual for this time of day. Only Barnabas and her Father were inside, sitting on opposite sides of the bar, engaging in tense conversation. They both looked up to see her come in, and Wilhelm quickly rushed over to hug Natalie. The surprising force of the bear hug forced a squeak from Natalie. After almost crushing her in his arms, Wilhelm pulled away and looked over her daughter. The grime of travel, roughing it in the wilderness, and multiple near-death experiences clung to Natalie. Taking in her disheveled appearance and the slight limp she moved with, Wilhelm asked. ¡°Are you alright? Are you hurt?¡± Natalie smiled sheepishly, ¡°I bruised my ankle a bit, but other than that, I¡¯m okay. Cole got the worst of it. But hey, a monster¡¯s dead!¡± Giving his daughter another nervous look-over, Wilhelm let out a breath he didn¡¯t realize he was holding. ¡°Alright, come sit down, get off your feet for a bit.¡± Natalie obliged, sitting next to Barnabas, who had an analytical look on his face. Like he was trying to piece out some puzzle only he could see. Wilhelm meanwhile bustled about, getting a bowl of warm soup for his returned daughter. Natalie took the bowl with murmured thanks and eagerly dug into the mushroom soup. It had only been a bit over twenty-four hours, but she¡¯d really started to miss warm food. After letting her have a few mouthfuls, Barnabas asked, ¡°So what happened?¡± Putting down her spoon, Natalie looked at the two men and explained the past day''s events. She skipped some details about Cole, things she guessed he wanted private and didn¡¯t mention anything related to her and Cole¡¯s broader plans. It felt strange not telling the two men everything. Sure, she¡¯d been ¡°creative¡± with the truth before, but never on anything this important. It''s one thing to lie about respecting curfew, it''s another to leave out your involvement with a Paladin¡¯s holy mission to save your town from Undead horrors. Still, Natalie lied easily enough, she needed to protect them, and right now, sharing everything would only make the situation worse. Wincing internally, Natalie noted she was getting better at handling corpses, death, and lying to people. Cole¡¯s presence in her life had a definite effect outside the obvious. Barnabas and Wilhelm listened intently and sat in silence when Natalie finished. Barnabas broke the silence by letting out a quiet but steady stream of curses. Some of which Natalie didn¡¯t even recognize. Eventually, the old merchant slumped against the bar and voiced his opinion. ¡°You are way in over your head, kid. All of this is going to get you hurt, and I¡¯m terrified to see that happen.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t know how to respond to that and let those words hang in the air. Wilhelm broke the silence instead, his voice unsure. ¡°He¡¯s right, Natty, but it seems to me you¡¯re also doing good. I¡­well, you know my feelings on this. I don¡¯t want to see you suffer, but I know you well enough that nothing I say will stop you from taking this path.¡± Wincing slightly at both their words, Natalie ate more of her soup and decided if she was going to be having a painful conversation, she might as well make it worse. ¡°Dad, have you told Barnabas about my plans?¡± It was Wilhelms turn to wince. ¡°No¡­ I was looking for the right opportunity.¡± Barnabas looked between the two, trying to decipher their meaning, but Natalie spared him the effort. ¡°I¡¯m planning on leaving Glockmire this coming Spring. I¡¯d like your advice on where to go and how to travel there.¡± Surprisingly Natalie¡¯s words actually seemed to calm Barnabas. He considered the news and visibly untensed before speaking. ¡°I couldn¡¯t understand why a girl as clever as you would be getting involved in something so dangerous. But now it makes sense. You''re trying to do some good now since you¡¯ve got a way out. You might step on some toes, but if that happens, then you have an escape plan.¡± While Natalie wouldn¡¯t have put it in those words, Barnabas was right in what she planned. Looking between the two men, Natalie asked again. ¡°So, will you help me?¡± Barnabas snorted in derision. ¡°When have I ever not? Let me get some maps and notes from my office, and we will get to-¡± The Silly Goat¡¯s door opened. All three people turned to face the newcomer. Natalie felt a smile grow on her lips as she turned, expecting Cole, escaped from Trude¡¯s clutches. The smile died as instead of Cole, a well-dressed stranger stood in the doorway. She¡¯d never seen the short little man who¡¯d enter the tavern, but Natalie recognized his clothes. The carefully tailored but austere black uniform of a Dayman. Those mortals tasked as servants and intermediaries of the Nobility. Pale skinned, squinting from the sunlight and generally sickly looking, the older man examined the Silly Goat with a slightly dismissive air. ¡°May I help you, sir?¡± asked Wilhelm, his nervousness buried under years of hospitality training. The Dayman''s lightly-glazed-looking eyes flicked onto Wilhelm, and after a moment, the strange old man spoke. ¡°Ah yes, I am here to speak with a¡­ Ms. Natalie Striga.¡± Tension filled the room, and after a moment, the Dayman continued. ¡°I am Chamberlain Simon, servant of Lord Glockmire. And I have some questions for Ms. Striga. Nothing too serious, just some clarification over recent events.¡± Shakely, Natalie stepped forward and cleared her throat. ¡°I¡¯m Natalie. What questions do you have?¡± Simon looked her over, his eyes lingering on Natalie¡¯s body for just a second too long. There was something distinctly predatory to his gaze. More than the lecherous glances Natalie had long learned to deal with from drunk bar patrons. It sent a shiver down her spine, but Natalie held her head high, refusing to show any fear. It had taken her approximately ten seconds to understand this man was a predator of some kind. Showing weakness of any kind would be extremely dangerous. ¡°Ah good,¡± said Simon, his eyes still glued on Natalie with unnerving intensity. He didn¡¯t seem to blink as much as he should have, and that odd glazed-over stare never wavered. ¡°If you follow me, I can have my answers, and this can be over with quickly. Wilhelm stepped forward, wanting to protect his daughter. Natalie shot him a look, and he paused. Returning the Dayman¡¯s stare, Natalie responded. ¡°I don¡¯t have the time to go to the Castle, but there are several empty rooms here we can speak in.¡± Nodding slowly, Simon acquiesced. ¡°Of course, please lead the way.¡± Natalie motioned for him to follow her as she took to the stairway. She gave both Wilhelm and Barnabas covert glances that she hoped conveyed, ¡®I can handle this, but don¡¯t leave the building, please.¡¯ As they walked, Natalie could feel those same leering eyes on her back. Her neckhairs stood up, and absently Natalie reached for her barrette. Playing with the memento her mother had given her and taking comfort in the hidden blade concealed inside. She took the unnerving Dayman into the same small room Cole had talked with Filip in. The inversion between that interaction and this one was not lost on Natalie. They sat down at the table, Natalie still fidgeting with her hairpin. An act that caught Simon''s attention, apparently. ¡°That''s an interesting ornament, what''s it supposed to be?¡± The question caught Natalie slightly off guard, but she quickly recovered. ¡°A bird of some kind, it was a gift from my Mother. But I doubt that¡¯s the type of question you came here to ask Master Simon.¡± Simon tipped his head in agreement. ¡°That is true. I¡¯m not here to make small talk but ask about your involvement with the Rest-Bringer known as Cole.¡± Natalie had been expecting this and gestured for Simon to start his questions and he obliged. ¡°What can you tell me about this man? My sources claim he¡¯s a large fellow with an impressive collection of scars. But having a better understanding of him would be useful. Which leads me to you, Ms. Striga.¡± ¡°Well, you have the description right; he¡¯s also got blue eyes, and what little hair he¡¯s got is blond. But I bet your sources could tell you that. So what exactly do you want to know?¡° Natalie was towing a dangerous line here. She didn¡¯t want to betray Cole¡¯s trust nor get caught in a lie. So finding out exactly what Simon was after would give her an idea of what to say and how to say it. ¡°Our main concern is his faith, Ms. Striga,¡± said Simon. ¡°Rest-Bringers tend to be¡­ problematic in our part of the world. Having him stir up hysteria in the citizens is not acceptable. So knowledge of his faith and how he plans to express that is crucial. It could very well determine how the Lord reacts to his presence in his town.¡± That question was easy enough to answer for Natalie. ¡°He¡¯s a true believer. Following his ordained calling the best he can.¡± Simon shifted at those words and looked like he was about to speak. Natalie didn¡¯t let him. ¡°But he¡¯s also pragmatic in a lot of ways. The Blood Duchies and the Lord disquiet him, but he¡¯s not foolish enough to challenge the status quo. He seems to understand doing such a bold act would lead to nothing good. So he¡¯s finding other ways to follow Master Time¡¯s will without stepping on anybody''s toes.¡± ¡°Interesting,¡± remarked Simon. His eyes were still fixed on Natalie. ¡®Does he ever blink?¡¯ thought Natalie as Simon asked: ¡°So hunting down the vermin who escaped after the regrettable incident three years ago is his compromise?¡± ¡°Yes, he¡¯s working to clear out the ¡®lesser undead¡¯ as he calls them from the area,¡± answered Natalie. Hoping her use of the terminology Cole taught her might give her account some credence. ¡°He told me he¡¯s trying to make sure something like the Breach won¡¯t happen again and that we won¡¯t be in danger from those things hiding out in the wilds.¡± Simon seemed to take that answer well and brought up his next question. ¡°That seems acceptable, but why are you helping him? By all accounts, you are a respected young member of the¡­community. So why involve yourself in a potentially dangerous outsider like this Rest-Bringer. Doesn¡¯t that seem rather foolish?¡± Natalie bristled slightly at the condescending tone, but she stayed in control. She knew what she had to do next, but the idea rankled her. The best way to sell a lie is to base it on truth, especially if that truth is powerful in its own right. ¡°My Mother was killed in the Breach. By a monster that escaped the Knights. I¡¯m helping him so Cole can track down and kill the thing.¡± Slowly, Simon got to his feet, reached out his hand to shake hers, and spoke. ¡°Your aid in this has been most useful, Ms. Striga. And might I offer you some advice before I go?¡± Natalie nodded curtly and rose to shake Simon''s hand. A pained gasp escaped Natalie as the old man¡¯s grip crushed her hand in a cold, clammy vice. She tried to pull away to no avail and found herself staring into the unnerving Dayman¡¯s glassy blue eyes as he spoke. ¡°Have more respect for your betters, and stay away from this situation. It will not end well for anyone involved. Especially a pretty young woman with bad manners.¡± He broke his grip and left the room as if nothing abnormal had happened. Natalie looked down at her shaking hand. Tender red swelling was already forming where Simon nearly crushed her fingers. A suppressed shudder finally made its way through Natalie, and she leaned against the nearest wall. After a few moments, she reached up and pulled her hair-clip free. She looked down at the little ornament and clasped it to her chest. Feeling the cold silver in her hands and taking comfort in its presence. Natalie¡¯s long black hair flowed around her face, unbound and free to cover her in a dark curtain. Taking a moment to refocus herself after such an unnerving experience, Natalie looked down at the small bird-shaped hair clip and exposed its silver blade. Smoothly polished and still razor-sharp, the flat side of the blade reflected Natalie¡¯s face back to her. The slight welling of tears was apparent in her eyes, and the face she saw reminded her of a scared little girl. Seeing that brought a jolt of anger and self-recrimination to Natalie. Turning her focus back to the blade¡¯s edge, Natalie made a promise to herself. If anyone put her in a situation like that again, Dayman, Noble, Stranger, anyone. She¡¯d ram her knife into their face. Folding the small blade back into its hiding spot, Natalie bound up her hair. Holding her head high, Natalie went downstairs, letting controlled anger wash away the fear and humiliation she felt. That goatworrier Simon had made a very big mistake in trying to intimidate her. Natalie did not respond well to threats and found herself doubly committed to this half-mad cause she¡¯d gotten involved with. With her help, Cole would bring down the Feeder. And if she got a say in it, as many of the Nobles and their servants as possible. Chapter 11: Soaking the Soul

Chapter 21- Soaking the Soul

¡°It takes a lot to get the Gods to renounce their protection. You have to well and truly Jag something up for them to turn their backs on you. Murder, Rape, Torture, that sort of nastiness, and once you¡¯ve lost the Pantheon''s support, death becomes a whole lot scarier. Suddenly you don¡¯t have a cushy reincarnation or even an Anointment to look forward to. Instead, your soul is left out in the cold, looking nice and juicy for any hungry Demon. At that point, lots of options that once seemed unthinkable get thinked about.¡± - Mak Murtrey, Rest-Bringer. On the topic of why people pursue Undeath.
The mood in the Silly Goat when Cole returned was grim. Wilhelm and Barnabas were caught in a tense conversation, and barely acknowledged Cole¡¯s arrival. Wilhelm just nodded at the big man and Barnabas gave a half-lidded glare. Natalie was over by the fire, a worried look on her face. Frowning, Cole went over to her and asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? What happened while I was gone?¡± Natalie looked up at Cole, a weak smile on her face. ¡°A Dayman paid us a visit. He wanted information about you.¡± A frown contorted Cole¡¯s many scars as he looked Natalie over, noticing the slight bruising on her left hand. ¡°Did he hurt you?¡± From behind the bar, Wilhelm let out a slow breath. The fact Cole¡¯s first words were about his daughter''s safety made the man feel marginally better about this whole situation. From what the innkeeper had seen, Cole was what he claimed to be. Barnabas, by contrast, felt no relief or anything remotely positive. He¡¯d watched his adopted niece come down the stairs with uncertain fear in her eyes shortly after he¡¯d seen the content cruelty in the Dayman¡¯s face. Cole had put Natalie in the eyes of a predator, and despite Natalie¡¯s insistence she was alright, Barnabas was furious she¡¯d gotten involved with this mess. Natalie gave a weak smile and shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll be alright. Bully¡¯s like that bastard enjoy throwing their weight around. Especially when they aren¡¯t getting what they want. I didn''t tell him anything useful; weirdly enough, all he wanted to know was your religion.¡± Cole winced and sighed, ¡°Natalie, for my own sanity and your security, please focus on surviving a situation like that and worry less about what information you might give.¡± Natalie¡¯s smile strengthened at his words and she changed the topic. ¡°I take it went well with Trude?¡± It was Cole¡¯s turn to grin. ¡°I guess you can say that. She¡¯s making me new clothes and didn¡¯t strangle me with her measuring rope.¡± That got a soft laugh from Natalie, and she glanced over both of them, seeing how incredibly disheveled and grimy they both were. Cole had the worst of it, covered in dried blood and dirt, but they both needed to wash up. Despite Cole¡¯s condition, Natalie intended to take a woman¡¯s prerogative and bathe first. ¡°I¡¯m going to get a bath and wash the Lungu off of me. I¡¯ll heat up extra water so you can clean yourself up as well.¡± With those words, Natalie limped up the stairs and left Cole with Wilhelm and Barnabas. Cole set himself down on a bench, and the three men sat in silence. Several different ideas to break the tension flitted through Cole¡¯s mind, but none of them seemed particularly good. Wilhelm instead broke the silence. ¡°The thing that killed Filip¡¯s sister, you really destroyed it?¡± A mixture of worry, surprise, and a hint of awe touched the innkeeper''s voice. Nodding in affirmation, Cole looked down to see a familiar feline rubbing herself against his legs. He reached down and scratched Stockings behind the ears as he elaborated. ¡°It was a Walking Charnel, an Undead created by Lungu¡¯s destruction. I destroyed it and took care of its remains.¡± Now it was Barnabas¡¯s turn to talk. ¡°Natalie explained that, but she didn¡¯t share details. How in the Pantheon¡¯s name did you beat something like that?¡± Quirking his lips in a smile, Cole fished out the Spark-Stone from his pack and held it out for Barnabas to see. ¡°With your help, actually Barnabas. I combined this with a few of my own tricks to burn the Rattler to full-death.¡± The silence returned, this time it hung around for a full minute before Barnabas broke it with a curse. ¡°Jag me, you''re telling me you used that dinky little magical knick-knack to destroy an avalanche of bone?¡± Again Cole nodded and spoke. ¡°With difficulty¡± Those words,backed by the collection of injuries covering Cole, produced an air of tension he hadn¡¯t meant to create. Both older men glanced back between each other, but this time, no one broke the silence, and the three men slowly returned to their tasks. Wilhelm gathered up ingredients for that night''s dinner. Barnabas looked over a ledger and grumbled to himself. While Cole played with the Cat. Cole liked Cats, and for the most part, they liked him; or at least they didn¡¯t dislike him. Dogs hated Cole on principle, his smell or, more accurately, lack of one distressed them, and most livestock or beasts of burden got jittery around him. Cole wondered if he spent so much time immersed in death that sheep and the like could sense it on him instinctually. Horses, in particular, avoided Cole, and even the most placid nag could be counted to buck him off if he tried to ride her. Yet Cats seemed wonderfully indifferent to Cole¡¯s peculiarities and would gladly accept his affection. Eventually, Natalie returned, clad in a clean dress and looking incredibly refreshed. The young woman entered the tavern, and her presence instantly dissipated some of the tension in the room. She noticed this and took a moment to consider its implications. Even her father and Barnabas were nervous around Cole, something that didn¡¯t portend anything good for her plans. Natalie needed to find a way to get people to trust or at least not be afraid of Cole. She had some ideas, but for any of them to work, she needed to have Cole not look like a leper who¡¯d been run over by a horse-drawn cart. ¡°The bath is ready, plenty of hot water for you. So go get yourself cleaned off while I scavenge up some bandages for you,¡± said Natalie. Cole was hunched over on a bench playing with Stockings. He started to thank her as he looked up to see the young woman and his words stopped mid-sentence. Natalie had changed and wore a very flattering dress. Its skirts were voluminous and multi-layered, typical for the cold climate of Glockmire. While an expertly tailored blouse covered her torsos. The flowing sleeves contrasting with the of the bodice which hugged Natalie¡¯s generous curves. Cole felt a momentary stab of embarrassment as he realized his eyes had lingered a second too long on her bust. Aside from the dress, Natalie also wore red lipstick and a hint of blush that contrasted wonderfully with her pale skin. Left momentarily speechless, Cole tried to find words as Natalie flashed him an amused smile and remarked. ¡°I take it you like my outfit?¡± Natalie twirled in a circle, letting her skirt flare out. ¡°We need to make a good presentation tonight if we¡¯re going to win any hearts and minds.¡± Cole nodded dumbly and continued trying to find words before settling on ¡°You¡­ look nice.¡± That got a knowing smile from Natalie as she leaned forward and grabbed Cole¡¯s arm. She pulled the large man to his feet and guided him towards the staircase. Acquiescing to her will, Cole let Natalie guide him. His eyes locked firmly forward to avoid embarrassing himself again. They arrived at the washroom and the large tub of warm water Natalie had prepared. A heavy floral smell filled the room, a mixture of lily and rosewater. Expensive scents, especially for a town like Glockmire. ¡°These are expensive perfumes? How did you manage to get them?¡± remarked Cole as he glanced around the bathroom. Aside from the tub, there was a pile of clean towels and a stack of soaps. Natalie smiled at his words. ¡°Perks of knowing Barnabas. He always lets me get the first pick of his ¡®feminine stock,¡¯ as the old codger calls it. Speaking of, the Rosewater extract is off-limits, but the rest of my supply is open to you. ¡° Cole nodded in understanding and glanced back at Natalie. He found to his chagrin that his eyes were drawn to less than gentlemanly places. She had her hips cocked at a proactive angle and held her arms to accentuate her bust. A wide, almost amused smile colored Natalie¡¯s face, and Cole realized that she was flirting with him and was also enjoying seeing him become flustered. As this realization set in, Cole did something rather out of character. He acted impulsively. Cole still had no idea what his feelings were related to Natalie, but that didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t return the favor and try to fluster her a bit. Going over to the tub, Cole stripped off his shirt as casually as possible and reached down to test the water. As he did, he asked a question. ¡°So what exactly is the story behind Barnabas? You¡¯re not blood-related, but he seems to be family?¡± Natalie took a moment to respond, trying to not gawk at Cole¡¯s scarred back. His toned muscles had the type of masculine perfection only seen in statues and the fantasies of hormonal youths. But like the rest of him, it was marred by a stratum of scars. In particular, the middle of his back held a ragged series of gashes forming a nearly unbroken stretch of tattered skin. Natalie didn¡¯t know for certain but she thought they might be the marks of a lash. Any arousal at the moment was quickly quashed by the visceral horror those marks spoke to. Catching herself and looking away, Natalie answered. ¡°Barnabas got his start as a merchant largely thanks to a loan from my Grandfather. He paid it back and continued to be a good customer and eventual friend to my Father. Dad views Barnabas as an older brother since he didn¡¯t have any siblings, and Barnabas helped keep him out of trouble when they were both young. They were actually each other''s Best Men at each other''s weddings. Speaking of, I¡¯m fairly certain Barnabas introduced my parents to each other. My Mom came to town in one of the Trade Caravan¡¯s Barnabas used to organize.¡± The water was a perfect temperature, and Cole let it warm his hands as he asked. ¡°Your Mother wasn¡¯t native to Glockmire?¡± Turning away from Cole, half worried he was about to drop his pants and climb into the tub, Natalie answered. ¡°Yes, she came from the south. Don¡¯t ask me from where, though. She never told me.¡± To her surprise and shock, Natalie heard the sound of rustling cloth and a splash of water as Cole disrobed and entered the Tub. Utterly stunned, Natalie whirled around to see Cole submerged up to his neck in the warm water. Turning beet-red, Natalie stammered over her words as she started to repudiate Cole for his crass behavior. She stopped when a knowing grin cracked on Cole¡¯s face. ¡°Two can play at your game Nat,¡± he remarked. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Natalie let out a sound that mixed a squeak of surprise, a huff of annoyance, and a snort of laughter. Picking up one of the hand towels sitting nearby, she wetted it and whipped it at Cole¡¯s face. The wet cloth made a satisfying sound as it hit Cole. Grunting in surprise, he pulled it away to see Natalie leaning over him, a curious expression on her face. For a moment, they stared at each other, faces shockingly close. Neither moved, and eventually, Natalie sighed and turned to leave the room. Before she left, Natalie remarked. ¡°If you wanted to kiss me then that would have been the moment.¡± The door clicked shut behind her, and Cole was left alone in the Bathroom. Her words and his own actions left Cole momentarily stunned. Slumping back into the tub Cole shut his eyes and took a deep breath. What were his intentions with Natalie? She was beautiful, clever, and so damn alive! She enraptured Cole, calling out to him like a fire on a cold day. Yet he had obligations and problems aplenty. Pursuing romance with Natalie seemed an incredibly stupid idea, especially since Cole knew who his heart belonged to. Reaching up with a wet hand, Cole massaged the bite marks on his neck and remembered their source. Many came from nights of cool lips on his skin and laughter shared between lovers. Others came from later times when his love was dead, and he was chained and drained to the point of death over and over and over. Shaking away those memories, Cole stared up at the ceiling for a little while. He couldn¡¯t have a future with Natalie, no matter what part of him wanted. While having a tryst with her seemed unfair to both of them. The matter was further complicated by the shade clinging to Isabelle¡¯s skull. The woman he loved was dead, but that could change. A possibility that put him on this path and that still haunted him. Dunking himself under the water to clear his thoughts, Cole started cleaning himself. Washing off the ash, dried blood, sweat, and filth, Cole grabbed one of the more bland soaps from Natalie¡¯s pile and was glad his hair had been burnt to virtually nothing, saving him from having to decipher which of the glass bottles contained an appropriate hair soap. The soap stung Cole¡¯s wounds, purging them of any infection and leaving a painful burning in its wake. Despite the near-constant stings of pain from his myriad cuts, Cole found himself enjoying the respite provided by a bath. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d properly bathed. His lifestyle kept him on the road for weeks at a time, and his lack of a natural odor made going such lengths without washing feasible, if not particularly pleasant. As he finished up, Cole looked down at his injuries and made an unpleasant decision. He was standing and capable of walking about largely thanks to his own pain tolerance and sheer bloody-mindedness. If something happened, he wouldn¡¯t be fast or strong enough to help. So while he healed a little quicker than most, thanks to his atypical origin and blood magic. It wouldn¡¯t be nearly enough. Sighing, Cole leaned back in the tub and let its water cover him fully. Eyes shut and trying to relax, Cole exhaled. A stream of bubbles flowed up from his mouth until nothing was left in his lungs. Injured and tired, Cole quickly felt the burn of suffocation in the water. He did his best to ignore it and focused on his duty. People needed his help and he had a task to fulfill, nothing would stop him, no matter how much pain he had to experience. The burn in his lungs turned into an ugly fire, and Cole resisted the urge to draw breath and inhale in soapy water. A normal man would have pulled himself free at this point, instinct overwhelming any desire. But Cole had never been normal, nor ever truly a man. Darkness crept up on Cole. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell it was coming. A slowly shrinking aperture devouring the murky shadows hidden by his eyelids. Flickers of faces he¡¯d known crossed his mind in those moments. Old friends, long since dead, hated enemies who yet survived, and new connections that might be saved. As the darkness took him in totality, Cole found himself smiling. He could help these people, and if he needed to drown himself in the process, he¡¯d do it. After all, there were worse ways to die; Cole knew that for a fact.
Natalie shut the door to the Bath and buried her face in her hands. A mixture of embarrassment, anger, and confusion warred within her. Letting out an aggravated sigh, she went to her room and found her carving tools. Grumbling to herself, Natalie sat down and continued working on the Cat statue she¡¯d started the night Cole arrived. After a few minutes of unsuccessful artistry, Natalie set the unfinished statue down and went to grab a fresh piece of wood. She kept a small bundle of choice bits of scrap wood in her room. Not large enough for a proper statue but wasted as kindling, Natalie kept the wood to practice and experiment with. Getting comfortable again, Natalie started etching a scene into a piece of wood. Carving a stylized representation of Cole fighting the Walking Charnel. Jagged scratches became piles of bone, and smooth flowing cuts started to resemble Cole. His now ruined cloak billowing in the wind and his halberd held high. Natalie stared at the forming image and realized her attempts to distract herself from what just happened with Cole were failing miserably. Natalie had planned to take a slow and steady approach with Cole. That had fallen apart when she saw him getting flustered about her dress. Seeing such a confident and strong man stutter and blush at her appearance was extremely cute and incredibly endearing. So Natalie had let passion rule, and for a brief moment, it seemed like Cole had as well. Then that moment had withered, with neither making the next move. Leaving Natalie both embarrassed and infuriated at both herself and Cole. Realizing stalling and worrying were doing little to help her. Natalie kept working on the carving of Cole facing the Charnel. If nothing else, it helped her practice this type of woodworking. She preferred traditional sculpture, but carving images had some appeal. An hour passed by while working on the piece, and Natalie found herself making surprising progress with the carving. Having finished the basic outline she started adding more detail to the piece. A soft knock at her bedroom door pulled Natalie from the creative flow and forced her to get up and answer it. To her surprise, it was not Wilhelm at the door but Cole. Natalie looked up at the freshly-cleaned man and was surprised by what she saw. Cole looked better, a lot better than he had just an hour ago. It was not just the fresh clothes and lack of grime. He stood taller and lacked the gaunt weariness she¡¯d seen in him earlier. Cole also changed his bandages but not replaced all of them. Some of his visible injuries were reduced to drying scabs and fading bruises. The only thing about Cole that wasn¡¯t notably approved were his eyes. They had a haunted pained expression, which quickly vanished at her presence. Hidden under a nervous-looking smile and whatever words he had planned. Holding up a hand to silence him, Natalie spoke instead. ¡°We both let ourselves get carried away. People do stupid things after surviving a near-death experience. Let''s both agree not to discuss it and see where this goes naturally.¡± Cole¡¯s smile died a quick death, and he nodded in agreement. Natalie thought she saw some hesitancy and confusion in his face but couldn¡¯t tell for certain. Centering herself and getting back to business, Natalie steered the conversation in a different direction. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about where we might want to start looking for ritual sites. There are a few good possibilities, and I wanted to run them by you.¡± Natalie pushed past Cole¡¯s large frame in the doorway and started moving downstairs. Turning back to him, she continued. ¡°I want to demystify you, and I think having you work in the Silly Goat proper instead of your room would help that. Grab your maps while I set up a space.¡± Shrugging in resignation, Cole did as she asked and met Natalie down at a table she¡¯d cleared off. Looking around the tavern, Cole noticed Barnabas was gone, and Wilhelm was eyeing the pair of them with a level of guarded concern. Cole nodded to Wilhelm, and the normally jovial man barely jerked his head in response. Wincing internally, Cole turned back to the problem at hand. The large map Barnabas sold Cole was soon spread out on the table, kept flat by some repurposed mugs. Natalie had gotten a pencil and marked out a spot on the map already. As she finished, Natalie gestured for Cole to look. She¡¯d marked a point not far from Glockmire, a seemingly random spot out in the middle of a nearby forest. Farther away than the Vryko-Ghouls had been, but in roughly the same direction. ¡°There is some old stonework in this area, remnants of a building, I¡¯ve been told. Hunters avoid it at night because they¡¯ve seen will-o-wisps there. About a year ago, one of my friends bragged her husband had explored the ruin. She said he said that the place felt wrong and swore he was being watched the entire time. Dorin is a well-respected hunter in these parts and a pretty reserved guy. He only confirmed what Gabi said and seemed uncomfortable even thinking about it. So my guess is the place is haunted and what we should be looking for.¡± Natalie¡¯s words just hung in the air for a moment, and Cole finally asked something he¡¯d been wondering about for a while now. ¡°How do you know all of this? It¡¯s a very large amount of information, and you just seem to have it all on demand.¡± Looking away in embarrassment, Natalie answered plainly. ¡°I¡¯m a Barmaid in a small town. Knowing gossip and people is as much my job as serving drinks.¡± Cole shook his head as if to dismiss her excuse. ¡°No, the detail is extraordinary. It''s really impressive you can keep this all straight and know it with such detail.¡± That got a smile from Natalie, and she perked up a little bit. Her momentary abashedness fading. Whenever Natalie had demonstrated this knack of hers before, it had earned her derision as a gossipy hen with too much time on her hands. People reacted like she must spend hours memorizing and pouring over the minutiae of other people''s lives. When in truth, if she heard something, it just often stuck. Added to an ever-growing web of connections inside her mind. Natalie had worried Cole would have a similar reaction once he started to pick up exactly how much she knew about people. His reaction soothed her, and to Natalie''s annoyance and joy, her heart slightly fluttered. ¡°This ruin seems like a decent place to start looking. It could be haunted, and if it''s not, I won¡¯t waste much time there. I¡¯ll leave tomorrow to investigate.¡± continued Cole, oblivious to the flurry of thoughts and feelings working through Natalie. Cocking an eyebrow in surprise, Natalie started to ask about his injuries, but the words died quickly. Her initial shock at his improved condition had been buried under earlier awkwardness and her later attempts to distract them both with work. Narrowing her eyes, Natalie looked Cole up and down thrice before stepping closer and rasping the disturbing question. ¡°How are you already healed? You seemed half dead just two hours ago, and now you seem fine?¡± Glancing away from Natalie¡¯s accusatory glare, Cole toed the line between misdirection and lies. Something that made him profoundly uncomfortable but was still necessary. Even with his growing bond with Natalie, some secrets still needed to be kept. ¡°There are benefits to being a servant of Master Time. I ask you not to pry into them. Those matters are¡­ unpleasant sometimes.¡± That seemed to be enough for Natalie, and she dropped the question and replaced it with another. ¡°You said ¡®you¡¯ will investigate. Am I not accompanying you?¡± Cole was almost glad to have her turn to something equally accusatory but easier to manage. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to lock you out, Natalie. That path failed and is now impossible. While I thought I could protect you from the Walking Charnel, that almost went catastrophically bad. I would not have similar hopes if I were to deal with a powerful Wraith. That kind of Undead can be extremely dangerous for the unprepared. Digesting that, Natalie looked like she was about to argue, but she decided against it. Instead, she sighed in resignation and asked. ¡°Please tell me what happened when you get back. I¡¯m curious to see if Gabi and Dorin were right.¡± Cole accepted Natalie¡¯s request easily. ¡°Of course. Now I have a few questions of my own. Like why are you dressed up, and why do I need to make a good impression?¡± Flashing a toothy grin, Natalie seemed to relish her next words. ¡°I¡¯m fulfilling my part of our deal. I¡¯m going to get the people of this town to agree to your help, and I intend to do that with style. We will flaunt your heroic deeds tonight and win some hearts and minds.¡± Confusion at her words started to fade, instead replaced by worry as Cole began to understand exactly what Natalie had in mind. She wanted the heavily scarred and socially-obtuse vagabond warrior to play the social game of Glockmire. At best, Cole could be a polite stonewall, evading all questions thrown his way. At worst, he could be honest and actually answer with utterly terrifying detail. Natalie had proven herself to be far more clever and open-minded than what you¡¯d expect in a town like Glockmire, and Cole had managed to alienate or disturb her on multiple occasions. Natalie could visibly see the dawning horror in Cole¡¯s face. His already pale skin \seemed to lose another shade or two, rendering him alabaster white. While his eyes had widened in disbelief. Natalie didn¡¯t let Cole stew in his worry and elaborated on her plan. ¡°I can guess what you are thinking. Yes, social morays and polite conversation are not your strong suit. Which is why you will have me to help you tonight. I¡¯ll be at your side to interpret, aid, and explain away any missteps.¡± Looking into Cole¡¯s eyes, Natalie let a bit of her bravado drop and spoke plainly with the type of sincerity only used when asking for trust. ¡°I know these people, Cole, and I know how to make them like you. I trusted you when we went into a monster''s lair. So trust me when we¡¯re on my home territory.¡± Those words broke through Cole''s worry, and he shut his eyes. Letting out a deep breath, he understood the truth of Natalie¡¯s argument and agreed. ¡°Alright, I will put my trust in you, Nat.¡± Chapter 11.5- Drowning your Sorrows.

Chapter 22- Drowning your Sorrows.

¡°URGENT. Aid is required near the Town of Rabelais. A Ghoul Giant has been destroying local villages. The local garrison and outriders are keeping it occupied but this cannot continue for long. Please in the Prince¡¯s name we ask for any aid you can provide.¡± - Carrier Pigeon message received by the Tenth Temple of Middle-Mothers.
After agreeing to Natalie¡¯s plans and sitting through an hour of her laying out the basics of Glockmire decorum, Cole left the Silly Goat to resupply. While Trude ¡°graciously¡± offered to replace his cloak, Cole had other things he needed to gather before another hunt. Natalie was busy preparing for the evening and attending to her own chores, so Cole found himself alone in an increasingly hostile town. Initially, Cole intended to just visit Barnabas¡¯s shop and get what he needed there. But Natalie insisted he visit some of the other stores to see the variety and, more importantly, earn a reputation as a paying customer. Despite Coles''s initial skepticism, he had some successes. Glockmire was home to an abnormally large number of merchants for a town of its size. A natural side-effect of the town''s location in the middle of a minor but still important trade route. Cole managed to gather much of what he needed and, in the process, perhaps earn a smidgeon of good will. He restocked his salt from the local butcher and an apothecary sold him some incense along with a few other basic ingredients for what Cole hoped wasn¡¯t too much of a swindle. Despite receiving near-universal worried or even hostile looks from everyone he passed on the street, no one tried anything untoward, letting Cole relax a fraction. He¡¯d seriously been worrying that an angry mob might form under the wrong circumstances; which, unfortunately, Cole had some experience with. With his shopping done, Cole made his way back to the Silly Goat. His progress was stopped when an unfamiliar man stepped out from an alleyway in front of Cole. Large and barrel-chested, the man had well-calloused hands, and the worn look of someone used to hard labor. Both men eyed each other over, and Cole resisted the urge to reach for his axe. While there was nothing truly sinister about the stranger, he had an intensity to his expression that pricked Cole¡¯s instincts. After that moment of mutual assessment, the stranger spoke in a deep, slightly scratchy voice. ¡°Are you the one my son went to? The rest-bringer?¡± Ah. With that piece of information, things fell into place. This was Matko, the father of Filip, the boy who asked Cole to destroy the Walking Charnel. Cole didn¡¯t un-tense. This could still go poorly. Choosing his words carefully, he responded. ¡°Yes, I am the servant of Master Time. I take it you are Matko?¡± Matko nodded his head in a terse sign of confirmation and spoke haltingly. ¡°When he told me what he¡¯d done, I was pissed. Giving his coins to a stranger promising the impossible was stupid. I thought we¡¯d raised the boy better.¡± Exhaling sharply, Matko continued. ¡°But then he comes to me today, just as my shift ends, and drags me to the Temple. Where old Matthias shows me that skull.¡± Taking a step toward Cole, Matko pointed at the larger man with an almost accusatory air. ¡°You really did it, didn''t you? You killed that monster. You got revenge for my baby girl.¡± ¡°Yes, I destroyed the Undead; it will not hurt anyone ever again,¡± replied Cole, his tone solemn but calm. Something seemed to break inside Matko. A dam of grief and loss burst at those words. Matko fell to his knees and started to weep, great racking sobs shook the sturdy-looking man¡¯s entire being. Kneeling down, Cole placed a hand on Matko¡¯s shoulder. Cole didn¡¯t say anything and just provided the instinctual comfort of a kind touch. The two knelt like that for a time as Matko let his grief finish its course. After perhaps five minutes, Matko started to recover a little and let out sputtering apologies to Cole. Cole didn¡¯t let the grieving father finish them, cutting off the shaky words with his own solid response. ¡°You have nothing to apologize for nor be ashamed of. Nothing in this world hurts more than a parent losing their child. Your pain is real, and I just hope you can find solace in my actions and that of your son.¡± Those words restarted Matko¡¯s sobs. Squeezing the man¡¯s shoulder Cole glanced about the street, thankfully no one but Cole witnessed Matko¡¯s pain. Cole detested how so many folk felt ashamed of grief, but he couldn¡¯t change the nature of people or their culture. So Cole let Matko weep in peace, taking his time to let the pain run its course. After a time, Matko got to his feet unsteadily, Cole helping him stand. Eyes red from crying, Matko looked around nervously and rasped: ¡°Thank you, Rest-Bringer.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± answered Cole. ¡°Now go be with your family. They will probably be feeling similar to you.¡± Matko nodded shakily to that and spoke. ¡°One last thing, Filip mentioned what the Daymen said, right? About how they blamed us for not evacuating. Do¡­do you think they were right?¡± That got a moment of hesitation from Cole. He was torn on exactly how much to reveal to this man. He refused to let the poor father blame himself for his daughter''s death but too much information could have unforeseen consequences. Deciding quickly, Cole answered. ¡°If I had been in your place or that of your daughter, I would have made the same decision. What happened was a product of extraordinary ill fortune. While I cannot say for certain, I think it''s likely that the choice to stay in your home didn¡¯t doom your daughter, but instead saved the rest of your family.¡± Matko¡¯s face took on a look of grim determination as he whispered a final word of thanks and left Cole. Alone in the alley, Cole found himself looking up at the sky, seeing its pale blue between the buildings surrounding him. The Sun was getting low in the sky, and the shadows were lengthening. It was time to return to the Silly Goat and face his new challenge.
By the time Cole arrived back in the Tavern, many local customers had already arrived. It wasn¡¯t time for dinner or even proper drinking hours, but a handful of townsfolk didn¡¯t let that stop them. Cole¡¯s entrance didn¡¯t kill the pockets of conversation in the inn, but his presence certainly wounded them. Grimacing slightly, Cole climbed the staircase and headed for his room. After depositing his purchases, Cole returned downstairs and tried to fit in. He sat in an unoccupied part of the inn and started playing with his medallion. The worn metal hourglass hung from his neck and provided an easy distraction. It didn¡¯t take long for Natalie to approach. Cole looked up from his musings to see the striking young woman wearing a particularly annoyed expression. Glancing around, Cole realized he was the source of her annoyance, confused, he gave her a questioning look. Sighing audibly, Natalie rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. ¡°Cole, do you even realize what you are doing?¡± Further mystified, Cole answered honestly. ¡°No?¡± Natalie looked up to see the bewildered look on Cole¡¯s face, which got her annoyance to soften into amusement. Slowly, with the air of someone repeating themselves, Natalie said. ¡°My first piece of advice to you was sit close to others and listen to them for a bit before trying to join the conversation. Is that what you think you are doing?¡± Further perplexed, Cole looked around the inn and answered. ¡°Yes, what¡¯s wrong?¡± From his perspective, he was following that advice perfectly. He¡¯d found an unoccupied spot and was waiting for an opportunity to join a conversation. Snorting in exasperation, Natalie gestured around them and answered. ¡°Cole, you literally found a dark corner of the room, sat down, and started brooding. You¡¯d only be more subtly menacing if you played with a knife and muttered words in Sinner-Speech.¡± Blinking in surprise, Cole was forced to reassess his actions. At her words, he could certainly see how he could give that impression. Failing to find any proper words, Cole simply answered, ¡°Ah.¡± Rubbing the lower half of his face with a large palm, Cole deflated slightly and asked. ¡°I know I am poor at situations like this, but I¡¯d not realized how large my deficits are. Perhaps this idea of yours is not feasible, Natalie¡± In answer, Natalie grabbed Cole¡¯s free hand and hauled him out of his chair. Confused, Cole let himself be dragged over to the table just one over from where a quartet of tradesmen sat and drank. Plopping the much larger man down into a chair. Natalie gave Cole a gesture to wait. Leaving him for a moment to retrieve a mug of beer, which she placed in front of the slightly confused man. Natalie gestured at the mug and explained. ¡°Even if you don¡¯t drink, being in a tavern without a cup of something is a strange look. So now try again.¡± Leaving him to his fate, Natalie went back to work. Cole looked down at his drink and shrugged to himself before taking a sip. This was perhaps the third or fourth time Cole tried alcohol. Just like every previous time, it tasted foul to him. His over-sensative palate reacted poorly to what he supposed was well-brewed hops. Grimacing, Cole let out a disgusted hiss but swallowed down the Beer. Sitting the mug down, Cole shoved the drink away from him and slumped in his chair slightly. An annoyed grunt from the table next to Cole caught his attention. The four tradesmen looked at Cole, each wearing a mildly hostile expression. One of them, a large fellow with a protruding belly and arms thick with muscle, gestured to Cole¡¯s drink and asked. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Stranger? Is our beer not good enough for someone on a divine mission?¡± Before Cole could respond, a younger man with a wispy youthful mustache and a long face spoke. ¡°It''s bad enough you come to our town and cause trouble with the Lord. But you insult Master Wilhelms draft and try to seduce his daughter? You¡¯d think a Holy man would know some shame?¡± Stunned, Cole felt utterly bewildered. he¡¯d literally sat down and tried to drink a beer and somehow offended these men. This had to be a new record for Cole when it came to alienating people. Frantically searching for an appropriate response, Cole was saved by Natalie. The well-dressed barmaid whirled over to the two tables in a storm of flowing skirts. Looking at the Tradesmen with an imperious look, Natalie answered for Cole. ¡°He didn¡¯t seduce me, Bogdan, but if he tried, he¡¯d certainly have better results than you did.¡± the younger-looking man with the bad beard started to sputter something, but Natalie didn¡¯t give him a chance. Remarking to the older, wider fellow, ¡°And Sandu, it''s rude to judge a man on what he drinks. I thought your wife had you better trained than that.¡± Instead of looking incensed like Bogdan, Sandu cracked a wide grin and chuckled before speaking. ¡°Well put, Miss Natalie, but I don¡¯t think such a large feller like this Rest-Bringer needs you to protect him.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Natalie nodded in agreement but let her razor tongue out to play. ¡°True, but considering he saved me from an Undead monster just a day ago, I feel it''s the least I can do.¡± That got both men to shut up but invited a third to speak. Bespectacled and with stringy hair, Teo, the carpenter, spoke with a soft, almost nervous voice. ¡°What kind of monster?¡± To Cole¡¯s confusion, that question made Natalie smile with victory. She looked at him and asked. ¡°Cole as the expert, could you describe that terrible horror you fought and destroyed single-handedly?¡± Trusting Natalie, Cole did as requested. ¡°It was a Walking Charnel. An unliving pile of bones about the size of a large Hay Pile. It was one of the Undead that attacked your town three years ago. I tracked it to its lair with Natalie¡¯s help and destroyed it.¡± Stunned silence ruled for a few seconds before Sandu looked at Natalie and asked. ¡°He speaks true?¡± She nodded but rolled her eyes. ¡°Cole does, but he also undersells it. It was a massive pile of thrashing bones. Just a hill of jumbled skeletons that scuttled about on dozens of unnatural limbs. Large enough to flatten a house and strong enough to crush rock. But Cole destroyed it, set the accursed thing on fire, and hacked it apart with his blade.¡± Feeling slightly abashed, Cole scratched at his few remaining scabs and muttered. ¡°It wasn¡¯t that big, but yes, it was rather dangerous.¡± All four of the Tradesmen were now looking at Cole with a cautious interest, and a couple other lone drinkers were clearly listening to the conversation from a distance. Internally Natalie was beaming. So far, so good, now she just needed someone to take the bait ¡°What¡¯s the biggest Undead you¡¯ve killed, Rest-Bringer?¡± asked a slightly inebriated man at the Bar. Natalie had to force herself not to smirk. The gamble she¡¯d made was starting to pay off. Cole¡¯s habit of talking about horrible things related to death and undeath could easily disturb and scare off people, but if they were used correctly, those same eerie stories could intrigue them. The people of Glockmire were a superstitious and fearful lot, but many of them also suffered from the near-universal vice called morbid curiosity, which was something Cole could feed easily. Especially with Natalie there to steer him in the right direction, Cole¡¯s stories might inspire more awe and hope than fear and disgust. Cole looked to Natalie for a sign, which she gleefully gave. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m curious as well. What is the physically largest Undead you¡¯ve hunted?¡± Looking around at his eager, if nervous audience, Cole answered. ¡°A Giant Ghoul.¡± Mystified, Teo asked for clarification. ¡°An undead Jotunn? You killed a Jotunn?¡± ¡°Well, put to rest; it was already dead. But yes, I managed to free a Giant from its corpse,¡± answered Cole. That answer even surprised Natalie. Giants were rare and incredibly dangerous. Even a Feral one, like the type they occasionally heard of in the Dragontail Mountains, could destroy entire villages with ease. An Undead one would be even more dangerous, and Cole had destroyed it. ¡°Well, you can¡¯t just leave us with that. Where was this and how did you kill it?¡± asked Sandu. By the looks of the patrons clustered around them, it was the question they¡¯d all been wondering. Bemused and uncertain of what to do, Cole made up his mind when he saw the intense curiosity on Natalie¡¯s face. He¡¯d tell his story; the details were not anything particularly sensitive. ¡°The Giant Ghoul was terrorizing villages in eastern Guyenne when I heard about it. Thankfully, the Ghoul wasn''t particularly dangerous, it was massive, but just as smart as any common Ghoul.¡± That got some confused and even worried mutters from his audience. Even a scrawny Giant stood as tall as an old Oak and was strong enough to easily uproot smaller trees with their bare hands. The idea of a Giant being ¡®not particularly dangerous¡¯ made as much sense to the people of Glockmire as the concept of a trustworthy demon. Not noticing their reaction, Cole continued. ¡°Like all Ghouls, it was guided only by hunger and lacked anything resembling intelligence. So it was easy to turn all that size into a disadvantage. I knew the Ghoul was heading towards me, but I had two days to prepare. With some convincing, I got the locals to aid me with some of the work, and turned an entire field into a trap.¡± Teo frowned and scrunched up his face in confusion. ¡°Wait, how did you know you had time to do all of that? The jagging Giant could have shown up at any time and eaten you all!¡± The words of the Tradesmen made Cole grimace slightly. It illustrated the learned helplessness and isolation of this region. In the Blood Duchies, all you could do was hide from monsters and hope your masters got bored and decided to hunt larger prey. That was not the situation even in remote places in neighboring nations. ¡°The roads and wilds of Guyenne are patrolled by Outriders who watch for banditry and the like. Those brave horsemasters worked night and day to keep the Ghoul distracted and away from villages. It was a testament to their skill that so few people were killed by the Ghoul. They¡¯d been working to keep it distracted until the local lord, and his soldiers could arrive, but that would take nearly a month. So when I offered a different plan, they agreed to help.¡± Accepting that answer, Teo nodded in understanding and let Cole continue. ¡°When the Giant got close the Outriders and villagers escaped, leaving me to guide Ghoul to the traps. Thankfully it was happy to chase me instead of the exhausted Outriders, and follow me right into our first traps. We¡¯d set up a number of large pits, with cavalry spikes in the nearby field. We¡¯d been forced to guess but the pits were deep enough and when the Giant stepped into one it tripped, falling on some of the spikes. This wasn¡¯t enough to kill the Giant but was enough to cripple it. Falling with all that weight ruined one of its legs, and the wooden spikes got stuck in its torso.¡± That got a collective wince from the eager listeners. The image Cole described was not pretty, but it was exactly the sort of thing they¡¯d come to hear. ¡°With those injuries the Giant couldn¡¯t stand up, but it could still attack me. It crawled along the ground, attempting to squash or eat me. But that was much more manageable, it couldn¡¯t turn quickly, and I could dodge its strikes. Eventually, I managed to get onto the Ghoul''s back and chop through its spine. It couldn¡¯t do anything then, letting me release the Soul and burn the body.¡± With his story finished, Cole expected looks of horror and shock. Which he indeed got, but they were also accompanied by awe and fascination.. Blinking away his surprise, Cole looked around at his now rapt audience. After a few moments of silence, someone asked: ¡°Well, tell us another one, Rest-Bringer!¡± Startled by that, Cole tried to think of something, but Natalie came over and whisked him away to some privacy. Saying: ¡°I¡¯ll return him to you in a moment¡± as she grabbed him. Close together and away from the murmuring patrons, Natalie¡¯s face split in a huge grin. Looking up at Cole she half-laughed, half-spoke. ¡°It''s working! Keep this up and we¡¯ll have more leads!¡± Looking around, a slightly nervous Cole responded. ¡°I am not used to this. Are you sure this is a good idea?¡± Putting a hand on Cole¡¯s arm, Natalie looked into his eyes and let her mirth fade into seriousness. ¡°Trust me, this is going well. But if things start going poorly I¡¯ll be there to help.¡± Exhaling in resignation, Cole nodded in acceptance and went back to the eager audience. True to her word Natalie helped Cole, steering him away from tricky topics and subtly pushing the crowd of listeners in different directions. All while learning bits and pieces of Cole¡¯s past. For his part Cole regaled the tavern-goers with stories of Necromancers, Rattlers, Ghosts, and terrible Curses of Undeath. While he¡¯d never considered himself a storyteller, Cole was surprised at how easily talking to these people was. With a little help, he could speak about his life and experiences and not fear hurting people with dark tales or dangerous secrets. This went on for hours, with Cole taking breaks but always being dragged back to the center of attention when Natalie found it prudent. Despite his initial enjoyment, the efforts of playing this social game for an extended time started to wear on Cole. He suppressed uncharacteristic irritation and felt a type of exhaustion he¡¯d never felt before. An ache in his mind, not his body. Idly, Cole wondered if his more drastic measures for dealing with physical damage would work in this case. He didn¡¯t get to dwell on that morbid line of thought as Natalie pulled him away from the pub-goers and whispered in his ear. ¡°So far, this has gone well, but I can tell you are getting worn out. Let''s quit while we¡¯re ahead. Get some rest, Cole.¡± Giving her a thankful smile, Cole stepped away from the chattering patrons and slipped upstairs. Returning to his room, Cole collapsed into his bed and let out an exhausted sigh. Now alone in his room, Cole contemplated what had occurred and what it might mean. The whole thing felt surreal to Cole. He¡¯d spent so much of his life isolated; this experience was both fascinating and utterly draining. Natalie¡¯s scheme to gain support in the town initially seemed rather ridiculous, but now it actually seemed feasible. While Natalie herself seemed less and less like a potential liability and more like a useful ally. In less pragmatic terms, Cole¡¯s relationship with the woman was changing. Leaving him puzzled and uncertain. Lying in bed, Cole felt his mind drifting back to Natalie and her smile. Each time those memories came up unbidden Cole felt a strange lurching feeling in his chest. While not unpleasant, these feelings dredged up old worries and new guilt for Cole. Things had not ended well for the last woman he¡¯d loved. Isabelle¡¯s shadow still stretched over Cole¡¯s life. These difficult musings started to blur as exhaustion took Cole and he slipped into slumber. Sleep, however, didn¡¯t end this strife, instead only transformed it. Strange dreams came to Cole. Dreams of blood, pain, and terrible nights spent locked away and fed upon. Where a hundred hungry leeches with red eyes and alabaster fangs supped on his lifeblood. Fire devouring those he loved, leaving only ashen bones and echoing screams. The same nightmares repeated over and over. Slightly changed each time, but all variations on the same theme. Painful memories distorted into surreal prisons for Cole¡¯s unconscious mind. Eventually, Cole awoke, escaping from his nightmares. Bolting upright, Cole thrashed about, sucking in ragged breaths as he tried to decipher where he was. Looking around, Cole started to calm down as the wooden furnishings of the Silly Goat came into view. It was late in the night, with only a pale moon to illuminate his room. Unsteadily getting to his feet Cole went over to his pack and removed the Vampire Skull hidden within. Returning to the bed, Cole cradled the morbid totem in his arms and felt himself relax. Years ago, he¡¯d learned holding the skull helped with the nightmares. Dreams like the ones he¡¯d just experienced were once common for him. Near-nightly occurrences that once drove him to insomnia. Now the night-terrors were thankfully rare, only happening occasionally and usually ending after a single night. Cole hoped such would be the case this time as well. Panic faded, and soon Cole found himself drifting off to sleep, skull still in hand. Where new dreams replaced his earlier terrors. Cole dreamed of a lake of blood, a perfectly still pool of crimson that he stood atop. His feet did not sink into the ichor, instead barely causing ripples in the red lake. Looking up, Cole saw a pale moon overhead and a whirling expanse of cold stars. This was another familiar dream, but one far more welcome than his earlier terrors. Partially because it wasn¡¯t truly his dream. Looking across the expanse of blood, Cole quickly found the dreamer. Maybe a dozen meters away stood a woman staring up at the sky. Tall and clad in a white dress speckled with red. She faced away from Cole, but he would recognize her from anywhere. Isabelle, or what was left of her, had entered his dreams. Smiling sadly, Cole moved towards her. His steps were slow and unsteady, despite standing atop the bloody lake, Cole felt like he was wading through a marsh, his limbs weak and sluggish, moving him towards Isabelle but not fast enough. After what felt like a moment and a marathon, Cole reached Isabelle. Reaching out a shaky hand Cole touched her shoulder. Feeling the cold softness of her skin. ¡°Belle?¡± asked Cole as he turned the figure towards him. She didn¡¯t resist; now facing Cole, he could see her face. Skin and hair as pale as snow, with bright red eyes. Belle looked much as she always had. With sharp aristocratic features that were perhaps a bit too angular, and long neatly braided hair tucked into a utilitarian bun. Their eyes met, and Belle¡¯s glassy stare faded, and she focused on Cole. Her blank expression turned into a sad smile as she realized who was with her. Reaching up, she touched Cole¡¯s hand on her shoulder and spoke softly. Her thick Atredian accent reminding Cole of a forgotten home. ¡°I¡¯m still here, Cole. Please don¡¯t leave me, my love.¡± As soon as those words left her mouth, Belle melted. Her body dissolved into black blood that mixed with the crimson expanse surrounding them. Cole stood there, savoring the phantom touch of her hand on his. This wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d had this dream. It was what started him on the path of a Paladin after all. Her words sometimes changed, but the meaning never did. Isabelle was not completely gone. A thread of hope still existed, and no matter how he tried, Cole couldn¡¯t let go of it. Then, just as the final drops of Isabelle¡¯s dark form faded into the blood lake, the dream faded, dissipating into whatever Aether-touched thoughts formed it, leaving Cole in a restless but thankfully dreamless sleep. Cool autumn sunlight and the quiet murmurs of Glockmire¡¯s morning ended that sleep. Blinking away sleep, Cole started to sit up but stopped as a sharp pain jabbed him. Looking down in bewilderment, he saw the skull of Isabelle resting in his hand, its fangs sunk into his wrist. Gingerly removing the skull, Cole looked at it. He hadn¡¯t remembered feeding her last night, but it wasn''t impossible considering how tired he¡¯d been. A decade of fighting the Undead, dealing with every manner of hungry corpse and restless spirit hammered strong instincts into Cole. Instincts that told him to drop the skull into a pyre and then scatter salt over the resulting ashes before burying them on hallowed ground. He¡¯d always fed Isabelle intentionally before, and something told him whatever had happened last night was not a good sign. Cole shoved down those instincts and instead went to clean the skull and prepare for the day. Looking down at the skull, Cole took a deep, shuddering breath and spat out the painful truth he knew in his heart. ¡°You¡¯re a jagging hypocrite Cole.¡± Chapter 12: Shades of Treachery

Chapter 23: Forgotten Shades

¡°Every Vampire Bloodline arises from an act of betrayal. The Progenitor of each breed of Vampire knowingly and intentionally broke the trust of a loved one in a profoundly horrible manner. An act so terrible the Gods themselves turn their back on the perpetrator. Unfortunately, such twisted acts do not disgust every being in the Beyond. Instead, attracting the attention and, more terribly, the boons of things of blood and night. Creating Vampires, creatures abandoned by the Light, and empowered by the Dark.¡± - Morticai the Unbroken, Knight of the Brilliant Dawn.
Bad dreams and blood loss left Cole drained. He literally rolled out of bed and took nearly half an hour to get washed and dressed. Only making his way down into the Silly Goat proper by ten in the morning, which by local standards was an obscene time to sleep into, but not that odd for Cole. Spending his life hunting the Undead, with many late nights stalking through cursed graveyards, warped Cole¡¯s sleep schedule into a mutant abnormality. Downstairs in the tavern, Cole found little of note. Wilhelm acknowledged his presence with a plate of something warm and edible. While Barnabas, eternally at his barstool, simply grunted. Cole ate in silence for a little while before asking. ¡°Where¡¯s Natalie?¡± he hadn¡¯t seen her and saw no evidence of her presence. Wilhelm nodded his head towards the door and answered. ¡°She¡¯s running some errands. She also told me to give you this when you crawled out of bed.¡± Wilhelm grabbed a piece of paper and handed it to Cole. The paper held a collection of notes and crude maps Natalie found time to write up. These provided directions to the ruins Natalie described and contained all the details she¡¯d heard about the ruins. Looking over the sheet, Cole felt a smile come to him. Yet again, she¡¯d surprised and impressed him. It was a feeling Cole could get used to. A pang of guilt found the opportunity to hit Cole then. His dreams had reinforced many of his worries in this regard. Isabelle still clung to undeath somehow, and Cole could not and would not betray that love. Wincing and shaking away those uncomfortable thoughts. Cole pocketed the paper and looked up to Wilhelm, and debated saying something about his intentions with Natalie. But no words came, and Cole switched focus. ¡°Thank you for the meal. I¡¯m going to visit the Temple and leave soon. If I don¡¯t see Natalie, thank her for me.¡± Wilhelm¡¯s brow raised as he asked, ¡°She¡¯s not going with you today? I expected her to follow after you, Rest-Bringer; Did you manage to convince her not to join you on your hunt?¡± Wilhelms''s words had an almost pleading note to them. The sound of a worried parent hoping the danger might have passed. Wincing internally, Cole answered honestly. ¡°I agreed to let her accompany me only if I could confidently say I could keep her safe. She¡¯s still insistent on joining me on my mission, but not on this particular excursion. What I think haunts that ruin is not something I¡¯d risk exposing Natalie too.¡± Wilhelm wilted slightly but pondered his words. Barnabas snorted in derision and asked. ¡°You thought she¡¯d be safe when you fought that jagging bone pile? What in the World¡¯s name made you think that?¡± Scratching the back of his head in mild embarrassment, Cole explained. ¡°The Charnel was ultimately unintelligent. I could take precautions that a more aware form of Undead might ignore. Ghouls and Rattlers are ultimately driven by instincts and magical impulses, they can be subverted with forethought and arcane protections. What I think is haunting that ruin, a Wraith, is much more unpredictable.¡± Wilhelm and Barnabas both shivered at that. Getting up to leave, Cole tried to find comforting words, but none came. Even with food and drink in him, Cole¡¯s mind felt fuzzy. He¡¯d yet to recover from his ordeal last night, and the mental impact of his experiences over the past few days hadn¡¯t yet sunk in. While capable of incredible acts of endurance and survival, Cole was not immune to the sheer drain that pain and stress could put on a person. Trying to ignore this, Cole left the Silly Goat and set about his next task. Trude had promised him a cloak, and Cole didn¡¯t know if it would be completed by now, but he wanted to check before leaving for the ruin. Even in his slightly bewildered state, Cole could tell something had changed in Glockmire. While people still avoided him, the looks he got were marginally less hostile, and one or two passersby even waved to him. They were patrons of the inn who¡¯d listened to him the night previously. Uncertain but not wanting to offend, Cole waved back and continued on his way. It didn¡¯t take him long to arrive at his destination. He¡¯d made this trek to the temple enough times to have the route memorized. Cole took a moment at the Temple¡¯s entrance to admire the images carved into the large door. The complicated pattern of sacred sigils, ancient runes, and pictograms of important events managed to be artistic while also serving as a powerful reminder of the Temple''s nature. This was where faith and community forged a bastion against the darkness. Where miracles are commonplace, and the Pantheon¡¯s touch is felt. Putting his hand upon the aged but sturdy door, Cole entered the Temple and sought out the Loom-Matron. It was not Godsday nor a sacred time of the year, so the Temple¡¯s sanctuary was uninhabited. Cole passed through the empty cloister towards the workshop he¡¯d last seen Trude in. Even if she wasn¡¯t present, it was a good place to start looking. As he moved through the dimly lit halls of the Temple, Cole felt mildly surprised at his own actions. Normally he¡¯d have simply waited in the sanctuary for someone to guide him to Trude. Instead, he¡¯d been more proactive and even rather rude. By simply inviting himself into the Temple¡¯s backrooms and hunting after one of its high-ranking Priests. While from a purely theological standpoint; as a Paladin and direct agent of Master Time, Cole out-ranked every Priest and Acolyte in the temple combined. Yet it still felt improper to not show due respect to the local religious institution. Still, Cole didn¡¯t turn back, he had work to do, and perhaps some of Natalie¡¯s bullheadedness was rubbing off on him. Cole found Trude where he expected.. the door to the workshop was open, and Cole could hear the woman''s voice echoing through the hallways. ¡°You are making progress. The fabric here needs to be tighter, but your efforts are acceptable so far.¡± A second higher-pitched and nervous voice answered. ¡°Yes, matron. Thank you for your advice!¡± It seemed Trude was with a student. Cole knocked on the door, hoping he wasn¡¯t interrupting a crucial lesson. ¡°Enter,¡± came Trude¡¯s firm voice, and Cole obliged. He found the Priestess sitting next to a small quilt being worked on by a skinny girl. A teenage acolyte or apprentice tradeswoman, perhaps? Priests of Uncle Maker were tasked with teaching crafts to all who desired to learn. The student looked away from her quilt to see Cole, and she nearly fell out of her seat in fright. Cole winced slightly, but Trude simply clucked her tongue in annoyance. Getting up from where she¡¯d sat, the Loom-Matron grabbed a large bundle of cloth from a nearby table and handed it to Cole. ¡°My gift to you, Rest-Bringer. I hope it helps.¡± Cole let the fabric unfold into a large cloak and cowl. The billowing black garment was similar to his old burned-up one, but the fabric seemed softer and sturdier. Cole started to thank Trude for the gift but was cut off when she rammed a pair of scissors through the cloak. The sharp blades stopped just a handspan from Cole¡¯s chest. Dropping the cloak, Cole lept back, reaching for his weapon. Cursing himself, he realized he¡¯d left the thing back at the Silly Goat. Not thinking he¡¯d need a bloody halberd to run an errand. To his surprise, Trude didn¡¯t continue her ¡°attack,¡± instead she kneeled on the ground and straightened out the cloak where Cole dropped it. Once the cloak was set, Trude grabbed a strip of cloth and pressed it onto the spot she¡¯d torn. To Coles''s amazement, the new piece of fabric seemed to ¡°melt¡± into the cloak. Individual threads attached to their sheared counterparts. The fabric itself seemed to loosen and reform with the cut patched over. The new material merged with the old, repairing the cloak with barely any sign that it had been patched. Trude stood up and brandished the cloak at Cole, and spoke. ¡°I rarely use this enchantment but found it suitable for you Rest-Bringer. You can feed this cloak scraps of cloth, and it will repair itself. Try to get the same color of material to repair it if you don¡¯t want the thing ending up looking silly.¡± She handed the cloak to Cole, and he put it on, letting its dark folds wrap his shoulders and body. To Cole¡¯s surprise it fit perfectly,Trude''s measurements were apparently more than enough to fit the garment. Nodding in appreciation, Cole spoke, ¡°This is incredible, Loom-Matron. Thank you for such a gift!¡± Trude grimaced as she responded. ¡°Thread-Mages like myself call the enchantment ¡®Leech Cloth,¡¯ and it''s not without disadvantages. The magic woven into it needs to be fed with extensive use, and the accursed thing is fickle, preferring blood over any more palatable type of magical fuel. Normally that¡¯s a deal-breaker for the type who likes enchanted clothes, but I thought you¡¯d find it¡­ acceptable.¡± A mixture of worry, disgust, and confusion warred for dominance inside Cole. Trude was giving him a vampiric cloak to aid him in hunting the Undead. Did she know about his skill with Blood Magic? Or was this some attempt at morbid humor? Cole didn¡¯t know what to make of this turn of events and defaulted to polite stiffness. ¡°Thank you, Loom-Matron. This will serve my purposes.¡± Trude nodded and either didn¡¯t perceive or acknowledge Cole¡¯s moment of concern. Instead, continuing to explain her creation. ¡°As long as a quarter of the original material is intact, it should be able to repair itself. The Cloak will use any fabric it can, so if you are sloppy in feeding it, the cloak will become a patchwork monstrosity.¡± Cole took a moment to further examine and feel the Cloak while Trude watched him. After finding no faults or issues, Trude spoke again. ¡° Now, with that settled, I feel I¡¯ve done my part. Go follow your purpose and try not to die.¡± Having been excused from her presence in a typically terse manner, Cole turned to leave. The stern Priestess admonished him as he reached the door. ¡°Oh and Rest-Bringer, remember what I said about Natalie.¡± Smiling softly, Cole chuckled. ¡°I will keep your words in mind, Priestess, but you need not worry today. She isn¡¯t accompanying me on this part of my quest.¡± Cole left the workshop and the Temple that contained it, not pausing to visit the altars, he¡¯d have time for that later. The ultimate way to serve his God was not through prayer but through actions. He had a duty, and he would see it fulfilled. Despite its grim nature, the cloak fit Cole well, and he found its presence comforting. He¡¯d traveled far and wide with little more than a good cloak to protect him from the elements. So having that small bit of luxury was something Cole was truly thankful to have back. Arriving at the Silly Goat, Cole gathered his pack and equipment from his room. Wilhelm was alone in the tavern absently polishing a glass. He barely acknowledged Cole¡¯s arrival but called out to the scarred man before he could leave the inn again. ¡°Cole, do you have a moment?¡± Slightly surprised, Cole moved over to speak with the Innkeeper. So far, Wilhelm had avoided him ever since Natalie became involved with his duties. Something Cole didn¡¯t blame the middle-aged man for. Despite everything Cole had done to mitigate the risks, Natalie was still involved in something soul-threateningly dangerous. Setting down the now spotless old glass, Wilhelm mustered his courage and spoke. ¡°I haven¡¯t been a good host nor a good man the last day or two. From what I can see, Cole, you are someone who''s lived a hard life and still tries his best to do good. That''s rare and worth more than most people think.¡± Those were not the words Cole had expected. Momentarily stunned, a feeling he was facing much these days, Cole responded. ¡°I¡¯m honored by your words Master Wilhelm, but they are not needed. Your feelings and actions make perfect sense, and I¡¯ve taken no offense.¡± Wilhelm sighed, rested his weight against the bar, and said, "And that''s part of the problem.¡± Cocking an eyebrow in surprise, Cole asked, ¡°Excuse me?¡± Folding his finger and resting his head on them, Wilhelm answered. ¡°If you were a good-for-nothing bastard playing with my daughters'' heart, I¡¯d feel no guilt for despising you. But from what I¡¯ve seen and heard, you seem a righteous person trying to help; and part of me can¡¯t help but loathe you for stirring up a storm while involving Natalie.¡± continued Wilhelm, a mixture of guilt and bitterness touching his voice. Slowly Cole picked his words. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Wilhelm. It makes sense that you feel as you do. I wish I did not endanger you or Natalie with my presence.¡± That got an annoyed grunt from Wilhelm. It seemed Cole¡¯s words just fed into the man¡¯s angst. They stood there in silence for a moment, Wilhelms confession souring the air. Cole debated just leaving the inn, not wanting to worsen the situation. For a brief moment, he also considered letting Wilhelm know more about Cole¡¯s purpose in Glockmire. Explaining his identity as a Paladin and the threat brewing in the town. That possibility was quickly rejected. Cole was already gambling much with letting this town think he was a Rest-Bringer. Letting the knowledge that he was a Paladin spread farther than it had could be disastrous. The Vampires might ignore a Rest-Bringer who didn¡¯t challenge them. A Paladin would be a different story. ¡°You can loathe me all you wish if it helps you. I will not object.¡± was all Cole could say as he left the inn. Cole felt guilty, but not as much as he probably should. He¡¯d let himself get tangled with Natalie, and while that had proven a surprising boon, Gambling with other people''s lives was not something Cole would do lightly, even if it might stop them from hating him.
The trip to the ruins was uneventful. Using the map and directions Natalie provided, Cole navigated to his goal with relative ease. His path took him deeper into the forest he¡¯d fought the Vryko-Ghouls in. Veering away from the worn cliff-face where those Undead had been born and into the forest proper. After entering the dense greenery of these woods, Cole relied less on Natalie¡¯s directions and more on the gentle tug within his chest. That familiar cold pull moved away from Castle Glockmire and instead pushed Cole deeper into the forest. Providing all the confirmation he needed that Undead haunted these woods. The ¡®God-Touch,¡¯ as other Paladins called that strange feeling, would always pull Cole to where he was needed. A fickle thing that was practically useless for true navigation but perfect for confirming what he¡¯d suspected. It didn¡¯t long for Cole to notice other signs that something was wrong. Most acute was the vague but ever-present feeling of being watched. There was an instinctual itch on the back of Cole''s neck, screaming that something dangerous was nearby. That feeling would be enought to keep all but the bravest and stupidest from getting close to where Cole was headed. Stolen story; please report. Between the trees, Cole spotted what he¡¯d been looking for, age-worn stonework sticking from the forest floor. Remnants of a building¡¯s walls after centuries of neglect. Reaching the worn-down walls, Cole easily stepped over the now knee-high structure and entered the ruin proper. What was left of a foundation stretched out for maybe ten meters , the old stones falling prey to vines, moss, and the elements. The ruined wall surrounded perhaps half the structure, with missing parts marking entrances or where time took its tool. Looking around, Cole guessed this ruin was Late Imperial in nature, probably destroyed in the madness of the Bloody Centuries. While Cole lacked any proper training in history and archaeology, he¡¯d spent enough time around tombs and ruins to pick up a solid base of knowledge. As he continued his examination, Cole''s sense of being watched never abated. Something was here, and he would need to draw it out and destroy it. Moving towards the center of the ruin, Cole¡¯s foot brushed against something. What he¡¯d taken to be mottled moss and stone was, in fact, a large tarpaulin. Covered in stray leaves and dirt, the canvas sheet covered something in the center of the ruin. Grabbing it, Cole tugged the tarpaulin and located the four pitons anchoring it to the stone. Cutting the canvas free, Cole pulled the tarp off the stone and found what he¡¯d been expecting. A faded but still discernible symbol had been painted onto the ruin¡¯s floor. Roughly circular in shape, the symbol was strange and flowing, roughly two meters in diameter. Its pattern looked like curling serpents woven together in a strange overlapping appearance. Smaller, more intricate glyphs marked wherever the ¡°serpents¡± overlapped. Each thick line of the symbol was traced with charcoal and then filled with a brown-looking pigment. Cole recognized the pigment as the residue of long dried blood, something he was unfortunatly familar with. The symbol itself was not one Cole recognized, but the location, use of blood, and its style told him all he needed to know. This was a ritual site, where someone relatively recently practiced Necromancy. By the shape of the symbol, Cole guessed this was indeed a binding rite. Something meant to attract the attention of an existing Undead and then force its subservience. While he¡¯d expected a rite of reanimation, this was still a promising lead. Setting down his pack, Cole fished out a piece of paper and pencil he¡¯d bought from a merchant in Glockmire. While no artist, Cole could still copy the symbol with some accuracy. Except he intentionally left the circular edge of his drawing unfinished. While Cole doubted his crude recreation would have any of the original''s arcane power, tempting fate when it came to Black Magic was never a good idea. With his sketch back in his pack, Cole gathered up what he¡¯d need for what was to come. A few sticks of incense, some salt, and a bell. An odd collection of items, but one¡¯s that would be crucial in luring and dispatching a Wraith. Lengthening his halberd to short spear proportions, Cole got to work. It was still the middle of the day, and the Sun cast short shadows on the ruins. That made things both harder and easier. No type of Undead enjoys the Sun. This is especially true of Wraiths. Lacking a body of any kind, spectral Undead fared poorly in Sunlight. So if Cole could lure it out, then dealing with the Wraith would be easier, but getting it to face him in the first place would be difficult. A vague but ever-present feeling of being watched, accompanied by an instinctual sense of dread, were some of the most basic signs of a Wraith. The mind, body, and soul of a living being react instinctively to something that should not be. A soul without a body. Unlike Ghouls and Rattlers with clear origins in unconsecrated corpses and magic-tainted bones, Wraiths lack a unified origin. While, by definition, they are souls that refuse to pass on and instead haunt the world, the reason for why they would not pass on varies. Sometimes a person chooses to not enter Master Time¡¯s halls out of a skewed sense of responsibility to the living. More commonly a soul refused to pass on out of fear of inevitable judgment. No matter the reason, existing without flesh quickly wears down sanity, creating a distorted parody of the original person with frightening abilities. Coaxing a Wraith out in the day would be difficult so Cole was going to get its attention then its anger. Cole started by wandering around the ruin, scattering salt and checking for any bones that might still be nearby. While he doubted nature nor the Feeder would let any remains lie still, Cole wanted to check. Having access to the body of a Wraith (or part of it at least) would give Cole other options. His search proved fruitless and Cole finished scattering salt across the stone floor. Keeping a handful of the crystalline dust for himself, Cole returned to his pack and started the next step in angering the Wraith. Setting out the incense, Cole lit the four sticks and let the pungent aroma wash over the ruin. The type he¡¯d purchased was usually only used in religious ceremonies. The overwhelming smell and the surprising amount of smoke produced made the incense good for little else. Soon clouds of thin smoke filled the ruin, and Cole knew he was nearly done. The faint pressure the Wraith had been exerting on his mind had bloomed into something massive. No longer was it a vague sense of being watched but now a visceral feeling of murderous hatred. Cole expected and hoped for this reaction. Picking up the bell, Cole started to ring it softly and pray. A slow funeral cant he¡¯d learned years ago. This, combined with the salt and incense, would begin the processes of consecrating this ruin. Changing its reflection in the Aether into something the Gods held dominion over. While he could do a ¡°quick and dirty¡± version of this through blood magic and his divine boons, his goal was not truly to consecrate these broken stones. All Cole wished to do was force the Wraith to act. Which it most certainly would. Cole was doing the equivalent of entering a Bears den and dumping a mix of lye and shit right in front of the beast. Worse than a territorial challenge or insult, this was a direct attack on the Wraith and its ¡°home.¡± Before Cole could start the prayer¡¯s second verse, he felt the temperature around him drop rapidly. Frozen breaths joined the incense in the now chilled air. Cole dropped the bell with an ugly clank and held out his halberd. Slowly rotating, Cole kept his senses peeled for his enemy. That proved to be unnecessary as a gods-awful shriek cut through the air. It came from every direction and no direction, filling the ruin with a near-deafening wail. Sounding like a mixture of tearing metal and a child being tortured. It was so loud Cole could feel it in his teeth. Shaking his head, Cole responded with his own challenge, ¡°MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!¡± His bellowed words echoed on the stone, and the shriek faded. Movement caught Coles''s attention, and he barely turned to see a figure standing in the smoke, only two meters away was a dark gap in the incense. An absence unfilled by curling smoke, forming the rough image of a person. It was little more than arms, legs, a torso, and a head without detail. Just a faint dark patch of air marked chiefly by where the smoke touched it. Seeing it, Cole spoke again. ¡°I am a Servant of Master Time. Sent here to lay you to rest, Lost Soul. I do not know what suffering has driven you to this state, but I am here to end it. The judgment of his Halls will be fair, and I ask you to submit to it willingly.¡± The Wraith didn¡¯t move or respond in any way. So Cole continued this time in a more gentle tone. ¡°It is normal to fear what comes next. But surely it must hurt to exist as you do? Let me help you move on.¡± Cole barely finished speaking when the Wraith charged him, or more accurately, ¡®flowed¡¯ toward him. Not moving its limbs; instead, it simply pushed through the smoke with terrible quickness. It was upon Cole in a moment, and only then did it move its limbs. Shadowy arms shot out and touched Cole, spreading a bitter, bitter chill. Phantom fingers touched Cole¡¯s chest and left burning cold where they went. Despite what it felt like, frostbite was not ripping into Cole. This was an attack on his soul, not his body. The Wraith was reaching into his being and trying to rip his essence from him. This was why Cole hadn¡¯t let Natalie accompany him. Wraiths rarely attacked in mundane ways. Instead, striking the mind and soul of their victim. Cole hadn¡¯t known exactly what this Wraith would do, but he¡¯d not wanted to risk Natalie¡¯s sanity in facing it. The cold of the grave accompanied by the wails of a tortured spirit would be enough to put most people into shock. Letting their guard drop, giving the Wraith the moment it needed to rip their very soul apart, leaving a Corpse that showed no apparent cause of death other than the fear on its face. Whatever was left of this Wraith''s mind cleary expected this to happen, that the pain and fright it inflicted would give it an opening into its attackers being. So when Cole swung his halberd into the Wraiths side, it exploded backward in a confused shriek. Pearlescent fluid splattered onto the stone before quickly evaporating into thick fog, Ectoplasm leaking out of the Wraith¡¯s shadowy form. Not letting the Wraith recover, Cole lunged forward with his halberd cutting through one of the restless Spirits'' arms. The severed arm dissipated into a white fog, and the Wraith let out another howl, this one of pain. Frantically the Wraith charged Cole again, its remaining arm outstretched and warping into a shadowy claw. With contemptuous ease, Cole batted the limb away with his halberd and went for the re-killing blow. Cole drove the halberd into the Wraiths torso and ripped up. Letting the Wraith fall apart into a bloom of ectoplasm. Cole bowed his head and spoke. ¡°May you find peace in the next life.¡± One of the most dangerous facets of dealing with Wraiths is their incorporeal nature. As their soul congeals into something rotten, Wraiths aren¡¯t bound by most natural laws. Existing predominantly in the Aether, only partially entering the material world in an envelope of Ectoplasm. Capable of phasing through walls and unbothered by steel weapons, destroying a Wraith requires magical intervention. A fact Master Time, as the God of Death, accounted for when investing a bit of his power into a Paladin. Just as Cole could look into the eyes of a corpse and see flickers of their last moments, he could touch Wraiths as if they were made of normal matter. In the bright sunlight and under the withering assault of Cole¡¯s halberd, the Wraith was destroyed. Its vessel of ectoplasm burst, and its essence damaged, the Wraith dissipated into the Beyond where it might face Master Time. While he didn¡¯t know for certain, Cole guessed the Wraith was a Shade. The result of a soul stuck in the material plane for a very long time without any sort of anchor. Its mind deteriorated to the point nothing of the person remained. Leaving a putrefied soul in extreme pain and unable to comprehend the world around it. Bitterly Cole thought that even if that soul was consigned to the Infinite Hells, that would be more merciful than whatever unlife he¡¯d just ended. Rolling his shoulders Cole decided Philosophy and Theology could wait, his sense of being watched remained. Slowly turning in a circle Cole restarted his scan of the ruin around him. In the smoke, he spotted perhaps a dozen more Shades floating at the edges of the ruin. Cole had expected this. A single Shade was not worth the effort to bind, but a group of them? That would be something the Feeder might be interested in. Looking at the voids in the smoke where indistinct shadows floated, Cole repeated his plea. ¡°Please, let me release you peacefully. Damaging your Ectoplasm could damage your very soul. Allow me to help you in a way that won¡¯t hurt.¡± This was part of what made fighting Wraiths so unpleasant. A soul shredded through force might not reconstitute correctly in the Beyond. Bits of the spirit could be lost to the Beyond¡¯s infinite expanse. That is, if it didn¡¯t just dissipate away into nothingness entirely. The Shades didn¡¯t respond, just staring at Cole with those murky false faces. Raising his halberd up in a guard stance, Cole grit his teeth in frustration. He hoped he could reach whatever scraps of sapience might hide in the Shades, but he knew it was unlikely. They were each a morass of jumbled memories, instincts, and feelings, who saw him or any other soul-bearing creature as something to attack and destroy. Confirming Cole¡¯s fears, the Shades erupted forward. A dozen different shadowy forms stretched in inhuman proportions as they attacked. Arms and hands lengthening into talons. Legs faded into a wispy afterthought while shadow-covered faces contorted in a scream. The horrible shriek from before accompanied the attack. This time multiplied in intensity to mind-shattering volumes. The scream was not a sound pulled from tortured throats. Instead, it was a grating attack on the very soul. The Shades influence on the surrounding Aether interrupted by Cole¡¯s mind. Experience, his unusual nature, and Master Time¡¯s boons inured Cole to such attacks. Swinging his halberd in a great arc, Cole struck one Shade right through the head and another in the torso. Even as they faded into unchained ectoplasm, they reached out for Cole. Hints of their grave-cold touching him. This was something else Cole paid no mind to. He served the God of Death, Time, and Entropy. The chill of death was something he knew well. With the first two dissipated, Cole leaped towards another. Ramming the spear-tip of his weapon through its body and ripping the halberd to his right. The impaled and fading Wraith smashed into one of its kin Cole now cleaved into. Both melted into clouds of Ectoplasm, and Cole tried not to wince in annoyance. He didn¡¯t think mixing two Shades as they were destroyed would be good for their souls. While he may be fighting for his life, he still needed to remember his duties and not let this melee turn into something worse than it had to be. With the original one destroyed and four more fallen to his blade, only eight Shades remained for Cole to face. They¡¯d been buffeted back by his attack. Circling him with that strange unnatural movement of most Wraiths. While they had a numerical advantage, Cole¡¯s aggression and resistance to their attacks kept them at bay. Cole wouldn¡¯t let them regroup, tortured broken souls as these were, they were still dangerous, capable of surrounding him and tearing his soul apart. Something Cole was not sure even he could survive. Charging forward, Cole tried to strike one of the closer Shades. It flitted backward, leaving a trail of empty air in the smoke-filled ruin. Another Shade tried to take advantage and lept towards Cole¡¯s back. Whirling around, Cole shot out his free right hand and tried something stupid. Cole gripped the Shade with his bare hand, something impossible to a mundane warrior. This proved to be a mistake. The Shade was a soul, the essence of a person, stretched out of the Aether and into a facet of reality never meant to hold it. Bitterly cold to the touch, it felt like Cole had thrust his hand into glacial water. But that supernatural chill was the least of it, flickers of memories pulsed against Cole¡¯s mind.

* The deep ache of overtaxed muscles accompanied by the ugly pang of hunger* * The bitter sting of a slaver¡¯s lash and the scream of pain accompanying it.* * Lungs burning with exertion as animal panic fills an innocent mind * * A group of youths hiding in an abandoned Imperial villa* * Choking smoke and burning fire as thirteen people try to break open a sealed door *

Smashing the Shade¡¯s head, Cole let it dissipate and tried not to vomit. The jumbled memories told a story, one he could decipher later. For now, he needed to end this. Seven Shades remained, and every second they existed was another second they¡¯d been failed. The sixth fell to a cut from its shoulder to hip. The fifth broke apart when the flat of the halberd slammed into it. Numbers four and three were cleaved in a single blow. While the second Wraith was run through. Leaving a single thrashing Shade attempting to grip onto Cole. He didn¡¯t let it get close, moving back slightly to whisper a few words. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, lost soul. Let this pain end, and may your next life be something beautiful.¡± Cole struck the Shade cleanly and let it dissipate into nothingness. Leaving Cole alone in the ruin. After a few minutes of silence, Cole moved over to the ritual symbol painted on the stone. Lifting up his halberd Cole struck the dried blood and charcoal. Screaming in rage as he did. Cole struck and struck again, hacking into the old stone with reckless abandon. He did this until nothing of the symbol was recognizable. Cold sweat dripped down Cole¡¯s face and his arms burned from the exertion. The axe-head of his halberd was blunted and chipped as well. Swearing under his breath and annoyed with himself, Cole nicked his arm with a sharp part of the weapon and had it reform into a hand-axe. The transformation fixed the blade but required a fair amount of blood. Partially to power the more complicated spell, partially to provide material for the repair. Slumping down on his knees, Cole set the axe next to him and gritted his teeth in anger. While he didn¡¯t know for certain and doubted he would ever. It seemed the Feeder found the Shades of centuries-old escaped slaves and bound them to its will. These souls were the product of terrible tragedy. Little more than children, they¡¯d escaped bondage only to die in a fire. Leaving behind Wraiths so terrified of what came next, they devolved into Shades. Haunting where they died for centuries as their minds devolved. This was a tragedy never to be recorded in any tome of history. Only remembered by the tortured Wraiths who lived it. The Feeder found this tragedy and saw it as an opportunity to gain a weapon. That fact made Cole hate the Feeder. Before, he¡¯d loathed this being, who perverted the unquiet dead for some twisted purpose. Now Cole hated this enemy. Perhaps not with the same choler as Natalie, but he still felt a deep, freezing cold hatred for whatever being could see this pain and repurpose it to hurt others. Slowly getting back to his feet, Cole recollected himself. He spent a few minutes praying, combining a Saint-Speech Funeral chant with his pleas that these lost souls find peace. As Cole finished, he felt a familiar chill brush against his soul. A cold that didn¡¯t burn but instead soothed away the pain. With its touch came an impression of a number. *Seven* Master Time answered his prayer with the honesty you¡¯d expect from the God of Death. Seven of the thirteen could be reincarnated. The other six had been too far damaged. Their souls were mutilated, unstable things that even a God couldn¡¯t heal properly. Master Time and his Seraphs would ensure those poor broken souls faded into nothingness peacefully. Something that was little comfort to Cole. For a moment, he felt a surge of regret and self-loathing. If he¡¯d done this better, maybe more of them ¡­ no, he couldn¡¯t go down that path of thought. Reflecting on one¡¯s mistakes could too easily become hating yourself for failing. Cole just needed to do better and save as many souls as he could. Chapter 12.5: Cruel Smiles

Chapter 24: Cruel Smiles

¡°We lost four more fresh boys today. Don¡¯t matter what we tell them. Dumb village jaggers need to see it to believe it. Well those who survived the attack know now. Not all Ghouls are stupid shambling things. Some are fast and mildly clever. Evil jagging things. Nothing should kill with a smile, not even an Undead.¡± - Note from Vulch, of the Crow Pickers.
It hadn¡¯t taken much effort for Dietrich to pry something useful out of the Direbat¡¯s corpses. As Dietrich ordered, the Hibernaculum Tenders collected the ruined brood, leaving Dietrich with a mess of mutilated bat carcasses. The Scarlet Knight¡¯s initial efforts to learn who¡¯d controlled the Direbats failed. Whatever binding put on them were erased when they died. But that did not end this trail of investigation. Using Necromancy, Dietrich breathed unlife into one of the more intact Direbats. Reanimating the fresh corpse into a twitching unsteady flesh puppet. True rot hadn¡¯t taken this creature, and that presented an opportunity. Dietrich commanded the Direbat to return to the last place it¡¯d been ordered to. Taking to the air on ragged wings, the Direbat flew off into the night sky. Dietrich assumed his wolf form and followed the Direbat. Despite lacking the advantage of flight Dietrich could keep up with the Direbat. Complicated actions like flight were not easy for risen corpses. Even an Undead creature whose existence revolved around flight struggled to keep aloft. This was partly why most Courts of Vampires bothered with living minions like Direbats. Sometimes it was easier to subvert a mortal''s mind rather than puppeteer its corpse. Still, it didn¡¯t take long for the Direbat to guide Dietrich to his goal. Lupine speed combined with Vampiric endurance made travel easy. The Direbat took him east, deeper into the mountains, entering a dip between two peaks, a craggy stretch of boulders, frost, and stunted grass. The Direbat ended its meandering flight at the bottom of this mountain notch. Flopping itself onto a boulder pressed up against one of the mountain slopes. It lay there waiting for its next command while Dietrich inspected the area. The first thing apparent was this boulder had been moved relatively recently. Scrapes marked the ground and rock face where the boulder had been dragged As Dietrich got closer, it also became clear the boulder blocked an entrance. Preventing passage into a natural cave created by eons of rainwater flowing down into this shallow valley. Eyeing the edges of the boulder, Dietrich saw numerous small gaps, large enough for a Direbat to slip through easily. One of those gaps caught Dietrich¡¯s attention, something was sticking out of it. Approaching the boulder, Dietirch¡¯s armored boot crunched against a patch of snow, and the thing sticking through the gap twitched. It was a hand, an emaciated and ruined human hand, that reached out with worn fingers towards the sound. Dietrich didn¡¯t need to breathe in the cloying scent that surrounded the cave to know what awaited him. This was a Ghoul someone locked away. Dietrich just discovered a ¡°cache¡± of undead prepared by his unknown adversary. Unsheathing his oversized sword, Dietrich approached the boulder. He gripped the cold stone with a single gauntleted hand and sunk his fingers into the rock. It cracked under his grip and gave the Vampire a solid hold on the boulder. Undead muscles bulged with black blood, as Dietrich ripped the boulder free with ease. He cast the Ogre-sized rock to his left like so much debris and faced the opened cave. A mass of hungry corpses surged toward him. The cave was filled with an obscene number of Ghouls, who now streamed out like ants stirred from their nest. Dozens of arms reached out towards Dietrich, grasping for his cold flesh with undead hunger. Alone and away from the castle, Dietrich smiled and made a contented growl, it had been three years since he¡¯d truly fought. Even then, during the breech, he¡¯d been weighed down with concerns over managing the town''s security. Now he had an enemy before him and no reason not to indulge. Dietrich met the Ghouls, charging them with his executioner sword held high above him. He swung the brutal weapon down, its sharp edge ripping through a ghoul and sinking half a hand-span into the stone ground. Dietrich then pulled up, sending a shower of pebbles moving fast enough to draw blood from the Ghouls. Spinning his sword in a great circular arc, Dietrich butchered half a dozen Ghouls with a single cut. The weight and momentum of his blade doing as much damage as its killing edge. Dietrich tore through the horde, using his sword, hands, and feet to batter and break corpses by the dozen. Ghouls lunged at him, half-rotten arms wrapping around Dietrich; he paid them little mind as ten different Ghouls tried to latch onto him. The Scarlet Knight swept through the bodies with ease, tearing them apart and leaving a wake of rotten blood and spoiled gore. Skeletal hands tried vainly to claw at solid plate armor, and rictus-taught jaws failed to puncture the underlying mail. In the face of a Vampire warrior with a century and a half of battle experience, the Ghouls posed no threat. Normally that would stifle Dietrich¡¯s enjoyment. There was no sport to this, only crude slaughter. But after so long learning the delicate political games of his kindred and feeling blindsided by this new threat, it felt wonderful to simply do what Dietrich was meant to do. Destroy and butcher anything and anyone who got in his way. Soon Dietrich stood alone, surrounded by a lake of ruined bodies. His armor, weapon, and exposed face were covered in congealed blood. It was hard to tell now, but Dietrich estimated at least two hundred Ghouls were once crammed into this small cave. They were so packed together that the Ghouls had rubbed against the rock walls and smeared them with their rotten skin. Dietrich was also fairly certain these had been Grinning Ghouls. An unpleasant type of Undead, far more dangerous than any common Ghoul. Capable of running and attacking with surprising ferocity, Grinning Ghouls were animated corpses enhanced by thick miasma. The Necromantic pollution in the Aether pushes these Ghouls to be stronger and faster than normal. A Grinning Ghoul could be incredibly lethal to a common peasant or even a foot soldier. Unleashing two hundred of them on a civilian population would be cataclysmic, with every victim rising as a new Ghoul empowered by the miasma created by painful deaths. Checking to see if his initial assessment was accurate. Dietrich rolled over a reasonably intact corpse and looked at the Ghoul''s face. Its facial muscles were pulled taught in a rictus that earned these Undead their name. Delving deeper into the cave, Dietrich deciphered more of the puzzle. Grinners fell apart quickly. Their dead muscles become overtaxed and are unable to repair themselves. So the ¡®Feeder¡¯ shoved them into what amounted to ¡®cold storage¡¯ up here in the mountains. Where the packed confines and cool rock would keep them fresh. The only remaining question is, how did someone manage to lure such a large number of Grinners up here and keep them occupied long enough to seal the cave shut? Dietrich got his answer when he reached the end of the cave. On the far wall of the dark cavern was an intricate sigil scratched into the stone. Here away from the light of the moon and stars, Dietrich needed to magically enhance his sight to see what had been carved onto the wall. Eyes glowing red with blood magic, Dietrich examined the carving. Even worn by scratching corpses, the pattern of a necromantic ritual mark was clear. Dredging up his lessons on ritual work, Dietrich tried to decipher the purpose of the symbol. As a Wyrmoi Vampire and Knight of Duke Drakovich, Dietrich¡¯s talents did not lie in complicated acts of necromancy or other magic. His skills were more straightforward, focusing on dominating and controlling the world around him, through sheer force of muscle, mind, or minions. Tricky ritual work like this, stunk of a Strix, one of the other breeds of Vampire. Still, Dietrich was educated on the basics of this type of magic and could partially understand what had been done here. Someone created a spiritual stain in the Aether. A mark of concentrated miasma that sucked in the ambient magical discharges created by strong negative emotions. This ritual was designed to feed on loss and suffering, creating a nexus of miasma in this remote location. Perfect to lure in Ghouls and turn them into Grinners. After the plague, wandering Ghouls were not uncommon in these parts. This was an arcane mechanism designed to collect and empower them. As long as someone maintained and fed this spell it would keep gathering Ghouls. Which it had until someone decided they had enough, and shut the cavern. Trapping the transformed Grinning Ghouls until they might be needed. As he finished his examination Dietrich spotted something. Lodged in the corner of one carved run was a little piece of black glass. Smiling, Dietrich grabbed the chip of the material and left the cave. In the (relatively) bright light of the moon, Dietrich could see he held a shard of obsidian. Like the type often used to make an Athame, or ritual knife. Tucking the shard into a pouch on his belt, Dietrich couldn¡¯t help but smile. He knew of only one Vampire of his court who used an obsidian Athame. By the time the night was out he¡¯d have a confession or a cask of ashes for his Lord. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Natalie sat and stared at the box. With Cole off chasing Ghosts, Natalie decided to do something she¡¯d been putting off for a while. Examine the inheritance her mother never told her about. While Natalie had known about the box her parents kept in the false bottom of their dresser, she¡¯d never bothered to look inside. Her parents had assuaged her curiosity by saying it contained the Silly Goat¡¯s deed and other important paperwork. For some reason, the normally rambunctious Natalie had never bothered to investigate further. The reason became clear as Natalie looked down at the box. Etched into its lid was a sigil, an arcane symbol designed to attach a spell to the box. At the center of the sigil was a fleck of red, a very small piece of ruby anchored at the heart of the symbol. Natalie had never noticed the gemstone or paid much attention to the symbol before. Her eyes had slid off it, and her mind dismissed it as decoration. As she forced herself to stare at the box, it became clear that was the symbol''s purpose. Cole once mentioned something like this before. Magic designed to hide objects, making it hard for someone to find the enchanted item unless they are actively focused on it. Tracing her hand on the box lid, Natalie continued to force her eyes to look at the symbol, trying to become used to its odd effect. Her fingers brushed the ruby, and Natalie pulled back her hand in sudden surprise. It was cold to the touch and crackled with energy, zapping her finger as a wooly blanket rubbed on carpet might. Natalie was far more shocked than hurt as she shook her fingers in confusion. Deciding she needed to ask Cole more about enchantments when he got back, Natalie opened up the box. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw the wealth of coins and jewels sitting before her. Hundreds of gold and silver pieces. Dozens of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires poked through the coins. Natalie snapped the lid shut, stood up, and backed away from the box. After taking a deep breath, she sat down and opened the box again. The contents hadn¡¯t changed. It was still a trove of wealth. Looking at the treasure, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but laugh. She¡¯d imagined her nest egg as maybe a dozen gold and perhaps a weight of silver and bronze. Not a veritable fortune. This wasn¡¯t a nest egg unless that nest belonged to a Dragon! The amount of money she was looking at was enough to buy the Silly Goat ten times over. Natalie had to seriously reevaluate her plans. While having this fortune would certainly make creating a new life somewhere else easier, it also presented myriad new dangers. For example, getting it somewhere safe and not having it stolen would be a serious issue. People killed for far less gold than what she found herself in possession of. Barnabas had filled her head as a youth with stories of bandits, con-artists, and disreputable merchants. A young woman trying to create a new life with such a treasure would be an ideal target. That line of thought brought Natalie to a startling realization. Her mother had done exactly what she was now considering. Traveling by herself from a distant land to start a new life, while carrying this small fortune. That idea was both comforting and daunting to Natalie. If her mother had done it, then maybe she could as well. But considering what had ultimately happened to Natalie¡¯s mother and that she never discussed her past, the comparison was also worrying. Natalie reached up to the hair clip she almost always wore. Taking it out of her hair, Natalie let her dark locks flow free as she examined the little piece of silver. The outer clip of the barrette was shaped like a bird in flight seen from a profile view. The bird was worn, and Natalie couldn¡¯t tell what type of bird it was supposed to represent. Something else her mother had never properly answered when asked. Absently Natalie unfolded the barrette and flipped open the short stiletto blade hidden inside. Natalie stared at her reflection in the blade, pondering what she was supposed to do. Eventually, Natalie shut the box and returned it to its hiding place. A pang of grief rippled through her, but Natalie quickly shut it away. She had so many things she wished she could ask her mother. Now she doubted she¡¯d ever get answers to her questions. Letting out a deep breath, Natalie returned to her room and grabbed a few pieces of paper she¡¯d gathered to write on. It would be good to distract herself from the worries about the box and her mother. Looking at the paper, Natalie just had to snort in amusement at the ridiculousness of that thought. To deal with the grief and confusion surrounding her mother¡¯s death, Natalie would focus on avenging her mother''s death. Natalie spent about an hour scratching out words onto the paper. Trying to document and organize every last tidbit she¡¯d scrounged up about undead, monsters, and mysteries in the area. Over the years, Natalie gathered a truly ridiculous amount of information about her town. Something that almost earned her a reputation as a gossip. Natalie had learned the hard way that being able to casually list the schedules, drinking habits, and personal indiscretions of people she barely knew wasn¡¯t something that endeared her to most folk. It wasn¡¯t like she tried to memorize or spy on people. They just talked in the tavern where she lived and worked, then she remembered what they talked about. While rationally, she could now understand that her talent was abnormal and that people value their privacy. As a teenager, Natalie had spent many a time angsting over why people loudly proclaimed facts about themselves, then became distressed when she knew those facts months down the line. By the time she finished, Natalie had a list of maybe seven different locations Cole might want to investigate. There were, of course, more possibilities. Shepherds and the like loved to tell tales. But these seven seemed the best bets. After that, Natalie pulled herself from her room and got to work down in the Silly Goat. The evening was coming, and with it, customers. It felt good for Natalie to just slip back into the old role of barmaid as the day burned into the night. Balancing plates and cups, taking orders, and generally managing the organized chaos of a drinking establishment. While her father seemed subdued all day, he perked up seeing her get into the old patterns. There was a bittersweetness to it for both father and daughter. They both knew Natalie would be leaving Glockmire in a few months and would probably never return. So having little moments like this where they fell into well-worn routines had a specialness it hadn¡¯t before. The night wore on, and Natalie flitted between tables, making small talk and taking orders. Around eight in the evening, the Tavern had really gotten busy, and Natalie was putting her skills to the test in moving dishes and cups to and from the bar. While carrying a particularly heavy load of dirty plates, Natalie saw something out of the corner of her eye that startled her enough to nearly drop them. A face she didn¡¯t recognize. Sitting alone in the back corner of the inn was a well-dressed woman sitting by herself, enjoying a glass of wine. Natalie knew every common patron of the Silly Goat by name and could recognize a shocking percentage of Glockmires population by face. So having someone enter the tavern without her recognizing them or even noticing they¡¯d arrived was extremely abnormal. After depositing her load of dishes in the kitchen, Natalie returned to the stranger to take her order. Now getting closer, Natalie could get a good look at the stranger. Dark of hair with lightly tanned skin, the stranger was gorgeous. She had sharp aristocratic features complemented by a curvaceous body and a palpable air of confidence. Sitting lazily in her seat, the stranger sipped a deep red wine from a glass and watched the tavern around them. The stranger''s dress was sleek and fashionable, the type of garment tailors labored over with passion. Not at all like the utilitarian if colorful garbs of Glockmire¡¯s people. Natalie decided this newcomer must be a stranger to the town, which, while rare, was not unheard of. Something Cole himself proved. But what really made Natalie wonder was where the woman had gotten the wine? Natalie hadn¡¯t served it to her, so where in the Infinite Hells did she get it? Approaching the table, Natalie put on her best service smile and asked. ¡°Hello, Miss! Can I get you anything else!¡± The stranger focused her attention on Natalie. Giving her a cool appraising look that quickly melted into a thin lipped smile. ¡°Ah no, I am fine for now. But if I finish my drink I¡¯ll call for you.¡± Despite the polite tone, the stranger''s words dripped with a type of arrogance that made Natalie¡¯s neck hairs stand up straight. Gritting her teeth in sudden annoyance, Natalie nodded and started to leave, only to be interrupted by the stranger calling after her. ¡°Oh, Barmaid, I have a question?¡± Turning back to face the profoundly arrogant woman, Natalie adopted the polite consoling body language she saved for drunken customers. ¡°And what might that be, Miss?¡± Absently the stranger swirled her drink and asked. ¡°I hear a Rest-Bringer of Master Time is staying in this¡­ establishment. Bring him to me, would you?¡± This was proving to be a new and profoundly unpleasant experience for Natalie. She¡¯d dealt with rude customers, drunk customers, amorous customers, and one or two who were just plain mad. But never anyone with this level of arrogant contempt. So it brought Natalie a bit of spiteful joy to have a legitimate reason to refuse what was clearly meant to be an order. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Miss. He is not currently here.¡± The stranger made a huff of annoyance and leaned back in her chair. Taking a sip of her wine before speaking. ¡°Well, when he returns, bring him to me. We have matters to discuss.¡± Wary now, Natalie decided more information would be useful. ¡°And who might I tell him is calling upon him?¡± The stranger licked a bit of wine from her lips as she spoke, and Natalie froze as she got her answer. ¡°Tell him, Dame Lorena Sartori wishes for his company.¡± Natalie almost didn¡¯t hear the answer as she was too focused on the stranger''s mouth. Where she saw long glistening fangs in between lips dyed red by what Natalie now realized wasn¡¯t wine. A vampire had come to the Silly Goat and had both Cole and Natalie in her sights. The Dame noticed she¡¯d been revealed and smiled broadly. Her sharp fangs were on display, a subtle threat for Natalie alone. Swishing the glass of blood she¡¯d brought with her, Lorena spoke. This time with a coy playfulness that didn¡¯t suit the situation at all. ¡°Now, let''s hope this Rest-Bringer does not keep me waiting for long. Or I might be forced to take up your offer to refill my glass.¡± Chapter 13- Doors and Windows

Chapter 25: Doors and Windows

¡°Later, Homunculi were completely artificial but functional bodies. Created through complicated magical and alchemical means. While not truly people, these bodies had myriad uses for Mages with little scruples. Some dramatic, like acting as replacement bodies for powerful Necromancers. Others were more mundane, like being used as subjects for grisly experiments. Yet, the lack of a soul made it so no Homunculus was ever truly ¡°alive¡±.. A potential solution to this was found by grafting existing souls to a Homunculus body. A process that ultimately failed. Instead, producing universally insane creatures whose body and soul deteriorated to uselessness.¡± - Excerpt from the text, ¡° Alchemical Abominations ¡± authored by Aureolus Bombastus, Master Alchemist of the Salted Citadel.
Natalie sat across from the Vampire. She¡¯d been commanded to sit and wait for Cole with the monster and saw no other option than following its orders. Her back ramrod straight, with hands balled into fists, Natalie didn¡¯t take her eyes off the creature across from her. With effort, Natalie suppressed the shivers of fear that went through her and tried to face the Vampire with dignity. Dame Lorena, for her part, still sat casually at the table, her attractive form coiled in her chair like a large predator content between meals. Sipping her ¡°drink¡± casually, Lorena looked at Natalie with amused eyes. Setting her glass down, Lorena leaned over the table in what might have been a seductive posture in anybody other than an undead predator. ¡°It''s smart of you to not cause an incident. Stirring up fear in your fellow¡­ townsfolk is not something the Court views favorably.¡± Natalie got the distinct impression that Lorena wanted to use a word other than Townsfolk, but stopped herself. Not reacting to the Vampire¡¯s words, Natalie stayed still as Lorena spoke. ¡°But trying to hide your fear is pointless. I can hear your pulse quickening and feel the air stir with your panicked breaths. I can smell your sweat and taste the panic in it. You are afraid, and you should be. Nothing you do will change that fact. So be a good girl and sit still while we wait.¡± The Vampire''s words stung Natalie and brought another emotion forward. A spike of anger erupted, and Natalie spoke. ¡°My name is Natalie, not barmaid.¡± Lorena got very still then, unnaturally so. No breaths or muscle twitches disturbed her deadly stillness. The Vampire seemed more like a statue than anything remotely alive for a second. Then Lorena smiled; it was a false thing, as sweet as spoiled berries and just as sickly. ¡°I¡¯ll call you whatever I damn well please mortal. Now shut your mouth before I reach into that pretty little mind of yours and take the ability to speak from you.¡± The color drained from Natalie¡¯s face. She¡¯d heard of things like that, magic that could break a person''s mind with a glance. Something terrible and forbidden by the Pantheon, so of course, it was a dark art practiced by Vampires and other monsters. Gritting her teeth, Natalie did as she was told and felt a pang of envy for those with magical skills. A silver tongue and clever wit had taken her far in life, but now they were useless in the face of her current threat. An hour or so passed, with Natalie never taking her eyes off the Vampire. The matters of the tavern continued without Natalie''s aid, and she didn¡¯t know if she should feel pleased or hurt that no one came to her aid. Eventually, by nine o''clock, the Silly Goat¡¯s doors opened, and Natalie knew by the hush that fell over the room who was in the doorway. She didn¡¯t even turn her head as Cole spoke to the tavern at large. ¡°The ruins in the north forest were haunted by a pack of Wraiths. They have been put to rest. Lost sheep should be more easily recovered in that area.¡± Silence filled the bar for a few moments before Sandu, the heavy-set tradesmen, barked out. ¡°Well, that''s good to hear! One less excuse the Shepherds have. The lazy bastards!¡± Those words were met with a mix of jeers and laughs. Good-natured ribbing between townsfolk started up, and the Tavern returned to normal. Natalie finally turned around and spotted Cole. He looked much better than she expected. This hunt had apparently gone well. Wrapped in a deep black cloak and standing tall with quiet confidence, he struck an imposing sight. Cole was scanning the tavern with a neutral expression on his face. Silently Natalie pleaded for him to spot her. He did, and Cole¡¯s face broke into a smile that died as quickly as it came. The look of panic that Natalie had been hiding was now displayed for him. Setting his jaw, Cole looked from Natalie to her ¡°companion.¡± Natalie saw his eyes widen in recognition and shock, his hand shooting to the axe slung at his waist. Frantically Natalie jerked her head in the negative. If this got violent, they couldn¡¯t have it happen in the middle of a busy tavern. Cole understood her gesture and nodded in kind. Quickly moving to the table, Cole flicked his eyes between the two women waiting for him. As he arrived, the Vampire smiled and gestured for Cole to sit. He ignored her and simply stepped to the side of the table, subtly putting himself between Lorena and Natalie. A kind gesture that Natalie doubted would be ultimately helpful. If the Vampire wanted to kill them, she doubted there was much Cole could do to stop it. In a deeper voice with more growl than normal, Cole addressed the Vampire. ¡°Dame Lorena, what business do you have here?¡± Lorena smiled at that and drawled. ¡°The intimate kind dear Rest-Bringer. The kind the help shouldn¡¯t be privy to. So be a good boy and find us a place to talk in private.¡± Cole nodded slightly and answered. ¡°My room upstairs should prove useful. Is that acceptable to you?¡± The Vampress smiled, her fangs on terrible display. ¡°My, you are a bold one, Rest-Bringer. To invite a lady to your chambers on your second meeting. Such confidence must be rewarded.¡± She rose from her chair with a sinuous grace Natalie normally associated with dancers. But in Lorena, it seemed distinctly predatory. Putting out a single hand for Cole to take, Lorena let herself be led away as if she was joining a suitor for a dance. As they approached the staircase, Cole shot Natalie a frantic look. Not filled with fear for himself like Natalie almost expected, but instead terror for her and the Inns patrons. Natalie nodded in response to his look and got up from her seat. Quickly and quietly, she pushed through patrons and headed for the bar, ignoring the stiffness in her muscles, a product of her tense wait. Natalie found her father. The dark-haired man was busy pouring drinks and looked up to see her with a mixture of annoyance and confusion. ¡°Natty, where have you been? I know you are leaving soon, but it''s not alright to leave-¡± Natalie cut him off quickly. Slipping over, she grabbed his free arm and whispered into his ear. ¡°A Vampire is in the Inn. Cole has her distracted, but I don¡¯t know for how long. We need to get these people to safety.¡± Confusion faded into dawning horror as the gravity of Natalie¡¯s words sunk in. Turning from her, Wilhelm shouted to the patrons. ¡°All right, change of plans. We are closing early tonight.¡± He cut off the surprised moans and boos before they could start. ¡°There is something big to prepare for tomorrow, so I need all of you to move off!¡± Slowly and uncertainty, the crowd started to shuffle towards the door. Confused babble filled the Inn. Natalie and her father looked at each other and had a moment of mutual understanding. The Silly Goat was not emptying fast enough. ¡°Hurry along!¡± barked Wilhelm. ¡°I have a party to prepare for and a special announcement to make. So shoo and come back tomorrow. The last one out the door pays double for drinks tomorrow!¡± That got them moving, and soon Natalie and Wilhelm were alone in the tavern. Looking to his daughter, Wilhelm asked. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Natalie shrugged which quickly turned into a shiver. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Before I noticed her, she was here for some time and only wanted to speak to Cole.¡± Wilhelm grit his teeth, and his expression hardened. Natalie could see the regret and distress on his face. The normally kind man was clearly second-guessing his choice to let Cole stay in his establishment. Natalie winced; what was happening was close to Wilhelm¡¯s worst-case scenario. Trying to distract herself and her father, Natalie asked: ¡°What are you going to tell them tomorrow?¡± Which was assuming there was a tomorrow for them. Similar thoughts seemed to pass in Wilhelms mind, but he still answered. ¡°I will announce that you are planning to leave. And I will open myself to Apprentices. I¡¯ll need the help and have someone to take over from me eventually.¡± That got a sad smile from Natalie, and she tried to think of something to say. Her efforts were interrupted by a loud crack and a high-pitched scream coming from upstairs.
Cole led Lorenna up the stairs and towards his room. Her hand was unnaturally cool in his and was a potent reminder of what he was dealing with. Politely he brought the Vampire into his rented space and gestured for her to sit at the small table in one corner of the room. She did, an amused smile on her elegant face. Cole shut the door behind him and faced the monster. ¡°What business do you have with me, Vampire?¡± asked Cole, his voice a low growl. Lorena¡¯s eyebrows rose in surprise at his tone, and her mouth split in a warning smile. ¡°I¡¯d watch your self Rest-Bringer. Poor manners can result in poor behavior from an offended Lady like myself.¡± Cole ignored the threat and continued his questioning. ¡°My actions in Glockmire do not threaten or undermine your Liege. I have done my duty and not acted against the Lord. So I repeat my question. Why are you here?¡± Clucking her tongue in disapproval, Lorena answered in a patronizing tone. ¡°Oh, we both know that''s not strictly true. You are dabbling in all manner of things that might prove disastrous for this town. In fact, a little Bat told me you were busy hunting Undead servants of the Court. Attempting to hurt the power and standing of respected Nobles. Such action is not something we can ignore.¡± Cole froze then. It seemed his actions had not gone unnoticed. The Feeder had enough of Cole¡¯s efforts to disrupt their plans and wanted to remove him from the board. He doubted Lorena was the one behind this whole mess. She seemed the type more willing to play for whoever enticed her with a greater prize. Not the sort who concocted complicated plans to seize power. Whoever was pulling the strings had the influence to send a lesser Vampire to threaten him. An ostentatious display that Cole could almost find strangely flattering. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Again, Cole reiterated his question. ¡°What do you want, Vampire? You haven¡¯t just attacked me, so you must want something from me. So spit it out. I have no patience for your games.¡± The harshness of his words surprised Cole; he knew he needed to be tactful and clever about this. But something inside of him wouldn¡¯t play nice. The implied and implicit threat of this blood-sucking abomination sitting in the Tavern, holding Natalie hostage, brought a bitter fury to Cole. Lorena had stopped blinking. Her eyes had become glassy as she stared at Cole with unnatural intensity. ¡°I came to make an offer and ask you a question, Rest-Bringer.¡± Leaning forward, Lorena bared her fangs and continued. ¡°The offer was originally demanding that you leave this town in twenty-four hours. Or we¡¯d be forced to take punitive actions against you and anyone who might be aiding you.¡± Reaching out one of her hands, Lorena pointed a single finger at Cole. Black blood welled up from her nail bed and flowed out and around the tip of her finger. Forming into an eight-centimeter claw of glossy-black sharpness. The rest of her fingers followed suit, turning the Vampires hand into talons. ¡°That was the offer, but you went and annoyed me. So I¡¯m changing it. Instead, you will let me drink you to near-death before we dump your unconscious body outside the town gates. If you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll go downstairs and devour the pretty little Barmaid and anyone else I can find in this cesspit.¡± It took a truly remarkable amount of self-control for Cole not to attack the Vampire. Instead, he flatly asked. ¡°What was your question?¡± Lorena seemed slightly disappointed she hadn¡¯t gotten him to react explosively, but she recovered quickly. Smiling with a level of smug sadism rarely seen outside of well-fed Cats, she asked: ¡°Does the name Isabelle Gens Silva mean anything to you?¡± Cole¡¯s eyes widened in absolute shock and horror. He took a step backward and found his back pressed against the door. Unconsciously he flicked his gaze to where he hid the skull. Returning his focus to Lorena, he saw her eyes wide with a predatory delight. It was no use denying anything; she¡¯d read his reaction like a particularly simple book. Lorena rose from the table with a slinking motion and stepped towards Cole, her face split in a fanged smile. ¡°So it''s true? When I described you to him, he was shocked. Claiming the Homunculus Knight had been destroyed more than a decade ago. Oh, this is marvelous. The irony is incredible. An abomination like you pretending to be Holy? You aren¡¯t even a Rest-Bringer, are you?¡± Cole reached up to his neck of scars and his necklace. He gripped the metal hourglass tightly and pulled it free of the cord. Lorena saw what he was doing and actually laughed. ¡°Do you really think a trinket like that will stop what''s coming? No god will protect you aberration. You¡¯ve run long enough; now it''s time for you to return to where you belong.¡± Memories flashed through Cole, unbidden. Of never-ending darkness and hungry shadows. Memories of months in a Vampires larder. Spending night after night being devoured by monsters. Living in a state of constant exhaustion and terror, the only respites from his captor¡¯s blood-hunger was when they violated and vivisected him. He¡¯d escaped that fate once and thought he was safe from it. The Homunculus Knight had died, and the Paladin of Death lived. Someone in the court of Glockmire had been at Thoas Citadel when it fell and knew his story. They¡¯d sent Lorena to either scare him off or identify him. Now she knew enough to seal his fate. The Vampiress would drag him back to that place of screaming death. Where a cabal of monsters would do as they pleased to him. At that moment, Cole hated himself for how foolish and optimistic he¡¯d been. A decade had passed since he was presumed destroyed, and he¡¯d thought it was time enough for his story to fade. That now, after all that time, he could safely return to the Blood Duchies. Cole had been woefully, drastically wrong. And now, he would pay the price for his naivety. Cole realized he¡¯d been trembling and that Lorena had gotten within an arm''s length of him. His fear eliciting a terrible mix of hunger and arousal in the Vampire. Looking into her eyes, Cole watched her irises change color. The illusionary brown, worn to avoid suspicion, melted into a deep crimson. Looking away before the eye contact could be dangerous, Cole made his decision. He would not go quietly into the night. He would do his duty even now. Cole, the Paladin of Master Time, was confronted with an Undead threatening the innocent. It fell to him to destroy it. He swung his arm in a wild haymaker towards Lorena¡¯s head. It was a clumsy blow any trained mortal could dodge. Nothing even remotely a threat to a Vampire. Lorena didn¡¯t bother to dodge it, her hungry grin brimming with conceit. She intended to let Cole break his arm on her supernaturally strong body before she had her way with him. Cole had counted on that typical Vampiric arrogance to let the blow connect. His hand hit Lorena in the face in an open-handed slap. A slap that carried Cole¡¯s medallion in his open palm right into the Vampire¡¯s unprotected face. For ten years, Cole served as one of the handful of Paladins on the entire continent. In all that time, he¡¯d kept this same austere piece of jewelry with him. It acted as the focus for his prayers, his meditations, and the occasional miracle he¡¯d performed. So when it struck Lorena, it burned the Vampire like the sun¡¯s own rays. Lorena screamed in pain as the metal seared her skin and muscle right down to the bone. She stumbled backward and crashed into the table. Scuttling away from Cole, the Vampire looked up. Hate and surprise oozed from what was left of her face. Lorena¡¯s entire right cheek was scorched away, burns running from her jaw to her hairline. Hissing in fury, Lorena started to screech something at Cole. He didn¡¯t let finish, unbuckling his axe in his left hand, with his talisman in his right Cole attacked Lorena. Barreling forwards, Cole brought his axe down into the Vampires shoulder. Sinking its blade through muscle and into the clavicle. With the weapon embedded in his foe, Cole continued his charge. Catching the Vampire off balance and ramming her towards the room''s window. Long ago, Cole learned something important about supernatural strength and speed. It was of little use without proper leverage. Which was exactly why Cole grabbed onto the Vampire with all his might and shoved them both out the window. They smashed through the wood and glass and tumbled into the air. One hand gripping his axe, the other grabbing the Vampire¡¯s body, they plunged towards the ground. Lorena screeched and thrashed as the talisman still nestled in Cole¡¯s palm burned where it touched. Lorena flailed useleslly mid-air before she hit the ground hard, with Cole landing directly on her. Cole¡¯s full weight came down like a load of bricks, weight directed into the axe buried in Lorena''s shoulder. The blade tore through muscle and bone with an incredible crack. While the talisman burned away at her hip, where Cole clutched for dear life. For a moment, neither did anything as Cole gasped in a breath and ignored the burst of pain across his body. At the same time, Lorena tried to process what exactly happened. It didn¡¯t take the Vampire long, and she flung Cole off her with a screech. Cole tumbled away, rolling on the ground a meter before he could pull himself to his feet. Shakily Cole assessed the situation, he still held his axe, but he¡¯d dropped the talisman. Three fingers on his right hand were broken, he¡¯d bruised a few ribs, and he might have a concussion. Looking at Lorena, Cole thought that wasn¡¯t a bad trade for the damage he¡¯d inflicted. The Vampire¡¯s right arm was dangling uselessly; in fact, most of the shoulder was hanging loosely, ready to fall right off the monster. Cole managed to chop through the entire shoulder and down into her torso. Lorena¡¯s dress was in tatters and revealed a line of burns on her left side; ending at her hip, where a solid chunk of the muscle had blackened and turned to ash. Ultimately the sight of the wounded vampire was profoundly disturbing yet eerily poetic. Nearly naked, Lorena¡¯s supple and curvaceous body was on display. But marred by brutal injuries that revealed the ashen, desiccated corpse hidden under the veneer of false life. She was a monster wearing a beautiful form, a fact available for all to now see. Slicing a gash on his injured right hand, Cole transmuted his weapon into a pole-axe. A smaller and more maneuverable cousin to the halberd. With one hand wounded, a lighter weapon would be better for what was to come. Cole charged Lorena, brandishing his weapon, thrusting its spear-tip at the Vampire. Lorena batted the blade away with her working arm, and Cole translated the momentum into a low spinning kick with his opposite leg. It struck below the burns on her hip and elicited a shriek of pain from the Vampire. Lorena leaped forward, pouncing like a hungry lion. She¡¯d coated her usable hand¡¯s fingers in blood talons, and her fangs had elongated slightly. Making her look more like the predatory monster she was. With her right arm damaged to uselessness and her left leg wounded, the lunge was off, and Cole could dodge it. Lorena landed on three limbs and whirled around, her posture distinctly feral. The Vampire¡¯s face healed enough for her to talk, and she screeched. ¡°I¡¯m going to break you! I¡¯m going to break your mind and reduce you to the stupid meat puppet you were meant to be. Then I¡¯ll make you-¡± Cole ut her off with a barrage of blood darts. The razor-sharp droplets shot forward at his command, and Lorena dodged all but one of them. It stuck into her side, much like a mundane Crossbow bolt, before melting into blood. ¡°Stop talking and die quickly. You¡¯ve prolonged your life long enough, monster.¡± spat Cole as he fired another volley. Lorena dodged these easily and circled around him. Her eyes were wild as she looked around the empty street. Cole felt relief as he noticed what she was realizing. The Silly Goat had emptied out, and anyone on the streets fled when they¡¯d fallen through the window. Lorena was a Moroi, and her powers lent themselves to enslaving weak minds. Drunken tavern-goers on the street would have provided a wonderful source of puppets. Closing the distance Cole swiped out with his pole-axe; Lorena dodged and responded with a slash of her own. The extra distance of Cole¡¯s weapon let him dodge her talons but forced him to back away as she continued a fierce onslaught of rapid swings. Anyone caught in that storm of claws would be reduced to shredded gore in seconds. Cole let her swing wildly at the air and couldn¡¯t help but grin. This was what he¡¯d been counting on. Vampires are stronger, faster, and tougher than any mortal. But that does not automatically make them skilled warriors. Many never fought before they¡¯d been transformed and were over-reliant on their physical superiority. Not actually knowing how to use the supernatural prowess they possessed. Lorena was flailing wildly like an angry child, except with the strength to crack stone. She was also crippled, one arm useless, one leg badly damaged, and her full strength would take time to return. Lorena was not the first Vampire Cole fought, and he knew how to beat arrogant little monsters like her. Keeping out of her reach Cole slit his right palm. Painful and inconvenient, those types of cuts were not what Cole favored for his blood magic, but it was necessary for what he would do next. Cole swung his hand out in an arc, letting a spray of blood splatter onto the approaching Lorena. Still caught up in her frantic flailing, the Vampire barely noticed the blood. ¡°Scattered Blood Boil! Return this Corpse to the Soil!¡± Barked Cole, the incantation acting as magical shorthand to shape the summoned power as he desired. The droplets of blood superheated and instantly burned where they touched. Lorena flinched in pain and stopped her attack in surprise. Cole punished the opening with impunity. He leaped forward with his pole-axe swinging in from the side. The blade hacked into the Vampire''s neck, embedding itself in her spinal cord. Without two hands to use, Cole lacked the power to deliver a clean decapitation. Which worked perfectly for what he intended. The blow and its damage to Lorena¡¯s spinal cord were enough to topple the Vampire over. Cole held onto the haft of his weapon as she fell, keeping it stuck in the Vampires flesh. Lorena landed in a heap of burned flesh and thrashing limbs. Cole wrapped both hands on the Pole-axe¡¯s handle and pressed a booted foot to the back of the axe-head. Ignoring the stinging pain in his right hand Cole looked down at the Vampire and growled a few words just loud enough for her to hear. ¡°You are right. I am no Rest-Bringer, I am Paladin of Master Time. Sent to put an end to your evil. Go now to your judgement, and know your master will be joining you soon.¡± Lorena¡¯s eyes widened in shock and horror as Cole stomped down on the pole-axe, driving the blade straight through the Vampire¡¯s neck. Immediately the Vampire¡¯s flesh started to dissolve, flaking away into ash. Leaving a mound of gray dust, with a set of blackened bones in the middle. Cole looked down at the remains of Dame Lorena Sartori and bowed his head. ¡°Accept Master Time¡¯s judgment with honor and bear the weight of your sins well. May you find redemption and peace, you Broken Soul.¡± Leaving the Vampire''s corpse behind, Cole scooped up his dropped Talisman and walked back towards the Silly Goat. Setting his jaw, Cole made a decision then. He¡¯d set events into motion, and now he needed to see them through. Chapter 13.5: A Promise and a Problem

Chapter 26: A Promise and a Problem

¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry for all the harm I¡¯ve caused. I¡¯m sorry for the hurt this will cause, but I need to do this. I cannot live like this. What we are, it¡¯s not living. It¡¯s evil. WE are evil. It has to stop, we have to stop. I can¡¯t control you all but I can make my own choice. I¡¯m ending this for me and sparing the world. Maybe we will see each other in another life?¡± - Note left beside a pile of ash and bone in Old Iskariam.
Natalie watched Cole fight the Vampire from the open door of the Silly Goat. It was a brutal blood-soaked clash that ended as quickly as it began. Cole decapitated the Nocturnal Noble with a grim efficiency that shocked Natalie. She¡¯d seen Cole fight before, but compared to his clash with the Walking Charnel, this was a much faster and more vicious affair. Turning away from his kill, Cole stalked back towards the Silly Goat. In surprise and more than a little bit of fear, Natalie stepped away from the door and let Cole enter. The large man had a grim look on his face as he looked around the tavern with a cautious eye. Wilhelm, who¡¯d been watching as well, stepped towards Cole and started to speak. ¡°What, what have you DONE!?¡± His words started uncertainly and ended in a shout. ¡°You¡¯ve killed a Noble! They will come for us now!¡± Cole shut his eyes in a sign of momentary weariness before answering. ¡° The Vampire threatened to kill both of you if I didn¡¯t do as she commanded. And what she wanted of me was not something I could give. So I took a third option.¡± This was not the whole truth but close enough for the two of them. He¡¯d already endangered the Striga family enough through his foolishness. Cole shut the Inns door, turning away from the two innocents he¡¯d dragged into his mess. Then he grabbed a chair, set it in front of the door, and sat in it. Cole faced the entrance with his pole-axe draped in his lap. ¡°Natalie can you grab my pack and anything I have left in my room. Wilhelm, could you please find me something to bandage my wounds?¡± asked Cole, his tone focused and cool. Wilhelm started to object, but Cole cut him off. ¡°I¡¯ve endangered you and Natalie. I¡¯m sorry for that and will do what I can to rectify it. I will leave in the morning, and when I do, you will tell the Daymen I threatened you to let me stay. Tell them whatever they want to hear, but make it clear I forced you both to help me on the threat of death and an arcane curse.¡± It was Natalie''s turn to speak up, but Cole didn¡¯t let her. ¡°If they come for you, it will be tonight when emotions are the hottest, and when my shed blood might summon the Castle Guards. I will protect you tonight and then leave when I can be reasonably certain you are both safe.¡± Still, Wilhelm and Natalie hesitated, and Cole did something unusual for him. He raised his voice. ¡°GO! Do as I ask!¡± The sound of the large man''s booming voice shook both father and daughter from their confusion, and they rushed to fulfill his request. Shortly Willhem had some bandages and a small piece of wood for Cole. Cole bandaged his cuts and crudely splinted his broken fingers. Natalie, for her part, rushed upstairs to grab Cole¡¯s backpack and other belongings. Upon entering his room, Natalie tried not to look at the destroyed window or patches of ash on the floor where a Vampire bled. She found Coles''s pack easily enough. He¡¯d set it by the door when he brought Lorena into the room. A quick search confirmed what Natalie suspected. The only thing Cole had not taken with him was the skull in its pouch. Grabbing it from under the bed, Natalie tried not to shiver at the feeling of cloth-wrapped bone. Returning to the room''s door, Natalie was struck with a sudden curious impulse. Pausing for a moment, Natalie unfastened the bag and looked inside at the grinning skull looking up at her. As she looked at it, a familiar oppressive chill flooded her body. The numbing touch of a God. Gasping in surprise and sudden panic, Natalie instinctually touched the skull with her bare skin. Instantly she felt something else press against her mind. A radically different presence compared to the monumental coldness of a God. This one was a small but steady sensation of warmth. A phantom scent filled Natalie¡¯s nose, accompanying the warm wetness she felt touching her soul. The smell of fresh blood, potent enough to make Natalie¡¯s vision swim, assaulted her. Frantically she pulled her hand away from the skull and resealed its bag. Shoving the skull into Cole¡¯s pack, a shaken Natalie started to leave the room. But a faint whisper in the back of her mind stopped her. ¡°You? Who are you?¡± Natalie was stunned and tried to understand the source of the lilting feminine voice. Was this the Skull? Was Isabelle the long-dead Vampire speaking to her? Again the voice spoke, faint and delicate like the rustle of silk sheets. ¡°You smell of grief and lilacs. You taste of blood and tears. What have you done with my beloved?¡± This was Isabelle or whatever was left of her. Natalie was hearing the whispers of a ghost. The ghost of the woman who¡¯d bound Cole to her and fed on him like a parasite. A spike of bitter anger coursed through Natalie at that thought, and she muttered under her breath. ¡°Beloved? You call the man you ensorcelled and drank from your Beloved? I know what a Vampire''s venom can do to a mind. It''s bad enough you controlled him in life, Isabelle. You can¡¯t even let him be free when you¡¯re dead!¡± The smell of blood returned, and it hit Natalie like a punch. It carried a sense of anger and outrage with it. Hurriedly Natalie shoved the skull into the pack and stepped back from the it. The smell faded slightly, but Natalie could still feel an ugly fury emanating from the skull. It felt like someone was smearing hot blood on her. A disgusting and disturbing sensation rubbing against her soul. ¡°You know nothing! You speak about what you don¡¯t understand! You are unworthy of his secrets and his love! You will not take him from me!¡± spat the voice, its silken tones corrupted by a spitting hiss that reminded Natalie of an angry feline. Before Natalie could rebuke the mad-ghost rasping against her mind, another voice intervened. ¡°ENOUGH. TROUBLE NOT THIS CHILD WITH YOUR RANTING SHADE¡± Cold and mighty like a glacier, but somehow soft as sand flowing in an hourglass, the second voice banished the stink and filthy sensation of blood. Replacing it was a brisk chill that faded almost instantly. Eyes wild and stunned by what happened, Natalie quickly grabbed the bag and hurried downstairs. She knew what the second voice was. The speaker''s identity was clear as glass but not something she wanted to think about. Those words had shaken her very soul, echoing like thunder yet crisp as cracking ice. The intent and focus of something so far beyond her; interpreted as a few words. Natalie had heard the voice of a God, which frightened her more than any threats from a blood-soaked ghost. Natalie moved towards the staircase but stopped before going down. A sudden thought struck her. She would probably never see Cole again, and that idea pained her more than she wanted to admit. Setting the pack down, Natalie went to her room and grabbed the statue of Stockings the Cat. The one she¡¯d started when Cole first arrived, and just finished last night. She knew it was foolish, but part of her wanted Cole to take something of her with him. If he carried around that cursed totem of the woman who claimed she loved him. Maybe it would be counteracted by a symbol of someone who genuinely¡­ cared for him. Another word instead of ¡°cared¡± flashed through Natalie''s mind but was quickly squashed away. Heading downstairs, Natalie stuffed the statue in Cole¡¯s pack. When she arrived, she found Cole sitting staring at the door. Her father sitting and staring at Cole, and the Cat sitting on the ground in between Cole¡¯s feet. Dropping the pack next to him, Natalie pulled up a chair and sat next to Cole. ¡°So what do you intend to do?¡± she asked, pulling her attention off what happened upstairs and onto the mildly less harrowing tension in the room around her. Cole considered Natalie¡¯s words for a moment before speaking. ¡°I¡¯ll head south and see if I can continue my work without causing any more trouble. Hopefully, the chaos caused by Lorena''s death will delay whatever is coming.¡± Pausing for a second, Cole took a deep breath and looked at Natalie. ¡°I suggest you continue with your plans to leave and do so as quickly as possible. Something is coming, and I don¡¯t know if I can prevent it.¡± Looking to Wilhelm then, Cole continued. ¡°I suggest you follow her Master Wilhelm. My presence here is not a fluke of fate. A threat is encroaching on Glockmire.¡± That got the middle-aged man to sit back in his chair and grimace. Considering how bad things were going, Cole figured it was time to be a little franker with the Innkeeper. His actions had put the man and his daughter in danger, so maybe he could try and get them out of harm''s way before leaving. Softly, Natalie asked, ¡°What about the Varcolac?¡± She didn¡¯t know why she brought up the Monster but Natalie did. ¡°I will destroy it, I will honor my oath. When it is done I will find a way to send word to you¡± answered Cole, as a pang of sadness went through him, for the words spoke of the finality to his connection with Natalie. She¡¯d helped him and requested he destroy the Undead that killed her mother. Something Cole had agreed to do, even with her accompanying him. Silence fell over the inn after that, broken only by the rustling of the wind outside and the purring of an unconcerned Cat. At different points, both Natalie and Wilhelm tried to keep themselves busy with chores. But they eventually rejoined Cole¡¯s vigil. Hours crept by, and nothing happened. No shouts and screams in the night. No rattling of armor or cries of challenge. It was a normal night, except for the tension in the Silly Goat, and the Vampire bones in the street beyond it. Multiple times Cole tried to speak. To offer words of comfort to Natalie or Wilhelm. But the platitudes died on his lips before they could take shape. Similarly, Natalie tried and failed to muster the courage to speak her mind. So the silence dragged on as the night continued. Multiple times Wilhelm nodded off; he was not the young man he¡¯d once been, and staying up all night was not something he could do easily. Natalie sat wide-eyed, exhaustion taking its toll, but she refused to rest. Cole sat motionlessly, senses peeled for any threat. Only occasionally moving his foot to stroke, the cat curled up next to his legs. Then after what felt like an eternity, the first early light of dawn became visible. The pale grey promise of day glowed in the Silly Goats windows. To Cole¡¯s surprise, the Castle Guard hadn¡¯t arrived. He¡¯d thought his fight with Lorena would surely summon them. He tried not to worry about why exactly they hadn¡¯t attacked. Cole refused to chalk it up to good fortune. Meanwhile, Natalie angsted and debated internally. Sometime in the night, she¡¯d made a startling realization. With that realization had come an idea, one she struggled with. An idea she needed to marshall her courage if she wanted to see it realized. Natalie had to make a decision and do so quickly. The first golden rays of sunlight peeked into the inn, and they signaled to Cole it was time. He stood up from his chair, gently disturbing Stocking''s rest, and grabbed his pack. Natalie watched him with bated breath, her mind racing between different options, she then made her decision. Cole stepped to the door, opened it, and turned to face Natalie and Wilhelm. He started to say his goodbyes, but Natalie stopped him with a kiss. Fueled by exhaustion, panic, and a simmering infatuation. Natalie embraced Cole and met his lips with her own. Cole suddenly stiffened at the action before relaxing into the kiss, for a blissful moment of shared intimacy. Then Natalie reluctantly pulled herself away and put her hands on Cole¡¯s chest. ¡°Find me in Vindabon in a year''s time. You owe that to me, Cole.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Startled, confused, and more than a little entranced, Cole touched his lips before nodding solemnly. ¡°Yes, I will find you in a year''s time, Natalie Striga.¡± Reluctantly Cole stepped away from the beautiful woman who¡¯d kissed him and turned to leave. With pack and pole-axe in hand, Cole set out. He felt both weighed down with worry and lightened with something sweet. A contradictory experience that made his heart throb. Leaving the Silly Goat, Cole looked at the Vampire''s bones still lying in the street. It surprised Cole that no one had discovered the remains, and part of Cole was tempted to take them. But he decided it might cause more problems than they might solve. Leaving the Bones and the Silly Goat. Cole made his way to the gates of Glockmire and set out to the south, out of the mountains and away from Natalie. Looking up at the rising Sun, Cole murmured to himself: ¡°Vindabon. That sounds nice.¡±
Agate Doruscion had the distinction of being a rising star among the Vampire court of Glockmire. As the scion and apprentice of Doru of the Bones, chief necromancer of Lord Johan Glockmire. Agate had repeatedly proven that her magical and political skills surpassed what would be expected of a Vampire of her age, becoming the pinnacle of what a young Vampire should aspire to in the Blood Duchies. Unfortunately, none of these accolades did anything to stop Dietrich Freymond from wrapping his fingers around her throat. Back in the Castle, Dietrich had wasted no time tracking down his target. Agate was the owner of the Obsidian Athame Dietrich had linked to the rogue Necromancy. This, along with her talent, ambition, and youth cemented her as the prime suspect of being the Feeder. So when he cornered her in one of Doru¡¯s laboratories shortly before dawn, Dietrich was ready when Agate tried to run. The Vampress had not gotten far. Dietrich had quickly grabbed her and now wrapped his hands around Agate¡¯s throat, crushing her windpipe. This did not kill Agate but instead crippled her ability to cast spells. With her throat crushed and the strong iron grip of Dietrich preventing her from regenerating, Agate couldn¡¯t speak a single word. Which was exactly what Dietrich intended. Looming over the panicking younger Vampire, Dietrich growled at his victim. ¡°You are accused of acting beyond the license given to you by your liege. Of conducting experiments with magics forbidden to one of your ranks. Experiments with the express purpose of overthrowing Lord Glockmire. How do you plead?¡± In response, Agate let out a gurgling croak, telling Dietrich he wasn¡¯t squeezing hard enough. As Dietrich strengthened his grip, Agate thrashed and tried to pry the Scarlet Knight¡¯s fingers off her throat. It was a useless effort, and Dietrich felt comfortable explaining the case to the accused Vampire. ¡°I¡¯ve been tracking the actions of someone working to gather powerful lesser undead. Someone who intends to use overwhelming numbers and power to usurp our Lord. In the course of my investigation, I discovered a cache of Ghouls in the mountains. Lured there with a ritual spell of some kind. The ritual symbol was carved using an obsidian athame. Much like the one you own.¡± Agate¡¯s eyes widened in horror, bloody irises flitting around the laboratory for any possible escape. It was the look of a cornered animal and one Dietrich had long learned to recognize. Part of him was tempted to simply squeeze a little harder and pop Agate¡¯s head from her shoulders and be done with it. But Dietrich needed to finish this cleanly, with a confession and public execution. Instead, he¡¯d break Agate¡¯s neck, giving him enough time to collar and cuff her before she regenerated. Dietrich moved to use both his hands and adjust his grip for the more difficult act of violence. Creating a momentary opening, which Agate took full advantage of. She bit her tongue hard and let a small stream of black blood pour out of her mouth. The blood slithered down between Dietrich''s fingers and Agate¡¯s neck. Then pushed against his fingers with remarkable strength. Her struggling limbs and blood''s combined effort allowed Agate to slip through Dietrich''s grip. Agate lept backward and scrabbled towards a shelf nearby. Grabbing a sealed jar with twitchy fingers, Agate tossed the jar at Dietrich with all the strength she could muster. Its glass exploded against the Scarlet Knight¡¯s armor and released a pungent yellow cloud. Dietrich hissed, a mix of pain and annoyance forcing the sound from his lips. He¡¯d underestimated how strong Agate¡¯s blood manipulation was. To control such a small amount of blood and produce such a potent effect was a testament to Agate¡¯s talent. Dietrich might have been impressed if he wasn''t currently in incredible pain. She¡¯d thrown a container of Sulfur at him; the acrid material burned his skin and eyes. Brimstone was one of the lesser banes of Vampires, but being doused in it was enough to raise burning welts on his skin. Roaring in fury, Dietrich pushed through the pain and confusion. His eyes and nose were useless, so he followed Agate¡¯s movement with his ears. The faint clank and clatter of glass and wood guided Dietrich to his left. Lunging forward with explosive power, Dietrich brought a gauntleted arm down before him. Instead of cold dead flesh, he caught a table¡¯s edge. Dietrich smashed the wood to splinters and sent a shower of glassware and table fragments flying everywhere. A pained shriek accompanied the clatter and tinkle of falling debris as some of the shrapnel hit Agate. Honing in on his prey, Dietrich barrelled forward. Blinking away the pungent Sulfur, Dietrich saw Agate before him. Reaching out, he closed his fingers around one of her arms and squeezed. Bone crunched, and flesh tore as Dietrich''s vise-like grip did its grisly work. Agate pulled away with surprising force, letting Dietrich rip her hand off in a gruesome display. Before Dietrich could recover and get a better grip on the fleeing Vampress; she spat some words in a humming language. The air in the room grew suddenly thick with a cloying smell that vanished as quickly as it came. Dietrich swore in frustration as what he¡¯d feared came true. Agate had managed to heal enough to properly cast a spell. The spell''s effects were instantaneous. Agate''s body melted. Dissolving into a pool of blood that flooded out of her clothing and slithered along the stone floor with surprising speed. The Agate-Pool flowed towards the door and slipped underneath it with ease. Dietrich followed after his quarry, letting out a stream of curses collected from more than a century of military service. He didn¡¯t bother to open the door, he simply smashed through it. Inhuman muscle and the sheer momentum provided by his plate armor reduced the sturdy wood to splinters. Ahead of Dietrich, Agate had made good progress, squirming down the hallway with a strange flowing slither. Unfortunately for Agate, the hallway they¡¯d entered was long and straight, with few avenues of escape. The laboratory Agate had taken for herself was located deep in the Castle¡¯s bowls. Its isolation from the rest of the structure had protected her secrets and the wider Castle from any accidents. Now Agate regretted that choice as Dietrich closed in on her. Like some stampeding beast, Dietrich charged down the hallway. Every step, a crash of metal as he paid no mind to stealth and pushed his body to supernatural heights. Dietrich closed in on Agate and started planning how to capture or kill her. He¡¯d never before been forced to fight a bloodform Vampire. For that talent was a rare thing, with only a handful of Strix lineages being able to use it with any sort of reliability. Unsheathing his executioner¡¯s sword, Dietrich tried something experimental and launched the weapon before him like a javelin. His aim was true, but Agate dodged the impact of the huge weapon. She saw it as a threat, and that gave Dietrich ideas. Picking up the weapon, Dietrich continued his assault. Getting close enough to swing the blade in a wide arc. Despite her efforts, part of the Agate-Pool was caught by the blade and was splattered onto a far wall. Instantly Agate¡¯s movement changed. Parts of the puddle of blood dragged behind the central mass. Turning what had been a fairly compact wriggling shape into a longer, much more serpentine form. As he watched, Dietrich could see some of the scattered blood trying to rejoin the greater whole. Crimson droplets fell off his sword in defiance of gravity, towards the direction of his quarry. Dietrich got two more good slashes at Agate, but neither did as much damage as the first. She was getting better at dodging them, and Dietrich had the worrying suspicion she wasn¡¯t used to this ability and was markedly improving as they fought. Eventually, the hallway reached an intersection in the Castle¡¯s labyrinthian tunnels. Agate flowed into the left passage with literally liquid agility. Trying to follow, Dietrich gripped onto the wall¡¯s corner and swung his weight into the turn. He miscalculated, and the crude masonry shattered under his weight, sending Dietrich skidding across the stone floor. Dietrich smashed into a wall and cracked the stone before recovering his balance and continuing the chase. His error had cost him, and Agate was now far ahead. Growling in frustration, Dietrich tried to regain his momentum. The chase continued, both Vampires flitting through the dark halls of the Castle. Dietrich never getting close enough to attack Agate but also never far enough away to lose her. But time was on Dietrich''s side; if he could stop Agate from escaping long enough, other factors would come into play. The Sun would be rising soon, trapping Agate in the Castle and forcing her to fight against the supernatural exhaustion that came with dawn. When sunrise came, it would leave both Vampires drained, but as the older and more stalwart of the two, Dietrich was confident he could outlast Agate. Even if the chase continued down into the lowest levels of the Castle and turned into a ridiculous game of cat-and-mouse, Dietrich still liked his odds. Something as complicated as turning into an animated pool of blood is not done easily. Eventually, Agate would be worn down, and Dietrich would break her. Agate''s destination became clear after a few more minutes of this hunt. She was headed for the main entrance to the Castle. Slithering up stairways and out of the catacombs beneath the Castle and towards its main entrance hall. It seemed Agate had decided to race the Sun. She might be able to get out of the castle before Dawn, but she would not be able to find safety in those moments. If day came and she managed to escape its light, the servants of the Court would track her down as she slowly fell into the torpor all Vampires experience during the day. Agate slipped through the last pair of doors and made it into the atrium. Dietrich burst through the doors and followed behind, a hungry grin on his lips. This chase had grown infuriating, and he looked forward to ending it. The atrium was a large chamber with a pair of great doors in its front and back. The larger set was reinforced with steel binds and magic; these were the Castle''s entrance. The other was an ornately carved set of double doors that led into the Castle proper. The sidewalls of the atrium held a few smaller portals that led elsewhere in the Castle. One of which Dietrich and Agates had exited. Dietrich found Agate in front of the Castle¡¯s gate. The rogue Vampire was in the process of reforming from her transformation. Blood congealed into muscle and bone, creating Agate¡¯s body one layer at a time. Leaving a naked and exhausted-looking Agate before Dietrich. Vampires do not sweat or pant like living creatures do with great exertion. Instead, Agate¡¯s facsimile of life was lacking. Her skin was corpse-pale and taught. Muscles occasionally twitched as dark magic fought with rigor mortis and Agate¡¯s eyes were glassy and unblinking. She seemed like a fresh corpse in every manner except for the fact she stood upright and spoke. It was the most basic skill a young Vampire learned, to use the stolen blood of others to make their dead flesh act like it was alive. Without it, the beautiful and terrible Nocturnal Nobility looked like fresh corpses puppeteered by twitchy inhuman movements. ¡°Dietrich, you are a close-minded brute. Incapable of anything other than crude butchery. A dogmatic old fossil unworthy of my efforts even if I was willing to share them!¡± spat Agate from a raspy throat. Dietrich looked around the atrium and saw the four Castle Guards standing at attention by the far wall. With a thought, he took control of them and moved the four plate-armored pawns to his flanks. Surrounding Agate on three sides. Leaving her only escape route, the Castle entrance. Dietrich raised his weapon to point at Agate and responded to her taunts. ¡°Agate Doruscion, this is your final chance. Surrender and face the Lord''s Judgment. Or continue to resist and face mine.¡± Agate made a pitiable sight, thin, waifish, and now gaunt from exhaustion. She¡¯d used up her reserve of Blood and now was barely more than an intelligent ghoul. With his quarry backed into a corner, Dietrich expected some final trick. A nasty bit of magic or clever words to save herself or destroy him. He didn¡¯t expect her to laugh. The strange creaking noise came from Agate as her body failed to imitate life. Turning away from Dietrich, she put her hands on the Castle doors and started to push them open. The sturdy wood creaked as Agate spent what must have been the last bit of undead strength to open them. Dietrich''s eyes widened in surprise, and he took a step forward as Agate stepped outside the Castle. The pale grey pre-dawn light illuminated the mountain pass and the town within it. It would only be moments before the sun broke over the peaks and flooded Glockmire. Stunned, Dietrich held out a hand towards Agate and barked. ¡°Are you mad? Surely death by my blade is preferable to burning in Sunlight? Return here, and I promise you will die painlessly!¡± Agate just laughed again and spun about in the pre-dawn light. Her arms were outstretched like a village girl dancing at a harvest festival. With every passing moment, the world grew brighter. Radiant death was seconds away, and Agate didn¡¯t seem to care. Her coarse laughter elevated to a grating volume as Agate finally turned to look at Dietrich and smiled. Her colorless lips drew into a too-wide smile, exposing her fangs and white gums. ¡°Dietrich, what would you give to see the Sun again?¡± she asked, the wild-eyed Vampire uncaring to the lightning world around her. Dietrich didn¡¯t answer; he looked on in terror as the cresting sun started to shine down on the valley floor. It would come soon and with it, a terrible death. Agate laughed as the light came closer, an onrushing tide of fire ready to swallow them both. As the first hints of golden light touched Dietrich''s eyes, he darted back into the Castle and slammed the doors shut. Inside the Castle, a deep bell toned, marking the arrival of day. Dietrich had escaped death by seconds and now slumped against the door, recollecting his nerves. He didn¡¯t hear the screams he expected from Agate, but that was not unheard of. Some Vampires burned quietly. Locking the gate shut and commanding the motionless Castle Guards to stand in front of the great door, Dietrich scurred away. Of all the terrible things in the world, none scared Dietrich like the sun. It was like that for all but the most jaded Vampire. The idea of Sunlight and the terrible death that came with it brought instinctual unbridled terror to Dietrich. A mark of the unnatural state his mind, body, and soul was trapped in. Shaking away the fear, Dietrich sheathed his sword and moved toward his crypt. He¡¯d be able to stay conscious long enough to dictate a report to one of his thralls, but not much more than that. Fighting to stay awake, Dietrich trudged down towards his lair. He tried to take solace in the fact he¡¯d completed his duty. Agate was dead, and without her, he could destroy the caches of Undead at his leisure. But something still nagged at him, preventing Dietrich from feeling truly comfortable in his victory. Instincts born from decades of battle and slaughter whispered to Dietrich, telling him the fight wasn¡¯t over yet. Chapter 14: Depths of Treachery

Chapter 27: Depths of Treachery

¡°The city bled until it could bleed no more. Yet that was still not enough to sate the Rabisu¡¯s hunger. Birthed from the first Betrayal, it lusted for life and brought with it death. Spreading its curse to its Alukah Children, who threatened to consume all of mortal-kind. Until the Seraph-Blooded stood tall and brought it a Doom none could foresee ¡±- The Book of Miracles, Lamentations 13:5
Dietrich awoke to blood and screams. His eyes shooting open, the disoriented Vampire tried to understand his surroundings. Yara, his thrall, was slumped over his crypt, bleeding onto him. Some of the blood had gotten into his mouth and awoken him. Sitting up, Dietrich caught the barely conscious Yara and looked around the chamber. Three more of his thralls were in his crypt. Vichiry and Ogan were pressed against the room¡¯s door, trying to keep it shut. While old Mimny stood nearby, holding up a broadsword. They all had injuries, each sporting a collection of cuts and scrapes. Yara had the worst of them, an ugly gash along her side was steadily leaking blood, and the woman was almost as pale as Dietrich. ¡°What is going on?¡± barked Dietrich. Standing up from his crypt, he set the now unconscious Yura next to the stone coffin and went for his sword. Mimny turned to Dietrich, and the old man let out a deep breath of relief. ¡°My Lord, you¡¯re awake!¡± Gesturing to the door, Dietrich¡¯s eldest servant continued. ¡°It''s terrible; we¡¯ve been betrayed. Lady Lorena and Lady Agate are dead, while Master Saul says you were responsible. He rallied most of the servants and took control of the Guard. They are executing other Nobles and their servants for conspiring with you!¡± Stunned, Dietrich reeled from this news. Saul was the leader of the Daymen and the highest-ranking mortal in the town. A prized servant, he was the closest Glockmire had to a traditional mayor. For him to try and stage some sort of coup, that was madness. Was this some sort of insane contingency Agate had in place? That thought sparked another question in Dietrich, Saul couldn¡¯t be controlling the Guard without the proper magical authorization. Not something Agate could do. ¡°Who gave Saul control of the Guard? They would not follow his orders without someone giving him command?¡± asked Dietrich. Grabbing his sword from its rack, he went to the door in time to watch the wood buckle slightly from a heavy blow. Someone strong was trying to get into his crypt. This time Ogan answered; the burly man had a bleeding scratch on his cheek and was covered in sweat but otherwise seemed in better condition than his fellows. ¡°They said Steward Petar gave the command. But we didn¡¯t have time to check. The bastards started killing people almost instantly.¡± Looking over his four servants, Dietrich sought confirmation. ¡°The rest of the staff are dead?¡± The three who were conscious made sounds of confirmation, and Minmey elaborated. ¡°We lost Jorg and Etria fighting our way here. The rest might be holed up somewhere, but I doubt it, m¡¯lord.¡± Moving to the door, Dietrich gripped his sword tightly and prepared to work. ¡°Stay here until I return. Treat Yara if you can,¡± growled the Scarlet Knight. His servants stepped away from the door and bowed. They had done well and should be commended. If any of them survived what came next, he would make sure they were rewarded. Flinging open the door to his crypt, Dietrich faced his foes. The hallway outside was filled with a mixture of Castle Guards and crudely armed servants. A quartet of the Guards had been using a makeshift battering ram to break into the crypt. Dietrich took care of them first. His executioner¡¯s blade shot and smashed through all four Guards with ease. Punching through the solid armor, they wore and exposed their true natures. Each Castle Guard was a skeleton encased in plate armor and animated magically. Rising up as Eternal Legionnaires of the Duke. The undead made perfect soldiers, and the Vampires of the Blood Duchies never let any corpse they created go to waste. Turning them into skeletal puppets like the ones attacking Dietrich right now. Roaring in blood-hungry fury, the Scarlet Knight hacked and smashed his way through more of the Legionaries. While far more hardy than any human soldier, the Guard was still useless in the face of an angry Vampire. Dietrich reached the first of the servants overseeing the attack. The thrall was a pathetic spindly man with a large hatchet in hand. Dietrich thought the mortal was one of the Daymen but did not care enough to know. Swooping down on the terrified traitor, Dietrich sank his fangs into the man¡¯s throat. Ripping open crucial veins and letting the Dayman¡¯s panicked heart pump energizing ichor down Dietrich''s throat. It was still daytime, and Dietrich had used much of his blood reserve fighting Agate the previous night. He needed more blood than poor Yara could provide. Thankfully the traitors would provide him with a plentiful supply. Dietrich tore through the Guards in the hallway, stopping only to devour each mortal unfortunate enough to be caught in his way. It was rare for Dietrich to drink anyone to death anymore. The practice was considered wasteful by civilized Vampires and not something done outside of battle. Despite the frivolity of it, the experience was incredibly pleasurable. Dietrich could taste the fear and pain of his victims and feel them die in his jaws. It felt right to him. This was the pure experience of a Vampire. Acting as a supernatural predator, without restraint nor remorse. By the time he reached the end of the hallway, Dietrich was covered head to toe in blood. Leaving behind him a gory mess of broken bodies, splintered bones, and shattered armor. By now, the noise of the massacre had alerted the rest of his attackers, and they were regrouping. Dietrich found his enemy in a natural choke-point formed by an intersection of hallways. Castle Guards had formed a shield wall and were receiving frantic commands from their mortal handlers. A phalanx of spears protruded out towards Dietrich, and he could smell the stink of Pitch in the air. The traitors intended to delay him with the guards long enough to counter-attack with flames, something that would harm even him. That would not do. So Dietrich selected another tool to use. The magic binding the Eternal Legions was designed to be relatively simple and easy to manipulate. Each squad of Guards was bound to a Reliquary, an arcane tool that could be used by a sufficiently talented mage. That bonded mage could then transfer control of their bound undead at will and revoke that transfer with minimal effort. This transfer could be repeated a shocking number of times before the magic started to become less effective. Creating magical chains of command, where ultimate ownership and control of the Guards traced back to whoever actually possessed the Reliquary. Lord Glockmire held ultimate control over the Castle Guards, but Petar the Steward was second in that chain of control, above even Dietrich. So any command given by someone invested by Petar would supersede Dietrich, or at least, in theory, it should. Paranoia is in part what defines Vampires, and one as ancient and powerful as the Archduke would not create armies of easily controlled servants without some manner of failsafe. A sufficiently powerful Vampire of the Archduke''s bloodline could override control of the Eternal Legions. As a Scarlet Knight, this was something well within Dietrich''s power. Focusing himself on the squad of defending Guards, Dietrich tapped into the well of power deep within him. Letting the blood of his kills feed the magic required to take control. It was like swimming against a current, pushing his mind against the magical strings that connected the Guards to their Reliquary. But the resistance Dietrich faced was not anywhere near enough to stop him. Dietrich cut the puppet¡¯s strings and claimed them as his own. With a thought, he ordered the squad of Castle Guards to turn on their former masters. They did as commanded and butchered the panicked traitors without hesitation. Now flanked by ten of the armored Skeletons, Dietrich continued on his way. The Scarlet Knights'' honor guard swelled to twenty Legionaries and stayed at that number. Controlling more than that without the aid of the Reliquary¡¯s magic was infeasible for Dietrich. He could still cut the connection of any squad he encountered to replace any damaged Guards or deprive his enemy of their use. Ultimately he was creating a lot of work for some unfortunate Necromancer who¡¯d be tasked with repairing all the damage he¡¯d caused, but Dietrich didn¡¯t particularly care. Dietrich and his small escort cut their way through a few more pockets of resistance as he made his way to his first destination. Migot the Strigoi, was the Court member with a Crypt closest to Dietrichs. If it was unmolested or even guarded by the Castle Guard, that would mark the old Goblin Vampire as one of the traitors. If it had been attacked, then Dietrich might be able to save a possible ally or at least avenge him. Either way, it would help him gather information about what had happened. Upon reaching Migot¡¯s Crypt, Dietrich found its door open and its contents ruined. The brutal Strigoi had taken to decorating his lair with a mixture of hunting trophies and dark totems from his homeland. Both mounted skulls and wood-carved ornaments now laid smashed around the small chamber, with the coffin at the center pried open and a pile of ash and bones within. Looking down at the sloping forehead of a goblin skull, Dietrich knew the Strigoi was dead. The traitors caught him in his slumber and destroyed him. A fate that almost befell Dietrich. Baring his fangs at that uncomfortable thought, Dietrich finished his detour and continued to his main destination. As a Scarlet Knight, Dietrich''s duty was to protect his Lord. He needed to find Lord Glockmire and ascertain more of the situation. Leaving the crypts, Dietrich redirected his efforts to punch toward the central tower. The main spire where Lord Glockmire made his lair. To his surprise, Dietrich encountered barely any resistance. Only a handful of servants and Guards blocked his path towards the central tower. Dietrich still took the time to dispatch them. Partially out of principle, partially to keep himself at full power. It was roughly mid-day, and with the Sun so high in the sky, it took an exorbitant amount of blood to keep himself functioning. This additional pressure pushed Dietrich forward, robbing him of the opportunity to further investigate the fate of other Vampires of the court. Dietrich suspected most of the servants and thralls were busy purging loyalists and their masters. Which didn¡¯t fully explain why they weren¡¯t focusing on occupying the central spire. Taking Lord Glockmire''s head should have been the priority. Only two reasons could explain why this was not happening. Either Lord Glockmire was the architect of these events. Something that made very little sense considering what Dietrich knew. Or, Glockmire was deposed before anything else had happened. Entering the central spire, Dietrich was forced to consider the second option more likely. The smell of drying blood hung thickly in the spire¡¯s air. It didn¡¯t take Dietrich long to find the bodies. Nearly half of Glockmire¡¯s personal servants had been killed and dumped in the center of the main spire''s ground floor. Dietrich spared a look at the corpses and did a double take. These hadn¡¯t been killed with blades and bludgeons like other loyal servants he¡¯d found. They had their throats torn out and their bodies shredded. Not markers of battle, but of a bestial attack. Something strong and vicious had been at work here. Had the Feeder unleashed one of its minions in the Castle? Readying his sword, Dietrich commanded some of his Guards to take a position in front of him. Despite all his power and skill, he was not immune to a surprise attack, especially one coming from a powerful Undead monster. Slowly, Dietrich made his way up the grand staircase of the tower and towards whatever waited for him. The doors at each landing had been broken, and a quick inspection of the chambers beyond showed pointless destruction. Opulent furniture had been smashed, antique paintings ripped from the wall, and all manner of stains covered the floors. Someone or something had methodically ruined everything within the spire. Dietrich couldn¡¯t tell the purpose of the destruction. Was it a crude attempt to search for something? The rampaging of an unshackled beast? The result of some visceral close-quarter brawl? As he got closer to the top of the tower, Dietrich found an explanation. The Studio where Lord Glockmire toyed with various artistic projects had a new resident. The stink of tanning leather was overpowered by another even worse smell. One that Dietrich recognized from a clash three years ago, wet dog mixed with rotting flesh. Entering the Studio, Dietrich found a great mass of mangy fur lying in the room''s center. Curled up like a hound waiting for its master was the Varcolac. An Undead Werewolf, and the same one Dietrich had driven off during the Breach. Upon the arrival of Dietrich and his guards, the creature raised its shaggy head and looked towards them. Milky cataract-filled eyes stared out unblinkingly, and the rotten remnant of a snout sniffed the air. Preparing himself, Dietrich expected the monster to attack him. It did not; instead, it simply noted his presence and returned to its rest. The Varcolac did not seem to consider Dietrich a threat, something that incensed the Scarlet Knight. Stepping forward with his sword outstretched, Dietrich prepared to finish what he¡¯d started three years ago. Before he could make the first attack, something pulled Dietrich''s attention. A loud crash and bang from overhead. Higher up in the tower, something was happening. While he was loath to leave the Varcolac, its unusual passivity made that an option for Dietrich. The issue was forced as another crash echoed down the staircase. Slowly backing out of the Studio, never taking his eyes off the undead Werewolf, Dietrich continued his journey. Mentally commanding two of his Guards to stay on this landing, Dietrich started ascending higher into the Spire. He didn¡¯t expect the two animated skeletons to even slow the Varcolac if it decided to attack. Still, Dietrich would sense if they were destroyed. Giving him a few precious moments to react if the monster attacked. Following the scraps and bangs emanating from above him, Dietrich made his way to the highest level of the spire. The personal suite of Lord Glockmire, a place not even his Bodyguard and Executioner had been allowed access to. The door was open but not broken like many others in the spire. Within Dietrich could see movement, wriggling shapes in the dark of the suite. While a mix of glow stones and candles illuminated the rest of the tower, no source of light was visible in the suite. A heavy permeating darkness hung beyond the door, and not even Dietrich''s enhanced sight could easily pierce it. All he could discern was the vague sense of movement deeper in the Suite. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Raising his blade in a high grip, Dietrich stepped off the staircase and into the top floor of the tower. The clanking of his armor caught the attention of whatever was in the room, and the movement stopped. A dozen sets of glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness, swiveling to look at Dietrich. For a second, Dietrich just looked at the eerie sight of baleful crimson globes hanging in the dark before tapping into his own abilities and enhancing his night vision. Dietrich almost dropped his sword in utter shock at what he saw. Thirteen Vampires huddled over a body they were feeding on. Such an act of communal feeding, while rare, was not what stunned Dietrich. It was the state of the Vampires. Each was emaciated and twisted. Looking like starved corpses stretched out into inhuman proportions. Black blood dribbled from their mouths and filled their veins in a snaking pattern stretching from their head and down into their body. Each Vampire looked like it had a network of onyx tendrils running under its nearly translucent skin. The alien appearance of the Vampires was a clear sign of what they had been doing. When a Vampire feeds on a mortal, they become more life-like during and after feeding, blood pumps, eyes blink, and skin gains color. So just as feeding on a living person makes a Vampire appear temporarily alive, feeding on a fellow Vampire reveals their true unliving foulness. The terrible forms before Dietrich spoke of such an act of cannibalism. These thirteen Traitors were in the middle of devouring a fellow Vampire. An act considered equally sacred and profane by all of the Night¡¯s Children. To devour another Vampire was to consume their power and soul. Augmenting the perpetrator with the strength of the victim. Dietrich looked at their victim and recognized him. Even drained of blood and withered into a husk, Dietrich could still recognize Lord Johan Glockmire. The Lord of the town was barely stirring as multiple Vampires greedily gulped down his power. Confused and horrified, Dietrich stepped forward and barked. ¡°Step away from Lord Glockmire, traitors!¡± He did not know if the Lord could be saved or how any of this was possible. Cannibalizing such an old and powerful Vampire as Glockmire was incredibly difficult. Requiring the attacker to subdue the elder Vampire and win a battle of wills against them. Vampire blood does not flow freely like mortal ichor and must be pulled from its source with effort. Yet these thirteen had managed to attack and partially consume Glockmire. An act that should be impossible even with the overwhelming numbers. The few of the Thirteen who hadn¡¯t bothered to stop feeding finally pulled themselves from their meal. Dietrich could now get a good look at the lot of them and wasn¡¯t too terribly surprised by who he saw. The majority of them were the younger and weaker members of the court. Ones with ambition and ego yet to be tempered by experience. The type a clever manipulator could coax into joining them. The identity of that manipulator became clear as one of the Vampires approached Dietrich. Hunched over and twisted by his act of cannibalism, Petar the Steward looked even more foul than normal. The second oldest Vampire of Glockmire and the Majordomo to the Court¡¯s Lord had shown his true colors. Looking at Dietrich, his balding head cocked slightly to the left like some overgrown vulture, Petar spoke. ¡°I see efforts to eliminate you were unsuccessful? That is a pity, Dietrich. I¡¯d hoped to deny you anything as noble as dying in battle or anything as satisfying as answers.¡± Another figure crept up next to Petar and spoke in a feminine rasp. ¡°Oh, but you must admit watching his primitive mind try and understand everything that has happened is entertaining, my Lord.¡± The speaker was Agate Doruscion, the Strix Vampire Dietrich had chased into the dawn¡¯s light. No disfiguring burns covered her or any other sign of the Sun¡¯s touch. Something that shocked Dietrich and, at another time, might have even stunned him. But today, it was just another thing Dietrich added to his growing list of former impossibilities. Gripping his weapon tight, Dietrich answered the Vampresses taunts with a monotone declaration. ¡°You have all betrayed your Lord and, by extension, his liege, Archduke Ferenc Drakovich of Dux Bucuros. For this crime, I sentence the lot of you to death. I need no explanation for your crimes. I only need to claim your heads.¡± That got many of the Vampires to laugh, creating a terrible raspy noise as corpse-dry throats wheezed out exclamations of mirth. Agate stepped forward and boldly proclaimed: ¡°You still don¡¯t understand, do you, Dietrich? The power Glockmire hoarded away is now ours! We¡¯ve taken his prize and will now-¡± Dietrich cut her off with a swing of his executioner¡¯s sword. The great blade Lex lopped one of her arms off with ease. He would not let her finish whatever grandiose speech she¡¯d obviously been saving for him. Even if there was truth to Agate¡¯s words, raw power did not account for everything. These Vampires, each of them spoiled whelps with little more than decades of unlife, had long learned to fear Dietrich. They¡¯d known for fifty years that his blade hung above them, ready to cleave heads from shoulders if given the slightest excuse. Agate claimed she had new power to rely on. Dietrich, by contrast, had experience and old fears to work with. Agate shrieked and swung out with her still-attached hand. Blood-Talons raked against Dietrich¡¯s chest and ripped clean through the thick plate. Shredded steel spun away from the blow, and Agate followed it with a brutal pounce. Despite her small frame, Agate hit Dietrich hard. Slamming him to his back and ripping off more of his armor. Agate, it seems, had been speaking the truth. Her physical power had dramatically increased to the point she could rival Dietrich. Something even an ancient Strix would find difficult. Basking in her newfound superiority, Agate bit into Dietrich. Her jaw closed over his right shoulder like a bear trap. Muscle tore, and Dietrich heard his collar bone crack. Dietrich tried to pull the attacking Vampress off of him to little avail. He¡¯d hurt her earlier and, more importantly, wounded her pride. Something that could make any Vampire act irrationally, especially if they had newfound reason to be confident. Agate was taking full advantage of her new strength to avenge that grievance as she bit down. Thankfully the rest of the Vampires were more than willing to let Agate indulge herself. Continuing with their feast instead of aiding their comrade. So none of them were there to help when Dietrich rolled over and pinned Agate under his mass. New to her strength and unused to grappling, Agate found herself stuck below the armored bulk of Dietrich. Despite still biting into him, Agate was in a position where she lacked the proper leverage to use her stolen might. She¡¯d been arrogant and assumed Dietrich posed no threat. He punished that assumption quickly as he wrapped his arms around her. During their first fight, Dietrich had been trying to capture Agate, demonstrating more finesse than he usually did, now he had no such motive. Dietrich squeezed his arms tight in a grotesque parody of a hug and Agate screamed into her bite as Dietrich crushed her ribs. She thrashed and tried to escape from his grip but found no escape. So instead, she bit harder into Dietrich, trying to rip a great chunk of the Scarlet Knights'' shoulder off. Dietrich had been fighting for more than a hundred and fifty years. Pain was something he¡¯d long learned to ignore. So the grapple turned into a twisted endurance contest, where Agate bit and Dietrich crushed. It did not take long for a clear victor to be decided; Agate was young and new to her enhanced abilities. The pain and terror of being trapped became too much, and she tried to escape, pulling her fangs from Dietrich and trying to wriggle free. In that moment of weakness, Dietrich rolled again, letting Agate out of his grip and getting much-needed space. Coming to his feet, Dietrich grabbed his dropped weapon and charged toward the still prone Agate. He¡¯d broken her ribs and cracked her spine. Standing up was proving difficult for Agate. She had barely gotten up when Dietrich¡¯s sword crashed into her. The blow caught Agate right in the torso and cleaved straight through her body. Agate collapsed into pieces as Dietrich got closer and drove the flat tip of his executioner¡¯s sword right into her skull. With a foul crunch, Agate was dead, her flesh dissolving to ash. Turning away from the first of the traitors felled, Dietrich realized he had the rest''s attention. Petar had watched the ugly fight with Agate and did not interfere. His unblinking eyes set on the healing Dietrich. Gesturing at Dietrich with a contemptuous flick of his hand, Petar ordered, ¡°Kill him.¡± Four Vampires leaped forward. These ones were smarter and did not just rely on raw physical abilities. The first to attack was Vigo, the younger Strigoi had altered his flesh for combat. Making his upper body swell with enhanced flesh and denser bones. Long claws stretched out from grotesquely muscled arms as Vigo leapt. The Scarlet Knight dodged the blow and managed to return the favor with a slash from his sword. It connected and cut a gash along one of Vigo¡¯s bulky arms. The wound closed almost immediately, the natural endurance of a Strigoi enhanced to a shocking degree. The rest of the quartet who¡¯d followed Petar''s command made themselves known. Camelia was a Moroi like the apparently deceased Lorena, but unlike her elder blood-clanmate, Camelia channeled her abilities towards preternatural speed instead of controlling minds. Turning into a shadowy blur, she struck at Dietrich. He caught the blow on a pauldron, but the Vampress tore through the metal. As Dietrich dealt with the Strigoi and Moroi attacking, two Strixs, Bogdan and Corneliu, prepared their own attacks. Inky darkness stretched from Bogdan''s feet out towards Dietrich. While darts made of crystalized blood punched holes in the Scarlet Knight''s armor. Dietrich kept Vigo and Camelia at a distance but knew they¡¯d eventually get through his guard. Fighting more than one Vampire, no matter how inexperienced, would not be easy for him. Even if Dietrich could kill all four of his attackers, it wouldn¡¯t improve his situation. Currently, victory was impossible; no matter how well Dietrich fought, he would not be able to kill all the traitors. Weight of numbers and attrition would make defeat inevitable. So like any good soldier, Dietrich did not give up but simply changed the victory conditions. With a thought, he commanded his squad of Guards to act. He¡¯d left them out on the staircase and now had the twenty animated skeletons move into the floor below them. As he parried attacks and dodged spells, Dietrich puppeteered his minions with some effort. He got them into position, directly below Lord Glockmire''s body. While Dietrich didn¡¯t know if the old monster could be saved, he needed to try. By now, the full attention of the traitors was on Dietrich, so he gave the command. As subtle as a group of Rattlers could, the Guards started breaking through the floor, attempting to pull Glockmire away from the fight. Armed with polearms and axes, it wouldn¡¯t take the Guards long to cut through the wooden flooring, but they would make noise doing so. Dietrich needed to keep his enemies distracted as long as he could. Swinging his sword Lex with inhuman strength, Dietrich caught Vigo with a solid blow to the side. Magically thickened hide, muscle and bone stopped the strike from bisecting the Strigoi like it would another, but it still cut deep. Dietrich pushed forward with the weapon stuck in Vigo. Knocking his enemy off balance and sending Vigo to one knee. Taking the opportunity, Dietrich put a single armored boot on Vigo''s torso and pulled his weapon free. Taking the momentum of his action, Dietrich started to spin into another strike when Camelia hit him from behind. The lithe Vampress leaped onto his back and slashed at him with her claws. Dietrich channeled his power to strengthen his body, protecting his spine from the flurry of blows. The power to alter their unliving flesh is something all breeds of Vampire have; most use it to regenerate wounds and take different shapes. While more experienced users of this skill can bolster what already exists; turning skin into a thick hide and muscles into steely cords. While Dietrich''s appearance did not change like Vigos did, his body was reinforced into something capable of cracking stone and ignoring sword blows. Unfortunately, this protection did little to stop the attacks of Bogdan and Corneliu. Bogdan had created a pool of shadow that coated the ground around Dietrich. Hands made of oily darkness reached up from the shadow and tried to grab Dietrich. While Dietrich could easily pull free of this hazard, it slowed his movements and distracted him. Stuck in a morass of grasping limbs and trying to pull Camelia from his back, Dietrich didn¡¯t see the jet of black fire until it was too late. Corneliu had changed tactics and created gout of flames that flickered black and white. These were not normal flames, something already dangerous to Vampire-kind. This fire was pulled from the Beyond, from somewhere where the laws of reality were less certain. The arcane fire hit, and much of Dietrich''s left side melted away. Skin and muscle instantly putrefying into black slime. Armor and bone clattered to the ground as Dietrich''s left arm and part of his torso were destroyed. Screaming in pain, Dietrich leaped towards Corneliu. The young Vampire had proven his magical talent, and Dietrich would not allow him to further demonstrate. Camelia leaped from Dietrch¡¯s back when the flames hit, avoiding the unnatural fire, but now she continued her attack. Going low, she brought her claws along Dietrich''s hamstrings, buckling his legs. At the same time, Vigo came in with a brutal downward strike. On his knees and screaming in pain, Dietrich had no chance to dodge and took the hulking Strigoi¡¯s hit right in the skull. The wood floor splintered as Dietrich''s skull impacted the ground with a sickening crack. Unlike a living being, Dietrich didn¡¯t have the mercy of being able to fall unconscious. He felt his skull crack and his jaw shatter. Sending his teeth and bits of flesh flying in a spray of gore across the floor. Inky fingers started to grip onto the splayed form of Dietrich, trying to pull him into the shadowy pool they emerged from. Those same dark hands grabbed his sword where it had fallen and moved it away from his remaining hand. Moaning in pain, Dietrich reached out mentally for his guards. Information on their position and progress entered Dietrich''s mind. They were almost finished. A little bit more, and they would be able to get Glockmire out. Looking up from where he lay on the ground, Dietrich saw that Glockmire was curled up not far from him, the Traitors having left their feast to observe the fight. The remaining twelve hovered around Dietrich. The fact they hadn¡¯t killed him honestly surprised the Scarlet Knight. The reason became clear as his skull started to heal slightly, and he could hear something other than shifting bones. ¡°Can we consume him as well, Lord Petar?¡± asked one of the surrounding Vampires. The voice was painfully raspy, but Dietrich was fairly certain it was Molke, another of the court''s young Strigoi. If they killed him outright, they would be denied the option to devour his power. So none of his attackers seemed willing to possibly waste the opportunity Dietrich presented by finishing him off. The shrill voice of Bogdan confirmed this as the youthful Vampire loomed over Dietrich. ¡°The four of us who brought him down. Only we have the right to his strength; the rest of you simply watched and didn¡¯t follow the new Lord''s orders.¡± Like scavengers surrounding a surprise feast, the Traitors started to squabble over Dietrich¡¯s blood. Normally he¡¯d been furious at the insult, but currently, Dietrich had larger problems than wounded pride. His reserve of power was rapidly running out as his body tried to repair the damage. At this rate, falling into day-torpor was a serious risk, something that would certainly spell death for Dietrich. Feeling his hamstrings reknit, Dietrich decided he couldn¡¯t risk waiting any longer. Marshaling his remaining strength and surviving limbs, Dietrich propelled himself forward, escaping the grasping hands and reaching out to where Glockmire lay. Armor ruined, flesh in tatters, Dietrich didn¡¯t move like a trained soldier. He fell into the instincts gifted him with undeath and moved like a feral desperate animal. The traitors quickly moved to grab him, but they¡¯d underestimated how much strength he had left and were too late. Dietrich came to his feet just in time to leap forward to where Glockmire lay. The weight of Dietrich coming down on the damaged floor was enough to punch straight through it. Dietrich and the withered husk of Glockmire fell through the hole and on top of the Guards who¡¯d been busily cutting away at the floor. The dozen or so armored skeletons ¡°cushioned¡± Dietrich''s fall and let him quickly get to his feet, his remaining arm holding Glockmire. Mustering all the speed he could, Dietrich bolted for the doorway and hopefully safety. He commanded his Guards to stall as long as they could. Dietrich knew it would do little good, but if the Rattlers could buy him even a second, it would be worth it. The animated bones did as he commanded and marched to their destruction as Dietrich ran. Chapter 14.5: The Tomb of the Alukah

Chapter 28: The Tomb of the Alukah

¡°The dread Rabisu and its brood spread a red tide across the land. Blood flowed like spring water and screams matched the wind. Nothing could stand before the Rabisu. Crowned in Red Night and glutted upon a nation¡¯s blood. Wyrm, Giant, Djinn, and Demon all fell to the Abomination. Only the chosen and their golden blood could stop the flow of red.¡± The Book of Miracles, Lamentations 9:4
Leaping down the stairs, three at a time, with Glockmire slung over his shoulder, Dietrich tried to formulate a plan. He needed to escape but to where? The Castle was infested with traitors, and the Sun prevented fleeing it. Dietrich needed someplace he could hide until nightfall. Somewhere that he could sleep safely, the tunnels under the Castle seemed like a good possibility, so Dietrich hurried towards their depths. An explosion of shattering wood, accompanied by the sound of claws on stone, pulled Dietrich''s attention for anything other than immediate survival. The Varcolac burst from the Studio and was headed towards Dietrich. It was coming up the great circling stairs while its masters pursued from the opposite direction. Dietrich was stuck between two serious dangers while badly wounded. After a moment of hesitation, Dietrich picked his poison and rushed headlong towards the attacking Varcolac. Letting out a screeching howl that combined the worst aspects of a Wolf''s call and a Man¡¯s agony, the Undead Werewolf charged Dietrich. Instead of dodging it, Dietrich met the beast head-on. Outrunning the monster would be virtually impossible. Fighting it with only one arm and without his sword would be tantamount to suicide. At least fighting it physically would be. Dietrich was a scion of the Archduke, naturally talented in the arts of dominating lesser souls. Rushing the beast, Dietrich got as close as he could and looked into the milky eyes of the Varcolac. The saying ¡°Eyes are the Window to the Soul¡± is not mere poetry, eye-contact provides a moment where minds and souls briefly touch, when mental magics are most potent. Dietrich thrust his willpower and focus against the Varcolac and smashed through its mental defenses. The mind of the Varcolac, if it could be called that. It was a raging ball of half-remembered instincts and blurry concepts. Raw animal hunger augmented with human suffering and left to fester in an undying shell. Fighting those desires would be next to impossible for Dietrich currently. The fact Petar or one of his sycophants had managed to leash this thing was remarkable. Dietrich couldn¡¯t stop the monster''s momentum, but he could change its direction. Reaching deep into the monster''s mind, Dietrich found the bindings that controlled it. Metaphorical chains that kept the Varcolac aimed where Petar wanted. These bindings were pulled taught by the snarling intensity of the monster, so it was easy for Dietrich to reach out and snap one. The whole interaction took less than a second, and Dietrich barely managed to dodge the lunging jaws of the Varcolac. Ironically, missing an arm and much of his armor made dodging the Varcolac easier. Spinning past the monster, Dietrich continued down the stairs, hoping his efforts were not in vain. The roar and scream that came a few moments later vindicated his actions. The Varcolac had spotted other prey in the form of the traitors and attacked one of them, buying valuable time for Dietrich to run as fast as he could. Moving with the speed of a condemned man, Dietrich escaped the central spire and made his way for the Catacombs. He pushed past any obstacle, relying on sheer momentum to plow through Guards who stood in his way. Dietrich looked for thralls and other servants as he ran, hoping to find a convenient source of blood. By now, he¡¯d exhausted his well of power and needed to feed desperately. Glockmire would as well, Dietrich did not know what the traitors had done to the old Vampire, but he hoped a fresh blood meal would pull him from torpor. Entering into the Catacombs proper, Dietrich made a grim decision. He knew of only one source of blood he could access with ease. While he wanted to head deeper into the tunnels, Dietrich would stop by his crypt first. The door to the chamber he nested in was still shut, but Dietrich could smell his thralls inside. Throwing the door open with ease, Dietrich looked around the room. The four thralls looked exhausted and scared. Their fear momentarily turned to terror at his arrival but quickly settled to relief as they recognized him. A tiny thing that made what Dietrich was about to do all that more difficult. All four of these humans had served him well for years, decades in Mimny¡¯s case. They were all bound to him and were his property, to be protected and utilized as he saw fit. Reaching out through the arcane chains that stretched from his mind to theirs, Dietrich knocked all four of them into unconsciousness. Even poor Yara, who¡¯d managed to wake in the time he¡¯d been gone. Ensuring this was painless was the little mercy Dietrich could provide. Setting Lord Glockmire down, Dietrich grabbed the slumped body of Mimney and sunk his fangs into the man''s throat. It was a quick death; Dietrich made sure it was. Instantly Dietrich felt more alive; the draining exhaustion that had pulled on him faded, and he felt new flesh start to grow over the exposed bones of his torso. When the last drop left Mimney¡¯s corpse, Dietrich moved to Ogan. The stocky man provided enough blood to seal Dietrich''s injuries but not regrow his arm. Such an expensive process could wait; for now, having reserves of blood to draw on would be vital. Laying both corpses down with as much care as Dietrich could spare. He turned and grabbed Vichiry, this time dragging the unconscious man over to Lord Glockmire and slitting the thrall''s throat above the ancient Vampires mouth. Lifeblood poured into the Lord¡¯s maw and whatever remained of the old monster was cognizant enough to gulp it down. With that done, Dietrich went to his final thrall, Yara looked pale and for a moment, Dietrich hesitated. He¡¯d fed on her dozens of times and she¡¯d served him faithfully. Even now her sacrifice was why he was awake. Spending her life, especially now that her injuries made her a pitiful meal felt wrong to Dietrich. Shutting his eyes in a rare moment of guilt, Dietrich went to do what was necessary. A croaking voice from behind him grabbed Dietrich''s attention. ¡°Knight? Is that you? What happened?¡± Johan Glockmire looked terrible. Propping himself up on skeletal arms, the ancient Vampire looked like a desiccated corpse. His skin taught and grey, his eyes sunken and withered, while his body jerked and twitched with every movement. Dietrich had never seen a Vampire starved into hibernation, but he guessed this is what they must look like. Setting Yara down, Dietrich returned to his Lord and spoke. ¡°Yes it''s me, I got you away from the Traitors but we don¡¯t have much time. They will deal with my distractions and be here quickly.¡± Glockmire let out a low choking noise that Dietrich realized was laughter. ¡°You¡¯ve just delayed the inevitable Scarlet Knight. I¡¯m too far gone, soon my last bit of strength will give out, and I¡¯ll be ash. But still, such a delay is appreciated. Stymying that bastard Petar for a few moments longer is worth it.¡± Dietrich looked back towards Yara and Glockmire seemed to read his intentions. ¡°Oh leave the girl Dietrich. A few more drops of the red will not do me any good. Now let us see if we can deny the enemy victory.¡± Shakily, on jittery, spastic legs, Glockmire stood and moved towards the door. The old Vampire collapsed against the wood and gripped the nearby stone wall for support. The solid masonry cracked under Glockmire¡¯s grip, even as he struggled to stay upright. A poignant reminder of how a near-death ancient Vampire was still an ancient Vampire. Moving to assist his Lord, Dietrich asked. ¡°You believe we cannot win? So we deny them victory? How?¡± Resting his arm on the solid surviving shoulder of Dietrich, Glockmire gestured out into the hallway. ¡°Follow my directions, and we will see what is possible.¡± Nodding, Dietrich grabbed the still unstable Vampire and ran down the hallway. Glockmire didn¡¯t complain about the treatment, which spoke to how badly the Lord was doing. It takes much for a Vampire to swallow their pride. Heading deeper into the tunnel system below the Castle, Dietrich followed Glockmire''s directions. The tunnels were set up on a large grid that constantly expanded in all three directions as the skeletal laborers dug through the stone. It was a true maze of abandoned rooms, dusty corridors, and active digging sites where the click of pickaxe and shovel could still be heard. Glockmire ordered Dietrich to descend down staircases and make turns in what seemed a random order. As the trip continued the directions became increasingly nonsensical, more than once Dietrich found himself running in a complicated circle before descending to the next floor. At first, Dietrich was unsure if Glockmire was truly cognisant and if his directions were actually of any use. But as they continued, Dietrich started to realize something was happening. Every few twists or turns he¡¯d get a sudden pang of vertigo or deja vu. A sense that he¡¯d walked the same hall a dozen times or a moment where the room around him spun slightly. While he¡¯d never personally experienced this phenomenon before, he¡¯d heard of it. Complicated spells were etched into these tunnels. A bizarre network of teleportation and folded-space that Dietrich was traversing. Rarely Dietrich heard distant shouts and sounds of his pursuers but they never got too close. Whatever path Glockmire was guiding him on was not something others could follow. The journey reached its climax as Dietrich reached the lowest layer of the Castle, a section of tunnel unfinished. Where living rock still made up the walls, not yet altered by chisel or magic. They passed by crews of skeletons that chipped away at the stone and broke rock, reaching the farthest end of the tunnels. Here, Glockmire raised a single withered finger to point at the far wall, a rough face of stone strata. ¡°That wall set me down before it.¡± Dietrich complied and let the Lord get to his feet. Glockmire hobbled over to the stone and pressed his hands upon it. Murmuring a few words Dietrich did not understand, Glockmire started to melt into the stone. Passing through solid rock like it was some thick sludge. As Glockmire disappeared totally into the stone, Dietrich saw no other option but to follow him. The stone complied for Dietrich, letting him pass through it. It felt like moving through a pool of cold mud, an upright bog that Dietrich had to push himself through slightly. No air or light reached him and Dietrich was forced to simply walk straight ahead and trust Glockmire. After perhaps twenty steps, Dietrich left the enchanted stone and stepped into a Tomb. Lit faintly by a handful of Glowstones, the room was circular in shape, maybe ten meters in diameter. The walls were covered in rich murals, each depicting strange scenes. Most depicting a man in primitive armor fighting and killing people and monsters. The images told a story of violence and bloodshed, though Dietrich couldn¡¯t discern much more. At the center of the chamber was a dais holding a massive sarcophagus. Easily three meters in length and carved from a polished black stone, the huge casket was inlaid with gold and gems. The lid and head of the sarcophagus were also cracked. A long jagged mark that Glockmire slumped next to. Glockmire placed his hand on the crack and looked at the sarcophagus with a mixture of grief and longing. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Turning his head to see Dietrich, Glockmire raised his free hand and made a gesture. The stone behind Dietrich groaned, and a curious touch from the Knight confirmed that it solidified. ¡°We should be safe for now. Petar will not be able to reach us without considerable time and effort.¡± remarked Glockmire. Looking around the chamber, Dietrich asked ¡°What exactly is this place? Is this your lair?¡± Wearily, Glockmire shook his head in the negative. ¡°Infinite Hells no, I¡¯m surprised you haven¡¯t realized it yet. This is my treasure and my burden. The reason I¡¯ve been able to enjoy an unlife of luxury, and why that idiot Petar is trying to kill me.¡± Glockmire placed a shaky hand on the sarcophagus and spoke solemnly. ¡°We are in the tomb of Annoch the Alukah, Seventh Bloodscion of the First Vampire. Which I was unfortunate enough to discover all those centuries ago.¡± Dietrich took an unconscious step back from the sarcophagus and asked, ¡°An Alukah? But they were all destroyed!¡± Letting out the hacking cough he called a laugh, Glockmire castigated his bodyguard. ¡°Clearly, the ancients missed one. Annoch was clever, or lucky enough to bury itself somewhere its pursuers never found. Hiding away under a mountain in a land untouched by Gods or mortals. Sleeping away the ages until everyone forgot about it. Eventually, the accursed thing started to wake up and cause problems. That was back when the Blood Duchies were still young. The Archduke sent me to investigate, and I found it sleeping here, ready to rise up and drown this whole land in blood.¡± Glockmire gestured to the crack in the sarcophagus, and Dietrich realized a small stream of black fluid dripped out of the container and into a basin set on the floor. ¡°I didn¡¯t have many options, I couldn¡¯t let it wake up, and I doubt anything of this Epoch could kill it. So I found a way to weaken it,¡± ¡°I have been siphoning its blood over two and a half centuries, drop by drop. Keeping it weak and unable to wake up. While also making myself fabulously wealthy in the process.¡± Glockmire dipped a finger into the nearly filled basin of black blood and let the thick tar-like fluid drip from his digit. ¡°A few drops of Alukah blood can enhance a vampire''s strength and protect them from our weaknesses. For a short time at least.¡± Then, pieces fell into place for Dietrich, asking, ¡°That is how Agate survived the Sun? I drove her into the dawn and assumed she¡¯d found some way to hide. But she didn¡¯t; this ichor protected her.¡± The Lord nodded absently. ¡°Yes, with enough of this Blood, any Vampire could walk about in the day like any mortal. I supplied a tremendous asset to the Archduke in exchange for an unlife of creature comforts and constant paranoia. Drakovich keeps this boon to himself and uses it to ensure his supremacy over his fellow Dukes. If someone were to uncover the blood''s source, civil war would be inevitable. So I played my part, keeping the ancient monster asleep while ensuring the greatest of us modern monsters rules unchallenged.¡± Absorbing these secrets, things even a Scarlet Knight was not privy to, Dietrich tried to understand all that had occurred. ¡°What changed? If you have been doing this successfully for so long, why did Petar decide to betray you now?¡± Shutting his glassy unblinking eyes, Glockmire became still as he pondered on his answer. ¡°Petar has been with me since the very beginning; he was the first of my brood and always the most loyal. He¡­ was a manservant on my family estate when I was turned. I only got the strength to sire him by the time he was an old man. Yet despite those abnormalities, he had served me well, and I¡­ trusted him¡± Those were words any Vampire found hard to speak. Admitting you trusted another was all but anathema to any Nocturnal Noble. Admitting you trusted someone and that trust has been misplaced was a profound statement of weakness. Something that would usually result in the true death of whoever was foolish enough to admit it. Dietrich ignored the weakness Glockmire displayed; the elder Vampire had earned at least that much respect from his guardian. ¡°He helped me throughout all this. It was his idea to constantly expand the tunnels to hide the extraction and transportation of the Blood. He had stood by my side unflinchingly until a little more than a decade ago. I gave him leave to visit other parts of the Blood Duchies. Ostensibly for bureaucratic reasons, in truth, because he sought a method to restore his youth.¡± Dietrich remembered this. It had been close to twelve years ago when Petar left Glockmire, both the town and the man it was named for. The Steward had spent three years elsewhere, supposedly negotiating trade treaties and tax policies for his lord. ¡°What happened when he left?¡± asked Dietrich. In an uncharacteristically casual gesture, Glockmire shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure. All I know is he failed to do what he set out to do, but still, he made many new connections and gained a different perspective on matters. When Petar returned, he tried to breach the idea of taking the power of the Alukah for ourselves. Supplanting the Archduke and taking rulership over the realm.¡± ¡°You let him live after uttering such words!¡± barked Dietrich, the fervent loyalty beat into him as a Scarlet Knight baring its fangs. Glockmire scoffed, ¡°If you executed every Vampire who debated overthrowing his master, we¡¯d go extinct in a month. I thought it was just the foolishness of an angry scion, something to chide, not punish. Even so, I took measures to limit Petar¡¯s contact with the sarcophagus. The spell I wove in these tunnels will make reaching this place virtually impossible. The bindings on this tomb will only loosen if the maze I created is followed exactly. Petar will have to spend years guessing the pattern before he can even get close to my treasure.¡± Musing on this, Dietrich tried to map out matters. ¡°So Petar was looking to take the crown, like every other Vampire of growing power. Except unlike every other possible-tyrant he actually has an opportunity to claim a throne. The blood of the Alukah would grant him strength and resources. More than enough to present a legitimate threat to any of the Dukes. And the only thing blocking him from this path is you, Lord Glockmire. Petar knows he cannot challenge you normally, my Lord, so he works to gather an army to his side. Something capable of wearing you down to a point he could beat you. But the Restbringer¡¯s actions and my own disrupted this. While also giving you a warning that something is stirring. Forcing Petar to attack early when not every variable is accounted for. Leaving us in this situation.¡± Glockmire nodded in agreement to Dietrich''s summation. ¡°Yes, my thoughts are similar. I¡¯d been hoping to dissuade Petar and prevent this from getting out of hand. Call it the weakness of a Sire or the indulgences of an Elder, but I did not take quick enough action to stop all of this.¡± Another admission of weakness, something that at this point didn¡¯t surprise Dietrich. He saw how badly the older Vampire was doing. Such honesty was common in those with little time left to lie. ¡°You are dying, truly?¡± asked the Scarlet Knight. ¡°What did Petar do to you?¡± Glockmire looked down at his withered form and nodded in confirmation. ¡°I can feel my soul slipping away. They ripped enough of my essence away that what is left is not enough to sustain me. I¡¯m bleeding away oceans of strength; I doubt I will last much longer than a few days.¡± Returning his hand to the black pool of Alukah blood, Glockmire let the dark fluid cover his fingers as he spoke. ¡°Normally, any Vampire stupid enough to try and consume their better would be in turn consumed. Devoured by their would-be prey. It''s why I never tried to out-right consume the Alukah. Even asleep and weakened, it would easily drink me to ash. So I found an alternative option by siphoning its blood. I have consumed much of that blood, more than perhaps any other Vampire. It granted me great power but also a great weakness, one I had no idea existed until this morning.¡± ¡°The Blood of the Alukah wants to be whole; it seeks to return to its rightful owner. As the greatest usurper of that power, other holders of the Blood could turn that desire against me. The traitors each carry some of the Blood within them, and that gave them an opening to damage my soul. What they did was not like any true act of consumption. They did not drink me after breaking me. Instead, they ripped open my soul and lapped at the spilling innards. Waiting till I was weak enough to be truly devoured. Petar got the lion-share of my power, but the traitors enjoyed the meal as well. Each of them will be far stronger than they should be.¡± At that, Glockmire looked over Dietrich with his missing arm and ruined armor. ¡°But I see you already know that.¡± Gritting his teeth in frustration, Dietrich asked, ¡°What is to be done then? Am I supposed to simply join the Alukah in its tomb?¡± At that, Glockmire smiled surprisingly. ¡°I cannot win, but I can deny Petar his prize. The power he¡¯s stolen from me will be temporary unless I¡¯m truly devoured. If I were to die without him or one of his minions claiming my life, then all their efforts would be for naught. Their stolen strength will drain away like bile in a rainstorm. Presenting an opportunity, I trust you will take advantage of Sir Dietrich?¡± Understanding filled the Scarlet Knight, and he answered his Lord''s smile with a feral grin of his own. Glockmire knew he was already dead, and he was positioning the pieces to deny the traitors their prize while putting Dietrich in a position to avenge him. A duty that Dietrich would gladly take on. Still, one thing bothered him, a comment Glockmire had made back when Dietrich had first brought this matter to the elder Vampire''s attention. ¡°My Lord, you said your treasure was active. You implied it was attempting to escape by itself. Was that deception to keep me away from the truth.¡± In response, Glockmire slammed a hand against the sarcophagus with surprising strength. The huge stone construct actually scraped an inch along the ground. A few seconds after the blow, Dietrich started to hear something. A faint scratching noise that grew louder and louder. After a handful of tense moments, the scratching died down. The tiny stream of black blood dribbling from the sarcophagus¡¯s crack flowed faster. More of the dark fluid flowed into the basin. Looking at the huge stone coffin, Glockmire replied. ¡°No, I was being truthful. My treasure is attempting to escape. Annoch the Alukah was asleep when I first came to this place. I kept it that way, draining its blood and power away over decades. And all that effort has finally started to pay off. No well is infinite; no Spring can flow eternal. Annoch is dying just as I am. Soon there will be no more of this blood, and only a withered husk of the Alukah will remain. The threat of that fate is enough to rouse even Annoch. Unfortunately, for the Alukah, it''s too late. I¡¯ve won, it lacks the strength to escape, and soon it will be destroyed.¡± Glockmire¡¯s smile widened to an inhumane rictus grin as he explained his secrets to the last person he could tell. ¡°I¡¯m dying, but I will do so victorious. My task set here by my liege, the Archduke, was to contain and kill the Alukah. I will have succeeded in that and go to my fate gladly. I have beaten a demigod of our kind and will deny the prize from my unworthy heirs. Is there a better way for a Vampire to end his eternal life?¡± At those words, Dietrich felt an uncertain terror he could not describe. Some primal instinct, human or vampire, Dietrich could not tell, screamed at him to flee. These events had gone far past what he knew and understood. Armies, battles, coups, and betrayals, these were all things Dietrich could handle. He¡¯d framed events that way until now. Now, something seemed profoundly different. He¡¯d entered into another part of the world, one he could not fully contemplate. As that realization washed over him, the subtle madness that drove Glockmire became apparent. Dietrich looked at the crack in the Sarcophagus into the pitch black innards of that accidental prison for an ancient monster. And for a split second, Dietrich swore something looked back at him from out of the shadow. Chapter 15: Illusion of Normalcy

Chapter 29: Illusion of Normalcy

¡°The Strix are one of the older breeds of Vampire. Tracing back to a particularly foul group of Witches who viewed Vampirism as a form of ascension. Some legends say an Alukah was involved in that Coven¡¯s founding but I think that¡¯s horseshit. Whenever those monsters pop up in the record you know for certain. But what I do know is the Strix are magically talented, crafty bastards. Which makes them even more dangerous than their more physically impressive cousins like the Strigoi. When dealing with them, your best bet is to burn them out of their lair and not even try to play their games¡±- Philip Hardspade, Archeologist and unofficial Rest-Bringer.
The day Cole left Glockmire proved to be one of the most stressful days in Natalie Striga¡¯s life. Natalie held her breath from the moment the grizzled Paladin left the Silly Goat, waiting for calamity to come. Hours ticked by as early morning bled into mid-afternoon, yet nothing happened. The bones of Lorena the Vampire lay out in the street, surrounded by broken glass and drying blood. Undisturbed, but not unnoticed. No one came for breakfast that morning, and townsfolk avoided passing too close to the Silly Goat. The Inn had become isolated from the rest of Glockmire, fear, and uncertainty keeping people away. Wilhelm didn¡¯t say anything about the kiss Natalie and Cole had shared. He didn¡¯t say much of anything throughout the morning, the stress getting to the usually gregarious man. Eventually, by eleven o¡¯clock, exhaustion took its toll, and Wilhelm fell asleep in the back room of the Inn. Slumping over a table and snoring like a particularly weary Oxen. Natalie felt guilt and worry at seeing her father''s worn state. She knew consciously it was not her fault, but that did little to halt the feelings. After putting a clean blanket over Wilhelm, Natalie left him to his sleep and tried to distract herself. While she was feeling the beginnings of sleep deprivation, Natalie¡¯s taught nerves prevented her from even considering sleep. Instead of resting, Natalie got to work. She finished cleaning up the tavern and got it presentable for customers. As she admired her handiwork, Natalie looked outside and saw the bones in the road. That sight brought an uncomfortable thought to her. Would the Silly Goat have customers again? Even if the Lord and his minions didn¡¯t haul her and her father off, would the People of Glockmire return to the tavern? People worrying over what might happen could destroy her father and his business just as easily as something actually happening. Pushing away this new source of anxiety, Natalie turned her attention elsewhere. It was getting cold inside the Inn, despite the logs Natalie put on the fire. A draft chilled the normally cozy building, and Natalie knew the source. Going upstairs, she found the room Cole had rented. Its window was utterly destroyed. Having a hundred or so kilos of Vampire and Vampire hunter go through it shattered its panes and ripped its frame. Surprisingly the ruined window was the only real evidence of the fight. Natalie had expected blood stains and more ruined furniture for some reason. Looking around more closely, Natalie did notice an abnormality. Sitting on the dresser near the window was a small pile of coins. A handful of silver and bronze coins lay there. Natalie had to stop herself from laughing when she realized the source and purpose of the coinage. Cole left money to pay for the window. It was a silly little thing, but it made Natalie smile. The idea of waiting a year to see that strange, wonderful man suddenly seemed unbearable. Longing and a sense of loss filled Natalie. Grabbing the coins, she left the room and went to find some old sheets. Forcing herself to move forward and not sulk or stew, Natalie deposited the coins in her room and grabbed a few worn sheets. The ragged cloth was destined to become rags soon, but until then, she could get another use out of them. Natalie returned to the broken window and started hanging up the sheets as a make-shift covering. Layering three of the bed sheets to block cold autumn wind coming through the window. As she worked, Natalie felt something crunch against her foot. Looking down, she expected to find a piece of glass that somehow managed to end up inside. As a waitress, she knew better than most how far shattered glass could spread, ending up in all manner of improbable places. Instead of powdered glass, she found bits of grey soot, patches of ash dotted the floor. After a moment of confusion, Natalie understood what she was looking at. Confusion turned to shock and then revulsion as the realization filtered through her. The flesh and blood of a Vampire turns to ash when destroyed. These smears of soot were remnants of Lorena, bits of her blood that Cole spilled. Shivering at the idea, Natalie looked out the window through the hole she¡¯d yet to cover and saw the bones still lying outside. The notion of grabbing a hammer and turning those blackened bones to powder and scattering them to the four winds suddenly seemed very appealing to Natalie. Lorena had come into her home and entertained herself by tormenting Natalie. The Vampire had explicitly and implicitly threatened to kill Natalie and everyone she loved, keeping Natalie at the edge of panic for hours. It had been a form of torture, not the grandiose acts of mutilation whispered to happen in the Nobility''s dungeons. But it still had been torture, a subtler and more elegant kind. Natalie once heard Lock, the local Priest of Uncle Trickster, say that fear of pain is worse than actual pain. How dark anticipation and anxiety could do more to hurt a person than almost any act of violence. After her experience with the Vampire and the subsequent night of waiting, Natalie could not agree more with Lock. Returning to her work, Natalie finished covering the window and went to find a broom and dustbin. While she knew going out in the street and smashing up the waiting bones of Lorena would probably not result in anything good. Natalie still intended to get a little bit of catharsis. Carefully Natalie swept up every bit of ash and (as she expected) broken glass she could find in the room. It wasn¡¯t much, but Natalie still took the time to take the dustbin out to the latrine and dump the Vampire''s remains into the cesspit with all the other filth. Back in the inn proper, Natalie had a little spring in her step. She knew what she¡¯d done was juvenile beyond words, but it still had brought more than a little vindictive glee. With that done, Natalie realized she¡¯d run out of chores. She and her father both kept busy throughout the night doing everything that needed to be done, so the few distractions she had left were finished quickly. Natalie briefly considered taking a nap like her father, but she was still too tightly wound for that. With her immediate responsibilities finished, Natalie decided to try and relax a little. Grabbing one of the pieces of wood she kept for such an occasion, Natalie sat down in the inn and started to carve. Stockings, the Cat joined her nearby, enjoying the fireplace''s heat on the cold fall day. The cat lounged with the haughty grace only a feline could manage, and Natalie was drawn to carving the sight. Hoping to catch the moment in wood, Natalie started to cut the piece of aspen. She stopped before she could really start as a thought made her innards twinge. Her actions were a near-perfect repeat of when Cole first came to town. Sitting by the fire, with only the cat for company, carving knife in hand. Letting out a slight moan, Natalie slumped back into her chair. She was facing the same problem over and over. Try how she might distract and comfort herself, but her traitorous mind kept looping back to topics she was trying to avoid. After maybe half an hour of idly whittling by herself; Natalie was surprised when the Inn¡¯s door slowly opened. Leaping from her chair and turning her carving knife at the newcomer, Barnabas entered the Silly Goat, casting furtive glances around. Worry lines were carved deep into the old man''s face, and his jaw was set with the type of nervous strength only seen in someone pushing past their fears. When he saw Natalie, standing there with her knife out and eyes wild, Barnabas visibly relaxed. Shutting the door behind him, the merchant moved to Natalie with surprising speed. Natalie lowered her knife, and the two embraced in momentary relief. Breaking the hug, Barnabas looked Natalie over, making sure she really was alive and in one piece. Looking around the tavern again, Barnabas asked, ¡°Your father is he¡­?¡± Natalie actually smiled at that. ¡°No, he is asleep in the back. It was a long night, and neither of us slept.¡± More of the tension bled out of Barnabas at learning the last bit of family he had in the world was alive and well. ¡°The town¡¯s been in utter chaos all morning. Something happened up in the Castle, and it''s got the Guards jumpy. It took me a bit to talk my way past then and get here.¡± The audacity of the slightly hunched old man before her made Natalie¡¯s smile bloom into a full grin. One Barnabas answered with his own smile, one that turned melancholic as he continued talking. ¡°The guards said something happened here. So when I saw that bloody skeleton outside, I assumed the worst.¡± Pausing for a moment, Barnabas gestured out the door he¡¯d entered and asked, ¡°If you and Wilhelm are safe, then who in the jagging Beyond is that outside?¡± Those words pulled every little bit of good humor out of the room. Leaving Natalie with nothing but grim truth to relay. ¡°Those bones belonged to a Vampire. It came to the tavern last night looking for Cole.¡± Natalie hated how her words drained the color from Barnabas¡¯s skin ¡°The Vampire threatened me and everyone in the tavern. Dad managed to empty the Goat before things got bad. I don¡¯t know what exactly happened but Cole and the Vampire fought. He won.¡± Slightly stunned, Barnabas asked for clarification. ¡°Cole killed a Vampire? I¡­ wouldn¡¯t believe it if you weren¡¯t telling me.¡± Natalie nodded somberly. ¡°I saw it with my own eyes. He tackled the damned thing out of the second story window and cut its head off.¡± ¡°Where is he now?¡± asked Barnabas, worry mixing with awe in his voice. While the people of Glockmire knew Vampires were not truly immortal. That knowledge was an abstract and alien thing. Just as the people of this mountain town knew of deserts and how their heat could burn a man to death; they knew a Vampire could die. Words just couldn¡¯t do the idea justice; only experience would. Natalie had felt a similar shock earlier, but her own experiences with Cole lessened the impact. ¡°Cole stayed with us until dawn, then he left. He wanted to make sure nothing else happened last night but also didn¡¯t want to stay and invite reprisals on us.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Barnabas frowned and grunted. ¡°I can¡¯t forgive him for bringing this heaping pile of shit to your door, but I can respect him for trying to fix it. It takes courage to do that, even if it''s the act of a dead man.¡± ¡°What?¡± sputtered Natalie, sudden confusion and shock hitting her. Looking at his adopted Niece, Barnabas wore a serious look. ¡°He killed one of the Nobles. They won¡¯t take that well. The Castle is busy today, and I don¡¯t think that is a coincidence. Come dusk; they will hunt him down. If he¡¯s lucky, they will just kill him then, and if he¡¯s not, they will capture him alive. You know what they do to mundane prisoners like poor Felix. Imagine what they will do to someone who actually killed one of their own?¡± Images of Coles''s scarred body flickered through Natalie¡¯s mind. She could guess full well what Vampire did to those who angered them. Cole all but admitted to being tortured by Vampires on more than one occasion when she¡¯d pushed him. Internally, Natalie pieced together more of the puzzle around Cole. He¡¯d loved a Vampire and been her ¡°favorite.¡± until another Vampire killed her and probably captured Cole. Somehow he¡¯d survived his imprisonment, escaped, and became a Paladin of Master Time. A series of events that raised countless questions; one¡¯s Natalie hoped to ask him in Vindabon. But now, the prospect of their reunion seemed impossible. That idea sent a deep, ugly pang through Natalie. The idea of never seeing Cole again hurt; it hurt with an internal ache that she lacked words to describe. It ached so much that Natalie asked Barnabas a question. ¡°Barnabas, what does it feel like to be in love?¡± The words spilled out of her before she was truly cognizant of what they were. Instantly embarrassment flushed Natalie¡¯s face scarlet, and she looked away from Barnabas. The old man slumped against a nearby table and swore. Letting out a particularly foul Dwerick curse, that Natalie was fairly certain had to do with molesting mountain goats. While he didn¡¯t say anything, it was clear Barnabas understood the implied meaning of her words. After a moment, he grumbled, ¡°With all the fine young lads and lasses in town. She goes and falls for a Jagging Rest-Bringer.¡± The complaint was for his own benefit, not hers, but it still brought a new twinge of embarrassment. Ignoring Natalie¡¯s awkward fidgeting, Barnabas sat down at the table and seemed to ponder his words for a moment before answering. ¡°People always describe it differently. But for Niall and me, it was this feeling of completeness. We helped each other be better and brought each other joy. He¡­ would push me past my cynicism, and I could be a rock for him to rely on. Or at least I always tried to be.¡± Barnabas rarely talked about his husband, Niall. They¡¯d met on the road and fallen in love decades ago. Running Glockmire¡¯s largest trading post together until an accident on the road killed Niall about fifteen years ago. A tragedy that now Natalie realized was her first real exposure to death. Looking at Natalie with a neutral expression, Barnabas elaborated on his description. ¡°Love is also something that grows and changes. It starts as seeds of infatuation and interest but only can become something more through time and effort. Love needs to be cultivated and cared for. Young love is fragile, which can be a good or bad thing. It makes it easy to ruin, but it also makes it easy to fix. Even if fixing it is a process done with someone new.¡± That got a wince from Natalie. She could always count on Barnabas to be equal parts wise and abrasive. The old merchant pressed forward, as steady and sure as one of his caravans. ¡°I¡¯m not saying you shouldn¡¯t hurt. It''s okay too, and it''s what you are supposed to do. Grief is a real slattern, but it''s also important. Just¡­ just don¡¯t let it destroy you. Like it almost did me.¡± Sitting down opposite of Barnabas, Natalie mulled over his words and started to consider things. While Barnabas could very well be right, and that Cole was doomed. But he didn¡¯t know Cole was a Paladin. A factor that might shift things outside of Barnabas¡¯s prognostications. Natalie figured that if the Vampires captured Cole, they would ensure the townsfolk knew. The Rest-Bringer had become known around town, and the fact he killed a Vampire would not remain secret for long. They would make sure everyone knew he was dead. So as long as there was no news about Cole, it meant he was alive. Having that sort of worry over her head would not be fun, but it still brought Natalie some hope. More discussion on the topic was cut short when Wilhelm entered the tavern proper. Bleary-eyed and still tired-looking, the innkeeper smiled at seeing Barnabas and shuffled over to the kitchen. Not quite awake and still drained from the night''s terrors, Wilhelm started cooking. It was an attempt to return to normalcy but also a demonstration of the type of man Wilhelm was. If there was stress and worry, he¡¯d do his best to make sure people had good food to lessen the burden. Despite it being a little past noon, Wilhelm made a breakfast of champions for his daughter and friend. Natalie tried to get up and help on multiple occasions, but her Dad simply shooed her away each time. He wanted to make a meal for them all to enjoy and would brook no intrusions in his kitchen. The last night rattled Wilhelm, and he sought to regain control over his life again. Where a lesser man might give into anger or frustration at those feelings. The innkeeper found a more constructive outlet. Presiding over his kitchen and making sure no one under his roof went hungry. When her father dropped his first finished product, a bowl of oatmeal, before her, Natalie dug into the food ravenously. She hadn¡¯t realized how hungry she was until she tasted the mellow sweetness of the oat''s honey. The plate of sausage, eggs, and toast that came next didn¡¯t last long either. Terror and worry suppressed her hunger for too long, and now the simple needs of the body came back in a roaring rampage. Barnabas, for his part, was still finishing his oatmeal when Natalie had completed her entire meal. The old man watched her with bemusement and remarked: ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you eat like that in years. Not since you put on all that height. You are already taller than me, Natalie. How much bigger do you intend to get?¡± Natalie rolled her eyes at the gentle ribbing and responded between her final mouthfuls. ¡°I¡¯m trying not to look like something the crows have picked over. You could learn from my example, Barnabas.¡± That got a bark of laughter from the wiry old codger, and as easily as that, they returned to their old rhythm. Natalie and Barnabas sparred wits while Wilhelm laughed and occasionally chimed in. As the last bits of the morning turned into afternoon, Natalie put the stress and worry in their place. All was not right with the world, but little bits of it could come close. Like the little piece, she and her family made together. Hours passed by, with the three of them enjoying each other''s company. Until a surprising interruption came. The door to the inn opened, and Natalie spun in her chair to see the newcomer, expecting the worst. So she was pleasantly surprised when she saw Matko and his family at the door. The stout miner always reminded Natalie of some great slab of granite. Squat and broad-shouldered, the man looked somewhat out of place surrounded by his brood. Seven children of ages ranging from late teens to mid-childhood crowded around Matko and his wife, Maria. Tall and willowy, her appearance contrasted heavily with her husband. None of their kids inherited the full portion of each parent''s appearance, and mixed thick frames with long limbs. Matko looked at the trio of Wilhelm, Barnabas, and Natalie for a moment before asking ¡®Uh, are you open for business?¡± Wilhelm didn¡¯t hesitate at all and waved them in. ¡°Of course, let me whip something up for you all!¡± The family found a table, with Maria herding her children to places around it. Wilhelm got to work cooking up a meal for his customers. Natalie got up from her place by Barnabas and started getting drinks for the Miner and his family. An awkward silence filled the tavern, and Natalie passed out cups of water, juice, and weak wine to the customers. Eventually, Barnabas broke the tension with his usual bluntness. ¡°So what are you lot doing here? I knew I was stupid enough to wander the streets but didn¡¯t think anyone else would risk it.¡± Matko shifted uncomfortably for a moment before answering. ¡°They shut the mine; Daymen aren¡¯t letting anyone work. So I figured instead of lounging about, I would take the family out for a treat. And the only place you can get any decent food outside of my Wife¡¯s kitchen is the Silly Goat.¡± Wilhelm beamed and answered jovially, ¡°Well, happy to have the customers. Now, do you have anything special you¡¯d like?.¡± Natalie let her father and their customers get down to the brass tacks as she wandered over to the front door. Looking out the nearby windows, she felt her blood chill and a question form on her lips. The skeleton was gone; someone had moved it from its crude resting place. Natalie wanted to shout, demanding an explanation from Matko¡¯s family, but she stopped herself. They would know nothing, and all she would do was frighten the children. Biting back that instinct and plastering a smile onto her face, Natalie went back to refill drinks and distract herself. The next hour went by peacefully enough with the semi-organized chaos of feeding a large family filling the Silly Goat. Children laughed, joked, and argued. Barnabas and Matko found time to talk while Natalie made conversation with Maria. Stockings the Cat let herself be subjected to the attention and affection of seven different children. Displaying the aloof temperance only a worldly feline might have for energetic children. Natalie worked to keep the missing skeleton from her mind and mostly succeeded. The afternoon turned into a bizarre mix of normal business hours and a family brunch. It ended soon enough, and Matko paid Wilhelm while his wife herded the kids out of the Inn. Just before following his family, Matko took Natalie aside and whispered to her. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened here last night, but I do know it¡¯s got the Daymen wound-tight, and they¡¯ve been taking it out on all of us. That isn¡¯t right, and everyone knows it, but fear will make plenty of folks stupid. Ignoring and shunning you and your father.¡± Natalie started to answer, but Matko continued. ¡°I heard Master Cole left town this morning, and before that, he did something to cause a stir. While he might have left, and I can¡¯t do anything to help him. You are still here, Natalie, and I¡¯m happy to help you any way I can..¡± Matko¡¯s throat caught as he tried to finish his thoughts. ¡°You two got justice for my little girl. That means more than I can put in words. So whatever happens, know this, there are people in this town who respect what you did, Natalie.¡± The burly miner followed his family out into the street and left the Silly Goat. Natalie watched them go. As they turned onto another street, Natalie made a decision. She scurried from the Inn and into the street. Her father shouted after her, but Natalie ignored his protests. She went to the spot where Lorena had died. Hoping to get a modicum of understanding about what happened. The bones had been moved, leaving only a small patch of ash on the cobblestones. It hadn¡¯t rained, and the wind wasn¡¯t bad enough to do more than smear the gray dust along the road. Nervously, Natalie looked up and down the street, ensuring no one was watching. Seeing no sign of being observed, she bent down to look at the ash. No footprints or wheel ruts were present in the powder. No sign that anyone had come by and taken the bones. Aside from their absence, of course. Shivering slightly, Natalie got a strange sense she was being watched. Looking up and around, she saw nothing other than her father crossing over to join her. Standing up, Natalie turned back towards the Silly Goat. Cutting off her father''s worried words, Natalie spoke. ¡°Sorry, Dad, I just wanted to check; let''s go back inside.¡± That placated Wilhelm and Natalie followed him back towards the Inn. Just before she entered, Natalie felt a shadow pass over her. It was just a momentary thing, but for a brief second, she swore that something large had blocked out the afternoon Sun. That sensation pushed Natalie to scurry inside the Inn. Before she shut it behind her, Natalie looked around once more. Seeing no sign of the shadow, she shut the door and prayed she was overthinking things. Chapter 15.5: In the Blood

Chapter 30: In the Blood

¡°Immortal? No they aren¡¯t immortal. Vampires are dead. Very very dead. The Evil jaggers just steal time from others. They are the worst kinda thieves. They take the one thing everyone has. They take time, they take life. They take and take and take. All because the troll-shit bastards are afraid of the inevitable.¡± - Testament of Andrew the Fool. Shortly before his impalement in Noct-Bucharos
The next three days passed by without incident. While the Silly Goat had fewer customers than normal, it still did steady business. The lure of good drink and good food steadily increasing the number of townsfolk willing to push past any newly created taboos. Throughout that time, no news of Cole came to Natalie, something she decided was a good sign. He hadn¡¯t been caught and was still out there with no one but the skull for company. Idly, Natalie wondered how much the Paladin talked to the Skull when by himself. The thought had a slightly sour tinge, and Natalie realized why. She was jealous, jealous of the cursed Vampire skull. An idea that sounded ridiculous but rang true. Natalie found herself in the unenviable position of falling for a tortured soul bound to a God of Death and enthralled by a Vampire¡¯s ghost. Those slightly bitter thoughts thankfully didn¡¯t last long as Natalie refocused on her task of cleaning up after the breakfast crowd. In the three days since the incident, the old pre-Cole rhythm of life had returned. The only serious difference was Barnabas spending even more time in the Inn. While he wouldn¡¯t admit it, events had rattled the old merchant; and he felt the need to keep a protective eye over his adopted family. Natalie was grateful for his presence and found having the company kept her occupied. Staying busy was proving to be important for Natalie¡¯s sanity. While not much had changed within the Silly Goat, a pall had been cast over the town. The mine remained shut, with no word on why or how long it would stay that way. Rumors spoke of strange cargo being unloaded at the quarry at night and of some sort of large excavation happening. There had also been more than one disappearance. Most jarring of which was Gurni. The Dwarven miner refused to abandon his claim and apparently got into a shouting match with some of the Daymen. One loud enough to be heard in a different neighborhood. Gurni hadn¡¯t been seen since the night of the argument. It was not the only incident of the like, and bizarrely in the aftermath, more people were coming to the Tavern and pretending things were normal. Natalie couldn¡¯t tell if they were trying to drink away their worries or hoped if they pretended hard enough, things would be okay. Ultimately this left Natalie and the rest of Glockmire with a metaphorical sword hanging overhead. An ever-present threat that might drop at any time. Natalie, for her part, reacted better than most of the customers she saw. On more than one occasion, she witnessed a full-grown man reduced to drunken blubbering as the stress got to him. Everyone in Glockmire knew something had changed, and not for the better. They just had no clue what exactly had changed. As the days passed, Natalie got the worrying sense that whatever was happening was more than the incident with Cole. Several Daymen who lived in town had disappeared the night Lorena and Cole fought. No official word had come from the Castle on this matter. Only nervous-looking Daymen with strange demands that few townsfolk were willing to question. Ultimately all these events led to where Natalie was, in the Silly Goat, waiting down the clock. Simultaneously cherishing every moment and wishing time would speed by faster. A paradoxical situation brought on by her desire to leave Glockmire but not leave her family. Just as Natalie finished cleaning the last table, the tavern door opened as the first of the lunch crowd arrived. Turning to the door, Natalie prepared to greet whoever had arrived. Words died on her lips when she saw who¡¯d stepped through the door. Short and slightly hunched over, the sickly form of Simon the Dayman filled the doorway. On either side of him were Castle Guards. Silent armored shapes that loomed over the smaller man. Simon strowed into the Inn with the same dismissive air he¡¯d shown the last time. After a moment, the Dayman¡¯s attention fell on Natalie. A sickly smile split the waxy-eyed man¡¯s face, and he gestured to her. ¡°Take her.¡± The world stopped for a single terrible moment as confusion and shock slowed time. Natalie tried to muster up her usually glib tongue and argue with the Daymen. Before she could so much as speak, a loud shout of ¡°NO!¡± filled the inn. Wilhelm vaulted over the bar with surprising agility and put himself between his daughter and the Daymen. Fear had pushed the middle-aged man to impressive speeds, and he¡¯d arrived before the Guards could take more than a step forward. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± cried Wilhelm. ¡°We have been good citizens of Lord Glockmire. My daughter has done nothing to warrant this! The Lord¡¯s will protects us!¡± Old Barnabas had hobbled to his feet and was coming to join the argument. The guards stopped advancing on Natalie, and the Daymen instead stepped forward. Looking Wilhelm up and down, Simon answered. ¡°That might have been true, once; but things change. ¡± Moving faster than Natalie could register, Simon plunged his forearm into Wilhelm. Driving his hand clean through the Innkeeper''s body and out through his back. Flesh tore and bone snapped in a sickening cacophony. Wilhelm looked down at where he¡¯d been impaled, confusion showing on his face. Simon pulled his arm free and let Wilhelm¡¯s ruined body fall to the floor. Blood exploded from the terrible injury, and Wilhelm tried and failed to breathe. Bubbling red spit dribbled from his lips, and his eyes were wide with shock. Raising one hand toward his daughter Wilhelm wheezed: ¡°Natty¡­¡± Wilhelms''s hand fell to his side and blood poured more slowly from him. The last bits of the Innkeeper''s life draining away with his blood, leaving only a corpse. Wilhelm Striga was dead. Natalie started to scream. The type of pained horrified scream that could ruin voices and wake the dead. Barnabas stumbled over to Wilhelm, a rictus of pain carved onto the old man¡¯s face. Barnabas bellowed for his friend to stay with them, and his voice joined Natalie¡¯s shriek in a duet of loss. Simon watched this with unconcerned boredom. Only taking the time to wipe the viscera away with a handkerchief. Cold metal fingers clamped over Natalie¡¯s shoulders and wrists, dragging her away from her father''s body. Natalie¡¯s perspective tunneled down onto the sight of her father dead on the floor. As the Castle Guards dragged her towards the door, it was all she could see. The terrible reality of what had just occurred crashed into her like an avalanche. Sense and understanding started to seep back into Natalie, and she began to thrash and pull at her captors. It was no use; the Castle Guards resisted her attempts to break free without a modicum of effort. But as she fought, Natalie caught sight of Simon, standing nearby, licking the last few drops of her father''s blood from his hand. Just then, Natalie saw his fangs, hidden before, but now present for all to see. Simon was a Vampire, a Vampire out in daylight. Something that should be impossible. As the Castle Guards dragged her from the Inn, Natalie stopped her struggling and shouted a message. Her only hope for salvation and vengeance. ¡°BARNABAS!¡± the old merchant¡¯s eyes snapped up to meet hers. The pall of shock started to fade from him slightly as Natalie caught his attention. ¡°FIND COLE! HE CAN HELP¡± Recognition flickered across Barnabas¡¯s face, but before Natalie could elaborate, Simon loomed over her. Catching her eyes with his own. A psychic hammer blow hit Natalie, an overpowering command that tore through her defenses and ordered her to sleep.
Natalie¡¯s dreams were terrible things, of blood and darkness. Visions of her mother being bitten in half and her father being impaled. Interrupted only by the vague sensation of being carried, and the hot-copper smell of fresh blood. Natalie tried to force away the dreams, trying to escape the nightmare. All she managed to do was distort them into new terrible variations. Versions where her parents died slower, more horrible deaths or other people joined them in their demise. Distantly, Natalie knew she was crying, but she didn''t care. A world submerged in hollow grief was better than the charnel house her mind currently showed for her. Red misery and bitter loss consumed her, making Natalie wonder if she¡¯d ever know anything else. As those terrible thoughts filled her mind, something else joined them. A light, a cold blue light in the distance of her unconsciousness. On instinct and a desire to escape the whirling hell-scape of dreams, Natalie pushed towards the light. As she struggled forward, a great pressure started to tighten around her. Natalie felt like she couldn¡¯t breathe, like all life and air were being squeezed from her, yet she pushed towards the light. It grew brighter and brighter, resolving into a blue sky above a rippling meniscus. Suddenly a hand reached down from the light and grabbed her. It bodily pulled her from whatever mind-scape she¡¯d been stuck in and deposited her on solid ground. Coughing and twitching, Natalie blinked away red and looked around her. She was on a riverbank. A grassy meadow covered in lilys stretched out around her, interrupted only by a mellow stream that she lay next to. Looking down at herself, Natalie realized she was covered in blood, not her own, but still fresh and foul. Getting to her feet slowly, Natalie looked at the stream, where she¡¯d been pulled free. The crystal blue water was polluted near her; clouds of smoky scarlet billowed in the creek. Uncaring of the current, blood stained the river, and its sight sent a shiver up Natalie¡¯s spine. Speaking more to herself than anybody else, Natalie asked, ¡°Is this still a dream?¡± ¡°Yep, this is a dream.¡± answered a mellow voice from nearby. Natalie whirled in shock to see a tall, wiry man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and casting a fishing pole into the river. Try as she might, Natalie couldn¡¯t discern the man¡¯s features. They seemed to shift each time she looked. Hidden under the hat¡¯s brim and changing every time the shadows played over them. Some part of Natalie told her this wasn¡¯t another figment of her overtaxed mind, but someone entering her dream. Cautiously, she tried to get answers. ¡°Who are you?¡± Instead of answering, the fishermen gestured toward her and spoke. ¡°Did you know the process of falling asleep is a lot like dying? Your heart beats slower, your breaths become shallower, and your mind does all sorts of strange things. It''s so much like death, in fact, your body takes the time to twitch and make sure you aren¡¯t actually dying.¡± Confused, Natalie responded with a flat: ¡°What?¡± Seemingly not to register her words, the Angler kept talking. ¡°People seem to wish sleep would just turn into death when the time comes. The idea of dying in your sleep seems to appeal to most people, which I guess makes sense.¡± The line of the Angler¡¯s pole twitched, and the strange fisherman stopped to pull on the rod. He wrestled with his catch for a few moments before pulling it free from the water. Instead of the fish Natalie expected. A shifting ball of silver smoke clung to the end of the line. The Angler brought it close and plucked the mercurial sphere from his fishing line. The Angler set the sphere down on the ground nearby with unusual tenderness, where it melted away into wisps of gray vapor. Casting the line out again, the fishermen continued speaking. ¡°There was once a people who lived along a great river that stretched across an entire continent. For these people, the river was the focus of their entire lives. Everything that was, is, and will be, could be traced to the river. Their beliefs reflected this, with each God or Spirit they worshiped connected to that great river.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Stepping closer to the river bank and peering into it, observing his reflection, the Fishermen continued. ¡°Including their God of Death. Who they saw as a great Angler who plucked souls from the world when it was their time.¡± Turning to face her, the Fisherman smiled sadly. ¡°Those people are gone now. Their world faded away eons ago. Few care to remember them, but I do. The way they viewed me always struck a certain¡­cord. So I wear this form when I can to honor their memory.¡± Understanding blossomed in Natalie¡¯s mind, and she looked at the Angler and his pale blue eyes. A strange shade she¡¯d seen only once before, the Angler had Cole¡¯s eyes. Slowly trying to find her words, Natalie asked her host. ¡°Am I dead?¡± The Angler smiled sadly and shook his head in the negative. ¡°I already told you, you¡¯re dreaming. Which happens to be just close enough for me to speak to you.¡± Disoriented and chilled, Natalie asked another question. She knew the answer to this one as well but still wanted confirmation. ¡°Are you Master Time?¡± The Angler bowed to her with a dramatic flourish. His wide-brimmed hat nearly falling from his head. ¡°In the metaphysical flesh. I must apologize for my¡­ ham-handedness in our earlier encounters. Interacting with mortals without the proper medium makes my touch a tad bit ungentle.¡± Natalie shivered at the memory of that oppressive coldness slamming against her soul. It was hard to imagine that brutal icy power belonged to the same being that stood before her. But some instinct whispered truths to Natalie. What she was seeing was not truly Master Time. It was a mask he wore for her comfort. A form animated in her mind to not further injure her already wounded soul. ¡°Why are you here?¡± asked Natalie ¡°What are you doing? The Angler set down his fishing pole and turned to face her fully. With a gentle, almost sorrowful tone he answered. ¡°Doing what I can to help you. There are limits on my power, but it''s within my grasp to do this. Petar, the Vampire who knocked you out, is a cruel creature. He would have let you stew in the nightmares his power created. I can ensure the rest of your sleep is unbothered by his malice.¡± Confused, Natalie started to ask ¡°Petar? The Vampire who attacked me was named Simon¡­oh,¡± More understanding arrived as Natalie got another reason for Master Time wearing a mask to their meeting. Simon the Dayman was a mask Petar the Vampire wore. Nodding at her recognition, Master Time spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much you will remember from this when you wake up. But I hope a little of my message will stick when you awake.¡± The riverbank around them started to fade, dissipating into foggy shadows. Master Time tsked with annoyance and spoke more quickly. ¡°Consciousness is coming soon. So just remember this if you can. Do not lose hope when all seems lost, and remember your Mothers gift to you. ¡° The image of the Angler faded away and Natalie felt herself start to fall through the ground. Hurtling through wisps of blurry fog. The sensation of falling pushed Natalie awake.
Sitting up with a gasp of surprise, Natalie blinked away sleep and looked at her surroundings. She was lying on an oddly shaped couch in an obscenely opulent sitting room. A number of overstuffed couches and chairs littered the room, all surrounding a fireplace the size of her bed back home. Strange green flames danced in the hearth, casting witch-light shadows over the room. Looking down, Natalie realized she was wearing a slip she didn¡¯t recognize and nothing else. Before she could contemplate even worrying about what that implied, a voice called out. ¡°Ah, you are finally awake, good.¡± Sitting across from her in a large high-backed armchair was Petar. While she¡¯d known the old-looking Vampire as Simon, something inside her told of his true name. It was one of a few nagging hunches that pulled at Natalie¡¯s mind. Things she would need to examine later if there was a later. Petar was dressed in a posh suit and cravat that didn¡¯t quite match his shabby, ragged look. He looked like someone had taken a particularly large rat and stuffed it into a gentlemen''s outfit. His unkempt stubble, receding hairline, and unblinking waxy eyes added to the contradiction. A Vampire who did not look the part. Standing up with a liquid grace that seemed at odds with his body, Petar looked over Natalie with an appraising eye. ¡°I¡¯d been hoping to wait and enjoy this, but circumstances have called for me to move up my timetable.¡± Natalie tried not to shiver at the emotionless predation implied in those words but failed. Petar saw her shiver and sniffed dismissively. ¡°I am not going to rob you of your virtue. You flatter yourself if you think I¡¯d go through the effort. What I want is much simpler. Your blood.¡± Confused and not any less alarmed, Natalie looked at the Vampire without comprehension. Petar did not seem to notice or care about her expression and continued speaking. ¡°I¡¯ve run into an issue. One that requires a fortune of power to resolve. While I already have such a fortune at my disposal, wasting it on this would not be productive. So when you came to my attention, I could not pass up the opportunity.¡± The smell of rotting flesh and wet dog slammed into Natalie, and she nearly lept from the couch in utter terror. She knew that smell; she would never forget that smell. The rustle of fur and padding of great paws filled the room as a huge shape resolved itself from the shadows. The Varcolac, the beast that killed Natalie¡¯s mother, was in the room with her. Frozen in terror, Natalie watched as Petar went over to the foul thing and stroked its head like it was a loyal hound. ¡°This toy of mine was what first alerted me to this opportunity. It was badly damaged by that fool Dietrich three years ago. For a while, I thought I might have to put it down and recycle the parts. But then something surprising happened. My Varcolac healed from its wounds far faster than I expected and grew not only in size but strength. An interesting result I needed to investigate.¡± Scratching between its shredded ears, Petar kept speaking. ¡°Varcolacs get stronger when they feed, particularly if their food is magically potent. So I went through the records and pleas for vengeance to find out exactly who my pet ate. It was an impressively long list that ended with your Mother. Someone who immediately caught my eye. A strange outsider that no one knew anything about? That was worth investigating.¡± A new terrible chill cooled Natalie¡¯s blood even more. Making it feel like pure mountain run-off was flowing through her veins. ¡°My search started out promising but never got anywhere definitive until I had the chance to stop by your Father¡¯s place of business. Where I saw you and more importantly, that little bird in your hair.¡± Natalie reached up to her hairclip. The silver ornament was still there, keeping her hair wrapped up. Petar gestured at the ornament and elaborated. ¡°I could hardly believe my eyes at the time, but when I saw it, many things made sense. That hairclip is the sigil of House Strixscion. One of the high breeding families of the Capitol.¡± In half a whisper, Natalie asked for elaboration. ¡°House Strixscion?¡± Petar smiled widely, his previously hidden fangs now on full display. ¡°Do you know how we Vampires reproduce?¡± Natalie had a few ideas but did not know for certain, so she shook her head no. That seemed to be the answer Petar was hoping to hear. ¡°We drink a prospective Vampire to near death and pour our blood into them. The fresh blood kills the blessed person and raises them up as a Vampire at the next dusk. To do this is a significant investment for a Vampire, and we work hard to find good potential scions. It¡¯s an awful lot of work, and Duke Drakovich¡¯s inner circle wished to streamline the processes. Putting our immortality to use in breeding valuable livestock. Cultivating families over centuries to produce mortals with features and aptitudes useful for any prospective Vampire.¡± Natalie felt sick. If what Petar was saying, her Mother had escaped from something even worse than the fate she herself had been trying to flee. Natalie had wanted to escape being livestock; Iona had escaped being a broodmare. After relishing Natalie''s dawning comprehension and horror, Petar continued his grotesque lecture. ¡°Of all the breeding families, none produce more prized stock than House Strixscion. Beautiful, intelligent, and most importantly talented in Blood Magic.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes shot up to where Petar loomed over her, confusion etched on her face. ¡°Yes, every member of that House is a natural-born Savant in Blood Magic. A very useful attribute for a Vampire.¡± Suddenly a few things made sense. When Natalie had tried to start the fire with Cole¡¯s spark-stone, she¡¯d created a jet of flame. Back then, she¡¯d thought it was Cole¡¯s blood on the stone that had created the fire. Which it had been, but with Natalie¡¯s influence drawing it far more power than dried blood should be able to. This fact also brought up a few new questions. ¡°Why didn¡¯t the Temple say anything? They are supposed to inform people of magical potential at their Rite of Youth?¡± At that, Petar actually laughed, a dry hacking sound that lacked any truly joyful mirth. ¡°The Gods prefer to leave those details out. They prefer not to let every potential Necromancer, Blood-Mage and Fleshcrafter know what they can do. It''s one of the dirty little secrets of the Temple.¡± At this point so many emotions, so many revelations spilled over Natalie that she had to partially shut down. So much had happened, her ability to process and understand it all was flagging. Petar would not let her have the opportunity to collapse or digest what she was learning. He added a final terrible secret to this growing pile. Stepping back towards the huge wolf-monster, Petar gestured at it. ¡°This leads us back to my toy here. Members of House Strixscion are not just prized as potential Vampires. But as useful bloodmeals. Some of that magical savantism in your blood can be used by whoever drinks it. A property I intend to use to its fullest for my purposes. I¡¯m going to drink you to death Natalie Striga.¡± In a quiet monotone, Natalie asked, ¡°Why are you telling me this? Why not just kill me and get it over with?¡± Returning to his position of looming over her, Petar answered in a matter-of-fact way. ¡°Because fear and despair make you taste better. They form a wonderful spice.¡± In another flash of insight, Natalie knew that was not the whole truth. Spending her entire life working in a Tavern, Natalie learned a lot about the different types of people who liked to talk. Petar stunk of the type who was so isolated that he''d talk to anyone who¡¯d listen. Normally she found this type in old widowers, merchants who¡¯d spent too long on the road, and shepards back from moving an entire flock by themselves. Petar spoke not out of just pure sadism but because he lacked anyone else to speak to. The only type of person he trusted to listen was one who¡¯d quickly take those secrets to the grave. Natalie got a little bit of understanding about the Vampire standing over her. Just as Petar lunged forward and sunk his teeth into her neck. Sending lances of cold pain through her body. Natalie tried to scream but couldn¡¯t find the energy. The venom of the Vampire robbed all strength from her. This was not the type of Venom that put prey into a pleasantly drugged state. This toxin simply made her sluggish and unable to fight back. The tool of a predator who saw no need to hide what he was. The feeling of coldness spread through Natalie, moving through her torso and out through her limbs. Pushed back against the couch, Natalie felt another source of coldness. This one crisp and invigorating, not numbing and awful like the venom in her rapidly emptying veins. A voice from a dream whispered in her ear. ¡°Do not lose hope, and when all seems lost, remember your Mothers gift to you.¡± Natalie knew this new source of cold. It was the touch of metal on her skin, pressed to the back of her scalp through her hair. The hair clip gifted to Natalie was a beautiful symbol warning of the world''s dangers and providing a weapon against them. Understanding, hot and violent filled Natalie. Driving her to fight against the slow draining cold of blood loss. She knew what she had to do; her mother had prepared her for this moment, even if she never meant to. Shakily, Natalie reached up to her hair. Fumbling through her raven strands and touching the silver of the hair clip. Grabbing the little bird, Natalie slipped it free, using much of her remaining strength. Repeating a motion she¡¯d done thousands of times, Natalie flipped open the hair clip, revealing the short silver-coated blade within. Darkness started to encroach on Natalie¡¯s vision, and she almost dropped the stiletto. But some last bit of strength pushed her to act. Natalie jabbed the knife into the neck of the monster drinking her blood. As the silver-dipped knife point struck home, Natalie felt Petar scream into her neck. The Vampire pulled away from Natalie, savaging her neck with his fangs as he leaped back. As her vision swam, Natalie looked at a panicked Petar, a bird-handled blade sticking from his jugular. Gouts of black, tar-like blood poured out of the Vampire as he tried to pull the weapon free. Its silver coating burned him where he touched it. It took Petar multiple tries to get it free, leaving his fingers blackened and burnt. Finally, he succeeded and let the knife clatter to the floor. Twitching and wild-eyed, Petar fell forward. Catching himself on the couch. He was healing, but slowly, and a steady stream of black blood poured from him and right into Natalie¡¯s wound. A new feeling struck Natalie. A sense of hunger and oily darkness slithering against her. Rapidly losing blood, Natalie smiled up at Petar. Her semi-delirious mind gloated in her perceived victory. Not realizing the full horror of what was about to happen. The circling darkness at her vision¡¯s edge came closer and closer as Natalie¡¯s frantic heart pumped out her last bit of life-blood. All while another, darker substance seeped into her. On the day her father was murdered, and when her world was shattered half a dozen times, Natalie Striga, the human, died. But that night, when the fate of Glockmire would be decided, Natalie Striga, the Vampire, came to life. Chapter 16: Alone Again

Chapter 31: Alone Again.

¡°The Soul problem continued to be an insurmountable obstacle in Homunculus Research. Spliced and transferred souls were only marginally effective. Most Homunculi were empty husks lacking anything more than basic animal impulses. For a time, it seemed Magic and Alchemy had reached a logical barrier. Creating and manipulating flesh was possible, but the Soul proved to be something impossible to replicate. That is until the infamous Vampire experimentalist, Isabelle Gens Silva made a profound breakthrough - Excerpt from the text, ¡° Alchemical Abominations ¡± authored by Aureolus Bombastus, Master Alchemist of the Salted Citadel.
The three days after Cole¡¯s departure from Glockmire had been stressful for the Paladin. Predominantly because every night, something new tried to kill him. He¡¯d set up camp a few kilometers north of the town, trying to get his bearing and figure out what to do next. Cole¡¯s original plan was to stalk the wilds around Glockmire and eliminate any Undead he could find. Going without the comforts of the town but still continuing his duty. Something he had some experience with. This new plan was met with spectacular success, as Cole didn¡¯t need to search for any Undead to put to rest. They saved him the trouble by coming after him instead. On the first night, Cole had barely managed to set up a camp in a secluded clearing not far from the main road when he was attacked. A pack of undead wolves had thrown themselves at him with no warning. Through a mixture of fire, frost, and steel Cole had been victorious. Cutting and burning his way through twelve near-skeletal wolves with some effort. They¡¯d been crudely animated, with little of the original lupine intelligence left. Lacking any real ability to coordinate their attacks. So destroying them had been a practice of patience and timing rather than any overwhelming skill or strength. The second night proved more difficult when screams awoke Cole from the little sleep he¡¯d managed to get. This time the Feeder had set a particularly insane Wraith on him. The remnant of some tortured soul that filled the Aether with an aura of psychic agony. Far more unstable than the ones he¡¯d faced in the ruins days ago. Nothing had remained of the original person, and Cole felt little qualms about putting it down. There was no chance of salvaging anything from what had once been a Soul. Whatever had been done to that Shade had reduced it to nothing but malice wrapped in ectoplasm. By the dawn of the third day, lack of sleep and constantly being on guard were starting to wear on Cole. He¡¯d survived the attempts to kill him but didn¡¯t find much comfort in that fact. These attacks had been woefully insufficient to do more than tire him. Which Cole speculated was their goal. The Vampires knew he was capable enough to kill one of their own, so they might be trying a different tactic. Using brute attrition to wear him down before they killed him. Or, Cole bitterly contemplated, capture him. Lorena had known about the Homunculus Knight, which spoke that someone within the Court knew about that particular legend. But Cole had to wonder how accurate the legend was. Few people, living or undead, had survived those events and Cole doubted more than a handful of people (including himself) knew anything close to the full story. Ultimately this left Cole in the strange position of waiting for his enemies to come to him instead of seeking them out. A situation that was not altogether untenable, the legends about the Homunculus Knight must have truly been warped if the Vampires thought a war of attrition was in their favor. Something that forced Cole to reconsider the motivation and methodology of the attacks. Cole knew for a fact the Feeder had more powerful Undead he could unleash. He¡¯d not seen any sign of the Varcolac, or several other threats Natalie had mentioned. So could they simply be trying to distract or stall him with this attacking fodder? Or was something else happening? Something Cole lacked the knowledge to understand. Sitting beneath a large Oak tree, Cole pondered this and the two objects he¡¯d set before him. The Skull of Isabelle and the Cat Statue made by Natalie. Even three days later, Cole swore his lips still tingled from the kiss he¡¯d shared with her. Much of the time he¡¯d spent not preparing to fight, fighting, or recovering from fighting had been spent musing over Natalie. Something that brought forth a storm of conflicting emotions inside Cole. While a good part of him felt guilty for his increasing attraction to her. Another part argued that maybe it was time to move on, maybe just maybe he had earned a modicum of happiness. He¡¯d tried contacting Isabelle twice already. Bleeding himself badly to try and forge the connection that might let him speak to her. Cole had managed to only get vague notions from the spirit inside the skull. A feeling of loss, guilt, and confusion. Which Cole couldn¡¯t understand for the life of him. He¡¯d idly considered that she was reflecting his own emotions back at him but didn¡¯t know if that was even possible. Leaving Cole alone in the woods with little idea about what to do next. With his divinely ordained mission or his embarrassingly torn heart. It was nearing the late afternoon of the third day, and Cole was keeping himself busy with the work of surviving out in the wilds. The weather cooperated surprisingly well, and Cole was keeping reasonably warm with his new cloak and a small fire. He had rations for the road but was trying to make them last. An effort that a rabbit foolish enough to enter his snare gave its life for. Eating some roast rabbit and a few late-season berries he could scavenge, Cole looked around the little clearing he¡¯d been camping in. Dangling from nearby low-hanging branches were fetishes woven of twigs and twine. Simple little things that represented the sum of Cole¡¯s knowledge of Shamanism. The tiny witch-markers attracted the attention of Spirits and reacted to those Spirit''s behavior. It was another trick Cole had picked up in his travels and one with usually fairly limited use. If the local Spirits detected something nasty, they would react violently. Breaking the fetishes with a loud snap. Providing a bit of forewarning that something unnatural was sniffing around. Unfortunately, ¡°unnatural¡± is subjective, and Spirits could easily become acclimated to some rather nasty things. The twig fetishes were completely useless in places where dark magic had utterly polluted the local Aether. In the middle of the forest, away from people and monsters, the fetishes might work as an early warning sign. Giving Cole just enough time to react to an attack. Even when they worked perfectly, the Fetishes didn¡¯t provide any warning about more mundane dangers. Something Cole was acutely aware of when he heard the sound of hoofbeats in the distance. Even from Cole¡¯s place off the road and shrouded by foliage, he could hear the steady drumbeat of a Horse being ridden half-to-death. The sun was still up, and none of his wards had snapped. Meaning whoever was approaching was not Undead. In the three days Cole had been hiding, he hadn¡¯t seen a single traveler on the road. So the presence of someone rushing with all speed away from Glockmire did not seem like a good sign. Cole grimly wondered if the Vampires had set human minions upon him. The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Cole hoped that was not the case. Killing or harming mortals was something he tried to avoid at all costs. His job was to fight monsters, not become one. As the hoofbeats got closer, Cole could tell they belonged to a single horse, which relaxed him. They wouldn¡¯t send a single mortal agent against Cole. Arrogance alone would prevent that. Cole had killed one of the Court. They¡¯d not let some mortal prove themselves superior to Cole and, by extension, one of their own by killing him. Cole dimmed his fire to dull embers and waited. He¡¯d hoped the rider would pass him by. but the slowing of the hoofbeats told Cole his hopes were in vain. Cole lay back against a tree and listened to the sounds of hoofbeats decreasing in tempo. For a while, there was nothing, but eventually, the rustle of brush being moved and pained grunts came to Cole. Getting up with one smooth motion, Cole unfastened his Axe and slipped over to the source of the noise. Gently Cole stepped between brush and crept up towards his visitor. His visitor was trying unsuccessfully to push through the undergrowth and had not noticed Cole¡¯s approach. Having circled around to be behind his pursuer. Cole got close and darted through a clump of bushes, coming up behind his foe and prepared to strike if necessary. Axe held up, ready to fight; Cole stopped midstride as he recognized his pursuer. The wiry frame of Barnabas whirled around to see Cole looming over him. Barnabas let out a surprised yelp and leaped back, slamming himself against a nearby tree. The old merchant let out a pained grunt and weakly leaned against the tree. Lowering his weapon Cole hissed, ¡°Barnabas? What in the Reaping are you doing here?¡¯ Recovering himself, Barnabas grunted, ¡°Trying to find you, you giant rat-eaten bastard!¡± Barnabas stumbled forward and grabbed onto the lapels of Cole¡¯s cloak, and pulled the much larger man down to his face level. ¡°Trying to find you. So you can get Natalie out of this Adversary-touched messed!¡± Eyes widening in shock, Cole frantically asked, ¡°Natalie? What¡¯s happened to her? Is she in danger?¡± Something flickered across Barnabas¡¯s face, grief and fear quickly suppressed by bitter rage. ¡°The Jagging Nobles took her! They walked right into the Silly Goat and grabbed her. They¡­They killed Wilhelm because he tried to stop them and dragged Natalie off to the castle.¡± In his duties, Cole had once fallen into a semi-frozen lake while hunting a Draugr of the far north. That experience chilled him less than Barnabas¡¯s words. Under his breath, Cole murmured, ¡°no, not again.¡± Pushing past Barnabas, Cole started gathering up his pack. As he started, a worrying thought went through Cole. How had Barnabas found him? Stopping what he was doing, Cole slowly turned back towards the old man and voiced the question that¡¯d struck him. ¡°Barnabas, how did you find me?¡± Barnabas started rifling through his pockets, and Cole unsheathed his axe again. This might be a trap. How else could Barnabas find him, and what else would get him to act so rashly as the idea of Natalie being in danger? Expecting Barnabas to pull free a weapon or some magic artifact, Cole was surprised to see him holding out a ragged strip of cloth. The cloth waved in the air like it was caught in a strong breeze. The end not held in Barnabas¡¯s fist pulling towards Cole. This was tracking magic, much like the spell he¡¯d used to find the Vryko-Ghouls. Gesturing with the enchanted rag, Barnabas explained. ¡°Loom-Matron Trude is a seamstress through and through. She never wastes anything and measures twice before every cut.¡± Cole looked down at his own cloak and saw how its texture matched the piece of black cloth. Seeing that Cole had made the connection, Barnabas continued. ¡°She wove a tracking spell into that cloak she gave you. Something to keep an eye on you and keep Natalie safe. Trude told me about it when I complained to her and the rest of the Priests about your presence. I never thought I¡¯d use it this way, but I¡¯m not going to complain now.¡± Gritting his teeth a little, Cole reminded himself that in the future, always look gift horses in the mouth. While it had worked out for him this time, the fact he¡¯d let himself be magically tracked so easily was a little embarrassing. Finishing packing up his equipment, Cole set out towards the road. Barnabas followed behind him and continued speaking. ¡°I borrowed some Horses from Callar, they are winded from the ride, but they will get us back to the town quicker than on foot.¡± Not for the first time, Cole felt a twinge of annoyance concerning his relationship with Horses. The moment the scarred warrior exited the forest and the two horses tied up nearby saw him, they both started to panic. One reared up on its hind legs and kicked the air viciously. While the other simply screamed and shied away from Cole. Letting out a breath of annoyance, Cole looked back towards Barnabas. ¡°Horses don¡¯t like me. I¡¯ll go on foot. I should be able to make it to town by nightfall.¡± With that, Cole set out. Marching back towards Glockmire with a soldier''s pace. Barnabas hobbled after him and grabbed Cole¡¯s shoulder. Pulling the larger man to a halt, Barnabas asked, ¡°Nightfall? By then, it will be too late.¡± he paused for a moment and remarked bitterly, ¡°If it''s not too late already. They¡¯ve had her for hours.¡± Squeezing his jaw shut so tight it hurt his teeth, Cole moved to keep walking. Barnabas didn¡¯t let him. Worry and anger bled into the old man¡¯s voice, and he half-shouted at Cole, ¡°You got her into this mess. It''s because of you Wilhelm is dead! The last people I give a damn about in this world are Dead or worse! Because you came to our town and brought your mad quest with you!¡± The accusation rang in the air for a moment as more of the anger Barnabas had been keeping contained broke free. ¡°No one survives being taken by the Nobles! Why does she think you can save her? What jagging lies did you fill her head with?¡± For a split second, Cole wanted to run. Just bolt as fast as he could towards Glockmire and leave this grieving fool to his games of blame. The temptation was strong, and it took Cole a few deep breaths not to give in. After a moment of contemplation and focusing himself, Cole told the truth. ¡°I am a Paladin of Master Time. A Divinely ordained Champion sent by the Pantheon to strike down Evil wherever it may arise. It is my duty and honor to protect those who need my strength. Help those who need my wisdom. And destroy those worthy of my rage.¡± Barnabas¡¯s eyes widened in utter surprise, and Cole continued. ¡°Something dark has infested your town. Something dangerous enough to attract a God¡¯s attention. I¡¯ve been tasked with preventing that evil from doing any more harm. But in my efforts, I have failed. I let Natalie become entangled in my duties and left a good man to die.¡± Cole stepped towards Barnabas and loomed over the weathered merchant. A deep growl colored Cole¡¯s voice as he spoke his next words. ¡°So know this Barnabas of Glockmire. Nothing will stop me from finding Natalie and returning her to you. I will kill every last Vampire infesting that castle, and bring her back to the people who love her.¡± Cole hesitated for a moment and, in a softer tone, added, ¡°Alive or dead, she will come home.¡± Barnabas took a step back and looked up at Cole with an expression of utter shock. Cole saw in the old man the strange mixture of fear, awe, and disbelief common to those he¡¯d told. Paladins were rare beings, with perhaps only a dozen belonging to each God in the Western Continent. Some of the beings Cole could technically call equals had led nations, destroyed armies, and saved the world. Paladins of Father Sky had unleashed Hurricanes against demon hordes. Those in service to Aunt Seeress had prepared entire regions against coming Famine and Illness. Even those belonging to Uncle Trickster had tricked Sidhe Lords out of their power and assassinated tyrannical Emperors. It was a title not given lightly, and one that carried unfathomable power and responsibility. It was also a title Cole felt he had never truly lived up to. Cole knew for a fact his qualifications for such a role were¡­ abnormal and did not match what one usually expected. That did not change the fact he would fight and die to complete his duty. Something his words had impressed upon Barnabas. As the revelation hit home, Cole saw the faintest flicker of hope in the Old Man¡¯s eyes. Hoping to capitalize on that, Cole touched Barnabas¡¯s shoulder and spoke softly. ¡°You did the right thing by finding me. If you tried to do anything more, you¡¯d have met the same fate as Wilhelm. There were few options, and I think you took the best one available.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Some of the tension faded from Barnabas, and Cole was relieved to see it. They didn¡¯t have time for survivors'' guilt right now. Cole hoped he might be able to help Barnabas and Natalie process what happened at a later time, but for now, he needed to get to Glockmire as soon as possible. Turning away from Barnabas, Cole started his journey. Running down the road with long strides. Cole heard Barnabas¡¯s voice ring out after him. ¡°Keep your word! Bring her back!¡± The words were part plea, part demand, and they echoed in Cole¡¯s mind as he ran. Unable to use a Horse yet forced to travel long distances, Cole had learned how best to run years ago. While his large body did not lend itself to the art like a leaner build might, he still could make excellent time. Cole knew this was at least partially because of his atypical nature. He didn¡¯t sweat, yet his body remained cool; his muscles recovered from stress more quickly than they had any right to. He¡¯d come into this world with gifts that defied the mundane and defined him in ways he wished they wouldn¡¯t. Cole ran for hours, stopping only to take in water and food. While he was forced to slow to a trot occasionally, it was within his ability to keep pushing towards Glockmire and whatever awaited him there. Arriving at nightfall would be incredibly dangerous. The Vampires would be in the full bloom of their power as shadows fell across the valley. There wasn¡¯t a better option; if Cole waited till next dawn, he doubted there would be much of Natalie left to save. Pushing that idea from his mind, Cole tried to focus on the problems he could solve. Trying to sneak into town would be an ultimately futile affair. It was one thing to skulk about looking for Wraiths and Ghouls at night. It was another to evade detection while entering a powerful Vampire¡¯s territory. Cole figured any effort to use subterfuge or stealth was doomed to fail and decided to not even bother. He¡¯d enter Glockmire through the front gate and dispatch anything that tried to stop him. The sun was starting to set, and Cole took more frequent breaks as the shadows lengthened. He didn¡¯t want to arrive in Glockmire and be exhausted, open to ambush. Still, he made good time. Thankful for the sturdy Imperial roads which made travel easy even in the centuries since the Old Empire¡¯s fall. By the time the Sun was hidden behind one of the taller peaks Cole could see Glockmire. Darkness was starting to stretch over the valley, but enough light leaked into it for a beautiful twilight. Cole barely noticed the golden beams of fading sunlight contrasting with the growing shadows. The beautiful tableau it created only worsened Cole¡¯s mood. Irrationally some part of him found the weather inappropriate. Gloomy skies and billowing storm clouds would be a better match for events unfolding. Arriving at the town¡¯s gates, Cole slowed his pace to a light jog. The gates were wide open, to Cole¡¯s surprise. Though they were unbarred, the gates were not unguarded. A dozen or so heavily armored warriors stood before the gate. Unmoving and uncaring of his arrival. Cole didn¡¯t even need to dip into his bag of tricks to tell nothing alive was inside those suits of plate. These were the Castle Guards and members of the Eternal Legion. Skeletons animated inside suits of armor and used to fight the Vampire¡¯s wars. Gripping the handle of his axe tight, Cole drew a few drops of his blood in a quick flick and turned his weapon into a full-sized halberd. Slowly moving towards the Rattlers, Cole shouted for anyone to hear. ¡°I have come to end whatever madness your masters have started! I am invested with the will of Master Time, and I command you surrender to his judgment.¡± Nothing happened, and Cole started to move towards the Legionaries. He¡¯d fought them before and had a few ideas on how to deal with even an entire squad of them. Before Cole could make more than two steps towards the gate, something fell from the sky. Whipping his halberd up in a defensive grip, Cole looked to see what had fallen before him. It was a sack of bones, ash-stained bones that tumbled out of the crude sack and onto the cobblestones. Cole didn¡¯t need to examine the remains to know who they belonged to. Addressing the still surroundings, Cole spoke: ¡°I slew Lorena and many more monsters like her. Do not think my words are idle threats. Show you have something left of your soul, and help me end this quickly. I¡¯m here for Natalie Striga and to eliminate the Feeder. My quarrel is not with any other members of this court.¡± Cole knew a diplomatic option was long gone, but he still felt the need to try. If only to assuage his own conscience. No response came for a few moments until another form fell from the sky. A great mass of shadows plummeted to earth, slamming onto the bones of Lorena and reducing them to splinters. The dark figure that had landed before him rose up and unfolded itself. Huge leathery wings spread out, and a gust of baleful wind buffeted Cole. Oversized fangs, an upturned nose, and beady red eyes sneered out from under a mane of stringy black hair. Hair that dissolved into a matting of thing fur that covered a wiry pale frame that mixed Bat and Human. Thin to the point, it looked starved, yet somehow still covered in ropey muscles, the creature¡¯s form defied the mechanics of life. Standing a head taller than Cole while still slightly hunched over, the Bat-thing stretched its arms out to its side. The paper-thing membrane pulled between its impossibly long fingers shrunk away, and the meters-long wings shrunk into oversized talons. Now looking marginally more humanoid, the monster spoke to Cole. Its voice was high-pitched, with an almost chirping rhythm. Something that did not match its wiry bulk. ¡°Rest-Bringer. You have proven yourself worthy prey. Lorena was a conniving snake of a Vampire, but she was a Vampire. Few mortals can boast they killed one of us. An achievement that caught the attention of myself and my kin. We have grown bored hunting the same simpering blood bags and hope you will prove good sport. Take pride that we drew lots to decide who would hunt you, and take joy that your blood will feed me well!¡± Unconsciously, Cole flicked his eyes to the sky, where the sun''s final rays still shone. He didn¡¯t know what creature he was facing, but it was no Vampire. Despite what it boasted, this thing was no true Nocturnal Noble. It might be kin to a Vampire; over the Centuries, a number of foul hybrids and mutated breeds had been created in experiments. But no Vampire, no matter how arrogant, would risk being outside even at this late hour. So whatever this thing was, it probably had a sore spot about being a ¡°lesser monster¡± if it insisted on calling itself a Vampire. This was a weakness Cole hoped to exploit. ¡°Enough lies, you puffed-up mutant. I don¡¯t care what parts you were sewed out of, or what acts of zoophilia were required to make you. Stand aside, or meet the same fate as the Vampires you try so desperately to mimic.¡± The vitriol in Cole¡¯s words surprised him. While goading a Vampire and similar prideful monsters was a valid strategy, it was not one he used. It seemed to Cole that the stress and worry over Natalie were coming out in some unusual ways. Instead of attacking Cole or retorting with insults of its own, the creature surprised him by laughing in response. A high-pitched cackle that edged past the limits of human hearing. After a few moments of the shrill wheezing laughter, the monster stopped and gestured to Cole with an oversized claw. ¡°You have a clever tongue Rest-Bringer. Shame you are too stupid to realize what''s happening. The worlds changing, you corpse-fondler! The old rules are going out, and it''s time for something new to arise. I am Horst Von Gellard, Vampire of the Strigoi lineage, and I am free from the old curses.¡± Surprised and confused by the monster''s words, Cole looked at the creature with a perplexed look. Seeing that, Horst smiled; an ugly expression on a face with more teeth than its skull could strictly fit. ¡°You doubt me, Rest-Bringer? Let me prove it to you,¡± said Horst. Eager arrogance dripped from every word. Leaping towards Cole, Horst shifted his hands back into massive wings and turned his feet into owl-like talons. The sheer speed involved was incredible, and if Cole had been any closer, he doubted he could have dodged. Horst flew past him, razor claws cutting through the air with audible sharpness. Using the gripping claws at the ends of his bat wings, Horst spun around to attack Cole again. This time his mouth elongated into a lupine snout, and his limbs shifted into over-muscled humanoid arms and legs. Snapping at Cole with hungry jaws, Horst closed the distance and tried to get past Cole¡¯s guard. The Rest-Bringer swung his halberd in short tight arcs that bought him time to back away. As he backed away, Cole heard the audible pop and crack of flesh reforming as the creature changed forms. Now a long rat tail stretched out behind Horst, and he¡¯d taken on a more quadrupedal form. Pouncing forward like some Big Cat, the creature changed its fighting style as easily as it shifted forms. For Cole¡¯s part, he focused on avoiding every incoming strike and managing his own shock. The rapid and potent shapeshifting displayed by his enemy was the type only an ancient Strigoi could use. It was an ostentatious display of power that demonstrated a mixture of arrogance and vicious confidence. Something that no Vampire creation or mutant sub-breed could boast. Cole was facing a truly powerful Strigoi, or something so close to that, it didn¡¯t even matter. Leaping and bounding around him, Cole got the distinct impression the Strigoi was playing with him. Showing off its power with a frivolity that most Vampires would sneer at. Still, despite its arrogance, the sheer strength, and speed available to Horst was enough to keep Cole on the defensive. The Strigoi had yet to draw blood, but Cole knew it was only a matter of time before his enemy grew bored and fought seriously. Facing an overwhelmingly powerful foe hampered by arrogance was exactly the type of enemy Cole had experience with. Vampires could end a physical confrontation with a human painfully fast. Snapping necks or slitting throats before their victims had time to even notice. But only the truly dangerous among the Night¡¯s Brood had discipline enough to push past the sadistic arrogance that contaminates their minds. When dealing with a fickle, less focused Vampire, Cole had a little bit of time where he could survive by simply being an entertaining foe. Normally he¡¯d use this opportunity to lure an opposing Vampire into a trap or stall for another option. That evening, Cole had no desire to play at such subtleties. Natalie was in danger, and that took precedence over anything else. Cole eschewed many gifts his God had bestowed upon him for various reasons. Today those scruples were set aside, and Cole used every asset he could draw upon. As he batted away probing strikes and made quick thrusts of his own, Cole sucked in a deep breath. Filling his lungs to the maximum and holding the inhale till it became painful. Focusing on that breath, Cole reached inside of him for that chilly essence coating his soul. The power of Master Time that had been granted to him. Whisps of that power, pieces of Cole¡¯s soul, filled his lungs and infused the breath he held. The effort made Cole¡¯s movements sluggish and uncertain, letting Horst strike his first blow. A gash along Cole¡¯s upper right arm. Nothing terrible but blood had been drawn. Something certain to goad Horst to move in for the kill. Cole ignored the stinging pain and instead let his held breath free. A cloud of chilly fog poured from Cole, spreading out in front of him in a slow billowing wave. The grass and stones it touched were covered in hoarfrost and crunched underfoot. Horst didn¡¯t even bother to dodge the fog and pushed through it, holding up one arm to shield his torso. The Vampire slammed into Cole, pushing him to the ground with a blow equal to a charging bull. Falling backward, Cole managed to use his momentum to roll over and come to his feet. Horst strutted towards him and spoke, ¡°A little chill? Is that all you have? I¡¯m a Vampire! The cold of the grave is our home!¡± Coughing a little and trying to find his balance again, Cole actually smiled and gestured at Horst with his weapon. ¡°Try moving your arm then.¡± Horst looked to his right arm, the one he¡¯d blocked the freezing mist with. The limb was bunched up at his side; its grey skin turned a bluish-white. Horst looked at his own limb in shock. His efforts to move it did nothing. With chattering teeth, Cole explained. ¡°Everything freezes, even magically preserved flesh. Something your kind never seems to understand.¡± Holding out his Halberd, Cole let out a second deep breath. This one enveloped his weapon in an icy corona. Hoarfrost covered the freezing steel, and Cole grit his teeth in pain; even with gloves, touching the icy weapon was painful. Brandishing his weapon at Horst, Cole charged the Vampire. Horst pushed forward and caught the haft of Cole¡¯s weapon with his working arm. A stupid move that froze the vampire''s fingers solid. Unable to move his rapidly freezing hand, Horst was pulled off balance when Cole yanked the Halberd back towards himself and slammed a boot into the vampire''s gut. The force was enough to shatter Horst¡¯s fragile fingers and send him sprawling away. Recovering quickly, Horst put some distance between him and Cole. When he was firmly out of halberd reach, the Vampire snarled and slammed his mutilated hand against his ruined arm. The arm broke free with a loud crack and shattered when it hit the ground, sending a plume of icy vapor into the air. Black blood started to force its way through the frozen scabs covering Horst''s wounds and began reforming digits and an arm. Seeing that annoyed and worried Cole. Regenerating that quickly was more confirmation that he was dealing with an elder Strigoi. He needed to press his advantage before it completely disappeared. Cole could only draw upon the Cold of Entropy so many times before it crippled him. He¡¯d imbued his Halberd with the power, but that would only last for so long. Charging forward, Cole jabbed his Halberd towards Horst. The Vampire dodged without much effort. But despite attempting to show the same bravado from earlier, Horst''s movements were tighter and more accurate than before. Losing a limb had rattled Horst, and he was no longer trying to show off. Returning to his man-bat form, Horst gestured at Cole¡¯s frozen weapon and asked. ¡°That¡¯s not ice magic. I didn¡¯t even feel it! That¡¯s not jagging fair! Who the Jag are you?!¡± That actually made Cole laugh, a contemptuous little bark in response to the arrogance of the Vampire. ¡°Fair? You talk about fairness when you steal blood from others to prolong your sad imitation of life? Your existence revolves around abusing and robbing those weaker than yourself. Life is never fair, but you have the gall to attempt to make death unfair as well?¡± The bitterness of Cole¡¯s words matched the icy chill of his weapon. ¡°I am a Paladin of Master Time, and I wield the Cold of Entropy in his name. You¡¯ve cheated death long enough, monster, so now face it with some dignity.¡± Cole charged Horst, taking advantage of the surprised horror his words had caused. Horst was slower than earlier and was forced to bat away Cole¡¯s strike with a taloned hand. Another stupid mistake, the cold bit into Horsts regrowing fingers with ravenous hunger. Still, the force of the Vampire¡¯s light strike was enough to send Cole reeling. He managed to recover in time to see Horst¡¯s talons come swooping down to disembowel him. Cole leaned forward and took the blow on his chest. This time Horst¡¯s fingers didn¡¯t shatter but were crushed by the force of the blow. The crunch of frozen flesh against Cole¡¯s chest was enough to force the air from his lungs and drive him back a few steps. Cole winced at the gruesome sight of a single jagged talon sticking from his skin like a black icicle. Regaining his balance, Cole ripped the talon free with one hand and swung the halberd in a slow arc with his other. This time it was Horst¡¯s turn to stumble; the supernatural balance he¡¯d displayed earlier was nowhere to be found. Cursing violently in a spitting shrieking voice, Horst looked down at himself and tried to understand what was happening. Patches of hoarfrost clung to his body, places where the earlier icy fog had touched him. While his arm had been fully immersed in the Cold, much of his right side had been licked by the bitter chill. That marginal contamination had gone unnoticed and was busily seeping into Horst''s body. Slowly but surely, the Vampire¡¯s flesh was freezing solid. Cole pushed forward towards the back-stepping Vampire. ¡°Every self-satisfied blood-sucker knows to fear fire, but most are too arrogant to think of ice as a threat. Your heart does not beat, your blood does not flow, and you have no mechanism to warm yourselves. Normally the black fluid in your veins combined with your ability to heal keeps the cold at bay. But what is sinking into you is not normal Cold. It''s the manifestation of Entropy itself, the power of my God, and it is unraveling your very being.¡± By now, actual fear was visible on Horst¡¯s distorted face. The Vampire turned to run, his arms elongating into wings while his body tightened into a more aerodynamic form. It was a pointless effort. Patches of icy clung to the membrane between his digits, and much of his right thigh was bluish-black from frost-bite. Horst flapped his still-growing wings but failed to gain any lift. Bits of frozen membrane peeled away and one leg hung limply. The wounded Vampire crashed to the ground, and Cole was on top of him in moments. Thrusting a boot into the small of Horst¡¯s back, Cole brought his halberd down and lopped off one of the Vampire¡¯s thrashing wings. Feral terror gave Horst enough strength to push Cole off of him and scrabble away. The Vampire moved towards the silent group of Castle Guards and screamed orders at them. Commanding, they aid him in killing Cole. The Eternal Soldiers did not respond, even when Horst slammed his remaining arm on one¡¯s breastplate with enough force to dent the metal. ¡°They won¡¯t be any help Vampire.¡± murmured Cole. Horst spun around to see the slowly approaching Restbringer. ¡°Whoever is pulling their strings had decided to write you off as expendable. You failed to kill me, and now one of your ¡®comrades¡¯ has decided to eliminate a potential rival. Using me as a catspaw to score points in your games of bloody intrigue.¡± Cole shook his head in disgust. ¡°Even with an enemy at the gates, you are still scheming against each other. I¡¯d almost pity you, Vampire if I couldn¡¯t smell the sheer number of deaths you¡¯d caused.¡± He wasn¡¯t being poetic in saying that. When tapping into the power of a God, there were certain side effects. They varied and could become debilitating if too much power was used. For now, Cole could smell the amount of Death a person had caused. Each of the Castle Guards had a faint cloying odor of rotting meat, but Horst stunk like a dead pig left out in the sun for three days. Cole resisted the urge to hold his breath as he grabbed the stunned Horst and threw him to the ground. Badly wounded and near-insensible with fear, the Vampire didn¡¯t even resist. ¡°In the name of Master Time, I settle this debt of stolen life. May you bear your judgment well and become something more than you were in this life,¡± murmured Cole, the prayer of execution coming out monotone and grim. The halberd came down like a headsman¡¯s axe and hacked into Horst¡¯s chest. Ribs were sundered, and an unbeaten heart was torn apart. The bitter cold spread out from the Halberd and consumed the Vampire. Leaving a ruined sculpture of black ice sprawled out on the grass. Turning away from his fallen enemy with disgust, Cole looked towards the town gate. The Castle Guards had all drawn their weapons and were moving toward him. Chapter 16.5 Restbringer.

Chapter 32: Restbringer

¡°Master Time, protect the living and protect the dead. Master Time, give us long lives and quick deaths. Master Time, keep our souls and judge them truly. Tenth God, Last Judge, First Cold, He-Who-Ends, we ask you to stand with us from our first to our last.¡± - Battle Prayer of the Rest-Bringers
With an annoyed sigh, Cole willed his halberd to shrink into a pole axe. He threw the weapon into the ground so its blade stuck into the soil and its handle was easy to reach. The Guards were slow, slower than even mortals in full plate. So Cole had a few seconds to flex his fingers and try and get the blood flowing in them again. He was protected from the worst of the Cold. But what bled through to him was more than enough to cause frostbite. With his fingers showing signs of recovering, Cole fumbled with a pouch he¡¯d fastened to his belt. It was tricky with numb fingers, but he managed to grab the powder-filled sack. He¡¯d given Natalie his stash of silver and salt. But he still had his pure salt. Not as effective against more powerful Undead, but still useful for situations like these. With shaky fingers, Cole grabbed handfuls of the powder and tossed it in front of him in loose arcs. The Castle Guards hesitated when they approached the salted ground. Despite being difuse and poorly laid, the salt could still disrupt weaker Necromantic bindings. The primitive magic that directed the Guards knew of this and tried to move around the salt. Cole hampered their efforts by spreading more of the salt in all different directions. This confounded the Guards, and they stopped their advance. Normally an officer; mortal, vampire, or higher undead, would command the Guards to simply pass through the salt, trusting the bindings to hold. Without a commander, the Guards could not take the initiative. For now the Guards were stymied, but eventually, someone inside the Castle would notice and direct them. Putting away his salt, Cole picked up his pole-axe. The haft was too small to strictly be a pole-axe, with the weapon roughly a hundred and twenty centimeters long. But its sharp beak on the reverse of its head would work well for piercing plate mail. Still incredibly cold but no longer imbued with the supernatural Cold of Entropy. Cole grimiced with pain touching the metal as he moved into the fight. The first Castle Guard was easy enough to destroy. Cole brought the beak of his weapon down onto the top of its breastplate. Punching a hole in the metal and hooking his weapon into the armor. Cole yanked it forward, pulling on the piece of armor and knocking the Guard to the ground. All while unhooking his weapon in one smooth motion. Before it could try and stand, Cole brought his pole axe down on the nape of its neck. The blow tore through metal and cracked bone. The skeleton''s spine was ruined, and the magical ¡°threads¡± animating it were severed. The skull itself could still snap and bite, but without a body, it was of little danger. Normally in the time it took Cole to dispatch one of the Legionaries, the others would have set upon him. After all, a complete disregard for their own casualties was one of Dead Armies strengths. The messily strewn lines of salt made them stop and start over and over. Uncertain of their orders, they would take a step towards Cole and ponder their next movements for a few moments. With the first one dispatched, Cole moved to the next closest and dealt with it in a similar fashion. He kept his senses peeled for any abrupt changes from the Legionaries, but so far, his plan was working. Unless he wanted to tap into more of his divinely ordained power, Cole lacked any method of facing an entire squad of soldiers by himself. Without magical intervention, numbers would always triumph. A simple truth of the battlefield that the Bards never seemed to include in their stories. The only way to cheat this rule of war was if you could get your enemies to wait their turn. This could be done, in a way, by the use of chokepoints. A sufficiently talented warrior could hold a small bridge or cave entrance against huge numbers for a shocking length of time. Cole didn¡¯t have a bridge or crevasse to aid him, but he did know how Undead behaved. The random pattern of salt stalled the Legionaries and acted as an unusual if effective chokepoint. Still, this left Cole facing a single unfeeling, untiring undead soldier in full plate armor instead of a whole group. He took some light wounds in the exchange, and Cole was forced to admit his fight with Horst had been more draining than he¡¯d hoped. Using his abilities as a Paladin was exhausting. He was essentially ripping a piece of his soul off and using it to freeze himself and his enemy to death. Cole loathed to use them but had seen no other option. He¡¯d never fought a Vampire in clean single combat and won without using the Cold of Entropy or another gift. Doing something like that was only possible for true masters of the blade, which despite his acceptable skill, Cole was not. When the last of the Guards lay destroyed, Cole pushed past them, ignoring the stinging of his wounds and the cold weight in his chest. The town of Glockmire seemed utterly abandoned. Doors and windows were shut and covered. No one was on the roads, and there was an eerie stillness to the place. It sent a shiver up Cole¡¯s spine. Some part of him worried the entire town had been killed in his absence. A few flickers of movement from behind drawn shades soothed those worries. The people of Glockmire were still here, even more afraid and confused than normal, but still here. Well, almost all of them. Moving deeper into the town, Cole moved towards the Castle, but his route took him by the Silly Goat. Cole had considered avoiding the building but decided now was not the time for weakness. He needed to confront his failures. The inn¡¯s door was wide open, and Cole knew what he¡¯d find inside. The warmth and homey feeling of the inn was gone. In its place was the stink of blood and offal. The body of Wilhelm lay on the floor, surrounded by dried blood and the sight made Cole flinch. He¡¯d seen an incalculable amount of death but still seeing someone he¡¯d known could always punch through his defenses. Someone had taken the time to shut Wilhelms''s eyes and place his hands on his chest. Probably, Barnabas trying to give his friend a last bit of dignity. Softly, so softly it was barely audible, Cole addressed the ruined corpse before him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I failed you. I don¡¯t ask for your forgiveness, just that you might understand why I failed you.¡± After another moment of hesitation, Cole shook his head, trying to shoo away guilt like a Horse might flies. Turning from the dead body, Cole murmured, ¡°I won¡¯t fail her or anyone else. I promise.¡± Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Cole left the once-cozy Inn, now a place of death and bloodshed. Desecrated by a monster who could never understand the simple joy of a warm hearth, good food, and better company. Gripping his weapon tight enough to hurt, Cole prepared to give the Innkeeper¡¯s memory what little justice available. Getting Natalie back was the priority, but Cole couldn¡¯t forget his other duties. Something strange was happening here, and his encounter with the creature Horst had only confirmed it. Horst had demonstrated all the raw power of an elder Strigoi but none of the wisdom or skill expected from a monster like that. On top of that, Horst seemed unusually cavalier about the threat of sunlight. Cole was starting to better understand why he had been sent to Glockmire, and that understanding brought only trepidation. The streets were utterly deserted, and Cole had no problem making his way to the switchback leading to the Castle. No guards, minions, living or dead, stopped him. There was nothing but the growing shadows of night to accompany Cole. The last glimmers of sunlight were gone, and darkness covered the town like a pall. The only light came from the bright moon rising in the distance and the Castle itself. Its windows were aglow with flickering light. Towers sticking up like spear tips coated in embers. Previously a few lights had shone in the Castle at night, but nothing like this. The shifting of the light as figures moved in front of windows gave Cole an idea of what was happening. He was being watched; the denizens of the Castle were all observing his arrival. For a moment, Cole considered flashing a rude gesture at his audience but decided against it. He wouldn¡¯t patronize them with even that reaction. A faint green glow caught Cole''s eye as he reached the top of the switchback. A lantern nearby had come alight with witch-light. Another lantern a little farther away also lit up, then another and another. Forming a trail for Cole to follow. Looking at the flickering flames and up at the Castle, Cole grimaced and followed the witch-light. He didn¡¯t know what the Vampires were playing at but decided playing along might provide opportunities. The trail of lanterns led him along a clifftop path. Taking Cole around the Castle and towards another gate. This gate was a larger, a more robust thing of steel and chains. It faced a mountain road leading away from the Castle. The smaller entrance Cole had used on his previous visit, led directly into the Castle but was also protected by the town itself. This larger gate instead presented itself against invaders and visiting Nobles.. A true Castle Gate, compared to the Stronghold door of the other. The stone here was weathered and resembled the rougher parts of the town¡¯s walls. In contrast cleaner, sharper rock of the Castle presented to the town. If Cole had to guess, this side of the Castle was older and had been constructed as a true Fastness. Its other half, the opulent morass of towers that faced Glockmire, was more like a palace and constructed later. A very physical representation of the Vampire¡¯s occupation and how they¡¯d become comfortable in ruling this part of the world. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. As soon as he was close to the Road Gate, it started to open. Great chains clanked, and a mechanism ratched the portcullis up while some invisible force swung the doors open. Beyond was a courtyard, the type common for more traditional Fortresses, where defenders could muster and line the walls. The courtyard was dark, no lanterns illuminated it, and the Castles¡¯ bulk blocked out the moon¡¯s pale light. Taking a deep breath, Cole did a few last-minute checks of his equipment and entered the belly of the beast. Calmly, Cole strode into the center of the courtyard, his halberd in one hand, his spark-stone fastened to the other. With a groaning series of clanks, the gates shut behind him, trapping Cole in the dark Courtyard, his only company the shifting shadows and wretched smell that permeated the air around him. It was the smell of wet dog and rotting flesh. Running a bleeding finger along the spark-stone, Cole called out to the shadows around him. ¡°I¡¯ve come for Natalie Striga; return her to me, and no more blood need be shed this night.¡± There was no response, so Cole swung his right arm in a great arc in front of him, conjuring up a wave of flames out in front. The fire illuminated the courtyard for a split second, and Cole saw what he¡¯d expected. Not a dozen paces away sat the Varcolac, the colossal were-beast sitting on its haunches like a trained guard hound. It was not alone; nearly a hundred Castle Guards stood at attention at the courtyard''s edges. Other forms also became visible at that moment. Nearly a dozen humanoid figures skulked above him on the Castle walls, radiating the casual arrogance of Vampirekind. And perhaps five or so varying Undead horrors accompanied the Castle Guards at their positions. Cole recognized a Headless Knight, a Corpse Priest, and a Bear Ghoul. Members of the Feeders army who¡¯d been summoned to the Castle. ¡°So Horst wasn¡¯t up to the task I take it?¡± said a painfully dry voice from atop the Castle walls. A dozen or so witch-light lanterns ignited then, illuminating the courtyard on the speaker''s cue. Cole was torn between the different threats around him, he didn¡¯t want to turn his back on any of the monsters, but he was utterly surrounded. Ultimately he decided the Vampires were the greatest threat, so he kept his eyes on them. A cadre of beautiful youths in expensive clothing, all looking down at him from their perches atop the walls. There was one exception, the speaker. An old and ragged-looking Vampire standing on the Gate¡¯s battlements. While his clothes were more than a match for his fellows, the speaker lacked the near-supernatural beauty of his cohort. His eyes were waxy and unblinking, with thin skin mottled like old parchment. Long stringy white hair coming down from a balding head completed the grotesque image. The image of a body that had suffered an unpleasant life and unpleasant occupant, now animated into Undeath. None of the other Vampires stood close to the speaker, as if shying away from him. There was an element of deference and subservience in the Vampire¡¯s body language, all directed at the haughty speaker. The statement was subtle and conveyed only through the curious nonverbal cues of Vampires. A strange form of body language Cole had learned from Isabelle years ago. Gesturing up at the lead Vampire with his weapon, Cole reiterated his demand. ¡°I drove my blade into Horst¡¯s body and left his ashes for the Sun. Return Natalie to me, or you will meet the same fate.¡± That actually got a laugh from the Vampire, one that was echoed by his fellows. To Cole¡¯s surprise, the lead Vampire leaped down from the battlements. Landing on the ground without any sound or care of the two-story drop. ¡°The girl is no longer your concern Rest-Bringer.¡± said the Monster before Cole. ¡°She is subject to my hospitality, and I will not have a suspected criminal and known Zealot endanger her.¡± It took a considerable amount of effort to not charge the Vampire right then. Only a slight twitch of Cole¡¯s face revealed his controlled rage. The Vampire did not notice or ignored Cole¡¯s agitation and continued speaking. ¡°You¡¯ve been a thorn in my side for a while now Rest-Bringer. Killing my pets, alerting dour old Dietrich to my plans, and generally being a nuisance. Then managing to run off the night I made my move, only after killing poor Lorena.¡± ¡°Feeder¡± growled Cole, now having a face to go with the name. The Feeder raised his eyebrows at that and smiled, showing yellowed, but wickedly sharp fangs. ¡°Oh, I like that, yes, that is an interesting pseudonym. But I prefer my title, it took much effort to get after all. I am Lord Petar Johanscion, Ruler of this Town, Keeper of the Ancient Blood, and rightful usurper of Johan Glockmire.¡± Cole¡¯s mind raced as he tried to sort through the facts. It seemed a Coup had happened, with the Feeder taking control of Glockmire. And in a stroke of terrible luck, this Coup and the chaos surrounding it had happened the night Cole left town. Lorena had probably been dispatched to eliminate him on Petar¡¯s orders, ensuring he didn¡¯t interfere. When that hadn¡¯t worked they¡¯d taken Natalie to lure him back, trying to tie up all loose ends in a neat bow. There were other details he needed to sort out, like what was the Ancient Blood and if Dietrich was still active. They could wait for later; for now, Cole needed to rescue Natalie and preferably survive the effort. Negotiations had proved fruitless, so now was the time for violence. Cole swung his halberd at Petar; the Vampire easily dodged the blow and leaped back onto the battlements with a single graceful motion. Tutting his tongue like a disappointed School Master, Petar chided Cole. ¡°Temper, Temper, Rest-Bringer. In killing Lorena and Horst, you caught my attention, not my patience. So now let us get on with what¡¯s been delayed since you first destroyed my Vryko-Ghouls.¡± A wet, bubbling growl rose up from behind Cole. He barely had time to turn and raise his halberd when hundreds of kilos of undead Werewolf slammed into him. Cole caught most of the impact on the haft of his weapon, but the sheer force buckled his arms and sent him sprawling. In a moment, Cole found himself pinned under a hulking mass of rotting muscle. Hungry jaws snapped at him, and Cole just managed to put his weapon between himself and the Varcolac¡¯s teeth. Lying on his back, the monster above him, Cole held his halberd across his chest, the shaft catching the monster''s maw. It snapped and pushed, desperate to get at Cole¡¯s flesh. Even the magically enhanced metal of the Halberd started to bend under the pressure, and Cole could feel his arm and chest muscles tear with the strain. Recovering some sense to focus on more than simple survival, Cole shot a small gout of flame from his right palm. The affixed spark-stone spat fire and seared matted fur and necrotic hide. The Varcolac ignored the flames, uncaring of the fire cooking the left side of its head. It kept pushing forward; it didn¡¯t feel pain, just ravenous, inhuman hunger. Cole poured more of his focus into the spark-stone. Creating a steady jet of fire that burned his enemy. The flames were unfortunately a double-edged sword for Cole. He needed both hands to hold the Varcolac off, so the spark-stone did more than shoot flame; it heated up the halberd pressed against it. Sheer pressure shoved the metal bar into Cole¡¯s left hand hard enough to draw blood. While searing heat burned the skin of his right. Grinding his teeth in agony, Cole tried to hold on for as long as he could. Every second Cole bought increased the odds of success. A slight shift in the bone-crushing pressure baring down on Cole told him it was time. Ending the stream of fire, Cole pushed up with his right arm with all the strength he had. Bone popped and charred flesh cracked. The left part of the Varcolac¡¯s jaw had been seared to the bone, and Cole dislodged it mandible with his push. Pulled half free, the crushing bite of the Varcolac¡¯s jaw failed. The monster¡¯s jaw slid along Cole¡¯s halberd, its force redirected away from Cole¡¯s body. Pulling himself free, Cole rolled away from the Varcolac as it slammed into the ground. Getting to his feet, Cole held out his Halberd and pointed at the monster. A jolt of pain, forced Cole to look down at his right hand. Part of his palm had melted to the metal and changing his grip had torn the ruined skin. Trying to ignore the pain, Cole charged forward, jabbing the spear-tip of his halberd into the Varcolac¡¯s flank. In response, the monster swiped out with a mammoth paw, dislodging the weapon and forcing Cole to step back. The Varcolac turned towards Cole, its rotted nose twitching and sniffling as it looked around the Courtyard. It was then Cole noticed the creature was blind. Its eyes were milky spheres that starred out unblinking. The Varcolac was relying on smell and sound. Filing that information for later use, Cole watched the Varcolac stand up. It had been on all fours before, but now it had reared onto its hind legs. The werewolf towered over Cole, three meters tall. It was a wall of muscle and fur. Its jaw hung loosely, connected only on the right side, and that same ugly growl echoed out of its cavernous chest. The Varcolac stretched its hands beside it, revealing dagger-long claws capping each digit. A voice atop the wall, Petars¡¯s, interrupted the standoff between Cole and the monster. ¡°Good show so far, Rest-Bringer. But my wolf is the prize of my collection. It¡¯s going to eat you alive, and we are all going to watch,¡± The Varcolac reached up to its jaw with a fumbling paw-hand. It shoved the jaw back into place, and Cole could physically see muscle regenerate and reattach the jaw. Neither skin nor fur returned, just cords of fresh pink muscle restoring the jaw to working order. The sight was not unexpected for Cole but not a welcome one. Part of what made Varcolac¡¯s so dangerous was the fact they kept some of the regenerative ability they had in life. Wear and Tear spelled the end for most Ghouls, but Varcolacs could go years or even decades at peak functionality. Still, this monster¡¯s healing rate was astonishing, and Cole grimly noted Petar had probably found a way to enhance its regeneration. Calling up to Petar, Cole tried to give himself more options. ¡°Feeder, you say this is your favored thrall? I¡¯ve already cut my way through your other thralls and vassals. When I destroy this thing, it will prove the threat I represent. Then will you parly? Let me see Natalie and take her from here?¡± To Cole¡¯s surprise, Petar actually seemed to consider his words. In truth, he¡¯d only spoken them to buy a little time for the pain in his hands to fade. A truly wicked smile spread across Petar¡¯s face as he came to a conclusion. ¡°Yes, you are providing entertainment for myself and my court. If you succeed, I will let you see the girl.¡± The sly sadism dripping from the Feeder¡¯s words unnerved Cole. It made him consider a dreadful possibility. Did Petar mean to reunite him with Natalie by¡­ killing him? That idea sent a flood of despair through Cole, which quickly ignited into pure hatred. Refocusing on the Varcolac that was slowly circling him. Cole decided he would not leave a single one of these monsters in existence. Even if doing so cost him his life a thousand times over. Chapter 17: Varcolac

Chapter 33: Varcolac

¡°I see him! I see him standing against the dead! The dead wolf, the bloody court, and the knights-of-bone! He fights for love, he fights for duty, he fights for survival! Praise him and his holy madness! The champion of the living, defender of the dead. Bane of what is neither. I see him! I see the Paladin!¡± - Scribbled words on the walls of Jude the Sibylline¡¯s cell.
Roaring in fury, Cole swung his halberd high in a great descending arc; the Varcolac avoided the strike and responded with its own sweep. Chipped ragged claws cut through the air and tore at Cole¡¯s cloak as he dodged. Once more, he was thankful for Trude¡¯s gift. Even if it contained a tracking spell, the cloak''s billowing volume obscured Cole¡¯s body a little. A margin of error that had already saved him multiple times. Without sight to guide it, the undead Werewolf had to rely on hearing and smell to attack. Something a billowing cloak covered in forest scents hampered. Cole pushed in close, shortening his halberd and wielding it like a battle-axe. He swung the blade low as the Varcolac completed its swing and drove the axe-head into the monster''s thigh. Unnaturally thick muscle cords prevented the blade from reaching bone, but it still wounded the leg. Still within its guard and crouched over, Cole pulled his weapon free and spat a gout of flame at the laceration he¡¯d caused. The flames seared the exposed muscle, and Cole hoped to slow down the Varcolac¡¯s regeneration. Stepping back, Cole unleashed a gout of fire from his burned palm. Sending a wave of fire to crash over the Varcolac. Crinkling his nose at the stink of burning hair, Cole tried to buy himself some distance. He had an idea to turn this in his favor but needed space. Roaring in fury, the Varcolac pushed through the fire, swiping at it with bone-crushing force. Stopping the deluge of flames, Cole reached down to a pouch at his belt. A mixture of burns and frostbite on his right hand had ruined his dexterity, turning the simple task into fumbling torture. For a split second, Cole glanced down to try and open the pouch. His momentary lapse was punished terribly. Bounding forward, the Varolac swung out in a hay-maker the size of a tree trunk. The blow struck home and literally knocked Cole off his feet. Sending him flying through the air and skidding along the ground. By sheer luck, the Varolac¡¯s claws missed Cole, only its over-muscled forearm slamming into him. Cole tried to roll with the impact but had little luck; he dropped his weapon and felt two ribs shatter from the blow. Cole landed on his back, the wind had been knocked from him, and he tried to force down lungfuls of air with little result. Discombobulated, Cole took a split second to admire the stars overhead. That moment of dissociation came to a quick end as something grabbed the hem of his cloak and started dragging him. As reality came crashing back to him, Cole swore oaths Barnabas would be proud of and fumbled with his belt. He got the pouch free and twisted to throw its contents at the thing pulling him. The Varcolac had kneaded one of its paws into Cole¡¯s Cloak and dragged him closer, its ragged snout sniffing the air curiously. For not the first time, Cole was thankful for his lack of scent. It confused the primitive instincts guiding the Varcolac and bought him precious moments. Those moments ended as the Varolac decided he was its target, and it opened a cavernous maw. A disgusting black tongue lolled out of its mouth as the once-Werewolf set its focus on him. Cole punished the monster''s hunger when he flung a handful of garlic powder into its mouth. While not truly dangerous to the Varcolac like it would be to a Vampire, the garlic was certainly debilitating. Letting out some sort of gurgling snarl, the Varcolac reared back, its claws tearing free of Cole¡¯s cloak as it brought both paws up to its contaminated snout. Cole scrabbled away, getting to his feet and retrieving his weapon as the Varcolac thrashed and spasmed. A quick look around the Castle ramparts showed Cole his vampire observers had all covered their faces and shied away from the garlic smell. Grimacing in bleak amusement Cole pressed his advantage. Swinging his reclaimed halberd at the monster¡¯s thigh, hitting the same spot as earlier. Bits of muscle had already started to regrow and press past the blackened flesh, but it didn¡¯t stop this strike from cracking bone. The axehead sunk halfway through the Varcolac¡¯s femur, and with a twist, Cole cracked the huge bone. Following this, Cole flipped his halberd in his hand and drove its spiked beak up into the Varcolac¡¯s armpit. Rotten blood splattered out of the key artery as the halberds beak jammed into the shoulder joint. Parting cartilage, snapping ligaments, and cracking bone. The Varcolac¡¯s bubbling roars changed into a higher pitch as it collapsed sideways. With a Shattered femur and ruined shoulder, nothing stopped the monster from toppling over. Dancing away from the avalanche of fur and muscle, Cole readied himself to strike again. Hitting vital regions was useless for the Undead; you needed to cripple them. Necessitating a visceral and ugly fighting style Cole had long mastered. Something dribbled into Cole¡¯s eye, and he tried to blink away the stinging pain. Flinching slightly, he brushed away the blood. Confused for a moment, Cole realized it was not his blood. The rancidly metallic fluid was the Varcolac¡¯s own ichor. The horrible substance had rained on him when he¡¯d tore open its armpit. Cole hadn¡¯t even noticed earlier and now tried to wipe away the too-dark blood that covered his head and face. A blur of motion stopped him as the Varcolac struck with its intact arm. The blood in his eyes and his own confusion delayed Cole¡¯s response, and the huge limb racked across his body. Tearing open four-finger width cuts in his torso. Gasping in pain, Cole flinched away as his own bright red blood mixed with the Varcolacs maroon. Dragging in huge breaths of air, the Varcolac pulled itself up onto its haunches. Muscle reknit, and bone sealed tight as the monster''s ruined arm healed. The processes took seconds, and now it leaped forward, claws and fangs seeking Cole¡¯s flesh. It pounced at Cole, and the Paladin barely had time to duck under the wall of undead Werewolf heading straight for him. The Varcolac recovered quickly from overshooting Cole and spun around to face him on its three working limbs. In this (semi) quadrupedal stance, it looked like an over-muscled Direwolf the size of a large bear. An already intimidating prospect, not helped by its semi-rotten appearance and regenerative abilities. There was no hesitation to its attacks now. The Varcolac struck with the type of feral intensity you¡¯d expect from a starving predator. It took all of Cole¡¯s focus to simply avoid the whirlwind of fangs and claws, let alone try and counterattack. The Varcolac continued to suck in deep breaths and not let up its assault. This was a very different beast than the more tentative and halting Varcolac of earlier. As the smell of rotting blood filled his nose, Cole understood why. He was coated in the Varcolac¡¯s ichor. It was having no issue smelling him and identifying him as a threat. The forces involved now made blocking or parrying the Varcolac¡¯s blows impossible. Cole had to do his best to dodge the constant attacks. The only reason Cole hadn¡¯t been torn to bits was that he was slightly more agile than the Werewolf. Its ruined leg dragged behind it uselessly, and its sheer bulk prevented it from turning and repositioning as quickly as Cole. Even that advantage was wearing away quickly. The Varcolac was healing from even its devastating injury, and Cole was tiring. Running to Glockmire, Killing Horst, destroying the Guards, and now fighting the Varcolac. Even Cole¡¯s incredible stamina was starting to flag. Something that was not helped by the myriad of injuries he¡¯d collected. As the Varcolac¡¯s claws came closer and closer with each swing, Cole decided he had few options left. He needed to use the Cold of Entropy again. Calling up that power three times in a single day was more than pushing Cole¡¯s limit. But the Varcolac needed to be destroyed; this was Cole¡¯s only reasonable option. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Pulling in a deep breath, Cole gripped onto the chill power in his soul and started to dredge it up. It was harder now, his worn soul resisting the effort. Some instinct told Cole he would not be able to do anything focused like aiming the Cold or lashing it to his weapon. Summoning the power would be hard enough. He¡¯d have to be more primitive in his use. Something that might prove as dangerous to him as it would the Varcolac. The freezing fog started seeping off Cole, pouring from him in a great cloud of ice crystals. The effect on the Paladin was instantaneous. His body became numb, all his pains washed away by the dull throb of arctic chill. The blood covering him turned to dark ice, and frost collected on his cloak. The Varcolac didn¡¯t notice or care about what was happening and swiped a huge paw at Cole. Numb limbs responded too slowly, and Cole took the strike full on. For a second time, the Varcolac sent him flying. This time it didn¡¯t hesitate after its strike and pounced on Cole. Huge jaws came snapping down on the Paladin, enclosing his right side in a stinking moist bear trap. Strangely, there was no pain, neither for the first blow nor now, with the fangs sinking into him. Confused and more than a little alarmed, Cole reached up with a sluggish arm and jammed his Halberds spike into the Varcolac¡¯s neck. The strike was pitiful and didn¡¯t even annoy the creature trying to bite him in half. A resounding crack filled the air and reverberated in Cole¡¯s body. The Varcolac pulled away suddenly, much to Cole¡¯s surprise. Cole looked down at himself and saw the dozen or so dagger-like wounds the Varcolac had inflicted. Each was covered in an obsidian-like coating. A broken fang even stuck from one of the injuries. Looking up at the Varcolac, Cole saw cold mist poor from its mouth. Patches of frost-bite were spreading over its lips and jowls. Cole got to his feet and brandished his halberd at the Varcolac. He couldn¡¯t understand why he was alive. By all rights, the Varcolac should have savaged him, ignoring something like extreme cold in the pursuit of prey. Touching his wounds, Cole felt something smooth, hard, and bitterly cold. The obsidian-like scabs were his blood, frozen into something harder than steel. A terrible suit of armor he didn¡¯t even want to think about. The Varcolac had stopped because it couldn¡¯t bite into him; the Cold of Entropy had frozen Cole¡¯s body into something more akin to stone than flesh. On uncertain, numb feet, Cole moved towards the Varcolac, trying not to think about what consequences there might be for his current state. The monster snapped at Cole, and he barely leaned away from the bite. Swinging his halberd, Cole struck into the side of the Varcolac¡¯s neck. The blade was stuck hard in muscle and bone. Giving Cole an insane idea. Instead of pulling his weapon free, Cole used it to anchor himself as he leaped onto the Varcolac¡¯s back. To both their surprise, Cole managed to latch onto the Varcolac. Looping an arm around the Varcolac¡¯s throat, Cole held on for his life. Rearing up on its healed legs, the Varcolac tried to reach back and grab Cole. With hands literally frozen to his steed, Cole held on. The pall of brutal cold leaking from Cole did not let up; it clung to the Varcolac, freezing it slowly but steadily. A process the monster was doing all it could to resist. It thrashed and roared before eventually running headlong towards a nearby wall. Cole braced as the Varcolac spun and slammed its back against the castle wall. Caught between solid stone and hundreds of kilos worth of monster, Cole felt things break. The enhanced durability granted by the Cold could only resist so much, and Cole felt most of his remaining ribs shatter. No pain came, leaving Cole only with theoretical idea of how much damage he was taking. Pulling away from the wall, the Varcoalc rolled over, catching one of Cole¡¯s legs beneath its bulk and bending his knee in the wrong direction. Cole felt this as an analytical fact, not as searing agony. He knew what was happening; of course, the Cold of Entropy was not simply the lack of heat but a magical force. Something that could effect more than mundane matters. The Cold had frozen the pain, locking it away until it could thaw out and be unleashed. This property of the Cold of Entropy was what truly made it dangerous. Foes would not even notice its creeping touch until it was too late. A subtle arcane contamination that Cole was fully experiencing. In the times before when Cole had used this power, he¡¯d directed it out of him in a focused manner. Freezing a foe with a breath, coating his weapon in frost, or even letting the cold leach into the ground were all methods he¡¯d used. This more primitive effort, where the Cold just bled from him in waves, was the ultimate double-edged sword. Granting Cole durability and pain resistance more akin to a Golem than anything living. A fact that bothered Cole enough to distract him while he clung on for his life to an undead Werewolf. The Varcolac tried, again and again, to throw Cole off, but it couldn''t free itself. The monster''s movements slowed with every passing moment as the burning chill clinging to its back spread. It kept struggling, fighting against the inevitable. Vicious animal fury raging against the bleak power enwrapping it. For his part, Cole started to mutter prayers. While the monster he fought had devoured Natalie¡¯s mother and Gods¡¯ know how many other innocents. It was another victim of the Feeder and the world''s cruelties. Most Werecreatures found ways to manage their curse. Turning a blight set upon the world by the Dark Gods into something useful. Entire nations of Werefolk had sprung from great Werecreatures who¡¯d mastered their curse. From the mighty Wolf-Warriors of the far North to the legendary Lion Chieftains of South Sutu. For a Werewolf to utterly fall to its Curse was a tragedy. Even more so when the circumstances surrounding its death were ugly enough to create a Varcolac. Truly feral Werewolves had souls so eroded they could not become Ghouls. This creature had a spark of something sane left in it when the end came. Leaving an abandoned corpse unmourned and unburied, ready to rise up and bring great harm to the world. As its thrashings slowed and the Varcolac slumped to the ground, Cole whispered a prayer. ¡°Master Time, grant your final mercy to this tortured soul. May they find rest and rebirth as your judgment sees fit.¡± With great effort, Cole pulled himself free of the Varcolac, his stiff broken body fighting against the matted hair freezing him to the Werewolf. Cole stumbled away from the monster. His wounded leg nearly buckled under the stress, the Cold of Entropy forcing it to stay relatively intact. Limping over to his Halberd, Cole picked up the weapon with shakey fingers. It had been thrown free during the struggle, and now its metal fogged as condensation covered its blade. Cole felt the Cold of Entropy start to fade, the precursors to pain starting to push past the numbness. He¡¯d held onto the power for as long as possible, but it had almost completely leaked out of him. Dragging himself over to the Varcolac, Cole raised his weapon high and croaked out his sacred words. ¡°Magni Morti Mundus.¡± The halberd¡¯s axe-head came down hard, right into the Varcolac¡¯s neck. Severing its spine but not decapitating it. Dropping the halberd, Cole felt agony erupt in his leg. His destroyed knee had enough, and he collapsed to the ground. A cacophony of pain erupted across Cole¡¯s body. Every injury he¡¯d sustained now reminded him they existed in excruciating detail. Trying not to scream, Cole reached out with a twitchy, shaky arm and put his hand on the Varcolac. Desperately, Cole channeled what little bit of his divinely ordained power he had left into the monster. A quick prayer of consecration babbling past his lips in Saint Speech as Cole tried to finish his task. Grabbing onto his necklace, Cole removed his medallion and pressed the small metal Hourglass into the Varcolac¡¯s skin. The combined effects of Cold, the medallion, and Cole¡¯s prayers were enough. Whisps of silver started to flow from the Varcolac, floating up into the air in a vaguely humanoid cloud. Cole looked at the figure and completed his prayer. Tapping into his powers always had strange side effects. Seeing the soul of the Varcolac fade into the Beyond was probably one of the more pleasant ones Cole had experienced. The shimmering silver cloud hung there, regarding Cole for a moment before dissipating like so much steam. With his task done, Cole crawled over to his halberd and put his necklace back on. Grabbing onto the still cold weapon, Cole used it to pull himself to his feet. Cole looked around the castle courtyard, leaning on his Polearm like a crutch. The Vampires looked down at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. While the Castle Guards stood their eternal silent vigil. Looking up at the Feeder, Cole called out to him. ¡°Well, who¡¯s next?¡± Chapter 17.5: Vampire

Chapter 34: Vampire

¡°Seraphs, or more colloquially called ¡°Angels,¡± are the servants and agents of the Light. The Light is the metaphysical embodiment of Good and a result of mortal life influencing the Beyond. Seraphs are roughly divided into two broad categories. Elder Seraphs are native to the Beyond and are, in essence, spirits of the Light. Typically these beings take more esoteric forms composed of complicated geometric shapes, burning eyes, wings, and pure musical tones. By contrast, Younger Seraphs are mortal souls who, through their actions in life, have been Anointed. Their very soul infused with the Light and turned into something not quite mortal nor divine. These Younger Seraphs take less alien forms than their Elder kin. Usually manifesting as winged idealized versions of their original body. ¡±- HaZaken¡¯s commentaries on the Book of Miracles.
Natalie Striga awoke to darkness and hunger. She¡¯d not expected to awake, and now confusion and pain dominated her world. Natalie couldn¡¯t see anything; she was lying in a pitch-black space, back to sturdy wooden boards. She tried to get her bearings and reached into the darkness, where her fingers met a wooden surface inches from her face. Panic started to rise in Natalie as she tried to move. She was trapped, trapped in a small box. Not a box, she realized, as mounting horror reached its crescendo. She was in a coffin, trapped inside a sealed coffin. Natalie tried to scream, but only a weak groan escaped her lips. It was then that the other problem facing her became clear. She was starved and thirsty beyond belief. Like she¡¯d worked an entire day without food or water. It was a deep furious hunger that clawed at her, something that pushed at her mind with unrepentant intensity. Natalie pounded her fists against the coffin lid and tried to scream again. She was trapped here, left to starve or asphyxiate in a personal layer of Hell. Thrashing and trying desperately to scream, Natalie felt true panic overwhelm her. A type of fear she¡¯d never known. The stout wood of the casket would not budge as she tried to break free, and no one noticed her pitiful groans. She beat her hands raw against the coffin lid, trying to free herself for what felt like an eternity. An eternity that only ended as other sources of pain joined the fear. Memories came flooding back of her father¡¯s death and Petar assaulting her. Natalie¡¯s face crinkled up in pain as she felt herself start to cry. Except nothing came, no tears filled her eyes, and the racking sobs filling her were dry and shallow. It was a strange experience, one as unpleasant as it was alien. Natalie tried to cry, but even that had been robbed from her. She spent another eternity in dry sobs as hunger, grief, and fear gnawed at her. Her mind oblivious to why exactly she couldn¡¯t cry. A truth too terrible to contemplate in her fragile state. A jerk of motion, as something moved her coffin, pulled Natalie from her misery. She was trying to tell if she imagined the impact when gravity changed. Someone propped her coffin upright, so she was standing. Bracing herself against the casket¡¯s sides, Natalie felt herself move. The coffin slid along the ground with a slow grinding sound. She¡¯d feared that only dirt had surrounded her, so the movement brought a moment of relief. One that was quickly replaced by trepidation as she wondered why exactly she was being moved. The coffin was jostled, shifted, and moved for a time. Ending in a series of clanks and rattles as someone removed chains from the coffin¡¯s outside. Another series of sounds reached her, a metal door opening and shutting. A grunt of pain as something large hit a stone floor. Followed by another wet thud and moan. Lastly, she heard a click and clatter from very nearby. The coffin had been unlocked. Tentatively, Natalie pushed against the lid and felt it shift. It swung open with a creak, and Natalie pulled herself from it with a whimper. Crawling away from the casket, Natalie took in her surroundings. She was in a cell of some kind, a stone room maybe twice as big as her bedroom. A single weak glowstone shed some light in the room, showing Natalie it was empty except for the coffin and a pile of rags at the far end of the room. Relieved to be free, Natalie breathed in a shuddering gasp. It was then she smelled the blood. A thick aroma filled the air in a heady cloud. Instincts not her own pulled Natalie towards the smell. The hunger from before had blossomed into something far greater. Natalie felt starved, thirsty and amorous all at once. Every desire her body could have was magnified and focused on the smell of blood. Something told her it would fulfill the deep ravenous desire that clouded her mind. Breathing in more of the sweet scent, Natalie felt herself drawn to it. Getting up into a crouch, she approached the rags and prepared to sate herself. All thought and understanding buried under mind-altering desire. The chamber seemed brighter now as she approached, and Natalie realized the rags were a person. A battered, broken body covered in the blood-soaked ruins of a large cloak. Natalie actually licked her lips as she heard the prey¡¯s heartbeat. It was low and uncertain but still there. Taking a moment to look down at herself, Natalie realized she was wearing nothing but a sheer black nightgown. A silky thing that normally would have had her blushing up a storm. Now that didn¡¯t matter; all that mattered was filling herself with blood. To drink and quench the terrible thirst that screamed inside of her. Natalie straddled her prey, enjoying the feeling of warmth and blood on her newly sensitive skin. She slithered up towards her prey¡¯s face. It was buried beneath a worn cowl. Natalie pealed the hood away, ready to sink her fangs into an exposed neck. The face below the cowl stopped her right in her tracks. Bruised and bloodied, Cole¡¯s handsome features were still clear. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were unfocused. The shock sent Natalie sprawling back, scooting away from Cole in utter horror as she regained control of her body. Confusion and panic warred with the insistent tug of her thirst. Looking down at her hands, Natalie realized how utterly pale she looked. While always fare, now her skin was alabaster. In a whimper, she muttered to herself. ¡°No no no no no no, this¡­ this can¡¯t be happening.¡± In dawning horror, she reached up to her mouth and felt what she knew would be inside. Long serpent-like fangs had replaced her incisors. Cruel instruments of predation designed to inject supernatural venom and open up veins for feeding. She¡¯d seen the same fangs in Isabelle¡¯s skull and in Petar¡¯s mouth when he killed her father. The fangs of a Vampire. A choking sob escaped Natalie. Even that was difficult; crying was not something a Corpse could do easily. Looking down at her body, Natalie felt how cold her skin was. While a curious hand reached to her throat and felt for a pulse; even though she knew she wouldn¡¯t find it. As the truth hit home, Natalie started to understand what had happened. She¡¯d stabbed Petar with her hair clip and been infected by his blood. In her attempt to avenge her own death, she¡¯d inadvertently damned herself. To make matters worse, her final hope had fallen through. Barnabas had found Cole, getting the Paladin to come to her aid. Which had led to nothing good. Natalie moved over to the Paladin and tried to examine his condition. As she got closer, the smell of fresh blood overwhelmed Natalie. She felt her fangs pressing against her lips, the unnatural teeth extending slightly, a sign of Vampiric hunger. Natalie sucked in a deep unneeded breath of surprise as the smell hit her. With it came a wave of mind-numbing desire. She wanted, no, NEEDED to drink Cole¡¯s blood. To sink her fangs into him and feel his life drain away into her. Doing so would fill that yawning pit of desire that had opened up in her soul. Some dark little voice in Natalie spoke of how ecstatic it would feel, how good it would be to not fight the hunger. To give in and enjoy. After all, hadn¡¯t she suffered enough? More than any person should have to. Why not end her pain and Cole¡¯s as well? After all, he¡¯d been bound to a Vampire for years and now was certainly dying. Wouldn¡¯t it be a mercy to let him die in her embrace? His mind filled with pleasurable venom as she took his life. Pushing herself away from Cole, Natalie let out a small moan of pain. She gripped the sides of her head, muttering to the tantalizing whispers, ¡°shut up shut up shut up shutupshutup shutup SHUT UP!¡± The last words came out as screams, and Cole twitched at the noise. Natalie saw the motion and became very still. She¡¯d seen Cole survive some truly brutal things, and she hadn¡¯t gotten a close enough look at him to see how badly he was injured. Holding a useless breath and trying not to suck in any more of the smell, Natalie slowly moved closer to the Paladin. Gently, in a pleading voice, she asked. ¡°Cole? Are you awake?¡± Cole twitched again, and a low gurgling groan escaped him. Reaching out, Natalie shook him. That got a sharp gasp of pain from the semi-conscious Rest-Bringer. Pulling her hand away like she¡¯d been burned, Natalie instinctually sucked in a breath. That same overpowering hunger she¡¯d barely fought off arrived in full force. Natalie felt her body tremble in need. She focused on the smell of fresh blood oozing from Coles''s wounds. It was beyond tantalizing, a siren call that drew her closer and closer. Not fully in control of her body, Natalie crept back toward her injured prey. She kneeled over his body, her mouth centimeters from his neck, long dark hair pooling over his face. A shroud for her first kill. Unnaturally red lips parted, and needle-like fangs came to the bare. Cole moved then, rolling to face her, a shaky hand gripping Natalie¡¯s wrist with a surprising grip. Blood dribbled from his mouth as he tried to speak. A faint croaking sound that barely made its way past the blood welling up in his lungs. ¡°Natalie. I kept my first oath to you. The Varcolac, I destroyed it.¡± Cole took a deep rattling breath and continued, a mournful tone to his words. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can keep my other oaths; I¡¯m sorry.¡± Those words, simple and barely understandable as they were, made Natalie pause. Part of her understood them, the part of her not yet fully subsided into the thirst. She wanted to weep, thank the strange man who¡¯d come into her life, hug him, and feel his warmth pressed against her. Instead, the monster ruled, overpowering her conscious mind with inhuman instincts. Lowering her mouth to Cole¡¯s neck in a perversion of a kiss, she added her own link to his collar of scars. A deep lustful moan of contentment escaped Natalie as she drank. Blood flowed into her mouth and down her throat like an elixir of life. The hunger started to ebb slightly, and Natalie tried to pull away. Hoping to weaken the thirst but not slake it fully with Cole. After each sip, she told herself the next would be her last. The fiendish hunger whispering away in her mind goaded her on. Telling her to just drink a little more, to just let go and let the thirst be quenched. As the flow of blood slowed, Natalie wanted to scream. She wanted to pull away and shriek in horror at what she was doing. What she wanted to do and what she did do were very different things. Natalie did not stop drinking, the thirst overriding her self-control. The blood tasted like life, like power, like what she needed. Nothing had ever tasted so go to Natalie, and she doubted anything would ever match it again. It hit her body and mind like the most potent drug, sending pleasure through her with fiendish potency. The Vampire reveled in the flavor while the dwindling human felt disgusted and horror. Both sides of Natalie noticed when the flavor changed. Becoming flat and stale. Like poorly kept wine ready to sour. Instinctual disgust finally did what willpower could not, pulling Natalie away from Cole. The overriding hunger faded; content with its meal, it retreated deeper into Natalie¡¯s soul. Leaving a stunned Natalie in full control of herself. Stale blood dribbling down her lips, Natalie looked at Cole¡¯s still form. She put her hand on his chest and tried to shake him. He didn¡¯t respond. She shook him harder, a pleading question on her lips. ¡°Cole?¡± he still didn¡¯t respond, and Natalie shook the limp body with all her might. ¡°COLE!¡± she screamed as realization hit her. Desperate for an answer one way or another, Natalie put her hands on Cole¡¯s throat and chest. There was no pulse, no breath, nothing. The Rest-Bringer was dead. Natalie brought her hands up to her face in shock. Smearing his still warm blood on her face. It took a huge effort to not lick the blood, and that just added to her suffering. An avalanche of guilt and self-loathing hit Natalie. Knocking her to the ground as a slow, plaintive wail escaped her lips. Her scream reached a crescendo that seemed to go on forever. It was too much; it was all just too much. She¡¯d lost her father, her humanity, and now the man she¡­ she had started to love. No, she hadn¡¯t lost Cole; she¡¯d killed him. She was a monster who gave in to her thirst so easily. She had devoured someone she loved and enjoyed every second of it. On her hands and knees, head pressed against the cold stone, Natalie wept and screamed. Hating the Petar, hating the Vampires, hating the world but most importantly, hating herself. Curling up into a ball, Natalie sobbed. To her surprise, tears flooded her eyes. Another terrible reminder of her crime. A well-fed Vampire¡¯s body became almost life-like. Flush with stolen blood, Natalie could finally cry. Covered in tears and blood, Natalie drowned in her grief. She felt worse than ever before. Her wails echoed in the stone cell, an ugly song accompanying her isolation. A song interrupted by the creak of metal. Natalie looked towards the ceiling, tracing the sound''s origin. Blinking tears, she saw a hatch had opened in the chamber''s roof. Two figures stood above her, their faces shadowed by the light glaring down into the chamber. Natalie winced at the light. It hurt her eyes badly. She idly wondered if the hours of darkness or her new existence were responsible for the pain. One of the figures above spoke, his voice calm and measured. ¡°I see she had her first blood meal.¡± The other snorted in amusement and answered in a nasal but feminine tone. ¡°Of course she has! I could hear her wailing halfway across the castle. We haven¡¯t had a screamer like her in a while.¡± The first speaker tutted reprovingly at the second. ¡°Have a little tact Zana. She might be joining the Court soon, and she is of the new Lord''s blood.¡± Zana replied with a bitter laugh: ¡°Oh, I doubt there will be much left of her mind. The Lord wants her locked up with her kill for three nights. Let the Rest-Bringer start to stink some. This fledgling managed to seriously annoy Petar. He wants her initiation to be especially bad.¡± The original speaker was quiet for a moment before shouting down to Natalie. ¡°You have taken a life fledgling; you devoured a living person to sate your own hunger. Anyone who might have once cared for you will see you as a monster. I don¡¯t, and neither will the rest of the Court. Black blood flows in your veins; you are Nobility now. The livestock won¡¯t have you, but we will. Remember that while you are in the dark.¡± Before Natalie could respond, the trap door above her shut with a resounding clank. Leaving her alone in the near-darkness of the cell. Alone except for the corpse of the man she¡¯d eaten. She sat there, looking up at the closed door. Trying her damndest to not cry anymore. It was hard, and she felt herself falter more than once, but Natalie kept back the tears. The visitor''s words had given Natalie something to latch onto. Alone in the dark, she¡¯d had nothing to do but stew in her pain. Now there was something else to think about. Natalie seized the opportunity to avoid thinking about what she had done. The visitor had been weirdly polite, not quite considerate but not speaking with the scorn and derision Natalie now expected from Vampires. Zana, the other Vampire, had talked about Natalie¡¯s imprisonment like it was routine. Something to observe and mock. While the male Vampire had offered her hope of some kind. Offering twisted acceptance into the Court. A thought then struck Natalie; Was¡­ was what happened with Cole some sort of twisted initiation? Locking her up with a wounded person seemed to have no other purpose than that. Just letting the thirst and her own weakness ruin her remaining humanity. Natalie felt like she was going to be sick. A wave of nausea surged over her. While her stomach didn¡¯t heave, her mind went through the motions of being ill. Being a Vampire had even robbed her of being able to vomit in disgust. Looking over at the still corpse of Cole, Natalie felt another ugly stab of self-loathing. She had no right to think about being robbed or owed. Not more than an hour ago, she¡¯d stolen a life. A very precious life at that. Scooting back from Cole, she leaned against the wall, Natalie tried to fight off the urge to cry, but she failed. Alone in the oubliette, there was nothing left to do but weep. Every half an hour or so, the storm of grief would ebb a little, and Natalie would have enough focus to think on other topics. The one that kept her attention was revenge. She¡¯d lost everything to Petar, the new lord of this court. He¡¯d taken her mother, father, home, and humanity and now tried to take her sanity or compassion. She was beginning to understand what had been done and its purpose. Leaving her in this pit with nothing but the guilt was supposed to destroy her humanity. It made sense in a terrible sort of way. This was a quick and easy way to discern if she had what it took to be a Vampire. A truly good person would starve themselves or go insane from the grief. Someone with the features the Vampires desired in a newly turned Fledgling would survivet. It was a simple choice, drown in the grief and die as a human. Or find a way to live with the pain and live as a Vampire. Staring up at the shut, trapped door, Natalie wondered how many others had been in the same situation she had been. She wondered how many consoled themselves with the idea of revenge. Believing that if they lived on to kill the other Vampires, their sins would be forgiven. She wondered how many of those self-righteous souls now dwelled in the Castle above her, oaths long forgotten as they became what they once hated. Natalie knew she could promise to take revenge and live centuries trying to achieve it, and it wouldn¡¯t do a damn thing. Everyone was dead, except maybe for Barnabas; she wasn¡¯t confident he hadn¡¯t been killed when they captured Cole. If she swore some grand oath of vengeance, she knew that would just become an excuse. She also had no confidence she could keep such an oath. Just a day ago, Natalie would have gladly sworn she could never harm someone she loved. The truth lay in the other corner of the room, covered in his drying blood. She had no faith in her promises, infinite hells; Natalie had no faith in herself anymore. That thought brought a new deluge of tears with it. For all the hate and blame she laid at Petar¡¯s feet, Natalie couldn¡¯t put Cole¡¯s death on him. Gods knows she wanted to, and the old monster had certainly played his part, but it hadn¡¯t been his fangs that drained Cole¡¯s life away. That sin lay firmly on Natalie. It was one thing to lose her only remaining parent. The grief from that would have been enough to send Natalie hurtling into depression for months. The guilt of murdering Cole added to that was breaking her. She could feel herself start to sag under the weight of it all. Natalie¡¯s mind was strong for someone her age, but strength has its limits. Natalie continued this cycle of breaking down and crying for hours at a time before recovering enough to try and distract herself. She mused on the information Petar had given her about her mother. About Cole¡¯s last words, that he¡¯d killed the Varcolac. Those, in particular, brought a smidgeon of comfort to Natalie. A flicker of positive emotion that was quickly drowned under another wave of guilt. Was that how Cole had gotten so injured, fighting the Varcolac? It made sense; Natalie guessed Cole had tried to rescue her and fought some of Petars minions. There was a story there, one she wanted to hear, but the only person she trusted to tell it was dead by her hand. Drifting in and out of a grief-filled fugue, Natalie learned something important about being a Vampire. She knew instinctually when the Sun rose. It hit her like a hammer of exhaustion. She¡¯d tried to sleep earlier to no effect, and now she couldn¡¯t do anything to resist the onset of unconsciousness. Even hidden in this dungeon, far away from the light, the dawn had a visceral impact. Natalie slumped down and fell into the daytime torpor of Vampirekind. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. The day passed quickly from Natalie¡¯s perspective. Her body jolted awake in a panicked start. Upon awakening she had vague memories of dreams. Something she was surprised to have experienced. To her, dreams seemed just the sort of thing a Vampire wouldn¡¯t experience anymore. So the unfocused flickers of a streambank and an Angler seemed all that more unusual. As consciousness solidified its hold on her, the snippets of Natalie¡¯s dreams flowed away. Leaving her alone in a very, very unpleasant reality. Standing up, Natalie willed herself to look at the far corner. She knew what she¡¯d find there, but some deluded part of herself hoped the previous night had been a nightmare. It had not been. Cole¡¯s body lay there, unchanged from the night before. Sharply looking away from him, Natalie resisted the urge to cry. Her heart still hurt like nothing else but no tears welled up. Bleakly she realized this had more to do with the false-life of feeding wearing off, more than any self-control. Seeing nothing else to do and not wanting to fall back into the morass of misery from last night, Natalie started pacing. The cell was just large enough for her to get a few good paces in either direction. She made sure to turn by facing the wall each time she changed direction, anything to avoid looking at Cole. Natalie didn¡¯t know how long she paced, only that it was working. The constant movement kept her mind off events and kept her distracted. After roughly an hour and a half, a noise distracted Natalie from her pacing. The trap door of the oubliette was opening. Freezing mid-stride, Natalie moved over to look up at what was happening. To her surprise, someone jumped down into the oubliette. He was a Vampire; that much was obvious by the newcomer''s pale skin and red eyes. Aside from that, he was tall, with a wiry frame. Medium length, shaggy black hair framed a highly angular face. An unconcerned smirk accompanied by eyes holding a glimmer of mischief completed the image of a dashing scoundrel. Clad in a light cooper¡¯s cloak and garbed in a dark green tunic, the stranger looked Natalie up and down with an arrogant inquisitiveness. Wrapping her arms around herself, Natalie was suddenly very aware of her near-nakedness. The stranger gave her a theatrical bow and spoke. ¡°I am Adrian Von Riechtor; it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms. Natalie Striga.¡± Natalie recognized the voice; he was the male Vampire from earlier. Stiffening in anger, Natalie spat out, ¡°Come to see how your jagging indoctrination is going? Come to gloat over my sins?¡± Adrian beamed with mirth, something so anathema to Natalie¡¯s current mood it made her feel ill. He turned away from her and looked at the ruined form of Cole. ¡°Actually, I came to check on our dearly departed Rest-Bringer here. I had such high hopes for him, but they turned out to be naught.¡± Casually, Adrian kicked Cole¡¯s body, sending the corpse rolling till it hit the nearest wall. Natalie shouted in outrage and gripped onto the new Vampires shoulder, trying to pull him away from Cole. With a casual backhand, he sent Natalie flying. She slammed into a cell wall and slid to the ground. More stunned than hurt, Natalie watched as Adrian sauntered over to the body and peered down at it. ¡°It''s funny; he matched the description perfectly. I mean, how many brooding walls of scar tissue can there be in the Blood Duchies? It''s not like I think the information was wrong, but this rotting blood bag can¡¯t be the Homunculus Knight.¡± remarked the Vampire, with as much concern as if he were talking about the weather. Turning back towards Natalie, Adrian peered at her. ¡°Well, no matter. I still have other useful prospects. Wouldn¡¯t you agree, Ms. Striga?¡± Natalie didn¡¯t respond; her focus wasn¡¯t even on the Vampire examining her. She was busy looking at the impossible sight behind Adrian. The corpse was moving. A series of pops and wet noises started to fill the cell as Cole¡¯s body twitched and thrashed. To Natalie¡¯s surprise and horror, the mangled body started to get up. Blood dribbled from innumerable wounds, and the face was hidden under a sheet of dried gore. Seeing she wasn¡¯t looking at him, Adrian turned around to see what had Natalie¡¯s attention. The corpse exploded in movement, launching forward towards Adrian with shocking speed. A deep, ugly roar escaped the risen dead as it tackled Adrian to the ground. Huge hands covered in blood gripped the Vampire¡¯s head and slammed it repeatedly against the cell floor. Natalie had to cover her ears as the sound of bone breaking on stone echoed around the small space. The noise was replaced with a wet squelch as Adrian drove his forearm clean through the body''s guts. Natalie wanted to look away in disgust, but morbid fascination kept her eyes on what was happening. The undead creature that once had been Cole didn¡¯t even react to the injury and kept slamming Adrian''s head against the ground. All while screaming in both pain and rage. Adrian tore his arm sideways, ripping clean through Cole¡¯s corpse. That seemed to be enough, making the undead thing slump over. A shaken Adrian pushed the body off him and tried to get up. A red-stained hand shot out and grabbed onto the Vampire¡¯s ankle. A visceral slurping noise came from the body as disemboweled innards worked their way back inside the healing body. The Cole-thing pulled itself up and gripped the stunned Adrian in a chokehold. Icy vapor started to leak from the corpse''s slack maw, coating Adrian¡¯s face in a layer of Hoarfrost. The Vampire tried to pull away, slamming back against the new Undead, driving them both into the wall. The Cole-thing didn¡¯t let go, and more cold streams poured from it and into the Vampire. Adrian kept fighting, but his every strike seemed less effective. He flailed uselessly as ice covered his body and his opponent ignored every grievous strike. Eventually, the Vampire slowed and stopped as undead muscles froze solid. The Cole-Thing had been waiting for this, and it twisted the Vampire¡¯s head violently. Cold-weakened tissue tore and frozen bone splintered. The headless vampire fell to the ground, body and severed head quickly turning into icy ash. The undead slumped to its knees and brought a shaking hand up its neck. Fresh blood dribbled from a bite wound there. The wound Natalie had given Cole. A low moan came from the monster as it fell forwards, touching the bite mark. Racking sobs escaped from it as the Cole-thing sucked in breaths. Watching this, Natalie dared hope something. Maybe this was not some terrible revenant created from Cole; maybe it was truly him. Could his status as a Paladin have saved him? After all, surviving the impossible had been Cole¡¯s trademark so far and a suitable ability for one of Master Time¡¯s servants. Softly, Natalie asked: ¡°Cole?¡± her words almost pleading. Cole sat up and looked at her. His eyes were wild, filled with pain and rage. They looked more like a feral animal than anything remotely human. The unfocused sight settled on her, and Cole¡¯s expression softened slightly. Still, his gaze was inhumanly intense, and Natalie flinched. Returning his hand to his neck, Cole spoke. ¡°It was you.¡± his words had a confused and hurt air. Like someone finding out they¡¯d been betrayed. They hit Natalie like a slap, and she forcibly looked away from Cole. A dry lump grew in her throat, and she didn¡¯t respond. Cole or the thing she thought was Cole filled the heavy silence. ¡°They turned you and locked me in with you. I¡­I was your first.¡± The words seemed to take something from Cole; he sagged under their weight and sighed. Continuing to massage his neck, Cole continued. ¡°I suppose I should be grateful. Better for us that you weren¡¯t set upon some innocent.¡± A pang of guilt hit Natalie, and it was accompanied by a terrible thought. Cole was a Paladin, sworn to hunt Undead wherever they might be. A duty that required him to kill her just as he would any other Vampire. Something he¡¯d proven willing and able to do repeatedly. Swallowing nervously, Natalie started to cough as her unliving flesh warred with old living habits. Cole got up and moved over to her; Natalie shied away even as she tried to stop the coughing fit. She ended it with a few choked-out words ¡°Are¡­you going to¡­ kill me.¡± Natalie looked up at Cole, the blood-covered giant looming over her. His face was emotionless as he responded. ¡°Nat, you are already dead. You died when they turned you. Now you¡¯re just a cursed soul trapped inside an animated body.¡± Cole reached out slowly, his free hand approaching her. Natalie shut her eyes, waiting for his grip to wrap around her throat. It didn¡¯t come; instead, he gently cupped her chin. Opening her eyes, Natalie looked up at him, her lips trembling as she expected true death. Cole¡¯s mask of composure had been cracked, and he looked at her with such sadness. Gently he murmured to her. ¡°I should end your unlife. Free your soul and prevent you from hurting anyone else. But¡­ I am too weak. I don¡¯t think I could hurt you even if I wanted to.¡± Relief and guilt pushed Natalie forward. She wrapped her arms around the larger man and just held him. After a moment, Cole¡¯s arms returned the gesture, and they just held each other. Grateful for the simple comfort such touch provided. It was only then that Natalie was certain Cole was truly alive. His heart beat away in his chest, loud enough for her to hear when pressed against him. Bitterly she knew he would not hear anything from her if he listened. Softly Cole remarked, ¡°You are cold.¡± Natalie let out a weak chuckle. ¡°I hadn¡¯t noticed. You are warm, though. It feels nice.¡± Cole didn¡¯t respond for a while, then asked, ¡°What happened?¡± Stiffening slightly, Natalie answered in a flat voice. ¡°The Dayman, Simon. He is really Petar the Feeder. The bastard came to the inn and took me. Dad tried to stop him¡­ and¡­.¡± It was Cole¡¯s turn to stiffen in surprise. Something she¡¯d said had shocked him. But he didn¡¯t say anything, so Natalie continued. ¡°He took me back to the Castle and attacked me. Petar wanted my blood for some reason. He said it¡¯s powerful, something I inherited from my mother. He wanted the power to do something; Petar didn¡¯t say what. But the arrogant Jagger didn¡¯t have me searched for weapons. I stabbed him with a silver stiletto while he¡­fed upon me. The blood must have gotten in my wound, I guess. The next thing I remember is waking up in here with you.¡± Cole gently stroked the back of Natalie¡¯s head; she didn¡¯t care about getting blood into her hair. Such a trifle didn¡¯t compare to the simple joy of his affection. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Natalie,¡± he murmured. ¡°I should have never let you get involved in this.¡± Letting go of Cole, Natalie stepped back and pointed an accusatory finger at him. ¡°Stop it! Don¡¯t start that. I made my choices, and it''s not your fault what happened to my Dad. That monster Petar is responsible for all of this. Taking guilt onto your shoulders does nothing but relieve the bastard of it.¡± Actually smiling at her response, Cole reached up and grasped her accusing hand with his and held it to his chest. ¡°Thank you.¡± after a moment of hesitation, he tried to return the favor. ¡°No Vampire can resist the hunger when newly turned. They either give in or go insane and give in. I don¡¯t fault you for what happened.¡± Cole then tried to smile again, this time, it was forced, and Natalie could tell. ¡°Besides, that''s not the first time that¡¯s happened to me. I at least prefer it was you over any of the other Vampires.¡± Natalie started to wilt under his words, she understood what he was trying to do, but it did little to assuage the guilt she felt. While nothing compared to her earlier horror at thinking she killed him. The knowledge she¡¯d attacked him while weakened and hurt him like all the other monsters who¡¯d created that collar of scars was enough to trigger a bout of self-loathing. Uncertainly she asked the question that had been on her mind since he¡¯d awoken. ¡°How did you survive? You had no pulse and weren¡¯t breathing. I drained you till I couldn¡¯t taste any more life, Cole. How are you alive?¡± Cole shut his eyes and grimaced. Natalie could physically see the war going on inside him. Paranoia about his secrets fought against his trust for her, something Natalie knew had to have been shaken by what happened. Eventually, Cole let out a slow sigh and answered. ¡°I will tell you, but first, I need to ask about something you mentioned.¡± Natalie bit the inside of her cheek in annoyed understanding. Learning that having Vampire fangs made such a habit rather painful. Wincing in pain, Natalie shook her head in assent. ¡°You said the Dayman who visited you earlier was actually Petar? But how? It shouldn¡¯t be possible for him to be out during the day.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. ¡°I¡¯m certain it was him, and I was hoping you would have an answer. It made no sense to me, but I assumed you¡¯d know.¡± Cole looked away and remarked, ¡°Nothing I know of can allow a Vampire to walk in sunlight. Although this does answer some questions and raise new ones. Petar has overthrown Glockmire and gotten the backing of the court. If he had some method of resisting the Sun, that would explain his successful coup and why Master Time sent me here. Such a threat is more than enough to require a Paladin.¡± Tentatively, Natalie asked, ¡°Then would it be possible for me to see the Sun again?¡± there was a note of desperate hope in her voice, and it broke Cole¡¯s heart. Grimacing, he answered truthfully. ¡°I doubt so. It seems unlikely Petar gained this protection in a benign way. Whatever method he uses is probably not something a good person would even consider. I¡¯m sorry, Natalie.¡± Withering from the painful truth, Natalie asked sadly, ¡°Nothing is ever going to be the same again, is it?¡± Cole just nodded in grim confirmation. With her words hanging in the air like a miasma, Natalie and Cole embraced again, taking what little comfort they could in the contact. Out of fear and worry, Natalie squeezed Cole tight, eliciting a pained gasp from him. Releasing her grip, she looked up at him and realized he was still bleeding. The myriad lacerations and cuts that peppered his skin were still open. Many had scabbed over, but others still oozed a steady stream of blood. Touching one gently, Natalie tried to ignore the smell of fresh blood. The thirst was still sated from her earlier ¡°meal,¡± but it hadn¡¯t fully gone away. Looking at the wound, Natalie asked, ¡°You are still bleeding? How can that be? You should be dead, Cole. I couldn¡¯t stop feeding until I felt you die. How did you survive?¡± Gently pulling her hand away from his cut face, Cole shut his eyes hard, focusing on gathering up the courage to answer her question. ¡°I didn¡¯t survive, Natalie. You killed me.¡± Confused horror filled Natalie¡¯s mind as Cole elaborated, ¡°I can die like any other person. I just don¡¯t stay dead. My soul doesn¡¯t leave my body, and I regenerate from whatever injury killed me.¡± Touching his bloody and scarred face, Cole smiled weakly at some joke only he knew. ¡°I was already mortally wounded when the Vampires dropped me here with you. I destroyed the Varcolac and a few other of the Feeders thralls when I tried to rescue you. But in the process I managed to break or damage half my bones and organs. So then the added blood loss of¡­.¡± Cole paused and shook his head, trying to push away a memory before continuing, ¡°The blood loss finally killed me, and every time my body tried to heal from that, something else would give out. Then whatever killed me that time would heal, and my body could start over, going to the next lethal injury. It was unpleasant, drifting in between death and dying. Catching glimpses of your pain before the darkness took me. I¡¯m so sorry, Natalie; I¡¯m sorry you were alone all that time.¡± Staring up at him wide-eyed, Natalie choked back a dry sob and embraced Cole again, careful not to squeeze him too tight. ¡°You giant fool. I literally killed you, and you are apologizing to me?¡± Cole was stunned; he¡¯d expected her to be shocked or upset at his secret. Not to embrace him and chide him in her own razor-tongued way. Then she asked, ¡°So, Master Time made you immortal? I¡¯ve never heard of something close to that, but I guess it makes sense.¡± That made Cole freeze up; she assumed his ability was a divine boon. He was well and truly tempted to let her continue thinking that way, but Cole owed Natalie the truth at this point. Gently breaking their embrace, Cole took a step back. Forcing himself to look at Natalie, seeing the confusion and worry on her face. ¡°No, Master Time had nothing to do with Death being¡­ impermanent for me,¡± he admitted, earning raised eyebrows from her. ¡°I¡¯m not human, Natalie, or even anything remotely close. I¡¯m not even sure if I count as a living being.¡± That got a note of concern to cross Natalie¡¯s face. Cole didn¡¯t let it grow into anything larger and finished explaining. ¡°I am a Homunculus, an artifical person. Created by a Vampire searching for a way to be truly immortal. My existence defies the natural laws. I¡¯m the product of truly dark Magic and Science.¡± It was just like when Cole had told Natalie he was a Paladin. It answered a legion of questions she¡¯d had and brought up a million more. The inquisitive part of her that landed Natalie in the middle of this mess wanted to ask every last one of them. Other more balanced bits of Natalie saw the look of fear and stress on Cole¡¯s face. While she didn¡¯t fully understand the significance of his confession, it obviously had deep meaning for Cole. So trusting her gut, Natalie reached out, took one of Cole¡¯s hands, and kissed it. A simple gesture of affection that turned out to be a bad idea. The drying blood on his palm was enough to send a surge of need through Natalie. She pushed through it and forced herself to hold still, Cole¡¯s warm skin pressed against her cold lips. After taking a moment to recover, Natalie spoke gently. ¡°Human, Goblin, Elf, Dwarf, Homunculi. None of that matters. You are still the man who I¡¯ve watched fight and literally die to do the right thing. The man chosen by an actual God to help those in need. A shockingly kind and gentle person who I¡¯m truly glad to have met.¡± Internally, Natalie added one last statement, one she wasn¡¯t sure either of them were ready to hear out loud. ¡°The man who I want to give my heart to¡± Her words had the desired effect, and Cole visibly relaxed. Some deep fear of rejection and persecution was soothed by Natalie¡¯s kindness. Letting go of his hand, Natalie tried to distract both of them from their respective pains and answer one of the questions she¡¯d thought of. ¡°So all your scars? Is that because you were¡­ um, sewn together?¡± Natalie had no idea if there was a tactful way to ask Cole if he was like the Patchwork-Man of legend, but she tried her best. That actually got a bleak smile from Cole as he wiped away some drying blood from his forearms and looked at the pattern of scars that crisscrossed him. ¡°No, I was grown, not pieced together. The scars, they uh, are the one major defect in my regeneration. My skin does not heal quite like everything else does. My muscles, bones, and organs will be fixed perfectly, but not the skin. I still heal faster than most people, but it''s left me covered in scars.¡± Natalie winced at that. She¡¯d been actually hoping Cole had been stitched together from salvaged Corpses. Not having suffered every one of the gruesome injuries that still decorated his body. Glancing away in awkward sympathy, Natalie noticed the pile of ash and torn clothes nearby. All that was left of the Vampire Adrian. There were no bones, like with Lorena, but still enough ash to have made up the smarmy monster. Struck by an idea, Natalie went over to the remains and started salvaging his clothes. Tearing them into strips, Natalie went back to Cole and asked, ¡°Could we use these to bandage you up?¡± Cole looked at the ash-stained rags and grimaced. ¡°Getting the ash in my wounds won¡¯t be great, but I¡¯ve dealt with worse. If I can get the worst of these to clot, it will go a long way for both of us, I think.¡± Natalie flinched slightly; he¡¯d noticed how many times her eyes had lingered on his blood and how hard it had been not to lick the blood from his hand. The revelation of Cole being alive and his apparently inhuman nature had momentarily distracted Natalie, but the surprise was starting to wear off. Grief for her father and her own humanity threatened to surge up and drown her. Pushing it down, Natalie got to work tearing up Adrian''s cloak and pants. She got more than a little morbid joy disposing of his belongings in such a way. First Lorena, now Adrian, Natalie was used to cleaning up after drunken tavern goers, not dead Vampires. Tearing the cloth was far easier than it should have been, a small but poignant reminder that Natalie had changed in some very drastic ways. As she quickly turned Adrians'' cooper cloak into a series of bandages, a memory was sparked. Something Adrian had said when he entered the cell. Sitting down next to Cole, she started to bind the fabric around a large cut on Cole¡¯s leg. After a moment of consideration, Natalie asked him about what Adrian had mentioned. ¡°The Vampire who was in the cell with me, the one you killed. He mentioned someone called the Homunculus Knight. He seemed to be looking for them. Is that you, Cole?¡± Wincing as Natalie¡¯s fingers brushed a large scratch, Cole answered. ¡°Yes, it was my title when I was with Isabelle. I served as her champion and bodyguard back then.¡± Musing on that, as she tied the bandage, Natalie sought clarification. ¡°Isabelle, the skull, she was the Vampire who created you?¡± Cole nodded in confirmation, and Natalie hid a grimace of displeasure from him. The idea this Vampire had created him, then used him as a food source, servant, and lover made Natalie feel sick. She¡¯d heard scandalous tales of young women being groomed from a young age by lecherous Nobles. But nothing quite as warped as this. Natalie¡¯s opinion of this Isabelle fell even lower. She had been a perverse old monster who refused to even die properly. That thought sent a chill of self-loathing through Natalie. She was now not much better than Isabelle. The moral high ground was rapidly shrinking. Preparing to ask more painful questions, Natalie looked up at Cole and braced herself. She didn¡¯t get to ask any more when a low grinding noise pulled her attention. Both Cole and Natalie sprung up and turned to face one of the cell walls. The stone of the wall was sliding apart. Bricks compressing and moving out of the way in a strange rippling motion. A hidden passageway had opened up. Standing in it, barely illuminated by the cell¡¯s glowstone, was a huge Vampire in ruined plate armor. Red eyes glowed out from the darkness as the figure stepped toward Cole and Natalie. Torn metal scraped as he moved, and an oversized sword hung from his back. Cole was the first to recognize the intruder. ¡°Dietrich? What in the infinite hells are you doing here?¡± spat Cole. Pulling out the hunting knife he kept in his boot, Cole faced the Undead Knight without fear. Natalie took a moment to also recognize the newcomer. Which was understandable considering the circumstances of their last encounter. ¡°That¡¯s Dietrich?¡± asked a startled Natalie. ¡°He¡¯s the Vampire who saved my father and me from the Varcolac!¡± If he recognized her, Dietrich didn¡¯t show it. He just looked at the two prisoners, his red eyes not showing any emotion. After a moment, he spoke. ¡°Rest-Bringer, we need to talk.¡± With that, he turned and started walking down the passageway he¡¯d opened. After a few steps, he stopped, paused as if considering something, and elaborated. ¡°Bring the Fledgeling as well. She might be useful.¡± Confused, uncertain, and not seeing any other options. Cole and Natalie looked at each other. Agreement flashed between them, and they took the choice presented, following Dietrich down the passageway and out of the Cell. Chapter 18: Blood Inheritance

Chapter 35: Blood Inheritance

¡°The subject''s regenerative properties do not match any known example. These properties activate once all signs of life have stopped and end shortly after the lethal injury is healed. Once the primary damage is addressed, other less serious wounds heal to a minor degree. Every toxin I have tried is flushed from the subject''s system upon resurrection, and all observable forms of spiritual wounds are repaired. The rate of resurrection varies; the reason for this is still unknown. Extensive injuries take longer to heal than extreme injuries. Example: Decapitation healed in two minutes and six seconds. Organ Failure due to Phosphorus ingestion healed in thirty-five hours, fifteen minutes and two seconds¡±- Personal notes of Isabelle Gens Silva.
Cole and Natalie followed Dietrich, leaving the oubliette and its horrors behind. After maybe a dozen steps into the passageway, the stone shifted behind them and sealed the entrance shut. True darkness blanketed the hallway. Forcing Cole to stick a hand out and guide himself using the nearest wall. Natalie, for her part, was unbothered by the darkness; while she couldn¡¯t see, her other senses compensated so smoothly she didn¡¯t even notice. The clank and scrap of Dietrich¡¯s armor was the only sound in the hallway for a time, telling Cole and Natalie where their rescuer was. The Vampire Knight made sure and let them catch up when needed but offered them no explanation for his actions. After maybe five minutes of walking, Natalie had enough and demanded answers. ¡°Where are you taking us?¡± she said. Then, hesitating a moment, she added, ¡°Why did you rescue us?¡± Dietrich was silent. Natalie could almost feel him debating how much information to share. ¡°The situation is radically more dangerous than I¡¯d feared. The Court¡¯s members have all turned traitor or been murdered. I alone stand between that sniveling rat Petar and his goal. This is untenable; I need allies of convenience. You and the Rest-Bringer will make do in that role.¡± Cole grit his teeth in annoyance; he did not like the idea of working with this Vampire. Scarlet Knights were some of the most dogmatic and dangerous Nobles to infest the Blood Duchies. Cole also knew he had few options. If he wanted to protect Natalie and complete his duty, he needed to know what exactly Dietrich intended. ¡°Is Glockmire dead?¡± asked Cole, hoping to find out exactly how much information Dietrich would share. Surprisingly, Dietrich answered plainly. ¡°He survives, but not for much longer. I will tell you more when we reach him.¡± Looking around the pitch-black hallway pointlessly, Natalie pushed for more information. ¡°So are there many of these passageways in the Castle?¡± A flair of annoyance struck Natalie like a physical blow. Psychic pressure slammed against her mind in an overwhelming wave. Domineering spiteful rage came off Dietrich, forcing her to take a step back in sheer shock. Instincts not her own told Natalie to run or kneel. The Vampire inside her recognizing a superior monster. With a pained gasp, Natalie doubled over and raised her hands in surrender. In a tight whisper, Dietrich growled. ¡°There are many secrets to this Castle. Many only Lord Glockmire knows. His magic is woven into its very structure; it is how we knew to find you. Now do not speak again, or I will break your jaw.¡± Cole stepped forward, a deep angry growl rising in his chest, hunting knife pointed at Dietrich. For his part, Dietrich looked at the cowed Fledgling and furious Rest-Bringer. His enhanced senses pierced the darkness and gave him insight into his new accomplices. He saw the look of rage and worry on Cole¡¯s face. The Rest-Bringer cared for the Striga Girl, even after her transformation. A useful fact Dietrich filed away for later use. Slicing his hand through the air in a sign of dismissal, Dietrich barked. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this. We are not safe here. Follow me in silence and survive. Or pester me and be left to starve in these tunnels.¡± Letting out a deep, shuddering breath, Cole nodded in assent before adding in a low dangerous tone. ¡°Do not hurt her, Vampire. I¡¯ve already killed three of your ilk this week. I don¡¯t mind a third.¡± Unbeknownst to Cole, Natalie flinched at his words. The sheer venom in the word ¡°Vampire¡± conveyed all the bitter hate Cole had for the Nocturnal Nobles. A hate that she was exempt from, for now at least. Hoping to head off any conflict, Natalie stepped between Dietrich and Cole. ¡°I¡¯m alright, Cole, let''s just go with him. We don¡¯t have any other options.¡± Dietrich gave Natalie a curt nod of approval. A superior officer recognizing a disappointing subordinate¡¯s attempts to fix the situation. Ignoring the contempt in his actions, Natalie followed Dietrich. The still-fresh shock of his mental attack ridding Natalie of any real desire to countermand him. She¡¯d heard Vampires could use sheer force of personality as a weapon. Still, she¡¯d assumed it was just some sort of magical hypnosis. Not the very real impact of Dietrich''s mind clashing with hers. Cole put a comforting hand on Natalie¡¯s shoulder as they walked, whispering in her ear. ¡°He is a Wyrmoi, blood of Drakovich. They are skilled at throwing their weight around like that. Don¡¯t let it get to you.¡± Natalie gripped Cole¡¯s hand in a gentle squeeze and kept moving forward. They didn¡¯t talk after that, returning to the previous rhythm of following Dietrich through the darkness. After another fifteen or so minutes, they reached the end of the tunnel. Dietrich pressed against the stone wall capping the passageway, and it started to move, sliding out with a low grinding noise. The sound of stone scraping against stone contrasted violently with the quiet of the tunnel. It sounded so loud that Natalie expected an entire army of Castle Guards to be on the other side of the hidden door. Thankfully there was not, just a maze of rough-hewn corridors that spread out in all directions. Dietrich turned right and kept walking. As they exited the tight passageway, Natalie became more aware of her sharpened senses. She could hear their footsteps echoing off the stone, giving her a vague idea of distance. While her nose was assaulted with scents of stale air, decomposition, and old stone. Natalie covered her face with an ashen hand and was, for the first time, thankful she no longer needed to breathe. Dietrich paid her a dismissive look as Natalie adapted to her new senses. The old Vampire raised a finger to his lips, indicating silence. Cole and Natalie nodded in understanding as Dietrich moved into the stone maze. They followed Dietrich, all without a word, as he took them on a maddening journey through the labyrinthian maze of tunnels. On some instinctive level, Natalie knew she was deep below the earth. Buried beneath a mountain of stone and hidden in a catacomb dug by corpses. Natalie felt like she should be shivering in dread, but the sensation never came. The power that animates a Vampire would never waste itself on such a simple gesture. Cole, for his part, was unbothered by the claustrophobic depths they found themselves in. He¡¯d spent enough time in tombs, caves, and odder places to burn through any anxiety about traversing the underground. That was not to say he wasn¡¯t worried. Those same experiences navigating catacombs and haunted ruins had given him a good sense of direction. That sense of direction was telling him their route was nonsensical. They¡¯d doubled back, gone in loops, zig-zagged, done everything but go at a steady heading. The only reason Cole hadn¡¯t questioned Dietrich about this was because he knew only one reason for such behavior. The Vampire must think they were being followed. Still, that explanation made little sense. Tracking them through these tunnels would be easy for any predator worth the title. Making Cole consider if something else was in play. After twenty or so minutes of walking, Cole felt faint pressure on his ear drums. Like he was rapidly descending a mountain or diving into a deep lake. Natalie also seemed to have noticed it; she was fidgeting, looking around, nervous energy emanating from her. Cole hated himself for it, but he couldn¡¯t bear to look at Natalie right now. Her strange nervous twitches were that of a Vampire no longer pretending to be human. For Vampires, unless they focused, their body language fell into two categories. Deathly still or frantic spasms. The curse that animated them was either miserly or over-eager in its mimicry of life. Right now, the newly turned Natalie was nervous and uncertain. She probably didn¡¯t even notice the behavior. How her hands clenched and unclenched, how her head twitched slightly every few seconds. All the drive of an unnatural predator filtered through the mind of a human being, manifesting as a slight palsy that brought up terrible memories for Cole. Memories of when he¡¯d spent six months in a dungeon on no official record. When he¡¯d been fed upon by dozens of Vampires, his blood drained by hungry monsters with the same inhuman mannerisms Natalie now showed. In those six months, Cole had learned he truly couldn¡¯t die. Even when he hoped and prayed with his whole being, he hadn¡¯t stayed dead. A development as much a blessing and curse as it was for him and his Vampire captors. They¡¯d been tasked with destroying him, but they¡¯d also grown to enjoy a never-ending font of blood. A feast they could indulge in as much as they liked. It had been a unique variety of Hell and one that still haunted Cole. It had inspired a deep abiding hate for Vampire in him. A fantastically paradoxical bit of hypocrisy for a man who had found love with one Vampire and was looking for it with another. Something cold and soft pulled Cole from his memories. He looked down to see Natalie¡¯s hand in his. A concerned look on her face. Cole had stopped walking and hadn¡¯t even noticed. Dietrich was glaring at the two of them, his own hand reaching for his sword. Cole tried to give Natalie a reassuring grin, but judging by how her own look of worry only deepened, he failed. They kept walking, and the pressure on Cole¡¯s ears only increased, reaching a point where he felt mildly nauseous. By now, Cole was fairly certain the effect was magical. He¡¯d heard of Spacial magic having this effect but had little personal experience with it. The only question was, what sort of spell had been woven into the tunnels? As Dietrich took them towards a dead end in the catacombs and showed no sign of slowing down, Cole realized he was about to find out. Dietrich barely paused to gesture for Cole and Natalie to follow him before he stepped through the solid stone. Natalie looked at Cole with a questioning look at the shocking sight. Cole just shrugged, and the two of them stepped into the Stone. Holding hands as they did, neither wanting to face the danger alone. It felt like pushing through cold mud. A sticky feeling of resistance on them as they walked forward. Cole had gambled before stepping through and taking a deep breath. This was obviously something meant for Vampire use, and he¡¯d worried it wouldn¡¯t be breathable. Of course, he¡¯d also worried that full lungs would somehow explode thanks to some magical side-effect on living flesh. Running out of air seemed more likely, so Cole went with that and was rewarded. His lungs started to burn when they reached the other end of the strange stone, but they had not popped. Sucking in a breath of stale, metallic-tinged air, Cole looked around their destination. It was a tomb of some kind that was clear from the outset. An ancient circular chamber with a high dome roof and a polished granite floor. Intricate murals decorated the walls, and a central dais held a massive sarcophagus. A corpse lay next to the sarcophagus, a desiccated body mummified by the air-tight chamber. Dietrich stood a few steps away, looking at the Corpse. Cole stepped forward to join the Vampire but felt Natalie not move. He looked at her and saw a look of utter shock on her beautiful face. She was staring at the corpse, her eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Dietrich addressed the room as a whole. ¡°Lord Glockmire, I have brought the two you sensed.¡± Cole spun his head around, looking for the hidden elder Vampire, only to realize his mistake when the withered corpse started to move. Even meters away, Cole could hear the creak of dried joints and brittle bones. The corpse, no, Lord Glockmire, slowly pulled itself to its feet. Black beads recessed deep in its skull peered out at Cole and Natalie. A thin, reedy voice came from the Vampires mouth. ¡°Good, disable the Rest-Bringer. We will need him later, but for now, he will do more harm than good.¡± Cole already had his knife raised before Glockmire completed speaking, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Dietrich shot towards Cole like a bolt of red-lightning. A steel-clad fist hammered into Cole¡¯s gut, doubling him over. A second equally devastating blow hit his back and drove him to the floor. An armored boot came down on the back of Cole¡¯s neck. The low but constant pressure on Cole¡¯s spine was a clear warning. Cause problems, and the Vampire would snap his spine like kindling. Cole grit his teeth and seethed in anger. This had been too good to be true, and now his limited options had turned to nothing. Dietrich had proved to Cole how dangerous he was in a split second. A trained soldier was already an intimidating prospect. A trained soldier with unnatural strength and the focus to use it correctly was another matter. From where Cole lay, he could see a startled Natalie trying to move back towards the stone wall they¡¯d passed through. Her back bumped against solid stone. Whatever magic had made the rock permeable was no longer active. Cole and Natalie were trapped. The unliving corpse of Glockmire shuffled towards Natalie and spoke in that same croaking, unnatural voice. ¡°You truly are of my blood. I can smell it on you, child. Turned in some act of foolishness by Petar, I expect?¡± Natalie felt like she was being crushed, as an insurmountable psychic weight pushed on her being. It had started the moment she stepped into the tomb and only gotten worse as Lord Glockmire turned his focus on her. This was another part of being a Vampire Natalie had not expected. A new sense for the power and will of her fellow monsters. The rational, analytical part of Natalie wondered if this was some sort of distorted animal instinct. The ability to access a rival predator and realize how dangerous it is; now warped by the curse of Vampirehood. Other, more base parts of Natalie¡¯s mind were paralyzed by utter panic. She had caught the attention of a truly ancient monster, and its mere presence was enough to overwhelm her. The silence dragged on as Glockmire waited for an answer. Realizing annoying the Lord, even in his decrepit state, was a terrible idea, Natalie forced out some words. ¡°Y-y-yes. He attacked me, and I fought back. Some of his blood got into my wounds.¡± A low, croaking noise came from the walking corpse, a parody of laughter. ¡°Did he now?¡± The Lord shuffled closer to Natalie, his head cocking to the right like an inquisitive bird. ¡°Oh, this is very interesting. It''s fitting for my scion to doom himself in such a way.¡± Glockmire finally reached Natalie and reached out a single withered hand to brush her face. Again, Natalie didn¡¯t shiver, she wanted to, but such human reactions were no longer hers. Seeing her, Glockmire smiled. Taut skin stretched to reveal white fangs in a grin too wide to fit on a living face. Half speaking to her, half musing to himself, the old Lord spoke. ¡°Beautiful, brave, clever, and arrogant enough to involve yourself in the matters of Nobles and Gods. Petar couldn¡¯t have picked a better scion if he tried. It is a shame your transformation was not under better circumstances, Grandscion.¡± Turning away from her, Glockmire moved back towards the central dais and the massive sarcophagus. ¡°Still, I will not waste this good fortune. Come along Grandscion, we have a world to save and a usurper to punish.¡± Confused and not entirely in control of her own body, Natalie followed after her ¡°Grandsire,¡± as she supposed the correct term was. The idea of this monster considering her family after a fashion was another disturbing twist to an already crooked story. Mustering the will to ask a question, Natalie spoke. ¡°Save the world? What do you mean?¡± Glockmire placed a hand on the Sarcophagus, and Natalie instantly felt the room chill a few degrees. ¡°I miscalculated. I assumed that when I died, the power I¡¯ve stolen would die with me. But as that time draws nearer, I¡¯ve realized that''s not the case. The Alukah¡¯s power cannot be destroyed by mundane means. I¡¯d hoped the Rest-Bringer would be capable of helping me seal it away. That seems the sort of thing a chosen of Master Time would be helpful with. But then I found you, and other options became available.¡± Cole¡¯s voice then rang out through the tomb. ¡°Do not harm her, Glockmire. I will personally ensure your soul is cast into the deepest Hell if you do anything to her.¡± The old Lord looked at the trapped Rest-Bringer and seemed amused. It was hard to tell on his corpse-leather face. ¡°I¡¯m not going to harm her Rest-Bringer. In fact, I¡¯m going to do the exact opposite. She will claim her rightful inheritance with my blessing and become something incredible. A true Queen of the Night, an existence greater than any she might have once hoped to have.¡± A stray thought seemed to catch in Glockmire''s mind, and he changed topics abruptly. ¡°You have the Rest-Bringer wrapped around your fingers quite well, Granscion. How did you manage that? In fact, how did you manage to avoid killing him? When I sensed Petar¡¯s toadies toss him into the cell, I assumed he was as good as dead.¡± Even from where he lay, pinned to the ground under Dietrich¡¯s boot, Natalie could see Cole¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. Glockmire and his Knight didn¡¯t know what Cole was. An advantage that Natalie desperately tried to keep. A believable lie quickly came to Natalie. ¡°It''s one of his abilities as a Rest-Bringer. Cole can make his blood taste foul. It stopped me after I drank. What she said wasn¡¯t truly a lie. Cole could indeed make his blood taste bad, by dying. Natalie hoped the half-truth of the statement might make it more believable. Glockmire seemed to accept her statement as fact and looked back at Cole. ¡°Don¡¯t kill him yet, Dietrich. He might still be useful in this situation. Having someone who is as devoted to my Granscion as he seems to be is useful.¡± After a moment of hesitation, Glockmire added. ¡°In fact, I feel I must thank you Rest, Bringer¡± he looked down at Cole and smiled sadly. ¡°Your actions turned what might have become a calamity into a minor disaster. Thanks to your sniffing about, Petar was forced to move up his plans and abandon others. He didn¡¯t have a true army of Undead to cripple me and was forced to rely on other traitors to aid him. Something that let paranoid Dietrich here survive the coup and rescue me. They stole my power and ruined me, but they haven¡¯t claimed victory in part, thanks to you. Then as if that weren''t enough, you helped deliver a perfect successor to me at my most dire hour. Truly, I owe you, Rest-Bringer Cole. You will make an excellent thrall for my Grandscion.¡± The old monster''s words had a disturbingly paternalistic air to them. He talked less like a Vampire Lord describing the schemes against him and more like a proud parent discussing their offspring''s accomplishments. Yet, in all of it, Natalie proved her cleverness by picking out the important bits. ¡°Petar stole your power? And you want to give me what you have left so I can beat him? Is that what you are saying?¡± Glockmire beamed at her, a rictus that had more in common with a starving wolf than a human smile. ¡°Oh, you are a smart one. But on a point of technicality, the power was never really mine, to begin with. But it will be yours, Grandscion.¡± Reaching out with a skeletal hand, Glockmire pulled Natalie towards the Sarcophagus, and the crack she now only noticed was in it. Something about the crack unnerved Natalie. The fissure summoned up some sort of alien dread. A sense that whatever was beyond it was not something she wanted to see. Gesturing at the crack, Glockmire explained. ¡°We stand in the tomb of an Alukah. One of the first Vampires. My secret treasure and my hidden curse. For centuries I have siphoned away the Ancient One¡¯s power and hoped to consume its soul. Becoming a Demigod of our kind, just like it once was.¡± Pointing at the basin of black blood at the foot of the sarcophagus, Glockmire let out a reedy sigh. ¡°I was so close. A decade more, and it would have been mine. Then Petar forgot his place and sent us down this foolish path. I survived him and his minions stealing much of the power I had taken. But not for much longer. I will die, and I thought I could take the Alukah with me. But i¡¯ve learned that isn¡¯t the case. Weakened as it is, I¡¯ve touched the Ancient¡¯s mind and realized the truth. The Alukah¡¯s power can survive even when it cannot. Even if I devour it and kill us both, all that will do is unleash its fury onto the world. The raging might of a monster not seen since the Book of Miracles was written, now without a mind to guide it. I cannot let that be my legacy. The Alukah needs a vessel, a mind to take that power and guide it. It needs you, Natalie.¡± Understanding and utter horror started to fill both Cole and Natalie. Pieces fit together now. The immunity to Sunlight, the power of the Strigoi Cole fought, why a Scarlet Knight was assigned to Lord Glockmire, and why the old monster was so happy to have an heir. Cole had only heard of an Alukah in reading historical and religious texts. This was not something he knew how to face. Even if he was a Paladin, he had gained that status more on the merit of being immortal than his skill. Nothing he could think of would let him stop such a monster if it were unleashed. The only semi-sane solution to this madness was what Lord Glockmire planned. Except that wasn¡¯t something, Cole could easily accept. He didn¡¯t know what imbibing that sort of power might do to Natalie. Would there be anything left to her when the process was finished? Or just a true monster wearing her corpse? Duty and burgeoning love fought each other inside the failing Paladin. In desperation, Cole begged his captor to intercede. ¡°You can¡¯t let this happen, Dietrich! Take the power for yourself; use it as Drakovich wishes.¡± In response, the Scarlet Knight put his foot down harder on Cole¡¯s neck. Glockmire had apparently heard Cole¡¯s words and answered the question. ¡°I¡¯ve discussed this at great length with Sir Dietrich. I set this in all motion. Someone not of my blood will have little chance to succeed in absorbing the Alukah. And giving this power to a Fledgling is ideal. It would take an Elder Vampire years to unlock the full potential of the Alukah. My Grandscion is barely a day sired; it will take her centuries to master the power. Time for the Archduke to take her under his wing and keep her under his control. This is the best situation for all of us, including you, Rest-Bringer. I¡¯m sure my Grandscion will have no qualms keeping you as hers once this is all over.¡± Quietly, a soft voice cut off Glockmire. Hand atop the coffin, Natalie spoke. ¡°My name is Natalie Striga. I had no choice in becoming a Vampire, and I will have no choice in this matter. So have the grace to call me by my own JAGGING NAME!¡± Venom filled Natalie¡¯s words as she finished, and she glared at Glockmire. The old monster looked momentarily surprised, then outraged, then finally amused. ¡°Yesssss, I believe that much is owed Gran- Natalie.¡± Nodding her head curtly, Natalie asked the elder Vampire. ¡°If I take this power, will I be able to kill Petar?¡± Then, in a smaller, almost pleading voice, she added, ¡°And will I be able to see the Sun again?¡± Grandsire and Grandscion locked eyes for a long moment, neither hampered by the need to blink. In an almost purring tone, Glockmire answered. ¡°Yes to both, dear Natalie. The night will be yours to rule, and the day will be yours to enjoy.¡± Natalie sucked in a deep useless breath and made her decision. If she was to live as a monster, she would make the best of a bad decision. Never breaking her stare with Glockmire, refusing to look at Cole, Natalie agreed. ¡°Alright, what do I need to do?¡± Instead of responding, Glockmire raised his hands to his mouth and, in two quick gestures, cut open his wrists. Rivulets of black blood started to drip from the wounds. Glockmire thrust his right hand into the Sarcophagus¡¯s crack. A low, pained moan escaped the elder Vampire as his blood intermingled with the darkness inside the stone coffin. The temperature dropped even lower, and Cole could see his breath puff out in icy clouds. Straining against some unseen force, the old Lord raised his left hand towards Natalie. The black, tar-like blood of the Vampire hadn¡¯t traveled far and barely dribbled from Glockmires wrist. Some terrible instinct told Natalie what she needed to do. The curse infesting her mind, body, and soul recognized what was being offered. The dreadful act of consuming another Vampire and the power that went with it. Looking at the dark blood and the desiccated flesh of Glockmire, Natalie hesitated. For a moment, she doubted if she could truly do this. That doubt died as a recent memory flashed through her mind. The sight of her father, his innards ripped apart by Petar, the Vampire standing above the good man he killed. Cold hate rose up Natalie¡¯s still heart, and she took the plunge. Chapter 18.5: Frozen Blood

Chapter 36: Frozen Blood

¡°All blood is power but not all blood is powerful. Animal blood is weak and watery. Beasts touched by magic are only a little better. Only a person, human, dwarf, orc or other can give us what we need. But their ichor is wasted in their veins. Its true power exists only when we take it. There is poetry in that, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± - Voivode Igori Gens Suillia
Cole had to look away as he saw Natalie¡¯s lips lock on the monster''s wrist. This act of cannibalism was deeply unsettling for him. Disgust and worry filled Cole¡¯s mind as events unfolded. He didn¡¯t trust Glockmire and doubted anything the old monster said. But Cole couldn¡¯t disregard what the Lord claimed. It fit all the puzzle pieces together, and the risk of having a primordial Vampire set loose was not something Cole could gamble with. Cole had no say in what was happening, and it all fell to Natalie. Who, as she had so often reminded him, made her own choice. Now Natalie would have to face the consequences. Natalie felt power flow into her, intoxicating, incredible power. Like the night itself distilled and injected right into her. Lord Glockmires life flowed through his blood, and with it came traces of something far far greater. An ocean of shadows, the power of an antediluvian monster, wrestled from its host and claimed by Glockmire. Crudely, Natalie could feel what was happening between the Alukah and Glockmire. New senses, unrefined and untested, conveyed a battle to her. Where two dying leviathans tore at each other. Ripping pieces of each other free in the struggle. Pieces that Natalie greedily consumed. With every blow between the Alukah and its captor, Natalie grew stronger. Feeding on the mutually assured destruction raging inside the two elder Vampires. The entire experience left her giddy and terrified. Like she was plunging from some great height, excitement and fear bleeding together in Natalie''s mind. Consumed by the twisted act of consumption, Natalie barely noticed the crack in the tomb wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw part of the wall mosaic shatter. Bits of precious metal, gems, and colored stone clattered to the ground. Ancient rock that had been undisturbed for millennia broke as something pushed at it from the other side. Confused and not entirely certain if what she was seeing was real, Natalie looked closer at the broken mosaic. Her newly enhanced sight showed her a piece of sharpened metal sticking out of the wall. The metal slipped back out of the hole it had created, leaving a dark hole in the wall. Looking at this odd sight, realization struck Natalie with enough force she nearly stopped drinking Glockmires blood. It was a pickaxe; someone was trying to break into the tomb with a pickaxe. A half-remembered comment from another life filtered back to Natalie. ¡°They shut the mine; Daymen aren¡¯t letting anyone work.¡± Matko had mentioned the Nobles had taken over the local mine for some unknown reason. Keeping everyone out of them and going as far as murder to keep townsfolk away. When Matko had mentioned it, Natalie had just filed it away as another oddity. As the hole in the wall widened, the truth became clear. Wherever this tomb was hidden, Petar couldn¡¯t follow the passageways to reach it. So was taking another option; he had dug his way to them. Frantically, Natalie pointed at the hole. She was afraid to let go of Glockmire and couldn¡¯t do more than yelp loudly and point. Thankfully it caught Dietrich''s attention, and the Scarlet Knight saw what she was pointing at. Dietrich leaped towards the hole and drew his sword in a blur of movement. Just in time for an avalanche of debris to fall to the floor as part of the wall collapsed. The small hole had widened into a door-sized crevasse, and a ragged figure stumbled through it. A figure Natalie knew. Even covered in stone dust and partially decomposed, Gurni the Dwarf was still recognizable. Carrying a pickaxe in both hands, the Ghoul stumbled towards Dietrich, empty eyes staring out aimlessly. Dietrich lopped the Dwarf''s head from his shoulders with a dismissive slice and stepped towards the breach. A dozen arms and flailing weapons stretched out from the darkness, the Ghoul mining crew hoping to remove the next obstacle. Except this time, they didn¡¯t face rock and stone but blood and steel. Dietrich quickly tore through them with explosive fury. The weight of his sword not just cutting his enemies but ripping them apart. As Natalie watched, she felt something stir inside of her. A foul coldness that grew with every passing second. Glancing over to Glockmire, Natalie was surprised to see the old monster slumped down. His body was even more withered than before. He looked like a skeleton clad in paper-brittle skin. Stringy hair barely attached to his scalp, and loose clothing practically falling off him. With a low cracking noise like tortured wood, Glockmire turned his head to face Natalie. His lips formed words, but no sound came; still, Natalie heard them in her mind. ¡°It''s time.¡± As soon as she registered the words, a wave of darkness crashed into Natalie, and the world turned black. Cole watched Natalie collapse, her body falling like a cut-string puppet. Only her mouth and hands showed any movement as she grasped onto Glockmire, never letting the connection break. With Dietrich busy with the Ghouls, Cole quickly scrambled to his feet and went to Natalie¡¯s side. Cradling her still form, Cole felt his emotions run riot. He wanted to pull her free from this parasitic chain she was part of. He wanted to take her and run, get away from this place and be somewhere safe. After a moment, Cole dismissed the idea; they were silly thoughts from a panicked man afraid of losing someone else. Cole wasn¡¯t a mortal man, and he didn¡¯t have the luxury of such flights of fancy. He was a Monster in service to God. He was a Paladin of Master Time. Cole gently laid Natalie down, trying not to look at her mouth and the dark blood dripping into it. Turning away from her, Cole looked at Dietrich and the fight raging. As he did, the cold tug of the God-Touch yanked on Cole¡¯s soul with incredible power. Nearly pulling him off his feet. It pulled him towards where Dietrich fought. Giving him all the confirmation he needed that this was the right choice. Picking up Gurni¡¯s fallen pickaxe, Cole joined Dietrich at the breach. A ghoul had wrapped itself around Dietrich¡¯s legs as another dozen tried to swarm him. Cole brought the pickaxe down on an entangled ghoul, splitting its skull with a wet crunch. Dietrich spun in surprise to see Cole, sending two more ghouls flying with an ugly backhand as he did. For a brief second, both warriors looked at each other, and a nod of understanding passed between them. The conflict between them was not over, but it could wait for a later date. The Paladin and Scarlet Knight fought side by side. Dietrich tore through the oncoming horde with reckless abandon, while Cole methodically destroyed any Ghoul who slipped past the Vampires onslaught. In the cramped tunnel, Dietrich couldn¡¯t unleash the full fury of his Executioner Sword, but the Ghoul miners were similarly restricted. Their advantage of numbers reduced by the bottleneck. While Dietrich pushed into the tunnel somewhat, Cole held the entrance. He didn¡¯t dare try and fight in cramped, dark confines without his equipment. And he sure as Jag was not about to let any Ghoul slip past Dietrich and get to Natalie. He swung his pickaxe until flesh and bone dulled the weapon to uselessness. A coating of viscera stuck to the tool and made it little better than a bludgeon. Cole threw it with all his might at an approaching Ghoul and picked up a nearby shovel. Using it like an axe, Cole got back to work, cutting down any shambling Ghoul that got to the tunnel mouth. Soon the tunnel was slick with blood and guts. Ruined corpses and rotten innards covered the floor. This was one of the worst parts of Cole¡¯s duties. Where he felt more like a butcher than a warrior or priest. Cutting up bodies and drowning in gore. To distract himself and try and bring some sanctity to this nightmare, Cole started to pray. Saint-Speech flowed from his lips in a near-constant stream. Cole begged for the enslaved souls he fought to find freedom in death. Freedom that had been denied them by Petar and his minions. These poor people had not only died at the Vampire''s hands, but they¡¯d denied their rest. Their souls intentionally trapped in their bodies by Necromancy to make better servants. An anguished roar of pain echoed down the tunnel, and Cole took a step back, preparing to face whatever might come. Dietrich stumbled forward out of the dark, a halberd impaled through him. Gritting his teeth in pain, Dietrich barked at Cole. ¡°Pull this out of me! I got through the miners, and now he¡¯s sending Castle Guards.¡± Cole obliged and yanked the weapon free of Dietrich''s innards. The weight of the Halberd a familiar comfort in Cole¡¯s hands, it wasn¡¯t his weapon but it would work. Growling in annoyance, Dietrich looked down at his torso, where the hole punched through him was already being repaired. Cole paid no mind to his ¡°comrade-in-arms¡± injuries; his focus was on the sound of clanking metal echoing down the passageway. Soon shining spear tips came into view, followed by armored figures holding out Halberds. A row of blades greeted Cole and Dietrich as the Castle Guards formed a phalanx. Three across, three deep, the formation filled the tunnel and presented a wall of halberd points. Hefting his sword in both hands, Dietrich said to Cole: ¡°I will knock the pikes aside; you go for the kill.¡± Cole nodded; he wasn¡¯t familiar with true battle tactics but could guess Dietrich had experience dealing with formations like this. He wasn¡¯t about to second guess the Scarlet Knight in this situation. Dietrich pushed forward, battering his sword into the arrayed halberds. His weapon¡¯s superior weight and his superhuman strength pushed some of the halberds out of position. Letting Cole come in low and drive his own halberd into one of the Castle Guards'' neck. The strike punched through the Rattler Soldiers'' armor and shattered its spine. With a fierce yank, Cole pulled the Halberd to the left and drove its axe-head into the skull of the nearest Castle Guard. The blow lacked enough power to destroy the Rattler, but it did knock the Castle Guard out of formation. Letting Dietrich shoulder-check the Rattler to the ground and put an armored boot through its breastplate. The Vampire did this all while reversing his swing to open up another gap for Cole to push into. In this situation, the unflappable nature of the Undead Soldiers actually hindered them. Guided by crude magical Animus and following simple directions. The Castle Guards didn¡¯t flinch away from oncoming blows or adapt to the situation. Letting the superior warriors, Cole and Dietrich, create openings and exploit them at will. Despite everything that had happened between them, Cole and Dietrich proved to be a formidable duo. Fighting side by side with near-seamless coordination. Hacking and smashing through the first phalanx of Rattlers and facing two more in quick succession. By the fourth troop of soldiers, Cole felt his muscles start to burn in exhaustion. Dying and reviving had ¡°rested¡± his body, but that would only do so much. Mental fatigue combined with the constant methodical combat of holding the tunnel entrance was starting to take its toll. It would be a while before he truly started to falter, but Cole knew he couldn¡¯t keep this up forever. Eventually, he would slip up and fall. If he was lucky, a clean killing blow would do him in. He¡¯d revived from some of those before even falling to the ground in the past. But that was not the sort of gamble Cole could make right now. His immortality was fickle and uncertain; he couldn¡¯t risk dying in battle. Dietrich was not immune to the grinding attrition they found themselves in. Of the spear tips he batted away, a handful found him, and some of those found cracks in his armor. The Vampire was taking the frontline role and soaking up most of the attacks directed at the duo, and it was starting to show. Myriad small wounds started to show on Dietrich. Scratches and stabs that didn¡¯t leak any blood. Dietrich refused to waste any of his power healing such minor injuries, so they lay open, dry, and pale like torn leather. A ghoulish sight, further demonstrating the inhumanity of the Vampire warrior. Searing pain in Cole¡¯s leg distracted him from the battle and his musings on Dietrich. He looked down in shock to see a skull biting into his calf. Separated from its body and helmet, the skull had latched itself onto Cole. Dull teeth bit through ragged clothing and scarred skin, drawing blood. Pale green witch-light glowed in the skull¡¯s eye sockets, a sign of greater magic at work. Cole knocked the skull loose with the butt of his halberd. To Cole¡¯s surprise and horror, the skull did not simply tumble away but floated into the air, its jaws snapping hungrily. Cole didn¡¯t give the skull time to attack and smashed it to the ground with the flat of his halberd. More witch-light burst into being then, illuminating the tunnel as a dozen more skulls floated into the air and charged both Cole and Dietrich. A frantic shout from Cole warned his comrade, and Dietrich just had time to catch and crush a skull aiming for his neck. Soon nearly two dozen skulls were floating about. Bobbing towards the tunnel defenders and snapping at them like starving vultures. Growling in frustration, Cole reached down to his bloodied calf and decided to end this. Letting his dirty fingers touch the stinging wound, Cole whispered an incantation. ¡°My veins are a net, and they will be your bane yet!¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. It was a quick and crude incantation, the words focusing Cole¡¯s intent into form. Pulling his hand from the wound, a long ropey string of blood came with his fingers. Cole lashed out with the blood, using it like a whip. The spell caught one of the nearby skulls, tendrils of blood gripping onto the bone like algae growing on stone. Whirling the blood-whip, Cole smashed it and the captured skull into two more cursed bones, capturing them as well. Soon Cole had a flail made from his blood and his enemies'' bones. Dropping his halberd, Cole heaved the flail with both hands, swinging it about in a great arc, smashing skulls to alabaster chips. Groaning with the effort, Cole directed his make-shift weapon to crush and collect this newest surprise Petar had thrown at them. This was a new application of Cole¡¯s blood magic, and he didn¡¯t know how wise it was. He felt like his very veins were being pulled from him by the flail''s weight. Which they very well might be. Cole preferred using Blood to power his spells but had to admit this sort of grisly manifestation was a valuable part of the magical art. After a few spins, Cole had most of the skulls in his blood flail or shattered to pieces. Something helped by the tightness of the passageway; every rotation smashed some of the skulls against the tunnel walls. As the strain started to become too much, Cole bellowed to Dietrich. ¡°DUCK!¡± The startled Vampire looked back at Cole just in time to dodge the flail of skulls flying overhead. The makeshift weapon slammed deep into the Rattler ranks, and Cole spat another incantation, ¡°Boil and burst, steam do your worst.¡± The blood clinging to the skulls instantly super-heated and detonated the bones into a shower of steam and shrapnel. The cloud of sizzling vapor engulfed the rattlers, and the clatter of bone and metal striking each other echoed through the tunnel. Gasping for breath, Cole stumbled backward; he¡¯d pushed deeper into the tunnel for his attack but now retreated towards the entrance. Cole picked up his salvaged halberd as he moved and took position again. The weapon was shaky in his hands, blood loss making him clumsy. As the steam faded, covering the tunnel in a cold slickness, Cole cursed as he saw more Guards coming to replace the ones his improvised weapon had killed. Cole had hoped the explosion would have been enough to damage the tunnel, maybe collapsing it and buying them some time. No such luck. Cole had used a worrying amount of his blood to deal with the floating skulls and had little to show for the investment. Taking a moment to steady himself, Cole readied to push back into the fight. Dietrich had taken full advantage of the chaos Cole had sown and hacked apart a dozen more Rattlers, taking time to smash each of their skulls. The Vampire was loath to admit it, but the Rest-Bringer had proved himself in this battle. With little blood to draw upon, Dietrich couldn¡¯t use any of his more impressive abilities. Forcing him to rely on his basic physical enhancements and his own skill. Which should have been enough, but the ambush by the floating skulls just might have tipped the balance against them. A quick glance at Cole showed that whatever magic he¡¯d used against the skulls had weakened him. Dietrich figured the Rest-Bringer had only a few more sorties left in him. Normally Dietrich would simply grab Cole and consume him now, but he feared the poisoned blood Natalie had described. So instead, Dietrich would wait until no strength was left in Cole, then he could strike, free of the Rest-Bringers powers and able to put the mortal''s blood to good use. Dietrich didn¡¯t plan this act out of any malice, just simple pragmatism. If Cole was more useful as a blood-meal than as a warrior, then so be it. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time Dietrich had consumed his mortal comrades in arms when the need arose. Tearing through two Rattlers and preparing to go for a third, Dietrich didn¡¯t even see what hit him. Something massive flew down the tunnel and smashed into him, knocking the Scarlet Knight off his feet. Armored fingers clawed at Dietrich, and he quickly pulled a Castle Guard off of him and crushed its skull. Pulling himself to his feet, Dietrich realized someone or something had thrown a fully armored Rattler at him. He just had enough time to realize this when a huge black shape barreled through the broken formation of Rattlers and charged him. The attacking shape was a colossal rat, easily the size of a Brown Bear and with muscles more ursine than rodent. It smashed into Dietrich, and rows of needle-like teeth closed on the Vampires torso. Rolling with the impact, Dietrich fell, so his body weight slammed on the Giant Rats'' head. It let out a shriek of pain, and Dietrich slashed its flank with his sword. Black blood matted the Giant Rats'' fur and confirmed its identity. The Rat was a Vampire, one of the traitors taking on an animalistic form to attack him. Petar¡¯s vanguard had softened up Cole and Dietrich; now, the main force had arrived. Cole watched as Dietrich struggled with the transformed Vampire. Charging forward, Cole rammed his halberd into the Rat¡¯s side and shoved. Between the two of them, they managed to knock the Vampire Rat off of Dietrich and put some holes in it. Before either of them could recover, the Rat lunged again, and this time it wasn¡¯t alone. A hungry shadow shot down the hallway, a lean figure of taught muscles and sharp blades. Moving faster than Cole could see, it threw twin daggers into Dietrich''s chest, each piercing an unused lung. The wiry frame of the Vampire came into view, wearing black leathers strewn with daggers and throwing knives. The Dagger Vampire lept towards Dietrich and rammed his blades deeper, driving them into the stone below. Impaling the Scarlet Knight like a collected insect. Other shapes became clear in the tunnel''s depths. More Castle Guards, accompanied by more sinister forms. Vampires ready to attack and rend both Cole and Dietrich apart. For his part, a furious Dietrich had gripped onto the Dagger Vampire, keeping the wiry monster from escaping. Dietrich spat something at his attacker, too quiet for Cole to hear. The Dagger Vampire just laughed in response. ¡°You are a relic, Dietrich. A stupid old tradition-bound relic. I may be a traitor, but that''s better than being a fossil.¡± In response, Dietrich tightened his grip on the Vampire''s forearms, squeezing hard enough to crack bone. The Dagger Vampire hissed in pain and shook his head side to side, like a dog trying to throw off fleas. In the movement, the Vampire sent droplets of water flying with his moment, and something occurred to Cole. The entire tunnel was damp; the steam of his attack had altered the humidity of their cramped confines. Water dripped from the walls and coated everything with an ugly slickness. Dropping his halberd, Cole fell to his knees and started one final gambit. Reaching into his soul, Cole found his divine power was mostly restored. The pieces of himself he¡¯d ripped off to fight the Strigoi and Varcolac had healed. He could tap into his Paladin abilities. Still, he¡¯d overtaxed himself earlier, and it would be a while before he could use any subtle powers. Which was perfectly okay for what he had planned. Plunging his hands into the terrible mixture of water and viscera on the tunnel''s floor, Cole called up as much of his soul as possible. He instantly felt light-headed as much of his imprint in the Aether was turned to this task. Cold dribbled from his hands, spreading out from his digits in a wave of entropy. With a slow exhale, a cloud of frozen fog billowed forth from Cole and towards the fighting Vampires. Caught up in their own struggle, none of them noticed the encroaching chill. Blood froze, and frost started to form on the tunnel walls. It wasn¡¯t enough; Cole let out another deep breath. The arctic mist doubled in size and started to roll forward. With careful rhythmic breaths, Cole poured his soul into this act of divine magic. The Cold of Entropy was unleashed in a wave of frozen death. Obscured by the fog, Cole couldn¡¯t see the Vampires and their minions, but he could hear their startled shouts. Muffled by the mist, but still loud enough to carry surprise and rage to him. Cole let himself feel some grim satisfaction as another breath of ice poured forth. A fierce grin spread on the Paladin¡¯s face as he felt the Cold spread out and seep into his enemies. Sucking in a huge lungful of air, Cole breathed out one final storm of frost. Sitting on his hands and knees, he almost collapsed forwards as exhaustion hit him. A strange hollowness filled his being. The sense of a soul scraped down to near-nothingness. Blackness circled at Cole¡¯s vision, and he fought against the urge to pass out. After a few shakey moments, Cole managed to look up from where he sat and saw his handiwork. Not thirty centimeters from his face were the outstretched claws of a Vampire. A frozen Vampire, stuck in its final lunge towards him. Smiling weakly at that, Cole looked past his would-be-executioner and saw a tunnel of ice stretch out before him. Nearly a dozen Vampires hung in frozen limbo. With twice that many Castle Guards reduced to piles of bones and armor. The Cold of Entropy had been so intense it had snapped the spells animating the Guards, an application of this ability Cole had never seen before. Which made sense, as he¡¯d never drawn this much power forth in a single act. This magic froze the mind, body, and soul. A natural extension of that was turning some magic brittle. Sucking down air, trying to push the light-headedness away, Cole pulled himself up. Taking multiple tries to pull his near-frozen fingers from the icy ground. Grabbing his scavenged halberd from nearby, Cole set about finishing the job. He smashed the frozen Vampire that had almost reached him. Reducing the monster to a pile of frost-blackened gore. Moving to the next Vampire and then the next, Cole destroyed them all. Leaving only one. Cole looked down at the frozen form of Dietrich and weighed his halberd between his hands. While he knew the purely logical action would be to kill the Scarlet Knight. Honor stayed Cole¡¯s hand. He¡¯d fought side by side with Dietrich and found the idea of killing the Vampire in his defenseless state distasteful. A few days ago, Cole would have killed Dietrich on the principle of being a Vampire. Now looking back at the tomb and the unconscious form of Natalie, Cole had to admit things had gotten more complicated. While he didn¡¯t know for sure, Cole was reasonably certain Dietrich would survive being thawed out. If and when that happened, Cole would deal with the Scarlet Knight then. Using his stolen halberd as a crutch, Cole stumbled towards the tunnel entrance. Taking it slowly not to stumble on the ice, Cole made his way into the tomb. Leaning against the mosaic wall, Cole took a better look at Natalie. He nearly dropped his halberd in surprise at what he saw. When he¡¯d glanced a moment ago, he¡¯d thought she was sprawled back like he had left her. And she was, except she was now hovering nearly a meter off the ground. As Cole watched, the last withered remnants of Glockmire fell away from Natalie¡¯s hands. The shriveled bones collapsed to ash. Cole started to hobble towards Natalie when movement caught his attention. A dark shape slithered into the tunnel. Spinning around and nearly falling in the process, Cole saw a stream of semi-liquid shadows covering the ice. A web of sticky, inky darkness that clung to the walls and floor. Darkness kept shifting, wriggling and twitching as something at its heart moved. The core of this new horror moved closer. The tendrils of darkness slithering about, an entourage proclaiming the arrival of their lord. As the shadows moved, Cole realized they didn¡¯t break any of the fine ice crystals covering the walls or move the bits of broken Vampire scattered around. They were insubstantial; no, they weren¡¯t physical. Merely the representation of something a mortal mind couldn¡¯t easily understand. As the heart of darkness entered the faint light of the tomb''s glowstones, Cole understood what he was looking at. This was the side effect of him using the Cold of Entropy. He¡¯d pulled on so much divine power that the backwash was effecting his senses. Letting him glimpse the world as the Gods might. This particular time, it let him see the soul of the newcomer. Seeing it as the sticky, fetid web of darkness and creeping corruption it was. It let Cole see the soul of The Feeder in all its foulness. Flanked by five Vampires on either side of him, each with souls nearly as twisted as his. Petar entered the tomb, a too-wide smile on his face. Raising his arms up like a proud showman, he proclaimed. ¡°At last! My inheritance!¡± Cole just hung his head in exhaustion. He¡¯d used up everything he had in him, yet the threat wasn¡¯t over. The Feeder had come to claim his prize and, with it, Natalie¡¯s life. There was little Cole could do as a Paladin or as a Man. All that was left was to try as a monster. Pulling himself up tall, Cole reached down to his boot, where he kept his spare knife. Holding the blade in his hand, Cole looked at the short dagger. It was nothing special, not some precious relic or family heirloom. Just a piece of metal he¡¯d picked up years ago from a merchant''s cart. But it just might save Natalie and the entire world with it. Petar looked at Cole and the dagger and actually laughed. ¡°Is that all you have left? A piece of cheap steel?¡± Cole just responded with a mocking smile, ¡°By the way, I hear it, small knives are your bane Petar.¡± Unconsciously, Petar raised a hand to his neck, where the silver-scarred flesh of Natalie¡¯s attack was still visible. It would take years for the wound to completely heal, and even longer for Petar¡¯s pride to recover. The usurper Vampire snarled at Cole in bitter anger. ¡°I will strangle you with your own entrails, Rest-Bringer.¡± At this point, weariness had taken its toll on Cole, and he cared little for anything resembling decorum of secrecy. ¡°Better Vampires have tried Petar, and some even succeeded.¡± Raising the dagger, Cole held it to the back of his neck and, almost as an afterthought, added, ¡°Oh, and I¡¯m not a true Rest-Bringer.¡± Gingerly, Cole placed the blade into the sweet spot where the spine and skull met. Then before he could hesitate, Cole jammed the blade into his spinal cord. A scream, bloody and raw, exploded from his lungs as he died. Mixed in with his pain was relief, he¡¯d done this correctly. If he had missed he wouldn¡¯t have been killed but instead paralyzed. This was a dangerous gamble and one he saw no other option but to take. An injury like he just inflicted on himself was invariably and instantly lethal. For an Immortal, it did something very, very different. Bruised flesh and frost-burnt skin healed instantly, over-taxed muscles were cleansed and strengthened. Cole died a hundred times over as his body tried and failed to heal from the injury. Each time his body was restored just a little bit more. Slowly regrowing nerves and cartilage dislodged the blade, spitting it out of Cole¡¯s flesh. A shuddering, twitching Cole fell to his knees and screamed again. Years of experimentation and torture had taught him this little trick. A way to restore himself almost instantaneously. At the cost of experiencing more pain than a human mind could adequately understand. The feeling of every nerve in his body being sliced, regrown, and sliced again. Over and over until healing tissue pushed the blade free. In the silence left after Cole¡¯s scream, a shocked Petar asked, ¡°What are you?¡± Pulling himself back to his feet and lifting up his halberd to point at Petar, Cole proclaimed in a shaking voice. ¡°I am the Homunculus Knight, I am the Paladin of Master Time, I am Cole the Deathless, and I am going to end this nightmare you started, Feeder!¡± This time no derision met Cole¡¯s words, just fearful silence. He¡¯d unsettled the Vampires, shown them something they didn¡¯t understand and couldn¡¯t believe. Not long ago, Cole had proclaimed he would die as many times as he needed to. If it meant ensuring Natalie¡¯s safety and the safety of the world. It was time for him to prove those words. Twirling the halberd in still twitchy fingers, Cole leveled it at the Vampires and shouted for all the Gods and Monsters to hear. ¡°MAGNI! MORTAE! MUNDUS!¡± Chapter 19: Red Lilies

Chapter 37: Red Lilies

¡°What exactly Isabelle Gens Silva did in creating her ¡°Homunculus Knight¡± has remained a mystery. Some even doubt the existence of such a being, but the records and witness statements are compelling. The evidence seems to indicate that Gens Silva engaged in acts of Necromancy related to the manipulation of Souls in a way unbeknownst to even her fellow Vampires. Creating an artificial soul and inserting it into a flesh-crafted Homunculus Body. A feat never since replicated, and perhaps for a good reason. Only a few years after publicly revealing her creation to Duke Drakovich¡¯s court, Gens Silva suffered her infamous downfall. A series of events that left her dead, her creations destroyed, and her research obliterated¡± Excerpt from the text, ¡° Alchemical Abominations ¡± authored by Aureolus Bombastus, Master Alchemist of the Salted Citadel.
Natalie had never seen a Dragon. She, of course, had heard stories about them. How they were as much magic as they were flesh. The epitome of power in all its forms. Capable of feats, even the mightiest Archmage and War-Master would balk at. While she had never seen a Dragon, the sight in front of Natalie gave her an idea of what a clash between two such legends might look like. Stretching out before Natalie was a field of Lilies, the white flowers reaching the horizon in every direction. Only two things broke the eternal field, a winding stream that babbled behind Natalie and the warring monsters in front of her. Two colossal shapes of darkness and blood tore at each other in a frantic battle to the death. Each was larger than the Silly Goat itself and brimming with dark power. The monsters were composed of shadows that flowed like blood, constantly shifting forms as they struggled. Natalie saw the leering faces of hungry wolves, swarms of teeming rats, flapping raven wings, and other more twisted shapes in the whirling darkness. Ideas of nocturnal predation sculpted in black ichor. A familiar voice from Natalies right caught her attention. ¡°You have quite the artistic mind.¡± Whirling to face the speaker, Natalie saw a wiry man in a broad-brimmed straw hat. The stranger carried a lily in his lips like a farmer might a piece of grass. Over his shoulder was a long fishing pole. Deja vu flooded over Natalie, and she blinked away the feeling of familiar confusion. Speaking more to herself than the Angler, Natalie murmured: ¡°I¡¯ve been here before. I¡¯ve met you. But how¡­?¡± The Angler waved a dismissive hand and chewed on the Lily stem absently as he spoke. ¡°It''s a hard thing to remember dreams, which is roughly what this is. But it''s even harder to forget them fully.¡± Pulling the lily from his mouth, the Angler tossed it to Natalie. She caught it and felt something unlock in her mind. Her previous encounters with the ¡°Angler¡± came flooding back. She was talking with a God, and this wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d done so. Seeing her eyes widen and her mouth fall open in surprise, the Angler nodded in confirmation. ¡°Dreams are technically not my domain, but Aunt Seeress lets me get away with things like this. Especially when the dreamer is more than a little bit dead.¡± Natalie flinched at that last comment. She had no idea what to expect from the God of Death when she existed in a state of Unlife. The Angler had been helpful in their past conversations, but things were different now. The sound of tearing flesh and bestial screams pulled Natalie''s mind from her worries to the battle raging nearby. One of the monsters, the larger of the two, had ripped a piece of its weaker foe loose and tossed it into the field of Lilies. Where the pulsing mass of shadows hit, the Lilies turned blood red. On seeing this, Natalie realized huge swaths of the formerly alabaster flowers were now scarlet. Blinking in surprise, Natalie tried to find words. The Angler put a gentle hand on her shoulder and pulled her towards the stream. ¡°Ignore them for now. Let''s find a quiet place to chat.¡± Natalie obliged and followed the Angler to the bank. He sat down on the grass and gestured for Natalie to join him. Just then, Natalie realized she was wearing her favorite dress, not the bit of silk she¡¯d last been wearing. Deciding this was not anyway the strangest part of this experience, Natalie sat down, ignoring the sounds of bestial battle coming not fifty meters away. Gazing out at the stream and unsure what to say, Natalie let the silence drag on. Thankfully the Angler broke it. ¡°You have questions; I can feel them bubbling in that wonderful mind of yours. So go ahead, I¡¯ll answer what I can.¡± Before she could stop herself, Natalie blurted out, ¡°Are you going to kill me?¡± The Angler just looked at her like she was slow. His eyes showed a mixture of annoyance and amusement as he answered. ¡°You are already dead. Petar ripped your throat out not long after our last meeting.¡± This time it was Natalie''s turn to feel annoyed. She could do without having that particularly terrible memory pulled up. ¡°Let me rephrase it, are you going to end my existence as it currently is?¡± Natalie clarified. That got a bemused smile out of the Angler. ¡°Of course, I will; I¡¯m the God of Death. But not yet. You still have a role to play in all of this.¡± Natalie actually relaxed slightly at that. It was strangely comforting to hear Death himself say you still had time. Moving on to her next question, Natalie gestured to the clash of titans happening behind them. ¡°Is that Glockmire and the Alukah fighting?¡± The Angler nodded in confirmation. ¡°Yep, or at least it''s how your mind is interpreting it. This whole place is, after all, an interesting mix of your unconscious mind, my domain, and the influence of those two old Parasites. You are seeing inside your soul and the effect Johan and Annoch are having on it.¡± With his words, the Angler gestured at the flowers and how more and more were soaking up the Darkness and turning red. What he implied made Natalie feel sick. Not physically, she couldn¡¯t be even inside her own soul, but it still provoked the mental component of nausea. Forcing herself to look over her shoulder, Natalie watched the two whirling storms of black blood fight. A great stain of red lilies spread out from the battlefield. A clear marker of the contamination she was experiencing. ¡°Am I going to become a monster like them?¡± Natalie asked, her voice weak with fear. Taking a moment to choose his words, the Angler stared off at the river. ¡°You could, you very easily could. But you don¡¯t have to.¡± After another moment of contemplation, the God changed the subject. ¡°Have you figured out why the Alukah isn¡¯t burned by the Sun?¡± Shrugging her shoulders and looking away from the fight, Natalie answered plainly, ¡°I assumed it was because of how powerful it is. Just a side effect of it being the biggest monster.¡± That got a snort of amusement from the Angler. ¡°It''s what Glockmire and most others who know about the Alukah assume. And it''s a frightfully arrogant supposition.¡± Lying back into the grass and Lillies, the Angler stared up at the sky. ¡°The first Vampire, the being you call the Rabisu, committed an act of treachery so heinous it scarred the Beyond itself. Her actions caught the attention of both Noble and Fell Gods. For our part, we, the Pantheon, layered curses upon her in a ham-fisted attempt to punish her. While our malicious counterparts heaped blessings upon her as a perverse reward. That combination of curses and blessings curdled inside the spiritual wound she created. Turning her into the first Vampire¡± Staring off into space, an almost haunted look in his eyes, the God continued. ¡°Later bloodlines of Vampires came into being by echoing this original act, but none can match the first. Where Drakovich and the Strix Sisters managed to create a Spiritual Disease, the Rabisu created a Parasitic Spirit. Something that extended from her into her scions the Alukah and can survive past even their true deaths. In that early age, the Alukah were truly monstrous. Entire civilizations died in their wake. I¡¯m sure you know the details from the Book of Miracles¡± Natalie did indeed. She had read the Thirteenth Chapter of Lamentations alongside most of the Holy Book. But reading stories recorded in that dusty old tome lacked the gravitas of hearing it from a God¡¯s mouth. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Seeing her frown, the Angler continued. ¡°But then something happened that none of us ever expected. Something that fell out of the records for one reason or another. The Rabisu, that traitorous monster, she felt remorse for her crimes. True and utter remorse for the oceans of blood she spilled. Even we Gods don¡¯t know why. But we know the remorse was strong enough to alter the very nature of that original curse. The weaknesses we¡¯d given her diluited by that fact. Letting her and her children see the Sun once more. ¡± Grimacing, the Angler raised a hand up towards the illusionary sun overhead. ¡°She didn¡¯t get to enjoy it for long. Her scions, the Alukah, tore her apart only a few months later for the crime of doing good and asking them to be better. Which, all things considered, was a poetic end for the Rabisu. Still, it proved something that I think you should find incredibly important¡± Sitting up from where he lay, the Angler smiled at Natalie. ¡°The power you are claiming was born of evil and used for evil. But that does not mean it cannot be redeemed. You have been cursed, Natalie, but that does not mean you have to be a Curse for others.¡± Slowly, Natalie responded. ¡°It¡¯s possible to be a Vampire, the new Alukah, and not be a monster?¡± The Angler answered with a wry smile, ¡°Yes and no. You are already a monster, just with a lower-case M. You don¡¯t have to be a Monster with an uppercase M. And that¡¯s okay. Plenty of monsters run around this world and help make it a better place. Cole is a great example of that. He¡¯s a monster, everything about him defies the rules of the universe. His origins are steeped in atrocities even *I* don¡¯t like to think about. But even with all that. He tries to be a good person, and I believe you know as well as I that he succeeds.¡± Natalie actually smiled at that, the God of Death¡¯s words bringing back warm memories. Memories that died as quickly as they lived as other more terrible ones replaced them. Of how she¡¯d assaulted Cole, ripped open his throat, and drank him to death. The mind-crushing guilt she¡¯d experienced earlier had been greatly tempered by Cole¡¯s resurrection, but it wasn¡¯t totally gone. Natalie might not have truly killed Cole, but she had still done something horrible to him. A sigh escaped the Angler, and Natalie looked up to see him watching her with pity in his eyes. ¡°They would have grabbed Barnabas if Cole hadn¡¯t attacked the Castle.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes widened at the horror implied in those words. ¡°It is a tradition in the Blood Duchies to feed a Fledgling their loved ones. If it hadn¡¯t been Cole, it would have been someone who would have truly died.¡± the Angler gestured to the raging battle behind them. ¡°In fact. There are much worse people to inherit this power. You are afraid of what the power might do to you, and what you might do with the power. Which easily puts you head and shoulders above all other available candidates.¡± Finally getting to his feet, the Angler gestured for Natalie to rise, and she did. Watching the two titans of blood fight, the Angler remarked, ¡°Your response when you truly got to know Cole was to try and help him. And that was before you even fell in love with him.¡± Natalie opened her mouth to protest but felt her denials die on her lips. Even she wasn¡¯t bull-headed enough to argue with a God. The Angler flashed her a knowing smile and continued. ¡°He¡¯s falling hard for you too, y¡¯know. Which all things considered is good. If you are going to exist with this power and not let it corrupt you, then you¡¯ll need help. And I can¡¯t think of few people better qualified to do so than Cole.¡± Elation filled Natalie''s chest, not accompanied by the usual flutter of butterflies but still there all the same. Having a literal God confirm your feelings are reciprocated did wonders for the heart. Of course, the elation didn¡¯t last long as another worry percolated. Isabelle, she was still haunting her skull, and Natalie doubted Petar¡¯s Minions did anything as convenient as destroy her. Thinking about Cole¡¯s lover and creator, Natalie was suddenly struck by a realization. Just as Cole¡¯s company might help her resist becoming a true Monster. Her company would help Cole move away from his creator''s influence. It was perfect. It fit together like a master-crafted wood joint. Turning away from the battle, Natalie set her jaw in outrage. Everything had aligned in such a way it felt too perfect. Seeing it from this exterior perspective, things clicked into place, and Natalie felt a mix of rage and confusion overwhelm her. Natalie leveled an accusatory finger at the Angler as she spoke her thoughts. ¡°You planned this,¡± she spat. ¡°You set it up so all this would happen! You are using me to fix Cole and keep the Alukah locked away! This was all organized by you!¡± The Angler just shrugged. ¡°Yes and no. I had an idea of what might happen. And my perspective is¡­less linear than yours, so arranging things was possible. Yet these events were going to play out no matter what I did. All I did was make sure the least damage happened. I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t do more.¡± A biting retort started to grow in Natalie, but the Angler didn¡¯t let her. ¡°What do you think would have happened if Cole never came to Glockmire? What would happen if the Alukah¡¯s power fell into Johan or Petar¡¯s hands, or Fixed Stars Forbid was set free? My conservative estimates put the casualties in the millions before it could be stopped. Millions Natalie! Entire cities consumed, Nations brought to their knees and a War the likes not seen in a millennium.¡± Natalie¡¯s anger was stifled by his words but not fully quenched. Giving her a sad smile, the Angler spoke in a consoling tone. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you¡¯ve suffered in all of this, Natalie. And I¡¯m sorry for what the future might hold for you. If you want to hate me, that''s okay. I won¡¯t hold it against you. ¡° A pained shriek in the distance made the Angler pause. ¡°It seems I¡¯m almost out of time. Before I go, let me leave you with this. In all the futures I can see involving you, Natalie Striga. Ones where your story has a happy ending are not uncommon. You can make a life out of your undeath, and a good one at that.¡± As those words filtered into Natalie¡¯s mind, the sound of tearing flesh caught her attention. She turned to see the twin spirits of the Alukah and Lord Glockmire tear each other apart. They exploded in a shower of black rain as they died. Flitting between a hundred hungry shapes as they melted away. Vampire Blood spilled out across the lilies and rushed towards Natalie in a great tide. As it got closer, the wave grew in size until it became a wall of black ichor ready to swallow everything. Natalie looked to the Angler, attempting to scream for help. The God-in-Disguise tipped his hat and smiled just as the blood enveloped her.
The first thing Natalie noticed when she awoke was the smell. Coppery blood and coarse ash filled her nose. Flitting her eyes open, she realized she was lying on the tomb dais. Ash covered her hands and mouth, its sooty texture unpleasant against her lips. Pulling herself to a sitting position, Natalie looked around the tomb. Dazed and trying to sort through half-remembered dreams and memories not her own. Examining her surroundings, Natalie tried to understand what she saw. Puddles of blood and smears of ash covered the black-granite floor of the tomb. Bones and broken armor littered the ground. Unnatural fog hung in the air, and hoarfrost covered nearly every surface. Steel rang on steel, and a vague sense of unease filled Natalie. Forcing herself to focus, Natalie looked to the sound of battle and saw her defender. Cole stood upon the steps of the dais, scavenged halberd in hand, dozens of wounds leaking blood onto the stone below them. Chest heaving like forge bellows and clothes slick with blood, the Paladin faced down a monster. Standing taller than even Cole while hunched over was a figure of malformed muscle and oily darkness. Vaguely humanoid in shape, the monster¡¯s body bulged with unnatural muscle. Leathery hide colored like old parchment covered the body, except for the numerous wounds that leaked black blood onto the ground. Limbs of shadow erupted from its back, forming into bladed tendrils, each of them lashing out at Cole. The monster looked like some terrible amalgamation of every nocturnal terror mortal kind had dreamed up. As she stared at the monster, Natalie felt something, a slight tug in her heart toward the monster. It was a bizarre sensation like her blood was trying to pull itself free. Eyes widening, Natalie reached a hand up to her chest, right over her heart, and felt the tugging sensation grow in strength. As she focused on it, Natalie ¡°felt¡± a connection between herself and the monster, a string of magic linking them. It wasn¡¯t a physical thing, not anything Natalie could touch, but a sensation, a feeling born of the spirit, not the flesh. On closer examination, the ¡°string¡± was more like a rope or a vein, a large connector that bound her soul to the monster. Branching off the vein were dozens of capillaries that went in myriad connections, each providing a subtle tug on Natalie¡¯s soul. Something was trying to pull at Natalie, trying to pull her soul out through this connection. A sudden spike of anger hit Natalie; she had suffered enough. She had lost enough already. She was not about to let her soul be ripped out by something she didn¡¯t even understand. Following some instinct not quite her own, Natalie pulled on the connection. Reaching out with her mind and intent, Natalie imagined herself pulling on the rope like she was hauling a bucket up from a well. To her incredible surprise, the rope moved, she felt something flow into her and the Monster fighting Cole stumbled. Cole opened up an ugly gash on the thing¡¯s torso in that moment of weakness, forcing a roar of pain from the monster. The monster turned its focus to Natalie and spat words at her. ¡°You! What have you done!¡± Natalie expected the hungry growl of a monster, not the nasal rasp of Petar, to come from the creature. The words confirmed her suspicion about what fought Cole. Petar had taken on a more monstrous form to do battle. A form at least partially powered by stolen blood. Blood now belonging to Natalie. Reaching out to the connection, Natalie pulled again. This time Petar had enough warning to resist, and the power barely budged. Still, the effort seemed to have taken something from Petar. The twisted Vampire had a hand clutched to its chest while ruby-red eyes stared at Natalie with horror. Responding to the monster, Natalie smiled and said, ¡°I¡¯m avenging my Father, my Mother, and every other person you¡¯ve killed Feeder.¡± Cole didn¡¯t react to her words or even her presence; he simply continued his attack, lashing out with his salvaged weapon in a flurry of blows. Cole couldn¡¯t react; he didn¡¯t have the time or energy to do anything but fight. An avalanche of pain and exhaustion was bearing down on him, and if he paused for even a second, it would overwhelm him. Chapter 19.5 Memento Mori

Chapter 38: Memento Mori

¡°The Feast went insane again. It bashed its head against the cell wall until it died three times today. The Feast should recover enough to be properly usable in a few weeks. Till then be careful while feeding. It¡¯s actually more dangerous when unhinged.¡± - Note passed between Gaolers of a Vampire Larder.
Cole gambled when this fight started. Driving a knife into his spine to¡°reset¡± him. But if he failed to instantly kill himself, he would be paralyzed for hours. It had been an incredible risk, and Cole had seen no other option but to take it. By some small miracle Cole had aimed his dagger perfectly, restoring himself but not without cost. Cole was left with the aftershocks of pain a normal person could literally never experience. Then in the wake of that, he had faced down seven bloody Vampires. Without his tools, his enchanted Halberd, or even a decent night''s sleep, Cole took on the monsters. On some level, Cole thought attacking first was just a fairly elaborate form of Suicide. A desperate ploy to buy Natalie a little bit more time. What Cole hadn¡¯t counted on was how utterly unnerving his presence and nature would be to them. Vampires, by definition, fear death. Nothing stops them from committing suicide and hoping for the Pantheon¡¯s mercy. Only those willing to continue an existence of stolen life and predation chose Undeath. Fearful of what came next and unwilling to move on. These Vampires held tighter to their existence with each passing decade. When you have an eternity to lose, Death stops being a tragic fact and starts becoming the enemy. With that in mind, these Vampires had seen Cole face down a Varcolac, something any of them would have difficulty doing. Beat it using an unknown form of Ice Magic and then cleave his way through a cohort of Castle Guard and dangerous undead before finally falling to sheer exhaustion. On top of that, they now saw him return and fight side by side with the Lord¡¯s Executioner. Killing a score of Vampires and Guards with that same Ice Magic before commiting suicide and returning from the dead. To the Vampires, Cole seemed like something out of a nightmare. A monsterous immortal terror with dark powers who desired their heads. So when Cole charged them, the Vampires flinched. These weren¡¯t trained warriors like Dietrich, nor were they bound by any real sense of loyalty. Fear and greed motivated them. Hoping to avoid Petar¡¯s wrath while leeching part of the prize form him. In that brief moment where Cole attacked, eyes wild with manic zeal. Fear of Death surpassed all other motivations for the Vampires. They hesitated and paid for it. Cole brought the halberd down onto the shoulder of one of the Vampires. He¡¯d been aiming for its head, but it had enough presence to dodge slightly. Still, the halberd sunk into desiccated flesh and dead bone. Using the leverage provided by the weapon, Cole hauled the stunned Vampire towards him. Reaching up to his neck, Cole pulled his medallion free. Its holy properties would have had little use on the armored Rattlers of before. The Vampire he¡¯d snared wore only fine fabrics and jewelry, no protection other than its own abilities. Hauling the Monster towards him, Cole slammed his open palm and the medallion it held into the Vampires neck. A red-hot poker would have been less effective. In fact, the Medallion burned stronger than it had ever before. Blue flames erupted where worn steel and undead flesh met. Searing the Vampires throat to ash in moments. Cole shoved his hand through the disintegrating Vampire and grabbed its spine. Yanking the blackening bone back towards him and killing the Vampire in a single brutal tug. The first Vampire was still dissolving into ash and bone when Cole struck the next one. Holding the halberd with both hands, medallion clenched between his palm and the stolen weapon. Cole slashed at the nearest vampire''s waist. He¡¯d hoped to catch the monster''s spine but instead got its belly. Tearing open withered organs and spilling long unused guts to the floor. To Cole¡¯s surprise, sparks of silver-blue fire flashed along his weapon¡¯s head and licked the vampire''s wound. Searing the flesh and stunting its healing. This bizarre sight distracted Cole long enough for a third Vampire, this one a big Strigoi, judging by the claws, to barrel into him. Spinning to redirect the momentum, Cole danced away from the Strigoi, ignoring the stinging pain in his side. The Vampire¡¯s claws had left a mark. Lashing out with the butt of his halberd, Cole heard the crack of wood on bone as the Halberds haft struck the Strigoi¡¯s skull. Looking at his opponent, Cole was surprised to see a huge burn along the Vampire¡¯s face. Where the wooden haft had hit, it had torn open a furrow of skin from cheek to ear. Cracking the vampire''s cheekbone and skull. Also Surprised, the Strigoi reached up to its injury. Red eyes widened in surprise, and the Strigoi took an involuntary step back from Cole. It was one thing for Cole to proclaim himself a Paladin; it was another to use their powers. The Silver-Blue flames leaping from the halberd were something new, a power Cole had never used before. But he had a vague idea of why they came now. He was fighting a desperate battle against Undead monsters in the hope of saving the world from an ancient horror. This was exactly where a Paladin was supposed to be. In his ten years of service, Cole had never been in a situation of such magnitude. So his powers had been small things that he barely tapped into. Now in the heart of this crisis, more of Master Time¡¯s gifts were at his disposal. Cole had risen to the occasion, and his powers had joined his new heights. The mantle of Paladin fit just a little bit better on the scarred Homunculus¡¯s shoulders. With this new boon and his returned strength, Cole cleaved through the Vampires. Dodging gouts of false-fire, leaping over hungry shadows, and matching blades with undead duelists. Individually they proved no match for Cole. The stolen power they¡¯d become bloated on was fading; and their own skill was lacking. These were the younger, more pathetic members of the court. Who had quickly become dependent on their enhanced abilities. Now with waning strength and shaken confidence, they fell quickly. If they had attacked him all at once, instead of shying away, hoping for an opportunity, then Cole would not have stood a chance. Instead, the cowardice and selfishness bred into these monsters triumphed, and they were each reduced to ash and bone. Leaving Cole alone with Petar. Covered in a new collection of wounds and panting heavily from the exertion, Cole put himself between the Feeder and Natalie. Petar, for his part, just clapped. A slow sardonic sound that echoed throughout the tomb. Looking at the piles of ash and bone surrounding him. Petar remarked. ¡°I was planning on killing them once you were dealt with. They¡¯d outlived their usefulness and would just squander any more of the Alukah¡¯s blood. So thank you for dealing with them.¡± In the time it took Cole to blink, Petar had rushed up to Cole and had him by the throat. Icy fingers wrapped around Cole¡¯s throat and squeezed with slow, relentless pressure. Eyes wild with hate, Petar hissed: ¡°But that does not make up for all of the trouble you¡¯ve caused me. So I¡¯m going to rip open that little mind of yours and rearrange it. Paladin or not, I¡¯m going to make you cut off your own fingers and eat them! But before that, I¡¯m going to make you watch as I take my inheritance back from that stupid usurping bitch!¡± Petar locked eyes with Cole. It''s not just a good bit of poetry when people say ¡°the eyes are the window to the soul¡± Eye contact is crucial in many forms of mental magic, including the form of psychic domination Petar was attempting. The Vampire pushed on Cole¡¯s mind and found resistance. Not something uncommon, a strong will could shield a mind from most forms of arcane influence. But only to a certain point. With enough power, any will could be broken. Something that usually left a drooling husk in its wake. Not that Petar cared as he increased his assault. Lobotomizing Cole wasn¡¯t his original goal, but the Vampire wouldn¡¯t object if that was the outcome. As Petar pressed against the resistance in Cole¡¯s mind, he felt it start to give. Like ice cracking on a frozen lake. Eager to ruin his enemy, Petar pushed harder. Pouring a tide of blood into the effort, enhancing his magic into an unstoppable wave of power. The Aether around the Vampire and Paladin started to curdle under the intensity of the magic at work. The purely mental spell becoming something visible to the naked eye. Even the most magically inept person would have been able to see bits of what was happening. Streams of darkness poured from Petar''s eyes and into Cole¡¯s like a river of blood. Baring his fangs in triumph, Petar felt his newest victim crack under his assault. Cole hadn¡¯t lasted as long as Petar expected. The Vampire had seen the strange magics of ice and spirit Cole used. But Petar had expected more from a Paladin. As he mentally sifted through the debris of Cole¡¯s will, Petar sunk his will into the metaphorical meat of Cole¡¯s mind. Petar expected a rush of memories and a babble of damaged thoughts. He did not expect the pain that came. Pain the likes of which Petar had not felt in centuries of unlife. It rushed up from Cole¡¯s mind and into his own. Burning like knives in the dark and freezing like the bitterest winter gale. An explosion of suffering crossed over the psychic bridge linking them and straight into Petar¡¯s mind. Letting go of Cole¡¯s throat like the Homunculus¡¯s flesh was made of hot iron, Petar broke the connection. Returning his focus to the physical just in time for Cole to headbutt him right in the nose. Cartilage broke with a dry crunch, and the stunned Vampire raised his hands to his face in surprise. A screaming Cole swung his halberd and took one of Petar''s arms off at the shoulder. Then with a swift kick to the gut, Cole knocked the Vampire back onto the ground. Petar reacted quickly, scrabbling back to his feet and manifesting a glob of shadows in his remaining hand. Eyes wild with pain and hate, Cole advanced on his enemy. Nostrils flared and teeth bared, Cole looked more like a feral animal than anything else. There are upper limits to what a mortal mind can experience. Extremes of pain and suffering lead to madness and inevitably death. In his short time alive, Cole had been pushed to those limits many, many times. He¡¯d been tortured, murdered, violated, exsanguinated, and mind raped. Cole had tried to go insane during those terrible years in the Vampire Larder. He¡¯d truly had hoped to die, either in mind or body. Only to learn such freedoms were denied him. Some quirk of his origin or nature prevented Cole from fully dissociating from reality. No matter what he experienced, no matter how much he hurt, he would always find his way back to sanity. Something as much a blessing as a curse. Once he escaped that terrible dungeon and found a new purpose Cole had spent much time recovering from those terrible events. Like so many other people who suffered unbelievable horrors, Cole built a wall in his mind. Separating those memories and experiences and locking them away. Sealing them away where they couldn¡¯t do any more damage. Unbeknownst to Cole, he had help in this effort. Every night when he dreamed, Master Time had let the fog of memory work just a little stronger on Cole¡¯s trauma than it should have. Softening the edges of those memories and diluting their potency. Turning bloody raw memories into dull echoes safely locked away. A small mercy for the God¡¯s newest champion. In attempting to break Cole¡¯s will, Petar had breached the mental wall and touched those dark memories. Sending a psychic backlash into the Vampire and putting a crack in the metaphysical dam. Releasing a flood of pain into Cole¡¯s already-addled mind. As Petar clutched at the stump where his arm had been, he faced down a monster. An immortal warrior empowered by Death itself, whose mind had been filled with suffering and hate. Screaming in rage, Cole swept his weapon at Petar again and again. In wild flailing strikes lacking any discipline or focus. Recovering himself, Petar dodged these easily and took a different approach. The mental magic he¡¯d unleashed had backfired spectacularly, so instead, he channeled his power to a more brutish purpose. Black blood poured from Petar. From his mouth, eyes, nose and ears. Covering him in slick black ichor. The ichor started to foam and turn into red mist. A crimson fog that swirled around Petar. Cole aimlessly hacked at the scarlet cloud, his weapon passing through it without resistance. A massive taloned hand shot out of the cloud and blocked one of Cole¡¯s strikes. Gripping the weapons wooden haft, ignoring the silver sparks that licked the inhuman digits. The red mist faded, revealing the monstrous war-form Petar had taken. This form combined the cruel intelligence of humankind, with the vicious power of nocturnal hunters, bolstered by black magic. The perfect representation of a Vampire untrammeled by any pretense at nobility or morality. Over three meters tall, hunched over and swollen with muscle, a cloak of unliving shadows clung to it. While the tatters of Petar''s clothing covered its pale leathery hide; evidence of the rushed nature of the transformation. Skilled skin-changers could incorporate their garments into the transformation. Petar had neither the time nor patience for such subtle magic. He took a form designed for brute violence and nothing else. As Petar¡¯s cloak of shadows congealed into tendrils of darkness, Cole recovered himself a little. The changing threat caught his attention and pulled him out of the mindless rage he¡¯d been drowning in. Still worn and wrathful, Cole fought with the abominable Vampire. Refusing to back down and ignoring the rapidly growing number of injuries he was sustaining. While he dodged the worst of Petar''s attacks, the Vampire had the advantage of reach, weight and even number of limbs. As the black tendrils lashed out with scythe-edged tips. Blood trickled down Cole¡¯s arms, legs, and chest. His new cloak was already a tattered mess, having not even survived a week intact. It was an unwinnable fight. Cole couldn¡¯t call upon the Cold of Entropy again, nor did he have access to his usual set of tools. Against such a superior opponent, Cole could only buy time. Which was what he planned to do. He was a Paladin and would stand between the helpless and the monstrous. As he fought Petar, old words resurfaced in Cole''s mind. Ones he had taken on as a battle cry years ago. ¡°Magni Mortae Mundus,¡± or in the Western tongue, ¡°Death is the Strength of Mortals,¡± A paradoxical statement that Cole had laughed at the first time he¡¯d heard them from a now dead friend. Then that friend explained it to Cole. How the ability to die gives people the ability to live. It keeps people from the complacent and unfeeling eternity of Spirits. Death grants the ultimate protection from suffering. While also offering the chance for new beginnings. The ability to die is what separates mortals from the creatures of the Beyond. It is the blessing hidden as a curse that ensures the world grows and changes. This strength that defined mortalkind, was denied in full to Cole. Yet he spent his life defending it for others. True, he could die, and experience all the pain and terror of it. But he couldn¡¯t experience the finality of true death. Something that gnawed at the Paladins mind and soul. Separating him from the living he protected and the dead he fought. Except Cole misunderstood why that old friend told him that phrase. The ability to die and be reborn from it was what set Cole apart, giving him the power to die in anothers place. Death is not just the strength of Mortals. It was Cole¡¯s strength as well. A truth he himself could not see. In the state he was in, Cole lacked the ability to shout his war cry. He couldn¡¯t spit it in the face of the Undead as a challenge and rebuke as he had so often. Instead, all he could do was fight. His focus couldn¡¯t waiver from the effort of holding the monster back. Every thought and effort needed to concentrate on staying alive and keeping Death at bay. So when Petar stumbled and Cole took his opportunity to make the Monster bleed. Cole didn¡¯t even know why the Vampire faltered. Unbeknown to the pain-maddened Paladin, he no longer fought alone.
The words shouted between Natalie and Petar went unclaimed by Cole¡¯s mind. They were just another annoyance to tune out while he fought. As Natalie grabbed onto the power that connected her and Petar, she forced the elder Vampire to make mistakes. Redirecting his focus away from Cole. These moments of hesitation or failures to react evened the fight. Soon more cuts and burns appeared on Petar''s parchment-pale body. Rivulets of black blood and ashen scorch marks dotted the Vampires skin. Testaments to Natalie¡¯s influence and Cole¡¯s skill. As she struggled with Petar, Natalie found it easier and easier. She pulled on the magical connection, and with each attempt, she had more success. Petar¡¯s ability to resist her pull had decayed dramatically. More of the stolen blood flowed through the Aether and back into Natalie. A wild smile split Natalie¡¯s face as she started to understand. She was the host of the Alukah now, the power was hers, and she could reclaim it with ease. Petar seemed to realize this as well as he leaped towards Natalie. Half of the tendrils of shadow Petar had been manipulating coalesced around his right arm. Forming into a gauntlet of darkness and then a massive umbric sword. The killing edge forged of blood and darkness came down towards Natalie like a falling tree. Panicked, Natalie leaped back, and to her surprise, shot across the tomb. Slamming into the far wall with enough force to make her ribs creak. Sliding down to the ground, Natalie landed smoothly on her feet. New strength coursed through her limbs, and eager confidence came with it. Pushing off like she was preparing to sprint, Natalie launched herself towards Petar. Hurtling through the air, she slammed into the monster''s chest with a bone-crunching impact. To her utter horror, Natalie watched as her arms snapped on impact with Petar. Shrieking in pain, Natalie was sent sprawling. With a series of wet pops and cracks, Natalie¡¯s forearms reset to their proper configuration. As her arms healed, Natalie learned two important things about being a Vampire. First, she still felt pain when she was injured, a lot of pain. Second, while her raw strength had increased to incredible heights, her body''s durability hadn¡¯t improved much at all. Pulling herself away from Petar, and letting the monster turn its attention back towards Cole. Natalie noted that her ¡°leap¡± felt less like a jump and more like she¡¯d been catapulted from the back of a bucking stallion. She had power now, raw physical power leached from Petar, but zero experience in using it. Backpedaling away from the rampaging elder Vampire, Natalie was forced to shelf her short-lived fantasies of killing Petar with her own hands. That task fell to Cole, and giving him the opportunity to do so still fell to her. Frustrated at Natalie¡¯s escape, Petar changed tactics. His remaining tendrils wrapped around his other hand, coating his arms in liquid shadow. To match his sword created from magical darkness, Petar manifested a Targe of the same pseudo-material. The round shield was as large as a sitting table and sported a meter-long spike in the middle. Petar had created it not just as a tool of defense but something easily capable of impaling Cole. Free from the mental burden of commanding half a dozen tendrils, Petar could attack in a more classical fashion. Lashing out with blows so quick, Cole had to rely more on instinct than vision to dodge them. Petar snarled at Cole. ¡°I lived through the Bloody Centuries! I fought in the Night War! I¡¯ve been spilling blood since before this gods-forsaken town bore Glockmire¡¯s name! I will not be stopped from claiming what is rightfully mine!¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Cole didn¡¯t respond, his mind still buried under a mountain of pain and trauma. Natalie did, however. ¡°Why? Why do all of this? What is the Jagging point of all this death?¡± Petar whirled on Natalie, who was now questioning the wisdom of speaking. Instead of charging her like Natalie feared, Petar answered in a shrieking furious voice ¡°Because someone needed to! Johan was content to waste away here, sending eternity doing nothing! I spent centuries as his loyal servant, gladly helping him create and rule this fiefdom. Just for him to idle away the decades like some foppish Lordling. My sire was a lazy bastard who was content to keep the greatest treasure of Vampirekind to himself just to do nothing with it!¡± Swinging his sword in great ruinous arcs, that Cole barely dodged. Petar kept talking. Secrets and confessions pouring out of him like the power Natalie steadily leached. ¡°I asked him what he intended to do with the Alukah. He told me he would do nothing, NOTHING! He planned to become the most powerful of our kind seen in millennia just to cement his decadent existence! An existence I would be shackled to, forever his faithful servant. My life and centuries of unlife were spent in service to him!¡± Petar seemed to falter a moment, some painful truth leaking from his lips. ¡°I was content in servitude for most of that time, I won¡¯t deny that. I just refused to spend an eternity like that, is that such a terrible crime? I just want to be free, and freedom is a privilege of the strong. With the power of the Alukah, no one could ever bind me! The night, the day, all of it would be mine! Never again would another rule me! I would be free.¡± Crimson eyes focused on Natalie as Petar finished his rant. In a half-whisper, Petar added. ¡°I will be free. Johan won¡¯t take this from me. No matter what stupid final gambits he pulled.¡± Petar launched himself at Natalie, some terrible mix of bestial roar and psychotic scream escaping his lips as he did. Sword and targe dissolved into flickering shadows as Petar pounced. Dagger-sized fangs ready to sink into Natalie and consume her. The hooked underside of the halberd¡¯s ax-head caught one of Petar''s legs as Cole shoved it into the Vampire¡¯s way. The dulled metal couldn¡¯t cut through the Vampire¡¯s whip-cord muscle, but it could catch itself in Petar¡¯s skin. Physics laughed at both Petar''s effort to attack Natalie and Cole¡¯s effort to stop him. The added weight and resistance sent the Vampire slamming into the granite floor. While Cole was pulled off his feet and sent sprawling. The halberd pulled free from Cole¡¯s grip and sent the large man to the ground so hard it knocked loose two teeth. The halberd and Cole¡¯s medallion sailed away, clattering against the stone as they skidded in opposite directions. Cole and Petar pulled themselves up and faced each other. Natalie was momentarily forgotten by both of them. Screeching in fury, Petar swung one oversized arm at Cole. Black flames erupted along his claws as the Vampire tried to tear Cole in half. Diving forward, Cole leaped between Petar¡¯s legs. Barely dodging the strike and reaching his dropped halberd. Cole rolled forward and came to his feet, halberd tip pointed at Petar. Snarling in fury, Petar spun to attack Cole. The old Vampire stumbled as Natalie pulled upon his stolen power right as Petar moved. Taking advantage of the moment of weakness, Cole swung his halberd into Petar''s knee. The axe-head of the weapon sunk halfway through the tree-trunk-sized leg. Snapping tendons, shredding cartilage, and cracking bone as it went. Yanking the weapon free, Cole planted a solid kick into the damaged knee¡¯s side. The weight of Petar¡¯s war-form proved too much for the ruined leg. It buckled, and Petar toppled sideways, lashing out with his taloned hand as he did. Slowed by his wounds and mounting exhaustion, Cole tasted the claws. Each was like a dagger raking across his chest and head. The Paladin let out a pained gasp as red sprayed out from his wounds. Stumbling back, Cole realized he couldn¡¯t see from one eye, and his entire torso felt like it was on fire. Blinking away the blood dripping into his working eye, Cole looked at Petar. The Vampire¡¯s body looked warped, its chest bulging forward, its eyes empty. Parchment-pale skin tore as the war form¡¯s chest ripped open in a shower of ash. Petar''s true form erupted from the hulking false-body. Like some grotesque parody of a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Petar discarded the larger but damaged body for his humanoid form. Red eyes wild with hate, Petar launched himself at Cole. The Paladin didn¡¯t even bother to try and dodge. He knew what was coming and accepted it with open arms. Petar plunged a newly human hand into Cole¡¯s belly. Shoving his digits deep into Cole¡¯s intestines. Cole screamed in pain, a cry that was cut off as Petar''s other hand found his throat. Pulling Cole¡¯s face down to his level, Petar hissed to the Paladin. ¡°I told you, didn''t I? I am going to strangle you with your own guts. I don¡¯t care what boon the Tenth God has given you; I will kill you as many times it takes.¡± Natalie matched Cole¡¯s scream with one of her own. The sight of Cole impaled through the gut was too similar to what happened to her father. Hate and grief overwhelmed Natalie, and she charged Petar. Bounding forward on unnaturally strong legs. Keeping enough focus not to catapult herself into him like last time, Natalie still struck the monster hard. Slamming into his side, her hands wrapping around the arm, choking Cole. Testing her new strength, Natalie squeezed tight and felt bone crack under her grip. As she did, Natalie pulled on the connection harder than she¡¯d dared before. As her hands rended Petar¡¯s flesh, her soul ripped into his. Squeezing a lake of power out of Petar, in a deluge that stained the local Aether red. Crimson fog steamed up from Natalie¡¯s fingers, and she screamed in a mixture of hate and triumph. Stunned and equally furious, Petar knocked Natalie back. Letting go of Cole¡¯s throat and sending her flying with a bone-crushing backhand. Even as she soared through the air, her ribs and sternum shattered, Natalie didn¡¯t let go of the power. She sunk her spiritual fangs into Petar and would not let go. Draining his power in vast quantities. Centuries-old and a long-time user of the Alukah¡¯s blood, Petar was powerful. With enough raw magical energy to animate and bind a small army of undead monsters. An army he¡¯d spent in his Coup and against Cole. Leaving him depleted and desperate to claim the Alukah in its totality. Now with his expenditures fighting Cole and Natalie draining what was left, Petar was weaker than he had been in centuries. Weak enough to not sense the growing tension in the Aether as Cole worked a spell. Throat freed from Petar¡¯s grip, Cole chanted under his breath in rapid saint-speech. Teetering on the edge of Shock, disemboweled, and rapidly losing blood, Cole found himself returning from the pain-mad state he had been in earlier. His body and mind pushed so far that it simply gave up on processing all that happened and defaulted to something resembling normalcy. Leaving Cole lucid enough to cast one last spell. Cole had used up most of his barely-healed soul in freezing the Monsters in the tunnel. What had survived was strained to its limit when Cole used his medallion against the second wave of Vampires. Now Cole intended to use that last little scrap of Grace-touched Soul. Doing so would kill him in a way even he¡¯d never experienced. But the effects would be minor, he barely had enough strength to summon a puff of Cold, let alone kill Petar. However, Cole was also rapidly bleeding to death, spilling liters of blood onto the black granite floor. Rolling the dice in one final gamble, Cole fed his soul and his blood into the spell. Combining his two magical arts into something new and dangerous. Clutching onto the arm impaling him, Cole finished his spell, spitting out the words ¡°Mortae Argu Pania. Death Knows All¡± The spell was similar to the consecration spell Cole used on the cave the Vryko-Ghouls had been created in. Magic that touched the local Aether and flooded it with Master Time¡¯s power. Except this time, Cole was not pouring his power into the Aether around him but the soul before him. Petar resisted, his own will challenging Cole¡¯s and threatening to break the spell before it could do its work. Which is why Cole had further modified the spell by mixing in some pyromancy. It had been easier than Cole expected. The spiritual connections between consecration and fire were strong. With liters of shed blood to power the spell, Cole could work magic he¡¯d only known in theory, never in practice. While anything complicated was likely to blow up in Cole¡¯s face. Creating fire was the easiest of magical feats, so the flames came to the call of Cole¡¯s blood. Fire leaped from Cole¡¯s blood, erupting like the ichor was animal grease. It shot along Petar¡¯s arm and ignited the Vampire in a terrible blaze. Soul already pulled taught by Natalie¡¯s effort, and his body set on fire by Cole. Petar¡¯s defenses broke, and the power of a Paladin¡¯s soul was poured into his own. It was like a snail had been buried alive in salt. Fire and Divine Power, the true universal weaknesses of Vampires consumed Petar. A terrible shriek erupted from the Vampires rapidly burning mouth as he pulled away from Cole. Red flames covered Petar as he thrashed and wailed. Silver sparks danced around him as greasy smoke poured off the dying Vampire. Screaming in fear and horror, the Feeder of the Dead fell to his knees and clutched at his chest as he burned. A new blue-silver flame shone from inside him, illuminating charred ribs from the inside and flooding the Tomb with argent light. Petars'' screams reached a new deafening height, sounding more like a warped tea-kettle combined with a dying rodent than anything human. Then the silver flames erupted in a detonation of sacred flames. Reducing Petar to ash in a single moment of divine retribution. A blinding white flash filled the Tomb, and Natalie let out a pained scream of her own. Searing heat struck her and burned through her. She could literally feel her veins ignite as the fire coursed through her undead flesh. Falling to the ground, Natalie whimpered in pain as the fire danced through her body for a few moments more. Before ending as quickly as it came. Racked by aftershocks of pain, Natalie refused to open her eyes. Expecting them to be burned or boiled away by the flames. Curling into a tight ball on the ground, Natalie clutched her arms and was surprised by what she felt. Not burned ashen skin marked by blisters, but cold smooth flesh. Shooting her eyes open, Natalie looked down at herself. She was unharmed, no burns or seared skin. Just her pale Vampire body. Stunned and a little uncertain, Natalie checked herself for any injury and almost didn¡¯t believe her own fingers. She had felt herself burn, but she was unharmed. Slowly getting to her feet, Natalie took an uneven step forward and nearly fell. She¡¯d been prepared for the overwhelming strength of earlier, and found none of it. Recovering her balance, Natalie realized she had been burned, just not physically. The power she¡¯d stolen from Petar was gone. Scorched away along with him. Blinking in surprise at that realization, Natalie looked over to where Petar and Cole had been. A star-like pattern of ashes marked where Petar had stood. The explosion that ended his unlife had spread his remains in shape remarkably like a snowflake. Not far away was a burned pile of rags and flesh. Unsteadily, Natalie ran over to what was left of Cole. Looking down at him, Natalie flinched at the terrible sight. He¡¯d been sliced, disemboweled, and burned. Cole had kept his oath and willingly died in a terrible way to protect Natalie and stop Petar. Leaning down, Natalie put her hand on Cole¡¯s forehead. Ignoring the foul feeling of freshly burned skin beneath her fingers. Taking in a deep pointless breath, Natalie spoke to the corpse. ¡°You said you were immortal. Now would be a good time to prove it.¡± Looking over Cole, Natalie expected she would have to wait. That thought was not a pleasant one. Especially when accompanied by the worry that maybe whatever Cole had done to kill Petar, had truly killed him. Crouching down beside Cole, Natalie shut her eyes and tried to let some of the tension flow out of her. Petar was dead, his minions slain, and the Alukah¡¯s power outside the reach of monsters. Despite all she had lost, despite everything that had happened. They had won. Alone with nothing but her thoughts and Cole¡¯s corpse. Natalie retreated inwards and realized something. Whatever Cole had done had burned away her stolen power. So maybe it had taken the weakened Alukah with it? That idea made her feel simultaneously elated and miserable. The idea of not having that terrible burden was a wonderful one. But the thought of never seeing the Sun again stung almost as bad as the spiritual fire had. On a guess, Natalie focused herself on the distant but never gone feeling of hunger inside her. As she did, a strange sense of vertigo struck her. Like she was standing at the edge of some massive cliff. Ignoring it, Natalie kept on pushing on the hunger. Until a mixture of memories and metaphor struck her. She saw herself kneeling over Cole, her fangs in his neck. Yet as that terrible memory played out from a different angle. Natalie seeing it as an observer. From her vantage point Natalie saw a basalt basin in front of her. Which had most certaintly not been the cell she¡¯d killed Cole in. The basin was the size of a small sink and steadily filling with blood. When in the memory Cole died, and she stopped drinking, the basin stopped filling. Turning away from the unpleasant vision, Natalie was greeted with the sight of Lorena. The arrogant Vampire drinking blood from a glass. This was also accompanied by a basin, except this time it was the size of a huge bathtub. Next came the sight of Lord Johan Glockmire standing across from Petar. Each stood on the edge of a lake of blood. Which Natalie realized was the natural evolution of her little basin. Just as that thought settled, her vision changed again. This time it was her standing on the edge of a cliff that stretched out to either side of her. On either side of the narrow clifftop was an abyssal drop that went down forever. Up in the sky, a red moon glowed bright, and droplets of blood steadily rained down from it. Into the endless depths before her. Looking at her feet, Natalie realized the cliff she stood on was made of black basalt. She was standing on the edge of the Alukah¡¯s basin, her new basin. An ocean of blood, now empty and ready to be filled by her. She hadn¡¯t kept any of the Alukah¡¯s power, but she¡¯d kept the possibility of its power. A low wet crunch pulled Natalie from her disturbing visions. Looking down at Cole, she saw his body start to knit itself back together. Burned skin melted away, revealing pink fresh flesh below. Ribs cracked back into place as intestines slithered into position. Natalie looked away from the foul sight. She was relieved that Cole was healing, but Natalie had no desire to watch it happen. Pulling her hand away, Natalie waited until she heard a deep, rattling breath from Cole. Looking down, she saw life start to return to the Homunculus. Covered in dried blood, filth, and ash, Cole looked terrible, but he also looked alive. New patches of burned skin dotted his body, and five long lines of scar tissue crossed his chest and head. Another layer of disfigurement to an already brutalized body. Cole¡¯s pained sucking breaths became faster and more even as life returned to him. His reborn pulse started to beat loud enough for Natalie¡¯s sensitive ears to pick up. The slight pang of hunger that sound triggered in Natalie made her feel ashamed. She pushed those thoughts away as Cole opened his eyes and stared vacantly at the ceiling. Gently, Natalie placed a hand on the side of his head. Cole looked at her, his eyes still empty, glazed over like a man asleep. Instinctually, Natalie recoiled, pulling her hand back. Grime-stained fingers shot out and gripped her retreating hand. Cole''s grip was vice-like, and his eyes still stared unblinkingly. Startled, Natalie tried to pull away to no avail. Cole had always been strong, but now his grip was enough to prevent even a young Vampire from pulling away. The grip tightened, and Natalie whimpered under its strength. Looking back at Cole¡¯s eyes, she was stunned to see hate there. His face contorted in an image of wrath. Wild-eyed and snarling, it frightened Natalie more than the hand crushing her wrist. Gritting her teeth in pain, Natalie begged. ¡°Cole, stop, please!¡± Her words seemed to break whatever madness held Cole and his eyes focused on Natalie. Letting go of his grip instantly, Cole pushed himself away. Confusion filled his mind, and an apology formed on his lips. Natalie didn¡¯t let either truly manifest as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. After a moment of hesitation, Cole returned the gesture. Filthy, exhausted, utterly emotionally spent by everything that happened. They found comfort in each other''s arms. After a wonderful eternity that ended too soon, they ended the embrace. As he pulled from her, Cole realized something startling. ¡°You''re naked!¡± In everything that had happened, the flimsy nightgown the Court had put Natalie in had been utterly destroyed. Leaving her nude. Incredibly beautiful even when covered in ash and filth; Cole couldn¡¯t help but admire her. Curvacious and lithe, with her pale skin Natalie looked like some ancient aspect of Sister Sun captured in marble. Seeing his eyes trace across her form Natalie smiled and rolled her eyes. Gesturing at Cole she remarked ¡°You aren¡¯t much better yourself¡± Glancing down at himself, Cole realized was true. His shirt was a burnt rag ready to fall off him, while his pants had been reduced to a shredded kilt covering most of his lower body. Coughing in embarrassment, Cole pulled the remains of his cloak off and handed it to Natalie. Natalie just looked at the strip of burned fabric that had survived everything by a minor miracle; and broke down laughing. Cole''s offer of a scorched rag and his attempt at being a gentleman struck Natalie as truly hilarious. She playfully batted aside the proffering hand and embraced Cole again. Pressing herself against his scarred chest and enjoying his warmth. Gulping in sudden nervousness, Cole was relieved his sheer exhaustion prevented any¡­ physical reactions to having such a beautiful woman embrace him in the nude. Turning away from that mortifying line of thought, Cole asked, ¡°Did I hurt you when I awoke?¡± Natalie didn¡¯t let go of him and shook her head in the negative. ¡°You scared me, that''s all; what happened?¡± Glancing around the Tomb, Cole asked, ¡°How long was I dead?¡± Natalie stiffened at his words, the matter-of-factness of them making her want to shiver in discomfort. ¡°Not long, maybe half an hour at the most,¡± she answered. ¡°It''s hard to tell time down here.¡± Cole shut his eyes for a second and let out a worried sigh. ¡°That was too fast. After what happened to me, I should have regenerated much slower.¡± shaking his head to dispel a bad memory, he continued, ¡°And when I awoke¡­ I felt such hate. Strange hate, not like what I¡¯ve known.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t answer for a little bit. Pulling away slightly, enough to look Cole in the face but not enough to break the hug. ¡°I don¡¯t know enough about your¡­ ability to say what that means. But I know whatever it is, we will figure it out.¡± Stunned, Cole asked. ¡°We?¡± Slightly wilting, Natalie let go of Cole and backpedaled. ¡°I mean, I just. Well, I don¡¯t have anywhere else to go. And I thought. Well, I thought.¡± Cole took a leap of faith and broke off her worried diatribe with a kiss. He had a million worries, and he expected Natalie had even more. One thing he didn¡¯t want her to worry about was the fact he¡¯d fallen for her. Ignoring the taste of ash and blood, Cole enjoyed the feeling of Natalie melt into him. The cool sensation of kissing a Vampire was not an unpleasant one and Cole had known little else in his life. After nearly a minute of passionate kissing, Cole realized that Natalie didn¡¯t need to breathe or end the kiss. Finally breaking it just so he could take a deep breath, Cole looked down at Natalie. Her eyes were alight with passion and mirth, but below that was a sense of fragility and worry she was trying to hide. Holding her hand, Cole said the words that had been building in him since the first time Natalie hugged him. ¡°I love you, and I¡¯m happy to have you come with me.¡± Natalie melted a little more at those words and replied. ¡°I love you too, Cole.¡± Staring up at the large scared man, Natalie felt safe in his presence. He was a bulwark against a terrible world through his strength and kindness. While her emotions concerning everything that had happened were a raging storm of conflicting notions. The affection she felt for Cole was a port in that storm. After a few seconds of just enjoying his pale blue eyes, Natalie frowned as a bitter thought crossed her mind. She was a Vampire and not a normal one at that. She was host to an ancient power that slumbered within her. Natalie wasn¡¯t foolish enough to just hope nothing would come of what she¡¯d done with Glockmire. She¡¯d seen that empty ocean in her soul, the basalt mountain range ready to hold nations'' worth of blood. For now, she was still Natalie Striga, but would that change? ¡°Cole, will you promise me something?¡± Natalie asked in a small voice. Setting his jaw in worry, Cole nodded in assent. Grimicing slightly, Natalie spoke. ¡°I need you to help me not be a Monster. I¡­I need you to protect me and everyone else from what''s inside of me.¡± Glancing away, she bit her lower lip in a nervous gesture that accentuated her fangs. ¡°It''s hard to remember but¡­ I spoke with something when I consumed the Alukah.¡± Cole¡¯s eyes widened in shock, and he started to say something. Natalie cut him off. ¡°No, not the Alukah. By the time it fought Glockmire, it wasn¡¯t sane enough to talk. I think I spoke to Master Time.¡± Nodding slowly, Cole mused on that. ¡°It''s happened before. During near-death situations, but never to a Vampire, I don¡¯t think.¡± Looking around nervously, Natalie continued. ¡°Like I said, it''s hard to remember, but he told me what I could become. How dangerous an Alukah could be, but he also told me I didn¡¯t have to be like that. He said¡­ he said you could help me be a monster and a good person.¡± Musing on that for a moment, Cole answered. ¡°Master Time has tasked me with many duties, few pleasant ones. I think this could be one of those rare exceptions.¡± Paladin and Vampire just smiled at each other. Enjoying the bond between them and the comfort it provided. After that peaceful moment, Natalie resumed looking around the chamber and asked the question that had been brewing in the back of her mind for a while now. ¡°Now, how do we get out of here?¡± Chapter 20: Goodbyes

Chapter 39: Goodbyes

¡°The Halls of Master Time have as many different names as there are ways to die. Every culture has some version of them in their stories. The details of what the Halls look like vary drastically, but some details stay consistent. Chief among them is a section of the Halls known as the ¡°The Poet¡¯s Cloister.¡± Created by Master Time as a favor to mortal kind. The Cloister is a place where Dead souls can sleep away the years. Waiting for their loved ones to pass on and join them in the Halls. Where they might face Master Time¡¯s judgment and petition to be reincarnated together¡± - Lord-Scholar Reuel¡¯s commentaries on the Codex Mortis.
Leaving the Alukah¡¯s Tomb proved to be a little more difficult than either Cole or Natalie expected. First, they tried to use the enchanted wall they¡¯d first come through. Despite their best efforts, the stone stayed solid and impassable. Whatever magic Glockmire used on the wall died with him. So Cole and Natalie started the unpleasant task of clambering through the Ghoul-dug tunnel. Pushing through the breach poor dead Gurni had created, the duo entered the frost-caked cavern where Dietrich and Cole made their stand. Holding up a glowstone he¡¯d scavenged from the Tomb, Cole let its soft white light fill the cavern. A slaughterhouse greeted him; the Paladin and Scarlet Knight had cut through a small army of Undead. Covering the ground and walls in a layer of ash and gore. The tunnel floor creaked under Cole¡¯s footsteps as frozen blood and offal strained under his weight. Ignoring that nauseating fact, Cole checked over the chamber and found no apparent dangers. Gesturing for Natalie to follow him into the Chamber, Cole moved deeper. Pointedly ignoring the frozen form of Dietrich lying nearby as he did. ¡°Oh, Jag!¡± sputtered Natalie as she looked around the gruesome room. The stolen glowstone¡¯s light reflected off pools of frozen blood, filling the chamber with a strange otherworldly light. The sight walked the line between grotesque and beautiful. Shaking her head slightly to dispel her initial surprise, Natalie followed after Cole. The gentle patter of her bare feet on the ice contrasted with Cole¡¯s crunching steps. Natalie did her best to not think about what she was walking on and to ignore how little the Cold bothered her. Between Cole¡¯s experience and Natalie¡¯s enhanced night vision, they navigated through the first chamber with minimum difficulty. Moving past the frost and corpses, they entered a crude tunnel. Natalie had to duck her head to move through the tunnel while Cole had to practically bend himself in half to fit. The roughly cylindrical tunnel had been cut into the rock with little planning. Hundreds of chisel marks dotted the stone, and more than a few worrying cracks stretched between them. This tunnel had been hacked into existence with reckless abandon. Petar making full use of his Ghoul miners. After a few minutes of slowly moving through the tunnel, they reached its end. Cole pulled himself from the tunnel''s end, a roughly man-sized hole in the rock. Thankful to be free of the claustrophobic channel. He helped Natalie get clear of the tunnel as well. Cole did his best to not think about what would happen if the tunnel had collapsed on them. Pondering such a fate made Cole distinctly ungrateful for his immortality. Death could be mercy; one denied him if he were to become entombed alive. Pushing away that line of thought, Cole looked around their current location. It was a larger sloping cave that spread out in two directions. The sound of dribbling water and the look of the stone told Cole this was a natural formation. Apparently, the mines of Glockmire were just part of the subterranean network within the mountains. Inspecting the chamber for herself, Natalie shrugged and started taking the path leading upwards. Cole reached out and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Turning her in the opposite direction and gesturing towards the downward sloping path. ¡°See those stains on the walls and ground?¡± Cole gestured at brownish marks smeared on the living stone. Natalie nodded and winced. Now that she noticed them, Natalie¡¯s Vampire nose caught the smell coming from the stains. It was a mix of dead blood and rotting flesh, clear signs that Ghouls had walked that path. Quashing the instinct to breathe, Natalie followed Cole as he took them deeper. The Ghoul miners and their taskmasters hadn¡¯t done anything to cover their tracks. So it proved easy enough for Cole to backtrack along their route. Following the decay, discarded equipment and destroyed walls. As they moved through the damp darkness, Cole started to piece together more of what happened. While gaining a new respect for the miners of Glockmire. Some natural or unnatural phenomena had left an incredible array of caverns and tunnels throughout the Mountains. Tunnels the Miners had exploited and expanded upon with gusto. It seemed Petars efforts to tunnel into the Alukah¡¯s tomb were only successful thanks to generations of Miners carving most of the path for him. There was some poetry in that fact, but Cole had neither the time nor inclination to consider it. For over an hour, Cole and Natalie trudged through the tunnels, occasionally doubling back when the trail went cold. The tight confines of the Cave, accompanied by their generally oppressive atmosphere, started to wear on both of them. They¡¯d both been much, and the initial giddiness of victory and confessed love was starting to wear off. For Natalie, it was especially bad. Grief and shock she¡¯d pushed away in the face of everything were starting to return. Accompanied by a sinister mixture of urges related to Cole. Every time she looked at him, an intense wave of desire would hit her. On the surface was just pure lust. Natalie had fallen hard for Cole and wanted to express that fact in the most classical of ways. But beneath that already embarrassing wash of desire was something much more sinister. Whenever Natalie found herself staring at Cole¡¯s broad shoulders, she found her newly sensitive hearing picking up his heartbeat. A sound that called to her new instincts with disturbing clarity. Natalie the Woman wanted to enjoy Cole, but unfortunately, so did Natalie the Vampire. Low on blood and only now starting to realize it. Natalie had to fight against the niggling whispers growing in volume. Whispers suggesting all sorts of fun ways to enjoy Cole. How she could take what she needed during the throws of passion. Or how easy it might be to lull Cole to sleep with a gentle touch and have her way with him. Pushing herself to ignore those increasingly deprived thoughts, Natalie let out a low, pained whimper. To her Horror, Cole noticed the sound. Turning to face Natalie, Cole had a worried look on his face. Glancing over her, quickly checking for injuries, Cole¡¯s flushed slightly. An odd look for his scarred complexion. Natalie was still practically naked, clad only in the ruins of Cole¡¯s cloak. After his near begging insistence, Natalie had agreed to wear the tattered thing. It did little for her modesty, and at this point, Natalie was far, far past caring. She¡¯d always been confident in her looks, and in the light of everything else, any embarrassment related to her near nudity seemed trite. Still, watching Cole squirm had proven a surprising boon for Natalie¡¯s mood. That had changed now as her desire to tease and fluster the man was being subsumed by more¡­ predatory desires. Trying to regain his composure, Cole fixed his eyes clearly on Natalie¡¯s face and asked, ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Did you cut yourself?¡± A million different lies and deflections flitted through Natalie¡¯s mind. She wanted to maybe fake an injury and elicit sympathy. She wanted to use his abashment to her advantage. She wanted to use her beauty to make him lower his guard. Natalie wanted to use that silver tongue of hers to ease away any wariness before she struck. It would be easy to claim her prey and make him enjoy every second of it. Wait. Prey? Eyes wide in horror, Natalie felt sick. Her very mind was betraying her in some truly twisted ways. Feeding a never-ending stream of manipulative thoughts into her. Lips parted, licking her new fangs in nervousness, Natalie tried to say she was fine. To brush away the sinister thoughts, delude herself into normalcy. Instead, something else came from her. Something that made her Vampiric side scream in frustration. Natalie told the truth. ¡°I¡¯m hungry, and it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s¡­ making it hard to focus or even be myself.¡± Natalie shut her eyes and flinched. Her new instincts screamed for her to run, while the self-loathing growing in her heart expected Cole to take that stolen halberd and lop her head off. She didn¡¯t expect his gentle fingers to touch her chin and guide her lips to his wrist. Opening her eyes in surprise, Natalie looked at Cole. Staring up at the Paladin wide-eyed, Natalie wordlessly asked for permission. Cole nodded and murmured softly. ¡°We will work out how to do this in the future, but for now, drink until I need you to stop.¡± Gingerly, Natalie bit Cole. Her fangs sinking into his skin, through the blood-magic scars. Letting his ichor flow into her mouth. Cole let out a low noise of pain which almost made Natalie pull away. But to her shame, the taste of his blood was enough to overpower any attempts at being considerate. Drinking down his life, Natalie didn¡¯t know if she wanted to cry, laugh, sleep or make love to Cole right here in this filthy tunnel. After a few minutes of lapping up the blood, Cole gently pulled his wrist away from Natalie. A vicious animal impulse told her to not let him, but now partially stated it was easier for Natalie to ignore it. As he pulled away, Natalie gave the puncture marks one final lick. Cole examined his wrist and noted the rapidly forming scabs. The venom and salvia of Vampires are a disturbing mixture of magical and mundane toxins. While the addictive and mind-altering properties of their venom are widely known. That their salvia had coagulant properties was less known. Flexing his fingers and letting fresh blood flow into his hand, Cole looked down at Natalie. Her red eyes were wet and threatened to erupt into full-blown tears. The newly created Alukah, heiress to a legacy of slaughter, looked up at Cole with heart-wrenching guilt plastered over her face. Freshly fed, Natalie¡¯s body was acting as if it was alive, and that meant tears. When she had lacked the ability to cry, it had been easier to keep her emotions under control. But now that she could cry again, her body and mind were ready to dive right back into all that pain she¡¯d been bottling up. Before an apology for what had happened could escape Natalie¡¯s blood-stained lips, Cole kissed her on the forehead. Gently in that low rolling accent of his, Cole whispered. ¡°I love you, and I am here for you.¡± That broke any little bit of control Natalie had left, and she sucked in a deep, ragged breath. Partially to reply in kind, partially because her body hadn¡¯t yet forgotten being alive. Natalie tried to form words or even just cry in a dignified manner but was failing at both. Sobbing deeply, Natalie sucked down more air to fuel her weeping; and tasted something impossible in the air. Almost instantly, Natalie stopped crying and looked up and around them. Sniffing the air like a curious hound. She¡¯d detected a whiff of something she did not expect to find in a dank cavern system. The rich floral smell of Tea. Faint but unmistakable, it hung in the air like some ill-fitting phantom. Looking at a confused and slightly pallid Cole, Natalie asked. ¡°Do you smell that? Do you smell Tea?¡± Even more mystified, Cole answered. ¡°No, I don¡¯t. But you do? Where is it coming from?¡± Latching onto this mystery to distract herself, Natalie kept sniffing the air and followed after the smell. Breaking away from the Ghoul trail, they took another route through the caves. Meandering through the tunnels as Natalie followed the strange smell. Any doubts about its validity or Natalie¡¯s sanity fell away as they got closer. The smell only got stronger, and Cole started to pick it out from the damp, musty stink of the cave. After another hour of following the smell, they reached its presumable source. One of the cave walls was unnaturally flat, with odd grooves in it. The stone looked like panels of a huge cupboard stuck to the cave wall. Looking at each other, Cole and Natalie shared mutual looks of confusion. After a few seconds, Cole shrugged and angeled the butt of his halberd into one of the Grooves. With surprisingly little effort, Cole managed to slide the stone panel to the side. Bright light and cold air met them as the panel moved. As the wall opened up into a large doorway, Natalie and Cole blinked away the light. Its brilliance was a stark contrast to the murky glowstone they¡¯d used in the tunnels. A familiar voice echoed from the other side of the entrance. ¡°About jagging time. I was running low on Tea.¡± In the doorway was Priest Matthias, the sole servant of Master Time permanently in Glockmire. The lean and weary-looking Priest was bundled up in winter clothing and carried a cup of Tea between mittened hands. Looking at the slack-jawed Natalie and Cole, he gestured for them to enter. ¡°Well, don¡¯t just stand there! I have a holy mission to complete.¡±
Confused, the duo stepped through the strange doorway and into the Temple Mortuary. As soon as they did, Matthias gripped a hidden latch and sealed the wall shut behind them. The cold chamber was empty of any corpses. Instead, its slabs were occupied by a portable tea service and a small pile of clothing. Sipping his beverage, Matthias gestured towards the pile of clothes. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I found anything that will fit you, Sir Paladin, but Miss Stirga should find something in there.¡± Exchanging another confused glance, Cole and Natalie went over to the clothing. Natalie easily enough found a simple dress and some sandals, while Cole had to tear a few stitches to get a pair of britches of fit. Seeing they were dressed, Matthias let out a low sigh and looked at Natalie. As he did, the sleep-deprived Priest did a double take and dropped his drink. Lukewarm tea splashed onto his feet, and bits of clay pottery exploded across the floor. Matthias, it seemed, had just noticed Natalie¡¯s eyes. With his own eyes wild and uncertain, Matthias whispered under his breath. ¡°He will come with one corpse but leave with another.¡± Natalie flinched at his words and looked away from Matthias. To her surprise, the Priest stalked over to Cole and glared at him. In a bitter tone, he snapped at the Paladin. ¡°I hope whatever task Master Time set you was worth it. Dozens of people are dead or missing, and I don¡¯t even want to think about what the Vampires will do when they find out you escaped them.¡± Looking back at Natalie, Matthias set his jaw and continued speaking to Cole. ¡°Why have you failed her, Paladin? You couldn¡¯t rescue her, and now you let this¡­falsehood wear Natalie¡¯s body?¡± Those words hit Natalie like a slap. Pushing past her momentary surprise, she stepped towards Matthias and snapped. ¡°Dammit, Matthias, you¡¯ve known me my whole life. I¡¯m still me!¡± The Priest looked at her with genuine sadness in his eyes. ¡°This is the cruelest part of the Vampire¡¯s curse. Natalie died when a Vampire infected her corpse. Now a morass of memories and a tainted soul think it''s still alive. For now, it can still think and feel like a human, but that will change. It would be kinder to end this false life before the Curse can ruin her soul.¡± Natalie was speechless; she wanted to punch Matthias as much as she wanted to escape back into the tunnels and never see another person again. Tears of anger and sadness started to boil up, but Cole interjected. ¡°It''s possible for a person to resist the worst of the Curse. To still be the same person they were in life. On top of that, there are other extenuating circumstances. Truly killing Natalie is not something I cannot do nor let anyone else attempt.¡± Staring down Matthias, Cole let some of that intensity of his press against the Priest. The force of will of someone who¡¯d seen and experienced things no mortal could ever understand. It made Priest quail slightly, shrinking under the pressure of an Immortal¡¯s focus. ¡°She is under my protection and in my custody. I will let no harm come to her nor let her bring harm to anyone else.¡± Turning away from the Priest, Cole looked back at the shut passageway and continued. ¡°Besides, the Court will have bigger problems than meting out petty reprisals. The survivors, if there are any, will be busy trying to survive the fallout of Glockmire¡¯s death.¡± Matthias just blinked and stared at Cole like the man had started speaking Gob-Tongue. Ignoring him, Cole turned back toward Natalie and started making plans. ¡°I will need to find my equipment, and you will need to start packing for our journey.¡± Then after another moment of hesitation, Cole addressed Matthias again. ¡°If I bring Wilhelm''s body, could he be buried tomorrow?¡± Pregnant silence filled the mortuary for a moment before Matthias nodded in assent. ¡°I¡¯ve had terrible dreams the past two nights. Dreams of cold and death that spoke of what might happen. In my dreams, I heard him; I heard Master Times commands. He said to gather clothing for you two and to prepare for a funeral. I did as our God wished and have waited here since twilight. We will bury Wilhelm before the day is out.¡± At those words, Cole moved towards the door, gently pulling Natalie behind him. The newly turned Vampire accepted the help without complaint. Matthias¡¯s words had robbed Natalie of what little strength she had left. As they started to leave, Matthias called after them. ¡°Natalie. I don¡¯t know if what the Paladin says is true, but I hope it is. Hold onto your humanity because your very soul itself will be trying to cast it aside.¡± Not meeting his eyes, Natalie just nodded at his words. Oh, how true they were. Matthias didn¡¯t even know half of it. They left the mortuary and the Temple. Stepping into the predawn streets of Glockmire. Idly, Natalie wondered if they would change the town name with the Lord dead. The first hints of pale sunlight were visibly cresting the distant peaks, and the town was still asleep. Taking the familiar path from the Temple to the Silly Goat was disconcerting for Natalie. Looking around, it was like nothing had changed. Just another fall morning in the town of her birth. But for her, everything had changed. This place wasn¡¯t truly home anymore. It had been where she¡¯d lived a human life, but that was over. As they walked, Natalie asked Cole. ¡°I really have to leave, don''t I?¡± Cole squeezed her hand gently and answered. ¡°Yes, we are now both being hunted. They will do so on the principle of me being a Paladin and you being a Vampire who aided me. Our presence will bring nothing good to this town. That''s not even considering if the Courts realize what you now host. Drakovich and his rivals will want that power. Getting out of the Blood Duchies and out of their reach is crucial.¡± Natalie had known or guessed most of what Cole said, but she just wanted to double-check. While she¡¯d been thinking about leaving Glockmire for weeks now, having that choice thrust upon her in these circumstances made it suddenly very bitter. They arrived at the Silly Goat and found its door still open. Cautiously they entered the chilly building and found Wilhelms body. Someone had laid a white sheet over the corpse, something Natalie was incredibly grateful for. She had no desire to see her Father¡¯s body. Without prompting, Cole picked up the corpse, keeping it wrapped in its shroud. Natalie couldn¡¯t bear to look at the body. Instead, whispering softly as Cole left. ¡°Goodbye, Dad. I¡¯ll always love you.¡± Stepping past the bloodstain on the floor, Natalie walked deeper into Silly Goat. The building was much like her father''s body. A cold empty reminder of something once wonderful. Absently Natalie traced her fingers along the carved banister, and other bits of woodcraft she and her mother had made. While she knew she should be packing, Natalie knew she needed to take this moment. A moment that was quickly broken by the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Natalie froze and whirled towards the sound. Irrationally wanting the sound to be her father. Fearing it would be a Vampire or their servants. It was neither. Stockings sat on the counter, looking at Natalie with an inquisitive expression. Smiling sadly, Natalie stepped towards the Cat; Stockings tensed at her approach. Taking a more wary stance. Grimacing, Natalie realized the Cat knew she had changed. Making a clicking noise with her tongue, Natalie slowly approached Stockings. Wary and uncertain, the Cat held still but was ready to scurry away. Eventually, Natalie ran a hand along the Cat¡¯s back, and the familiar gesture got Stockings to relax. Petting the Cat for a few minutes, Natalie realized she needed to do something with Stockings. They couldn¡¯t take the Cat with them, but leaving her here in this now dead building was wrong. An idea struck Natalie, one that solved a number of problems at once if she dared make a gamble. Slowly, so as to not alarm Stockings, Natalie picked up the feline and left the Silly Goat. The walk to Barnbas¡¯s shop was even more familiar than the walk to the Temple. Clutching the mildly annoyed cat to her breast, Natalie arrived at the store and knocked loudly on the door. After a few moments, she knocked again. Still, nothing happened, and by the third knock, Natalie was fearing the worst. Before fear could truly take hold, Natalie¡¯s newly sensitive ears heard the sound of muffled curses coming from inside the store. Smiling as the tension left her, Natalie ignored the squirming cat in her arms. Now was the moment of truth. A familiar sleep-addled voice called out to her. ¡°Who the Jag is it!¡± Taking in a deep pointless breath to steady herself, Natalie answered. ¡°It¡¯s me, Barnabas. I¡¯m back¡± There was silence for a time before the sound of locks and deadbolts being undone reached Natalie. Slowly the door opened a crack, just enough for Barnabas to see Natalie on his front step. Calmly, Barnabas asked her. ¡°What did I give you at your sixth birthday party?¡± Natalie actually laughed at that. ¡°You missed my sixth birthday party. You were on the road with the last merchant convoy you were part of. But when you got back, you gave me a dress I had outgrown in a month.¡± Barnabas yanked the door open. Wearing day-old clothing and generally ungroomed, Barnabas looked terrible. But that wasn¡¯t what caught Natalie¡¯s attention. In the crook of one arm was a Crossbow tipped with a silver bolt. She never knew he had such a weapon but was glad he did. Barnabas¡¯s exhausted smile of relief upon seeing Natalie died as quickly as it arrived. The blood-red eyes and fang of his niece killed it. Barnabas started to lift his crossbow against her but stopped. With a defeated sigh, he let the weapon drop to the ground and simply said. ¡°So Cole failed. I¡­ I had hoped. Well, fine, let''s get this over with.¡± Barnabas shut his eyes and expected death. Instead, he got a face full of fur. Surprised, he looked to see Natalie holding out Stockings, pressing the cat to his chest. Confused and operating on instinct, Barnabas took the Cat into his arms. Looking up at Natalie, he was mystified. Natalie just smiled sadly and said. ¡°Cole didn¡¯t fail. I¡¯m a Vampire Barnabas, but I¡¯m not one of them. I¡¯m still me.¡± Barnabas was still confused, so Natalie elaborated. ¡°Cole rescued me¡­ Well, we kind of rescued each other. But what matters is I¡¯m not like them. When the Court creates a Vampire, they do everything they can to destroy the good in that person. Cole stopped them from doing that to me, and he¡¯s going to help me.¡± Looking away from Barnabas¡¯s eyes and towards Stockings, Natalie continued. ¡°I¡¯m not a monster, but I could become one. So I can¡¯t stay here. I¡¯m going to go with Cole and find a way to be a Vampire and a good person.¡± Gesturing at the cat, Natalie explained why she had brought the feline with her. ¡°I can¡¯t take Stockings with me, and¡­ well, I thought her company might help you.¡± Barnabas set the Feline down, giving her a scratch behind the ears as he did. Then he reached out and hugged Natalie. The surprised Vampire hadn¡¯t expected that but returned the embrace. After a second, Barnabas pulled away from her slightly and looked her in the eyes, forcing himself to not flinch away from the faintly glowing scarlet he saw there. ¡°The bastard who killed your father, did you get him?¡± asked Barnabas, his earlier shock fading as the reality of the situation sunk in. Natalie actually smiled. ¡°Yes, and pretty much every other Vampire in the Castle.¡± Natalie¡¯s smile died as she elaborated on the chaos she and Cole caused. ¡°Things are going to change around here, Barnabas. Lord Glockmire and the Vampire who killed Dad are both dead. The other Nobles won¡¯t take that news well. It''s in part why I need to leave.¡± Barnabas absorbed that information with a nervous gulp. Sighing in resignation, he looked back into his store and ignored the Cat rubbing against his ankles. ¡°You will need to leave quickly, but I am sure I can gather up you and Cole some supplies.¡± ¡°Thank you¡± was Natalie¡¯s response; as Barnabas turned to work, she continued. ¡°We are going to bury my Father before we leave.¡± That got Barnabas to pause for a second before he nodded and got back to his task. Natalie stood in the doorway just watching him work. Seeing the old man bustle about for what was probably the last time brought a strange mix of emotions to Natalie. There was melancholy in spades but also a sense of resolution. Events had forced Natalie to make her choice, and with that choice came new certainty. A grim but solid feeling she could fall back onto in the face of overwhelming loss. After a minute or two, Natalie stepped inside the store and felt a strange tingle on her skin. A pins and needles sensation that lasted for less than a second before it faded. Confused and wary, Natalie stepped out of the building. Tentatively, she passed back through the doorway and felt the same sensation. As it faded, realization struck Natalie. Vampires couldn¡¯t enter a place without invitation, and Barnabas had never properly let her into the shop. Now a little nervous, Natalie waited for the unpleasant feeling to return, but it didn¡¯t. However, her body felt a little sluggish, and her senses were somewhat dulled. As an Alukah Vampire, she wasn¡¯t truly prevented from entering uninvited, but breaking that taboo did not come without consequences. Taking this into account, Natalie reached down to pet Stockings and waited for Barnabas to finish up. It didn¡¯t take the old Merchant long. He returned to her with a large pack slung over one shoulder and a short scabbard in his other hand. Setting the pack down, Barnabas explained what was inside it. ¡°Sleeping bag, rope, pitons, dried rations, two canteens, flint and tinder, Maps, bandages, some choice ointments, a new lily soap I set aside for you, and this.¡± he held out the scabbard to Natalie. Gingerly she took the weapon and unsheathed it. About as long as her forearm and completely straight was an unusual short-sword. It lacked a cross guard, and its scabbard was made from some sturdy dark wood. The tip of the blade was a clean point that shone brightly, and Natalie reached out an experimental finger to touch it. It felt like she¡¯d just touched a hot stove. Pulling her hand back in surprise, Natalie realized the short-swords tip was coated in silver. Barnabas winced as he saw Natalie singe her finger. It seemed her resistance to most Vampire¡¯s banes didn¡¯t extend to silver. Sheathing the shortsword, Natalie asked. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°A Dueling Spatha from the White Isles. An old family heirloom of mine. Never got much use out of it but figured you might.¡± Natalie looked at the weapon and started to say. ¡°Barnabas, I can¡¯t!-¡± the old merchant cut her off. ¡°What am I going to do with it? Give it to a Son I don¡¯t have? You''re the only family I have left in this world, Natalie. I might not be able to protect you, but that doesn''t mean I can¡¯t give you something to help you protect yourself.¡± Nodding in surrender, Natalie picked up the pack and the shortsword. With them both in place, She hugged Barnabas and left for the Silly Goat. Her adopted Uncle watched her go with a new cat in his arms and tears in his eyes. Weighed down by her pack and emotions, Natalie walked slowly through the streets of Glockmire. Drinking in the sights for perhaps the final time as the Sun slowly crested the mountain peaks. Pale daybreak started to bleed into golden dawn; as the first Roosters crowed, and the day arrived in earnest. From her place on the street, Natalie could watch the Sun¡¯s light move towards her as it crested the peaks and buildings. Shutting her eyes to the approaching dawn, she murmured under her breath. ¡°Moment of Truth.¡± Chapter 20.5: Grave Goods

Chapter 40: Grave Goods

¡°The Sun hates us. Only through the blood of ancients can we resist its wrath. Glockmire¡¯s treasure must be secured. I care not the form it takes, we must have it.¡± - Orders from the Archduke to Knight Ladislaus
Dawn struck Natalie like a hammer blow. Instantly she felt a wave of exhaustion hit her. Accompanying it was a faint prickling feeling on her exposed skin. A minor but constant itch that reminded Natalie of hot summers and sunburn. Opening her eyes, Natalie winced at the light; it made her eyes ache. Blinking away the pain, she looked down at her hands and focused on the prickly itch. It felt like the lead-up to a Sunburn but didn¡¯t quite hurt like the actual thing. Trying to stifle the exhaustion that now weighed her down, Natalie shrugged and kept walking. ¡°Could be worse,¡± she said to no one in particular as she readjusted her dress to cover more skin. By the time she got back to the Silly Goat, Natalie was about ready to pass out from the sheer weariness of being in the Sun. She dragged herself up to her room and started packing. As she did, the call of her bed became an irresistible siren song. Every minute or so, Natalie would find her focus drawn back to the familiar sheets and blanket. Her mind interpreting the Vampiric Torpor as mundane sleepiness. The temptation to crawl into her bed and enjoy its familiar comfort one final time was almost debilitating in its intensity. The desire and her own exhaustion gnawed on Natalie¡¯s self-control with every second. As she found herself slowly drifting towards the bed, Natalie forced herself to pause and think. All of Petar¡¯s minions had used the Alukah¡¯s blood to stay awake in the day without issue. She was now the Alukah, or something close to it. Her exhaustion made no sense! The unfairness of that pricked at Natalie. Dredging up her infamous stubbornness. Forcing herself to stand, Natalie thought about this. Something didn¡¯t add up, and she wasn¡¯t about to let it go. Natalie knew Vampires had a variety of magical powers powered by stolen blood. She, however, didn¡¯t know how to use any of these abilities or if she even had any available. After all, she had barely been a Vampire for a day. Maybe the mysterious potential she¡¯d inherited would take weeks or even months to show its head. With leaden arms and heavier eyelids, Natalie realized she didn¡¯t necessarily have that time. Cole could only do so much to protect her, and Natalie was damned if she became a millstone around his neck. Whether she liked it or not, Natalie was a Vampire now. One with the power of a primordial monster, Natalie Striga was not about to ignore the opportunities that came with this curse. Thinking about her current¡­state of existence and the events that led to it dredged up ugly memories of Natalie¡¯s transformation. In the morass of pain and fear those memories summoned, something caught Natalie¡¯s attention. An offhanded comment about her Mother and her family. How Natalie came from a lineage cultivated to have natural talent for Blood Magic. A talent that Natalie was fairly certain she tapped into once before with Cole¡¯s Spark-Stone. She¡¯d used her innate skill before she¡¯d become a Vampire. Could she do it again? So Natalie pieced together her experiences with magic and made an educated guess. Shutting her eyes, reached inside of herself and found what she¡¯d been looking for. The empty ocean inside of her soul. Which, as she looked, was not entirely empty. At its heart, in the center of the great basalt plain, was a puddle of blood. Cole¡¯s blood. Stolen and stored for later use. Still not entirely certain on what she was doing, Natalie reached for the blood and imagined herself feeling energized. The effect was instantaneous. Natalie felt like she¡¯d been dunked in ice-water, force-fed a pound of raw sugar, and having an anxiety attack all at once. Letting out an undignified yelp, Natalie stumbled backward and landed on her butt. The overwhelming energy sent her limbs spasming and her mind racing. Thoughts racing at a kilometer a count bombarded Natalie, and she felt like she was about to pass out from sheer overstimulation. But in this mess of overactive body and mind, Natalie could feel her reserve of blood rapidly emptying. The small puddle of ichor inside her was shrinking with every second. Natalie panicked at that sight. She didn¡¯t want to think what would happen if she ran out of blood while alone in the middle of town. With a bit of mental effort, Natalie stopped the blood¡¯s flow and let the exhaustion hit her again. The whiplash was enough to make Natalie¡¯s head spin. The amount of blood this effort had consumed was shocking¡­but so were the results. Carefully, Natalie tried again, trying to pour only a few drops of her stolen blood into the effort. The weariness started to fade, and with a few more drops, it was totally gone. Blinking her eyes in surprise, Natalie stood up and flexed her limbs. Testing them and finding she¡¯d found a palatable balance. Shutting her eyes and letting out a defeated sigh, Natalie turned to her room and packed. She needed to get to work. Experimenting with what exactly she could do could come later. For now, she was safe from falling asleep or being consumed by her hunger. While she needed to spend blood to stay awake and focused, it was a small amount. It would be nightfall before she needed to feed. Which was another whole bag of worries she needed to sort out.
Cole had walked the empty streets of Glockmire and delivered Wilhelm to Matthias. The Priest had taken the body into his custody and said to return to the Temple when its bells were rung. Cole accepted that and left the Temple. He had other matters to attend to. In the pre-dawn light, Cole gazed up at Castle Glockmire and let out an annoyed sigh. He needed to get his equipment back. He also needed to find Isabelle. That thought sent a twinge of guilt through the Paladin. Things had advanced with Natalie far far far quicker than he¡¯d imagined. Leaving him in a very confusing and shameful position. In his time alive, Cole had never once thought about something like this. Being in love with two different women, who both loved him, and were both dead. While Isabelle was certainly more dead than Natalie, she wasn¡¯t completely gone. That fact that had helped push the Paladin forward for years was now weighing heavily upon him. He couldn¡¯t abandon what remained of her, but he also couldn¡¯t ignore his feelings for Natalie. Covering his eyes with a well-calloused hand and letting out a deep sigh. Cole knew all he could do was move forward. So he set out to the Castle to retrieve what he¡¯d lost and maybe get some final answers. He took the switchback up to the Castles backdoor and pulled on the massive oaken doors. They hadn¡¯t been barred, which was what Cole had expected. Between the Vampire¡¯s arrogance and his own God¡¯s influence greasing the wheels of fortune. Cole had guessed he was in for that much of a lucky break. What did surprise Cole was how easy the doors were to move. They were hulking solid things meant to withstand an actual battering ram. But they swung open like simple wooden shutters. Cole idly wondered at the engineering or magic at work there. Inside, Cole found the small atrium he¡¯d been to before and its myriad of doors leading deeper into the Castle. No sign of his pack or Isabelle in the chamber. He would need to go deeper, and Cole had no desire to do that unarmed. He¡¯d left his stolen halberd back at the Temple and didn¡¯t think his boot knife would cut it. Glancing around the room, Cole noticed a single suit of armor standing in the corner. Cole wandered over to the armor and lifted up its visor. Alabaster bone stared him back. Before the Eternal Legionnaire could awake, Cole slammed his fist into the open visor. He¡¯d expected to knock the Rattler back and get time to dismantle it. Instead, his fist shattered bone and bent metal. Instantly destroying the Rattler. Stunned, Cole looked at the fallen Undead for a moment before he filched its Pole Axe. As a ¡°perfect specimen,¡± as Isabelle had called him, Cole¡¯s physical attributes were at the very peak a normal human could reach. Looking down at the crushed helmet, Cole knew he¡¯d surpassed that already high bar. The only question was how? Testing the Pole Axe¡¯s balance, Cole knew the answer was obvious but also opaque. When he¡¯d used up his soul in that final attack on the Feeder, his regeneration had been different. He¡¯d healed far faster than normal and with fewer scars. There was also the aggression he¡¯d shown upon awakening, and now this enhanced strength. Something had changed, and it worried Cole. He now had a more practical reason to find Isabelle¡¯s skull. She was perhaps the only person in existence with answers. Taking the salvaged Pole Axe, Cole nicked his forearm and cast a simple tracking spell. One meant to find his pack and weapon. The connection of his blood pushed through the simple secrecy enchantment and guided Cole to his prize. A glob of blood slithered up into his palm and floated into the air. Stretching out slightly in the direction of his quarry. A crimson compass needle suspended in his hand. For the next ten minutes, he stalked through the deserted halls of Castle Glockmire. Following his morbid compass to his prize. There was no movement nor any defenses. The Castle Guard had been expended against Cole and Dietrich. The thralls were in hiding, dead or possibly comatose. Thralls to a Vampire who was heavy-handed in their mental control risked all sorts of ugly side effects if their master died. Vampires exactly the type of Monster Cole had cleaved through earlier in his ¡°last stand.¡± Eventually, Cole found himself in a storage room of sorts. A small chamber filled with packages, crates, and over-burdened wooden shelves. On one of those shelves lay a familiar set of belongings. Laid out like bones awaiting reassembly were the contents of his pack. Someone had carefully removed everything in his backpack and set them out for later examination. Including his Halberd, his Spark-Stone, and Isabelle¡¯s skull. Breathing a sigh of relief, Cole dismissed his tracking spell and got to work repacking his belongings. After a minute or so of this, Cole slung the familiar weight over his shoulder and picked up his halberd. Giving the room one final glance, Cole noticed two things of note. Next to his equipment was a small silver hair-clip shaped as a bird in flight. Cole pocketed the ornament and walked over to the other interest. A stack of sturdy-looking black fabric. Smiling to himself, Cole took off his shredded cloak and grabbed the fabric. With a few spilled drops of blood, his cloak had absorbed the fabric and repaired itself. Enjoying the comfortable embrace of his newly patched garment, Cole left the storage room. Someone was waiting for him in the hallway outside. Cole instantly leveled his halberd at the thin waifish looking woman standing before him. Clad in a simple dress and looking positively unwell, the woman had short red hair and weary blue eyes. Cole thought he recognized her from somewhere but knew not where. The woman looked at Cole for a second before asking in a thin voice. ¡°Are you the Restbringer?¡± Cole nodded in confirmation, and the Woman''s posture changed slightly. She seemed to relax and tense at the same time. ¡°I am Yara, servant of Sir Dietrich. Where is he?¡± It clicked then for Cole. He¡¯d seen her the day he¡¯d first met the Scarlet Knight. Hiding in his shadows when he¡¯d entered the sitting room they¡¯d met in. Now in the dim light of the hallway, Cole could barely make out the small pattern of scars on Yara¡¯s neck and arms. She was Dietrichs blood-slave and a loyal one at that. Having risked exposing herself to ask Cole about his fate. Cole wanted to lie and tell the woman her master was dead, but his old instinct for honesty won out. ¡°He is in a secret crypt below the Castle. Dietrich has been magically frozen and might never awake even if he were to be thawed out. If there were a time to flee, it would be now.¡± Yara stiffened at that and narrowed her eyes at Cole. ¡°He¡¯s my master. He took me in when no one else would. Sir Dietrich gave me a purpose and¡­ and he spared my life when he spent others. I will not abandon him in his hour of need.¡± Cole simply sighed in resignation. He knew what Yara felt all too well. Cole reached to his collar and pulled it down to show his own scars to Yara. Recognition shone in the Thrall¡¯s eyes. She understood Cole¡¯s message. Gently, Cole elaborated. ¡°I know what it''s like to be bound to one of them. To be¡­ loved by one of them. I also know what it''s like to be consumed and discarded by them. I¡¯ve seen both sides of the coin, Miss Yara, and I¡¯ve met plenty of people who didn¡¯t know which side they stood upon. I don¡¯t know enough about your connection with Dietrich to judge. But I do know now would be the time for you to evaluate where you stand.¡± Yara¡¯s eyes flicked away from Cole in a moment of doubt. Which Cole knew was about as much as he could expect from her. Walking down the hallway and passing the Blood-Slave, Cole left her with some carefully chosen words. ¡°You don¡¯t need another to give you purpose, Miss Yara. In fact, no one but yourself can do that. So think about what has happened and consider the possibilities.¡± Wise words, but ones also reeking of hypocrisy. Cole had learned many truths in his relatively short life but had not learned to apply many of them. He was still bound to a Vampire, two of them now, in fact. While his purpose in life sprung from divine commission. Those sour truths in mind, Cole left Castle Glockmire. Praying he¡¯d never enter its blighted depths again. By now, the Sun had risen, and the first hints of life were returning to the town. The clatter of dishes, the crow of roosters, and other markers of early risers. Cole ignored them as he returned to the Silly Goat. He found Natalie in the tavern, sitting at a table and staring at the space where Wilhelm¡¯s body had laid. Worried red eyes flicked up to Cole, softening as she realized who was at the doorway. The new couple smiled tentatively at each other, and Cole moved over towards her. ¡°Matthias said the Temple Bells will ring when it''s time,¡± said Cole, setting his pack down and sitting next to Natalie. The drained Vampire chewed on her lip, showing her fangs. ¡°The Temple has a bunch of different ways to ring the bell, each with different meanings. Matthias means to give Dad a proper funeral. The town will be there.¡± That prospect seemed to stress Natalie. Looking at her red eyes and fangs, Cole understood why. Matthias had reacted reasonably, all things considered to her current state. Being chased from her own Father¡¯s funeral by her friends and neighbors would be another layer to the sickening amount of Trauma she¡¯d experienced. Shutting her eyes in resignation, Natalie spoke. ¡°I¡¯ve spent the last little bit trying to disguise my eyes. I saw Lorena do it, and I should be able to as well. But no matter what I try, I can¡¯t do it!¡± Absently, Cole reached into his bag and grabbed out a roll of bandages. Taking a length of the thin cloth, Cole gently said to Natalie. ¡°Close your eyes.¡± Confused but willing to trust him, Natalie did as he asked. Cole wrapped the bandage around Natalies¡¯s eyes in a makeshift blindfold. Instead of tying the cloth, he used the recovered hair clip to fasten the bandage in place. As his hands moved away, Natalie gasped at the familiar weight. She reached up to touch her returned memento but stopped herself. It was made of silver, something she could no longer touch. A pained noise escaped Natalie at that realization. Soothingly Cole said. ¡°In Vindabon, there will be metal smiths who can coat the ornament in gold or another metal.¡± That got a slight pained chuckle from Natalie. Opening her eyes, she looked at Cole and was surprised at how well she could see through the bandage. The thin cloth obscured her supernatural vision much less than she¡¯d ever have guessed. Placing a gentle hand on her knee, Cole continued. ¡°Vindabon has some of the best scholars on the continent. We can get answers about the Alukah there and maybe some insights on how to use your abilities.¡± pausing slightly, Cole then awkwardly asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never gone to the Opera in the city. I should be able to get us tickets. Would you like to go?¡± That got an actual laugh from Natalie. For two-fold reasons. The box of coins and jewels hidden in her pack would more than guarantee they could afford tickets. While the timidity the seasoned Undead-hunter had in his voice was so endearing. Cole was asking her on a date in his own obtuse way. Natalie nodded in ascent and then did something stupid. ¡°Could I see Isabelle¡¯s skull?¡± That got Cole¡¯s demeanor to shift, but after a tentative second, he reached into his pack and retrieved the Vampire skull. Nervously he handed it to Natalie. Holding the cold bone, Natalie picked her words. ¡°I don¡¯t know how this is going to work, the two of us. But I¡¯m I want to try¡± looking down at the skull, Natalie¡¯s forehead creased in a frown. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it''s possible for her to return, but we will cross that bridge if we come to it. For now¡­ you¡¯re mine, and I¡¯m yours.¡± Cole understood the message was not just for him but for the spirit of Isabelle hidden in the skull. Slowly, Cole nodded in agreement. Seeing this, Natalie handed the skull back to Cole. As she did, one of its fangs pricked her finger. Yelping in pain, Natalie looked down at her finger, seeing the drop of black blood that had welled up quickly becoming new skin. Muttering more to herself than anyone else, ¡°I don¡¯t know if I will get used to that.¡± Frowning slightly at what happened, Cole tucked the skull away. That was another mystery to add to the growing pile. Cole was about to comment on it when the deep sonorous bells of the Temple echoed through Glockmire. Natalie and Cole looked at each other, surprise and trepidation on their faces. They knew Matthias had already done most of the preparations in advance, but this was still quick. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Slowly they got up, picking up their equipment and heading to the door. As they reached it, Natalie paused and pulled her make-shift blindfold down. Looking over her childhood home, Natalie felt a lump form in her throat. Blood-Red eyes flitted over the empty inn. Drinking its sight in one last time. Cold and dim, the Silly Goat was a shadow of what it was supposed to be. For decades the Inn had been in the Striga family, and generations had poured love and commitment into this building. That time was over now. The Silly Goat had died alongside Wilhelm. In barely more than a whisper, Natalie addressed the building and the life that it represented. ¡°Goodbye.¡± Turning away, Natalie promised herself she¡¯d remember the Inn not as it was now but as it had been. A place of light, warmth, laughter, and good company. So for the last time, Natalie left the Silly Goat. Saying goodbye to one empty shell and heading to the Temple to say goodbye to another. They didn¡¯t talk as they made their way through the waking streets of Glockmire. Clad in black traveling cloaks and haunted by grim purpose, Cole and Natalie made an eerie sight. Townsfolk who were slowly leaving the safety of their own homes shied away from the duo. With their hoods up, they looked like a pair of Psychopomps charting a course of death and loss. Which, all things considered, was not all that off from the truth. By the time they reached the Temple, the street was filled with a small stream of confused citizens. Each of them looked around and wondered the obvious question, ¡°Who Died?¡± The Temple Bells had signaled there was to be a funeral, but not for who. The past few days had not been kind to the usually sleepy town. Disappearances and Deaths had rocked Glockmire as the consequences of Petar¡¯s Coup reached every element of the town. The growing crowd parted for Cole and Natalie. None wanted to get too close to the strange figures in these dark times. One exception came from Barnabas; the weary-looking Old Man had been leaning against the Temple fence and now idled over to the pair. He gave Cole a curt nod and Natalie another hug. She accepted it gladly and pulled down her hood on reflex. A few surprised gasps echoed from the surrounding crowd. Natalie grimaced, careful to not let her teeth show. It must have looked like she¡¯d been blinded. Few Priests or other Mages had the magical skill to heal such an injury. With none Glockmire remotely capable of such a feat. Internally Natalie wondered how they would react if they knew what truly had happened to her. Ending the hug with Barnabas, Natalie looked around at all the curious faces. She knew all of them, if not by name, by sight. Realizing they were all looking to her for answers, Natalie made another foolish decision. She told her neighbors the truth or at least part of it. ¡°This funeral is for my Father.¡± the crowd barely reacted to that; it had been two days since Wilhelm had been murdered, and the news must have spread. ¡°He was murdered by a Vampire for the crime of trying to protect me¡± that got some surprised murmurs, but again the people must have heard some whispers about that. Natalie doubted they would know anything about what she would say next. ¡°The Vampire responsible sought to overthrow Lord Glockmire. In a scheme, I helped Rest-Bringer Cole uncover. Because of this, he attempted to kill both of us. He failed, but his scheme did not. Lord Glockmire is dead and most, if not all of the Court with him.¡± Stunned silence filled the Temple grounds. Nothing could have prepared the people around her for that news. Hells, Natalie wasn¡¯t even prepared, and she¡¯d lived through it. ¡°The Usurper was Petar the Steward, who sought to take the Lord''s power and rebel against the Duke. He was stopped by the will of Master Time. Who saw fit to send one of his champions to defend this town and its people.¡± At that, Natalie gestured towards Cole. The Paladin froze, not expecting any of this and not knowing exactly what the Jag Natalie was doing. If she noticed, Natalie didn¡¯t pay his reaction any mind. ¡°That bastard Petar was behind the Breach three years ago. He caused all that death as an experiment. He was cultivating monsters using our flesh and blood, monsters now destroyed by Cole. Chief among those monsters was Petar himself.¡± The confused babble of the crowd started to grow frantic. Natalie gently traced her bandaged eyes and said. ¡°I got revenge for my Father, my Mother, and everyone else Petar took from us. But I paid bitterly for the opportunity. I¡¯ve lost much in the last few days, and I fear losing more. I¡¯m leaving Glockmire with Cole, to protect everyone from any vengeful Vampires and to get aid for my¡­ condition.¡± another thing that was technically true but still a questionable interpretation of events. The crowd seemed to still at that. Just as Natalie knew them all in some small way, they knew her. Twirling around to look at all the familiar faces through her bandages, Natalie finished. ¡°So please do me the favor of helping me bury my father and honoring his memory.¡± After a few seconds, the returning silence was broken by a deep rumbling voice. ¡°The Strigas have been a backbone of our town for as long as anyone can remember. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m happy to see young Ms. Natalie leave, but I understand her reasoning. The worlds gone and bloody well changed on us far too quickly for my liking. But that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t give ol¡¯Wilhelm a proper send-off and Natalie a true goodbye.¡± The voice belonged to Matko, the stalwart miner standing flanked by his family. Including young Filip, who stared up at Cole with wide awe-filled eyes. As Matko¡¯s words echoed through the crowd, murmurs of agreement spread with them. A murmur that grew louder and louder as the people of Glockmire agreed with Matko. Just then, the Temple doors swung open, and the town''s Priests exited. Gellam the High Priest, in service to Mother Earth, was at the center. Flanked by Matthias on his left and Trude on his right. The Priest of Master Time was startled to see Natalie in the center of the crowd. She stood in the late morning Sunset unbothered by what should have been a death sentence. Trude, by contrast, had eyes only for Cole. The Priestess was glaring daggers at the Paladin. Unconsciously Cole gulped nervously. It seemed Loom-Matron Trude had a bone to pick with him. Clearing his throat to get the crowd''s focus, Gellam spoke in a clear voice perfected by years of sermons. ¡°We are gathered on this hallowed ground to honor our friend and neighbor Wilhelm Striga. Today we will deliver his body to the earth, his soul to the beyond, and his memory into our hearts.¡± Stepping into the crowd, Gellam continued a speech too often rehearsed. ¡°I need six volunteers. Folk willing to shoulder the fallen¡¯s burden.¡± Barnabas stepped forward first, followed by Matko and then four more friends and acquaintances of Wilhelm. Gellam gave Barnabas a questioning look, clearly worried the old man was not up to being a pallbearer. A truly vicious glare from the merchant shut down any possible dissent. He was going to help bury Wilhelm, even if it was the last thing he did. The six pallbearers went into the temple to collect the casket. Leaving Gellam to call for the next group of volunteers. ¡°Who will help guide Wilhelm¡¯s path?¡± Natalie stepped forward now, followed by eleven others. Each was passed a candle by an acolyte. The twelve took positions, forming a chain from the temple door to the graveyard. Natalie taking the last place, standing at the cleared patch of ground reserved for her father. This would be the second time she¡¯d helped guide a parent to the grave. The task hadn¡¯t gotten any easier. A faint pop caught Natalie¡¯s attention as the candle in her hands ignited. It''s flame a flickering ghostly blue. Supposedly these candles burned incredibly bright in the Aether. Calling out to a dead soul and helping them move on. Absently Natalie decided she would need to ask Cole if that was true later. Looking up from the candle, Natalie saw the pallbearers approaching. Following the trail she and her fellow light-bearers had made. As the coffin passed, each candle snuffed out, leaving a faint whirl of smoke in the coffin¡¯s wake. Stoney-faced Barnabas had one of the front positions on the coffin, his face remote and unnaturally calm. Natalie could guess he was forcing himself to not cry. She wasn¡¯t the only one to participate in both her parent''s funerals. Slowly but surely, the coffin reached Natalie. The six pallbearers gently sent the dark wood onto the ground. As the wood settled onto the graveyard''s cold soil, Natalie¡¯s candle went out. Matthias approached the coffin and kneeled before it. Gellam took position opposite of him, and the two Priests set their hands on the wood. They started to chant, each with a different song that somehow blended together in a strange harmony. Natalie felt pressure against her being, the stolen blood inside of her rippling under the waves of power emanating from the priests. Slowly the ground started to shift, the soil becoming almost liquid under some magical influence. The coffin sunk into the ground like a piece of driftwood pulled under by some unseen current. The earth accepted the coffin, parting for its passage. Leaving an open grave in its wake. Held open only by the two priests'' magic. Barnabas stepped up to the grave and pulled two things from his pocket. A tarnished silver coin and a shot glass. He dropped both into the grave, where they made a clink and clatter. Next, it was Natalie¡¯s turn. Stepping forward, Natalie pulled the three times from her pack she¡¯d prepared. First were the two small wooden statues her Mother had carved for her parents'' ten-year anniversary. They fell into the grave with a solid clunk. The third was a worn old blanket, something Natalie had tucked away years ago. A memento from her childhood, a blanket her Dad had wrapped her in on one cold night when she¡¯d been scared. It symbolized the safety she felt from her father, and it seemed appropriate to bury the blanket with him. Trying desperately not to cry, Natalie turned away from the grave and wandered a few steps away. Behind her, a slow procession of people made small offerings. Coins for unpaid bar tabs. Silverware accidentally taken home. Little things that people had brought that symbolized their connections to Wilhelm. Natalie watched a few people dash home to get offerings. These were the ones who hadn¡¯t guessed who the funeral was for. Out of the corner of her eyes, Natalie watched Cole approach the grave. Curious about his contribution, Natalie saw him drop a handful of coins into the grave. Turning away from his offering, Cole slowly approached Natalie. Unsure if he should give her space or not. When she took his offered hand and limply leaned against him, Cole got his answer. In a tired monotone, Natalie asked, ¡°What were the coins for?¡± Cole shrugged slightly ¡°Payment for room and board.¡± Natalie actually snorted in laughter, which quickly turned into barely controlled sobs. Today Natalie fought her tears not out of misplaced pride but fear of exposure. The fact she could not truly cry as a Vampire made the threat of breaking down sobbing dangerous. Cole put a comforting around Natalie and hugged her. Letting her nestle her face into his chest. Gently he whispered to her, ¡°You can cry now. No one can see.¡± That broke the dam. Natalie burst into heavy wracking sobs. It had all been so much. Too damn much. All the loss, all the madness, all the pain. Natalie felt the weight of it all crushing her like grain under a millstone. Her very being ground down by a series of traumas that showed no signs of ending. Natalie cried in the strange dry sobs of a Vampire for the rest of the offerings. Only recovering herself some when the mourners started to sing. A low dirge in garbled Saint-Speech. Carried on the lips of the hundreds of people who¡¯d come to the funeral. Matthias was leading the song, and his eyes caught Natalies. He nodded towards the grave. Something that would clearly give away her ruse, but Natalie didn¡¯t really care now. Stepping next to the grave, Natalie joined the song. Looking down at the small mountain of offerings that completely covered her father¡¯s casket. A tangible marker of the respect the community had for him. As the song reached its climax, the two priests by the grave relaxed their magic. Letting the soil flow back into place and cover the casket. As they did, Natalie felt another deep thrum of power. A yanking sensation at her core, like something distant, had been snapped. Cole stepped next to Natalie and whispered. ¡°This might sting a little, but I want you to see what I do.¡± He set a hand on the back of her neck, and she felt a sharp chill enter her body. Letting out a surprised gasp, Natalie blinked her covered eyes against the pain. As she refocused, she noticed something strange. Silver mist seeped up out of the grave, a steady stream like smoke from a hidden fire. The mist drifted up and up, fading away as it did. For a split second, Natalie swore she saw an outline in the fog. The shape of a man''s hand outstretched to her. On instinct, Natalie reached out and let her hand touch where she thought the outline had been. For the first time since her death, Natalie felt truly warm. A bone-deep warmth that brought forth memories of her Father¡¯s soup, the Silly Goat¡¯s fireplace, and the blanket now buried. The feeling passed, and it left Natalie breathless. Stopping the useless instinct in its place out of sheer surprise. Cole let go of Natalie¡¯s neck, and the mist instantly disappeared. Gently, Cole said. ¡°It''s rare to see that. A soul strong-willed enough to persist for a few seconds untethered and uncorrupted. I don¡¯t know what he gave you, but I¡¯m glad he could.¡± Uncertain of herself, Natalie asked. ¡°That¡­ that was him?¡± Cole nodded and explained. ¡°It''s tricky but not impossible for most people to catch glimpses of a soul being released. I see more than a glimpse without really trying, and I wondered if I could share that. I¡¯ve never tried forming a bridge like that, but I assume it worked?¡± Not fully processing Cole¡¯s words, Natalie asked again. ¡°That was really him?¡± Cole looked up to where the last bits of silver fog had faded away and answered. ¡°Yes, that was your father¡¯s soul.¡± Awe and phantom warmth filled Natalie''s still heart. ¡°Thank you, Cole-¡± Shouts and a scuffle interrupted her. The duo and everyone else at the ending funeral turned around to see a man pushing his way through the crowd. Sallow-skinned and lanky the man wore the crisp black uniform of the Daymen, now disheveled and stained. Wild-Eyed and manic, the Daymen pushed toward Natalie, shouting, ¡°Mistress! Mistress! I found you!¡± Frigid dread hit Natalie far, far harder than the little icy chill Cole¡¯s miracle had provoked. With the court dead, the Daymen were now without leadership. Something their bent minds had been twisted to never accept. Cole had expected the Daymen and other thralls to flee, become comatose or otherwise carry on in denial of their master''s death. He¡¯d never expected this possibility. Sandu, the gruff ferrier, stepped in the Daymen''s way and snarled. ¡°This is a bloody funeral, Gorrick! Have some shame, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve been drinking but go sleep it off!¡± Gorrick didn¡¯t seem to hear Sandu or ignored him. ¡°Mistress, you must come with me! You are the only one left! The only Noble to carry both Lord¡¯s blood!¡± That got a stir from the crowd, who almost as one stepped away from Natalie and Gorrick in equal measure. In Glockmire, everyone knew what Noble meant. Another funeral goer, named Bogdan, shouted. ¡°You were walking about without a cane or anything, Natalie. I saw you looking into the grave, you aren¡¯t blind, are you!¡± Five years ago, Natalie had shot Bogdan¡¯s attempts to court her rather brutally. It seemed the little rat had found a time to get revenge in a truly spectacular way. All eyes on her, Natalie looked around. Her disguise failed even more with every second. Seeing no other option, Natalie reached up to her blindfold. Cole put a hand out to stop her. But she shooed it away gently. Taking a deep breath, the first since seeing her father¡¯s spirit. Natalie pulled the bandages away and showed the funeral her new eyes. A few startled gasps and even some panicked shouts broke out. Like a single living creature, the crowd pulled back from Natalie. Leaving only Cole, Barnabas, and the closing in Dayman near her. Free from Sandu¡¯s grip, Gorrick ran towards Natalie. In a single smooth motion, Cole stepped forward and punched Gorrick clean in the face. The strike cut through the air with a resounding crack. The lunatic Dayman fell backward, knocked out by the horse-kick of a punch Cole delivered. Blood spurted from Gorrick''s broken nose, and with it came a colossal pang of hunger for Natalie. She looked away from the blood and only saw fear in the eyes of people she¡¯d known her entire life. Flinching away from the sight, Natalie stepped behind Cole, trying to hide from the people around her. Cole looked back to see the devastation on Natalie''s face. It made Cole¡¯s heartache. So he decided to do what came naturally to him; he told the truth. ¡°Natalie is not a danger!¡± he said, his words echoing across the graveyard. ¡°She was infected, fighting off a Vampire attempting to consume her. But the process did not go as planned. Complications brought on by Petar¡¯s Coup, and some magical abnormalities stunted the Transformation. She is cursed but not Damned. The person you see standing next to me has red eyes and fangs, but she¡¯s still Natalie Striga!¡± Bogdan, ever the petty idiot, objected. ¡°What proof do you have! How do we know she hasn¡¯t bewitched you!¡± Before Cole could respond, Barnabas did. ¡°She¡¯s standing in the fucking sunlight, you sheep-fondling moron! When¡¯s the last time you saw a Vampire do that?¡± Cole exchanged a grateful look with Barnabas before elaborating. ¡°The weaknesses put upon Vampires are put there by the Gods as punishment. Chief among them, they burn in the Sun. A Vampire offered mercy by the Gods needs not fear the sun.¡± That got some curious murmurs from the crowd. They had all read the Book of Miracle or had parts of it read to them. What Cole said lined up with conventional wisdom. So pressing the advantage, he said. ¡°This is also why Natalie is forced to leave with me. She is willingly abandoning her home to protect you all.¡± Cole gestured at the Daymen. ¡°This poor wretch and his like would have her become a monster like the Nobles. She could accept their offer, ruling over Glockmire as the sole remaining Vampire. But she won¡¯t because despite what''s been done to her, she¡¯s a good person.¡± Reaching towards his neck, Cole pulled his battered medallion free and held it up. Brilliant silver light shone from it, light powered by his soul and its connection to Master time. ¡°I know this and swear by it as a Paladin of Master Time.¡± Nobody moved as Cole¡¯s declaration. The shock of Natalie¡¯s nature being revealed hadn¡¯t settled, so having another surprise of this magnitude just couldn¡¯t sink in yet. At least for most of the people attending the funeral. For some, it explained much. Nestled between his siblings, little Filip looked up at Cole with pure-hero worship. Slowly, Natalie stepped out from behind Cole, her head low in nervous fear. Softly she said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for lying. I¡­I didn¡¯t want to scare anyone.¡± Matko then stepped forward, breaking the ring that surrounded Natalie, Cole, and Barnabas. He bowed slightly to Cole, unsure of the exact decorum for dealing with a Divine Champion. Internally Cole winced at that. He utterly hated the pomp and circumstance some people associated with his title. Turning to Natalie, the gruff miner spoke seriously, ¡°What I said to you at the Silly Goat still stands. You will always have a place in Glockmire Natalie. I don¡¯t know what place that might be now with your¡­current state. But know our gates are still open to you.¡± With a burst of superhuman speed, Natalie rushed forward and hugged Matko. Surprising both of them in equal parts. Natalie didn¡¯t know what let her move that quickly, and she winced at the surprised grunt that came from Matko. Gingerly releasing Matko, she stepped back towards Cole and said. ¡°Thank you. That means more than I can possibly put into words.¡± Matko just massaged his chest in surprise. Then shrugged and smiled. ¡°You and Paladin Cole got justice for us. That means more than I can put into words.¡± Gently this time, Natalie went over and gave Barnabas one last hug. ¡°Look after Stockings for me,¡± she whispered to him and then broke the embrace. Barnabas idled over to Cole and said gruffly. ¡°I know you two are together now. So normally, I¡¯d threaten to come back and haunt you if you hurt her. But¡­I guess to you, that''s not as much of a threat to you. Still, look after her and prove my worries wrong.¡± The two men shook hands awkwardly for a moment before Natalie took Cole¡¯s free hand and started moving out of the graveyard. The crowd didn¡¯t truly part like she expected. As they passed through, a forest of hands reached out to pat her or Cole¡¯s back or shoulders. A wordless thank you. Despite all that had happened and everything revealed. Everyone in that crowd had lost someone to Petar¡¯s machinations and would have lost more without Cole and Natalie''s intervention. As they passed through the last of the crowd, the truth of that hit Natalie, and she held her head up a little higher. Together the unlikely pair of Paladin of Death and newborn Vampire Queen left Glockmire. The sound of a few final hymns coming from the resumed funeral echoed through the clear Fall air. As they reached the Gate, Natalie looked at Cole and said. ¡°To Vindabon?¡± Cole smiled, squeezed her hand, and replied, ¡°Together.¡± Natalie returned the smile, looked out at the road, and said. ¡°Together¡± Book One Epilogue

Book I Epilogue

Sir Dietrich Freymond of the Scarlet Knights woke up. Which was more than he expected. Cole¡¯s attack had utterly blindsided Dietrich, and he¡¯d feared the worse when its arctic wrath struck. So the warmth of fresh blood in his mouth accompanied by the dull throb of returning consciousness was a pleasant surprise for Dietrich. For the first time in nearly a hundred and fifty years, Dietrich felt like he had a hangover. A steady ache filled his body, and consciousness was not coming smoothly. Slowly he tried to open his eyes and was greeted with blinding light. Shutting his eyes tight against the pain, Dietrich focused on the only pleasant sensation he felt. The feeling of warm blood. Groggy but steadily waking up. Dietrich tried to rasp out a name. ¡°Yaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaa¡± Dietrich recognized the blood''s tastes. Yara, his thrall, was feeding him. It seemed his last servant had survived everything. On top of that, she¡¯d returned to him. A surprising display of loyalty. A voice came to Dietrich, distant and murky but still understandable. ¡°I¡¯m here, Master!¡± The flow of blood sped up slightly, and Dietrich felt his strength start to return. Dully he tried to move his limbs and found them slightly responsive. The bitter cold permating him faded; as every drop of blood brought the Vampire back from the brink. With consciousness returning, Dietrich started to understand exactly how badly he¡¯d been injured. Cole¡¯s attack had frozen him solid. Rupturing every cell in his body in an act of quiet devastation. It would have been childsplay for anyone to smash his frozen body and truly kill him. Yet Cole hadn¡¯t taken that obvious step. Which disquieted Dietrich. What was the Rest-Bringers game? Braving the light again, Dietrich opened his eyes and worked to ignore the pain. His eyes were regrowing all the sensitive tissue required for sight. Giving him only a blurry washed version of his surroundings. The first thing apparent was his location. He lay in the Alukah¡¯s Tomb. He¡¯d been moved slightly from where he fell but not from the Tomb itself. Yara leaned over him, her wrist over his mouth. The thrall looked terrible. She was pale and thinner than he¡¯d last seen her. Which was an accomplishment. Yara had never looked the healthiest, but now she seemed positively wretched. Dietrich hadn¡¯t seen her in this terrible of shape since she first arrived at the Castle. By the standards of the Blood Duchies, Glockmire was a prosperous town. But there were always outliers. The desperate and wretched who would gladly sell an unwanted child to the Castle. Such had been Yara¡¯s father. Giving up his youngest daughter for a handful of coins and a deduction on his taxes. She entered Dietrich''s service soon after and had proved a remarkably devoted servant. Little in her mind needed to be changed upon her acquisition, and Dietrich had kept her as a favored Blood-Slave and thrall for the past five years. Now having survived the calamities that killed her colleague and nearly Dietrich as well. Yara looked more corpse-like than some ghouls Dietrich had seen. Something the Scarlet Knight decided he would need to rectify. She had proven herself a valuable servant and was owed a debt of protection. Looking past Yara, Dietrich saw she was not alone in the chamber. A stern figure clad in blood-red armor stood nearby. Flanked by Eternal Soldiers in unfamiliar livery. It took Dietrich a moment to focus on the newcomer''s face and identify him. Bald, with brutal square features, the man was a Vampire and a fellow Scarlet Knight. In a deep rumbling Noct-Bucuros accent, the new Knight addressed his injured comrade. ¡°You live, Dietrich?¡± Answering with a twitchy nod. Dietrich licked Yara¡¯s wound. Sealing it shut, then speaking. ¡°I do, Ladislaus. How long have I been in torpor?¡± ¡°One month,¡± growled Ladislaus. ¡°It took us some time to establish order here and find you. Now tell me what happened?¡± Wincing slightly as he tried to pull himself up, Dietrich started the unpleasant task of regaling Ladislaus with everything that had happened. The older Knight never changed posture or expression, simply listening and interrupting only to ask for clarification. It took nearly an hour for Dietrich to explain everything and answer all of Ladislaus¡¯s questions. Once they were finished, Ladislaus addressed Yara. ¡°Thrall, move away from your master.¡± Yara sent Dietrich a questioning glance, and he nodded for her to obey. Dietrich had a guess as to what was coming and had no desire to let a valued asset be destroyed for no reason. Yara scuttled away on unsteady feet. Putting a few meters between her and the two Vampires. Stepping close to Dietrich, Ladislaus bent down to face the younger knight and spoke. ¡°You were tasked by our overlord, Archduke Drakovich, to protect Lord Johan Glockmire and by extension, the treasure he kept. You have failed both of these tasks.¡± Dietrich shut his eyes and agreed. ¡°Yes, despite the power and training gifted to me. I failed.¡± Ladislaus rumbled. ¡°Our master stole the blood of a Dark Dragon during the Bloody Centuries. To gain the power needed to restore the Empire. To resurrect its corpse into the Empire of Night. It is our duty to aid him in that sacred task. A duty you failed.¡± Dietrich again agreed. ¡°Yes. I failed my Lord, my Overlord, and myself.¡± For the first time in close to a century, Dietrich held his breath. A now alien sensation that twisted his long-dead organs in painful ways. He ignored the pain; he wouldn¡¯t have to feel it for much longer. Ladislaus placed a strong hand on Dietrich¡¯s neck and kept speaking. ¡°Dietrich Freymond, Battle-Brother of the Scarlet Knights, I castigate you.¡± Dietrich¡¯s eyes flew open in surprise. He had expected to be executed, not castigated. Before he could say anything, an armored gauntlet reached into his mouth and gripped one of his fangs. With a single solid yank, Ladislaus pulled the tooth free. The breath Dietrich had taken was now expelled in a scream of pain. Ladislaus released Dietrich and stepped away from him. Looking down at the fang in his palm. ¡°I will keep this until you prove yourself worthy of its return.. I hope it will not be in my custody long.¡± Dietrich''s shaky fingers found his face and touched the injury. The pain was indescribable. Nowhere on a Vampire''s body was more sensitive than their fangs. It was also one of the only things a Vampire could not regenerate. Only healing from the mutilation if they reacquire their fangs¡­ or steal another''s. With only one fang, Dietrich was marked out as a failure and pariah to his kind. A practical death sentence in the fickle dance of Vampire politics. But more importantly to Dietrich, it was the ultimate sign of dishonor. A punishment reserved for those who failed the Archduke but who were pitied enough to be offered a second chance. Anger bloomed in Dietrich. Not with Ladislaus but with himself. He had failed. And was now condemned as a subject of pity and contempt. Dietrich slowly pulled himself to his feet. Looking at Ladislaus, he asked for a chance at redemption. ¡°How can I earn back my fang? How may I prove myself Brother-Knight?¡± Closing his fist gently over the confiscated fang, Ladislaus looked at his dishonored fellow and answered. ¡°Track down the newborn Alukah and her protector, the Paladin. Return her to Noct-Bucharos with proof of the Paladin¡¯s death.¡± Dietrich took a moment to process that. His frost-addled mind did not fully understand what Ladislaus meant. Then all the pieces fell into place. Cole was not a mere Rest-Bringer. He was a Paladin. A fact that answered all manner of questions for Dietrich. Dietrich brought a frost-bitten fist to his heart. ¡°I swear to do so, at any and all costs.¡± Ladislaus nodded at that and gestured for Dietrich to follow him. On unsteady feet, barely powered by Yara¡¯s blood, Dietrich did as he was commanded. They left the Tomb, with Yara trailing after them, uncertain of her place but not wanting to stray from her Master. After making it through the tunnels and out of the Mine, they entered Glockmire. A pale moon hung overhead the town, and the smell of blood filled the air. Eternal Soldiers patrolled the streets, and a sense of quiet terror covered the town as much as night¡¯s shadow. Following the smell of blood, Dietrich turned to look up at the Castle. His healed eyes quickly picked out the source. Impaled on the myriad spires and lightning rods of the Castle were dozens of Corpses. Ladislaus saw what Dietrich was looking at and explained. ¡°The servants of the Traitors. They will teach a lesson to the mortals and make the transition that much easier. A new Lord is moving into the Castle, and his power base will be shaky for a few years. Reminders of what happens to traitors will be good for the town and its new Masters.¡± This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Dietrich nodded approvingly. This tactic was a long-favored one of the Blood Duchies. ¡°The townsfolk? Has there been any issues from them¡± he asked, wondering if any of them were also up on the Spires. Seeming to guess Dietrich''s train of thought, Ladislaus answered. ¡°They have been cooperative, but just as insurance, the families of the Daymen were also dealt with. Nothing too extreme, just spouses and offspring.¡± Changing focus, Ladislaus said. ¡°Despite your failures, you did prove yourself marginally, Brother. This could have been much worse, and your efforts helped minimize the damage. In recognition of this, you have been given a rite of conscription related to the town. Take whoever and whatever you need to complete your mission.¡± Dietrich gave Yara a glance and then looked down at his ruined suit of armor. ¡°Thank you, sir. That will be useful.¡± With a new suit of plate, his old sword Lex safely in his hands, Dietrich felt better. The blood he¡¯d taken from some of the more rowdy townsfolk over the last few nights had also helped. Healed and requipped, Dietrich prepared to leave Glockmire. He would not be doing so alone. A squad of Eternal Legionnaires, two Horse Ghouls, and Yara would be accompanying him. In less than a week''s time since awakening, Dietrich left Glockmire. Following the vague trail of the Paladin and Alukah. Hellbent on completing his task and regaining his lost honor.
The mountains surrounding Glockmire are home to many caves. Some of which connect into the subterranean labyrinth that stretches through the entire Dragontail Mountain range. Most are little more than small holes carved away by time. In one of those holes lay a skeleton. Something that was also not unusual for the area. What was abnormal wasthe skeleton was intact, and it was moving. A faint twitch at first as magical threads connected silent bones. Threads of magic spun around the skeleton. Making it spasm and thrash. Those threads started to take more physical forms. Congealing into nerves that floated about the skeleton, anchored to its every bone. Soon after, the nerves came other pieces. Withered veins snaked through the air, joining with rapidly growing muscles. Unused organs took shape and were quickly wrapped in pale skin. Bit by bit, the body of a Vampire took shape. Weaved together in a dance of magic and tissue. The process took hours, as even a vampire''s body requires delicacy in its creation. But at long last, the body was finished, ready to hold the soul who¡¯d been guiding this entire process. Blood red eyes flared open as the body met a soul. Pale lips pulled apart in a smile as Adrian Von Riechtor returned to the physical world. Sitting up, Adrian checked his body for any errors and was pleased with his work. Separating his bones from his body had been a tricky feat but one well worth the effort. Otherwise, he¡¯d have truly died when Cole ripped him apart back in the Oubliette. Instead he¡¯d survived as a disembodied soul Adrian spent the last week as a Wraith haunting the Castle and stealing secrets from careless mouths. Preparing to return to his body with every last scrap of useful information. Flexing his arms and strutting around the small cave, Adrian couldn¡¯t help but smile. He had spent years infiltrating Glockmire¡¯s court. All for the purpose of finding that secret treasure of his. A quest with little to show for it. But then another prize fell right into his lap. Adrian¡¯s superiors would be ecstatic to know the Homunculus Knight still lived. They¡¯d given up on that avenue of success years ago. To have it return would be a great boon. Adrian went over to one corner of the cave and picked up the clothes he had left there. The green tunic and Cooper¡¯s cloak were not exactly fashionable by Vampire standards, but Adrian enjoyed working them into his disguises. Speaking of which, it was time to stop thinking of himself as ¡°Adrian.¡± That identity was dead. The Vampire, formerly known as Adrian, picked up an item lying next to the spare clothes. A plain wooden mask carved in the shape of a man¡¯s face. Painted green, the mask depicted an exaggerated face with a curling mustache and pointed goatee. Donning the mask, the Vampire settled back into his true self or the closest he had left. Testing out his newly created vocal cords, he said. ¡°I am Scappino.¡± Scappino¡¯s voice might have been a little higher than he remembered, but that might just be the cave¡¯s acoustics. The fleshcrafting required to create an entirely new body was a complicated thing. There were bound to be some errors, not that Scappino minded that much. He was a spy and escape artist; such minor alterations to his body could come in handy. With his mask and clothes settled, Scappino grabbed the most important item he¡¯d stashed in this nest of his. A cracked hand mirror decorated with the twin masks of comedy and tragedy. Positioning the mirror, so it reflected his masked face, Scappino whispered a name thrice over. ¡°Pantalone, Pantalone, Pantalone. Scappino seeks your wise counsel.¡± The smudged glass of the mirror rippled like a disturbed pond before showing a new face. Like Scappino, the face was masked. Painted red and depicting a wrinkled old man with cruel features, the alien reflection spoke. Its voice coming from the mirror with a metallic distortion ¡°Finally got caught, Scappino? Tis about time yee rolled the dice one too many times eh?¡± Scappino grimaced at the scratchy croak that came to him through the mirror. The tinny distortion did little to change its unpleasantness. ¡°Sort of,¡± replied Scappino ¡°My position here is well and truly compromised. But I have made an interesting discovery, one the whole Troupe will want to know about.¡± Even though the mirror only showed Pantalone''s mask and nothing else, Scappino could tell his colleague was rolling his eyes. ¡°What is it this time? Did our Capitano in Glockmire actually have anything of interest?¡± Scappino shook his head in the negative, knowing the gesture would be translated through the mirror. ¡°Oh, Petar proved to be a true Capitano. He helped our objectives and died spectacularly diverting attention from me.¡± Pantalone grumbled slightly, a sound like rocks rubbing together. ¡°That''s not what I asked Scappino. I doubted that fool would prove much use outside of being a Catspaw. Did you find Glockmire¡¯s treasure?¡± With a theatrical flourish, Scappino nodded vigorously. ¡°Oh yes, it slipped through my fingers, but its identity is exactly what Dottore thought it would be. But that''s actually the less important bit of information I have.¡± Perplexed and losing what little patience he had, Pantalone barked, ¡°It truly was an Alukah? And you let it go free? What could possibly be of more import than that?¡± Scappino¡¯s grin matched that of his mask. ¡°The Homunculus Knight lives. Actually, it does more than live. Isabelle succeeded! It is truly immortal. I ripped its guts out with my own hands, and that didn¡¯t stop the thing from crushing my skull!¡± Pantalone was silent for a long minute as his ancient labyrinthian mind consumed this information. The Homunculus Knight had been one of the Troupe''s more interesting prospects. But with the fall of Isabelle Gens Silva and her creations'' supposed destruction. The Knight had been written off as a fluke or fraud not worth further investigation. Something Scappino and a few other members of the Troupe had contested. Scappino was above rubbing in this revelation to his curmudgeon of a colleague, but he wasn¡¯t above adding salt to an existing wound. ¡°Additonally, It seems the Knight is now a Paladin of Master Time! And he is traveling with the Alukah¡¯s new host!¡± Tense and uncertain, Pantalone slipped into his antiquated accent ¡°How does thy know this?¡± Behind his mask, Scappino smirked. He always liked seeing how jumbled he could make the old bastard''s speech. Pantalone was ancient, and had collected centuries of slang and accents. Melding together whenever he became stressed. ¡°One of my contacts here was a Moroi named Lorena Sartori. She mentioned an encounter with a usual Rest-Bringer who arrived in town. A giant of a man covered in scars who lacked a scent. That piqued my interest, and I spent some time investigating. Some careful words and two particularly stupid Vampires later, I was nearly certain it was him.¡± Scappino sighed then, thinking back to his disappointment when he saw Cole fall facing Petar''s army of Undead. ¡°Then, for a while, I thought I might have been mistaken after the Knight died. But then I learned the truth of it. Our information was not entirely accurate. The Homunculus Knight is immortal, but not like we thought. He can die; he is just resurrected a short time later. I don¡¯t know the mechanism, but this explains why we lost him before.¡± The Troupe had kept a careful eye on the Homunclus Knight back when Countess Isabelle Gens Silva revealed her creation. Her artifical man who knew not death nor time. But their attempts to learn the exact details about the monster had proved useless. Countess Silva met her end before the Troupe could get little more than a physical description about her supposedly immortal creation. After a few more moments of contemplation, Pantalone answered with stoic seriousness. ¡°Pursue the Knight and Alukah. Do not engage but keep them under observation. I will contact Magnifico and the others. Do not let this opportunity slip away, Scappino.¡± With that, the mirror rippled again, and Scappino was looking at his own mask and the cave around him. Folding the mirror up in cloth and setting it in his pack, Scappino checked over his hideout, making sure he wasn¡¯t missing anything. Pleased, Scappino took off his mask and went to the cave entrance. Casually shoving the boulder blocking it aside. Sucking in a breath of clear night air. Scappino smiled and said to himself: ¡°Oh, this is going to be so much fun!¡±
Isabelle Gen Silva smiled for the first time in a very long while. Her white fangs showed as she stood atop a lake of blood, illuminated by an impossibly large moon. Gazing up at that silver disk in the sky, she spun about like a dancer. Reveling in the new possibilities laid before her. For the first time since her second death, Isabelle had hope. Hope that she might escape this purgatory and return to Cole in truth. It had been eleven long years stuck inside her own skull. Half-existing as little more than a ghost kept ¡°alive¡± by Cole¡¯s blood. Her enemies had lopped off her head and burned her body. No Vampire could survive that, but somehow she persisted. Trapped and even more terrified of death than before. But now she had a way to escape this purgatory. She could claim a new body and be born anew. Whirling in her excited dance Isabelle licked her fangs, tasting the drop of blood she¡¯d stolen from Natalie. That drop had whispered secrets and promises to Isabelle she would not go to waste. The budding relationship between Cole and Natalie had at first infuriated Isabelle. Cole was hers, HERS! She was not about to let some tavern wench take him from her. But then, when Natalie had been turned into a Vampire, a whole new set of possibilities had been opened up. Possibilities only made more tempting by Natalie¡¯s accidental inheritance of the Alukah¡¯s power. Stealing another Vampire''s body was not an easy task but far, far easier than stealing a mortal¡¯s. It would take time and effort, but Isabelle could prepare the way. She would claim new flesh and, with its new power. While offering Cole exactly what he wanted. Her darling had fallen in love with another woman. Something a less compassionate lover could never forgive. But Isabelle was happy to forgive his indiscretions and even accommodate them in her own special way¡­ About the HK World

About Dwarves and Trolls (Book I: Epilogue)

Dwarves and Trolls are two very old myths that Tolkien took and codified into fantasy archetypes. These myths come from the Scandinavian Peninsula and have a long interesting story that I have a pet theory about. I think the legends are inspired by people finding Neanderthal bones. Or, if you want to get really crazy, encountering relic populations. (Read Eaters of the Dead by Michael Crighton for more on that idea) The old legends have it that Dwarves and Trolls turn to stone in sunlight and are both associated with being underground. So I''ve taken this idea and run with it in HK. I dunno if or when I''ll ever get to explore the best fantasy race, which is, of course, Dwarfs. So I thought I''d write up a little thing here. In HK, the Dwarves (Dwergaz) are descendants of a population of Neanderthals who, when pressed by Cro-magnon, took a novel solution to survive. They delved deeper into the caves they called home. Journeying into the deeps on command of their God. Eventually, finding an entire subterranean ecosystem. Mushroom forests, crystal caverns, lakes untouched by sun or star, an entire section of the world unknown to the surface. Upon finding this promised land, the Neanderthals did what humans did best. Adapted to their environment and expanded. Growing into a prosperous people who learned the best ways to survive the depths. Exploring the Deeps and facing its myriad challenges. An entire cousin species of Homo Sapien developed in the depths, eventually almost entirely forgetting the surface. Only rediscovering the world beyond the caves roughly 5000 years before HK starts. When a tribe in search of a new home stumbled out of a cave mouth and into the middle of the White Mountains, it took a few more centuries for the slowly expanding surface Dwarfs to even realize there was more to the surface besides the frigid mountain peaks. Eventually, the Dwarfs came into contact with Humans, and the two cousin species found common ground. The secrets of metallurgy were traded for food and knowledge of animal husbandry. Most conflicts are averted by the simple fact no sane Dwarven Clan would want to settle anywhere outside of the mountains. Nowadays, most mountain ranges in Erebu hold at least one Dwarven Hold. Operating as city-states or collections of city-states. Below the surface, there are larger Dwarven kingdoms, but they tend to be fairly insular and see little need to involve themselves with the surface. This has started to change in the last millennium as the Dwarven People have been rocked (heh) by a twofold disaster. The Dwarven Pantheon has gone silent, and remote Holds deep below the surface are being picked off one by one. Something down in the deep is waging war against the Dwergaz, and the Gods have abandoned their people in their time of need. Whatever is down there, the Dwarves are remaining tight-lipped. Refusing to discuss "The Enemy '''' with non-dwarves. As for Trolls, well, the Neanderthals were not the first group to venture into the depths. The Trolls descend from a very, very unfortunate group of Great Apes who got lost down in the depths about a million years ago. The Dwarves claim their gods guided them down into the deeps and helped them adapt to the strange new environment. But in the HK universe, for every benevolent deity, there is a fell equivalent. Something lured those poor Chimps into the deeps and twisted them into something new. To give you some context, Trolls are basically hairless Chimpanzees two meters tall when hunched over. Oh, and they have a healing factor, and most of the positive traits of Simian kind bred out of them. And because we can''t have nice things, they are also being pushed to the surface.

About Werefolk and Werebeasts (Book II: Chapter 5)

Another fantasy classic I wanted to put my own spin on. In the HK universe. Werebeasts are the result of a very nasty curse created by a Fell God hoping to force the Free Peoples to descend into bestial cruelty. This Fell God, The Lord of Gore, is the God of savage cruelty. A patron of those who kill for pleasure and enemy to any who deny their worst instincts. To spread his twisted perspective, he sired Thirteen Dark Spirits, one for each Full Moon of the year. Each took the form of a different predator and was released into the physical world. Here they rampaged for years, slaughtering and terrorizing anyone and anything. Only sparing those who showed sufficient viciousness in face of their attacks. Instead biting these survivors and turning them into the first Werebeasts Many of these Ur-Werebeasts were utter monsters, more animal than person. Who exalted in this new power and its blood-hunger. Each of them spreading the curse to the few survivors of their attacks, causing an epidemic of monsters to move across the world roughly three millennia ago. But this is where things get interesting, more and more Werebeasts were proving to be of strong moral character. People who resisted the curse the best they could. Eventually, attracting the attention of Aunt Huntress, Aunt Seeress, and Mother Earth. The three goddesses took pity on these noble Werebeasts and altered the curse. While they couldn''t remove or destroy it, they could give the Werebeasts a fighting chance. Early Werebeasts were doomed to quickly lose control and devolve into monsters. Later, ones with enough willpower could resist the curse and even master it. Becoming champions of Aunt Huntress and mighty heroes who used the power for good. The children of these "Curse-Tamers" inherited the Curse of Therianthropy to a lesser degree. Displaying animalistic features (abnormal eye colors, fangs, claws, denser musculature, etc.) but not the ability to transform like a true Werecreature until a rather curious incident when a feral-Werewolf attacked one of his children. The child not only survived but killed her maddened father. Being reinfected with the curse had a surprising result. The child could transform one of her arms into that of a Werewolf. Later experimentation with this phenomenon showed that if a Werefolk is infected, they can transform parts of their body in a strange hybrid transformation. With a very small percentage being able to awaken as "Full blooded" Werebeasts. The exact body parts or a number of them a Werefolk will "awaken" upon infection vary dramatically with their ancestry, temperament, and level of infection all playing parts. For example, a Werefolk with a Werebeast for one parent and a Werefolk for another will have a much stronger Awakening with maybe 1/8 of them becoming true Werebeasts. As for their abilities, Werebeasts have all the strengths of their bestial half with the intelligence of their humanoid half. Even a Werebeast gone fully feral will be a dangerous predator capable of long-term planning and other forms of higher-order thought. All Werebeasts suffer from the instincts and aggression of the curse, with many finding novel ways to suppress or master it. This aggression and their strength waxes and wanes with the Moon. During a Full Moon, a Werebeast is at its strongest but also the least in control. Aside from their animal abilities, Werebeasts and, to a lesser extent, Werefolk heal at an accelerated rate. Capable of shrugging off crippling injuries within hours or even minutes under the Full Moon. Silver negates this healing factor, and injuries inflicted with silver heal normally. Wolfsbane is also extremely poisonous to Werecreatures, both Beast and Folk. With a silver blade coated in Wolfsbane, a death sentence to all but the hardiest or luckiest Werecreature.

About Hybrids (Book II: Chapter 9)

The HK World is a diverse place with numerous sapient peoples that intermingle, and when people intermingle, they tend to make new people. Hybrids are not uncommon because of this. With many humans having traces of other species in their ancestry. I say humans, in particular, since an odd biological quirk makes half-human hybrids significantly more viable than other mixes. Whereas non-human hybrids, like, say, a Orc/Dwarf are almost always sterile. A half-human will be able to have offspring with either parent species. But fertility will steadily decrease down the generations if a hybrid has kids with non-humans. Like, a 3/4 Orc will have a harder time having kids, while a 3/4 Human will rarely have issues. Meaning that Humans tend to have traces of other species in their genetic heritage, but the other species don''t. Of course, magic can be used to bypass some of these issues. Certain rites of Mother Earth, Sister Sun, and Brother Moon that might cure infertility could help make a hybrid or legacy hybrid capable of having kids. But that magic can be tricky and will just kick the fertility problem down to the next generation. Werefolk are an oddity since they aren''t technically a distinct sapient species but a cursed/diseased subsection of one. Most Werefolk we encounter in HK are from human stock, but other types do exist. The curse''s hold does weaken over the generations, but the Werefolk practices of reinfecting/inoculating themselves pretty much prevent that from happening. Non-humanoid hybrids do exist thanks to shape-shifting magic. More than a few powerful magical bloodlines trace themselves back to a Dragon who took on a humanoid shape for a few years. Giants are the product of Jotunn interbreeding with Humans, but they are a distinct viable species like most children of the Jotunn. The less that is said about the Children of the Sidhe, the better. While Seraphs and Hellkyn can''t reproduce, they can curse/bless a person so their children will be touched by Divine or Demonic magic. Seraphs rarely do this since it can have dangerous consequences for both the child and themselves. Only taking the gamble in desperate situations. Hellkyn have fewer compunctions and will gladly infect people with their taint if they can. In fact, Succubi/Incubi are an entire breed of Demon who specialize in this. Ripping off pieces of their victim''s souls and infecting them with Demonic corruption. Vampires and other undead are obviously sterile. A particularly insane Vampire might find a way to create offspring the traditional way through magic. But the "child" would be, at best stillborn; at worst, well, you don''t want to know. Cole is sterile, by the way. Isabelle had no desire to learn if any kids he might have would inherit his immortality. She was/is a mad scientist, but not mad enough to risk creating a species of unkillable monsters whose very existence is a crime against the gods.

About Hellspawn and the Black Coral (Book II: Chapter 12)

The idea that evil is a mutagen is nothing new. It''s a very, very old trope from folklore and legends; with Hellspawn being my take on this. Lower lifeforms exposed to Demons rapidly mutate into vicious parodies of themselves. The Shadow Spores are a great example of this. Being common black mold turned into colonies of moving shadows. Poisoning and isolating prey for the Demon. But the life cycle of the Shadow Spores is more than just acting as an environmental hazard. They also break down the Demon''s prey. The Black Coral is a terrible mix of growth medium, digestive system, and excreta. These mutations are not random. Hellspawn are both a bioweapon and infrastructure for the Hells. Turning the indigenous life of whatever world they invade to their purpose. Thankfully Hellspawn are completely nonviable without a Demon''s magical support. Their biology is often nonsensical or too specialized to actually work without magical assistance. Demons can turn pockets of life into Hellspawn, their size, and complexity depending on the Demon''s strength, with a full Demonic infestation creating perverse ecosystems suited for them alone. Once banished/destroyed, the Demon''s hellspawn will usually die off in a matter of days or weeks. Certain Demons are more capable of producing Hellspawn, not relying on "generic" patterns like the ones we saw in the Warrens. A number of monstrous species trace back to these more talented Demons and their creations.

About Greater Undead (Book II: Chapter 19)

We''ve talked a lot about Lesser Undead with Rattlers, Ghouls, and Wraiths. So it''s time to talk about Greater Undead. An Undead is considered Greater if it meets a few criteria.
  1. Unnatural Origin. Rattlers, Ghouls, and Wraiths can occur simply as a side effect of life. Being a magical problem but a ''natural one.'' Greater Undead might be made of bones, flesh, or ectoplasm like their lesser kin, but their origin needs to be related to some external factor. (Wights are reanimated through Necromancy. Not created by a trapped soul or polluted Aether)
  2. Power and Intelligence. Greater Undead are capable of at least some independent thought. While also being potentially dangerous to a trained warrior. (Draugr remember skills they had in life, and the weakest of them are stronger and more durable than any mundane person.)
  3. Independence and Endurance. Greater Undead need to be able to survive their creator and either repair or maintain themselves. (A Vampire can survive its Sire''s death and feed on blood to survive. A Flesh Golem can replace damaged parts if it knows how.)
If an Undead meets those three criteria, they are Greater. But how exactly they came to be can vary. Three broad categories exist, marking the most common origins. Curseborn- Undead created by a Curse. Vampires and Draugr are the two most famous examples of this kind. Curses are wounds in the Aether created by an emotional and magical disturbance of incredible power. Acting like self-perpetuating spells. Curses come in all shapes and sizes, but Curseborn Undead is a fairly common effect of them. Existing as Victims or Agents of the Curse, usually both. A Curse can be broken, destroying the Undead connected to it. But this is generally only feasible on small-scale Curses, not ones influenced or created by Gods. Spellborn- The products of advanced Necromancy. Powerful intentional magic was put into their creation. Resulting in a Monster of meaningful intelligence and ability. Lychs, Wights, and Flesh Golems fall into this category. Most Spellborn are bound to a Necromancer''s will, but they can usually survive the death of their creator. Resulting in very powerful Monsters running rampant until someone or something destroys them. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Hellborn- Demons can possess people. But possessing a Corpses is easier. To survive in the material world, Demons need bodies, and many weaker Demons lack the resources to get a proper one. So instead, they just animate Corpses to act as shells. Hellborn Undead are usually a side-effect of Demonic Corruption. Weak Demons entering the world in the wake of their betters and taking what bodies they can. But sometimes, they are created by Mages without enough sense or better options. Summoning up a Demon and giving it a "cheap body" to use. Technically most Beyonders can possess a Corpse, but Seraphim and Sidhe won''t usually stoop to this method to influence Vardis.

About Monsters (Book II: Chapter 22)

Monsters, as defined in Vardis, are creatures whose origin and nature are connected to magic. In essence, a Monster is anything that could not exist in a world untouched by the Beyond. Undead, Werefolk, and even Cole fall into this category. But when people talk about Monsters in Vardis, they usually refer to Monstrous/Magical Beasts. Animals altered magically, either by intentional spells or Aether-born mutations. Griffins are a great example of this. Griffins did not naturally evolve but are a product of the Aether''s influence. Being a fusion of feline and bird of prey. They also need magic to exist. Without the innate magical influence on their biology, they wouldn''t be able to fly or reproduce. The Aether influences the world, turning ideas and thoughts into reality. For intelligent life, this becomes magic and spells. For animals, it results in mutations. An animal who lives in a place with an active Aether or is exposed to lots of magical energy will sometimes mutate or, more often, have mutant offspring. The nature of these mutations are fairly random but vaguely correlates to a desire of the animal. These are usually pretty simple, like "I wanna be bigger" or "I wish predators couldn''t see me." Griffins and their subspecies are the results of many a poor Feline wishing they could catch prey that flew away. Mutants are not reproductively viable with their original species. But can reproduce with a Mutant with similar or identical mutations. So the conditions for a stable breeding population of Mutants to exist and become a species of Magical Beast is rare but not impossible. Manipulating this process and selectively breeding a new species of Monster is something Magi and the like have done on many an occasion. Sometimes with impressive results like Hippogryphs and Dire Otters. More commonly just resulting in another breed of horror loosed in the world. The Homunculus Knight focuses mainly on the Undead. But I still want to try and make a magical and living world for the story to take place. Mutants and Monsters are part of that, and when Cole and Natalie start traveling again, expect them to run into some strange creatures.

About Dragonslayers (Book II: Chapter 32)

Dragon Slaying is yet another mythological classic I wanted to include in Homunculus Knight. Part of many dragon-slaying stories is the idea of some sort of power being gained by the slayer. Siegfried''s horn-hard skin is a great example of this. To explain Vardis dragon slayers, I need to first explain something about the dragon religion and psychology. To them, power is everything, literally and figuratively. They worship and devote themselves to strength and dominance. To be a dragon is to be a being of power, magical, physical, financial, any and all kinds of power. This idea is so core to them that dragons don''t have gods, but instead, the very idea of power and control is sacred to them. You could even argue dragons are almost spirits of power, given a physical form. Their existence is tied to the metaphysical concept of power in some very interesting ways. This relationship affects the Beyond and creates a pseudo-god based on the Draconic zeitgeist. This brings us back to dragon slaying. Anyone or anything that can kill a dragon must be powerful. If a stronger dragon or a rival power like a Jotun or Sidhe Lord slays them, then that makes sense. What about lesser beings? Creatures that live a handful of years and need the protection of gods to even survive. How could any of them possibly harm a dragon? Well, some do; outliers in strength, guile, or luck manage to pull it off. This causes an issue with the overall worldview of Dragonkind. A paradox that needs to be resolved. The quickest and easiest way is that the Dragon-slayer must, in some way, be a being of power like a Dragon. How else could they manage it? So the Draconic zeitgeist ''corrects'' the error and makes the slayer a being of power. Blessing them with some of the slain dragon''s strength. An act that perfectly illustrates the hubris and strange honor of dragonkind.

About the Aether (Book II: Chapter 39)

As some of you know well, I''m a fan of water metaphors for magic, so let''s continue this pattern. Fae is the term for any lifeform that has a physical body and originates in the Beyond. (Sidhe are in-Vardis term for a type of very nasty Fae the planet has a bad history with and the terms are used interchangeably even though the beings aren''t.) If the Beyond is an ocean or body of water then they are Amphibians, needing liquid water to survive but capable of going on dry land for a time. In this metaphor, the Aether is atmospheric air like humidity, rain, and all that. Magic is basically the effect of this water on land it is required for any magical creature to survive. The amount of ''water'' available also decides how magical stuff can get with a ''humid'' world having plenty of Fae visitors, magical creatures, and phenomena. Centaurs and other similar Fae breeds can survive outside the Beyond for long periods but Magi or other Spellweavers can act as a ''spray bottle'' of sorts providing Magic to help them or other more magically-taxed creatures exist for longer periods. Summoning magic which we haven''t seen much of at all works like this. Our world, as in Earth, in our universe, would be under these rules a dust ball with no liquid water. While Vardis is in an averagely humid part of its universe. Magic is known and used but not ubiquitous like in other worlds. The Final Gates act as more than just a defense against Gods and Demons, but a metaphysical climate control system that keeps the world magical but not drowning in it like worlds that quickly become Fae.

About Shamans and Spirits (Book II: Chapter 43)

Shaman traditions are one of those semi-universal things in human cultures that have fascinated me. Particularly how similar so many various cultures'' practices are. Not the exact details, but some of the broad themes are remarkably alike. I wanted to incorporate this into Vardis with the ''eldest magic'' of shamanism. The basics of HK shamanism is the ability to communicate and make contracts/compacts/deals with spirits. Spirits are Aetheric beings created from the intermingling of environments, stories, and emotions. To illustrate this let me create a hypothetical example. The babbling brook is a clean stream that flows through a forest and provides water to various animals and sapient visitors. Its presence and how creatures interact with it gives it a reflection in the Aether. This is nothing special, just a slight magical imprint on the brook. That imprint would slowly be shaped by the emotions the visitors of the stream might feel. Relief to have good water, relaxation by the stream, calmed by the pleasant sounds, that sort of thing. Slowly but surely, the imprint would start to become something reflecting these emotions; it would become a spirit. Now at this point, the newborn spirit is very undefined and little more than a collection of emotions linked to its origin. But even lacking intelligence or even ego, the spirit would act according to its nature. Let''s say a group of travelers are by the stream, and a toddler falls in. The spirit born of aiding people would react and use its power to deposit the child on the shore unharmed. This is where the story element comes into being. The tiny miracle of the toddler would be ingrained into the minds of the travelers and possibly spread to others they told. They saw something happen and would do what people always do; they would anthropomorphize the stream into a friendly being. Finally, giving the spirit an identity and setting it on the path of growth and development. With a more concrete self, it could be more proactive in fulfilling its existence. Adding to its story and emotional input until something drastically changes its nature or a shaman encounters it. Two hundred years after the incident with the toddler, a small village has formed in the area. The Babbling Brook is an important local landmark where people wash, bathe, and drink. The spirit is considered a friend and ally of the village, a good neighbor, if you will. Now things could go badly; maybe the village expands into a town, and people start taking the stream for granted. Maybe they dam it up or pollute it. Introducing nastier elements to the spirit and slowly turning it into something much more unpleasant. The spirit would start acting to its new nature, becoming a cruel, wretched thing to reflect what has been done to it. This can be fixed, and the spirit healed, as it will more easily return to its original nature than continue being corrupted. But would require the stream to be cared for and a better story to be told about it. No longer a disgusting place filled with refuse and filth but a clean brook where children laugh and play. Or, at any point after the spirit''s true birth, when a story is added to it, the spirit might connect with someone. A sapient with the aetheric senses and personality to commune with and understand the spirit. That is a shaman, a person who has enough magical awareness to feel the Spirit in the aether. While also being able to communicate and form a compact with the spirit. The nature of this compact would radically vary between shamans and spirits. But the basics of it is the spirit would grant some of its abilities to the shaman, while the shaman provides the spirit with something in return. Shamans might stay near the spirit''s origin and work with it. Becoming a caretaker of a region and its various spirits. Or they might leave the origin and bring the spirit (or part of it) with them. This second option is what Kistine does. She and her ancestors have collected abandoned or rogue spirits. Sometimes a spirit''s home becomes corrupted or poisoned, and the damage can''t be undone, so they will elect to leave with a Shaman and fulfill their purpose without the danger of being mutated. Other times a spirit might simply not be able to fulfill its purpose if it stayed put. By letting themselves be bound to an object instead of a location, they can travel with the Shaman and spread their story. The complexities of this magic is incredible, but I hope anyone with knowledge of shamanic traditions or simple mythology will recognize the origin of much of it.

About Devils and Periyans. (Bogatyr and the Bog)

I''ve talked some about Seraphs and Hellkyn, but now I want to discuss another class of Beyonders. Seraphs/Angels are spirits of light and goodness, being either elder cosmic embodiments or younger anointed souls. Demons/Hellkyn, by contrast, are spirits of pain and suffering usually built around a core damned soul. They are fairly static beings that reflect the emotions and experiences they embody, but sometimes things change in very strange ways. Sometimes a Seraph seeking to help the greater good will choose the lesser evil. Sometimes even a damned soul can find redemption even beyond death. Seraphs can fall; it''s a tricky ugly thing that usually comes out of extreme circumstances, but it does happen. When a creature of good and light follows a dark path, they don''t just don''t turn into Demons or lose their wings; no, they become Devils or the Fallen. Devils are spirits of necessary evil, and the idea ''the ends justify the means.'' They aren''t pure malicious, hateful darkness; in fact, they will do anything to stop beings of pure malicious, hateful darkness. Like, let''s say a town is being besieged by a Demonic invasion and chances of relief are scant. A Devil would choose to destroy the town from the inside to deny the Demons pain and souls to feed upon. They would deny the possibility of hope or choice to ensure the enemy does not win. Because of this, the Pantheon has a... complicated relationship with Devils and their hierarchy. Some, like Mother Earth and Uncle Maker, despise them, while others find them... useful. The host of Misbegotten War is almost 50/50 Angels and Devils because of this. While Uncle Trickster may have an organization of Devils working for him that are basically the metaphysical CIA. The easiest and most common way Seraph can fall is if they ignore the consent of mortals. If a Seraph decides they know best and go against what their mortal summoners wish, then that''s a quick ticket to earning bat-wings. This isn''t a defying stupid orders thing; if a Priest calls up an Angel and is being an idiot, then the Angel can leave or, more likely, talk sense into them. Seraphs fall when they abuse their power and do what they think is right without the consent of those they hope to help. This can lead to some tragic situations where a Seraph will choose to fall for pretty legitimate reasons. So, many Devils have understandable grievances with both the Gods and mortal kind. Leading some down very dark paths to ''save mortal kind from itself'' or similar dogmatic things. Others are more ashamed of their fall and will work to earn their wings back, which can be done in certain extreme circumstances. All in all Devils are my attempt to create a more gray zone of Beyonders who better embody the complexity of ethics and power. Where Seraphs almost always fall thanks to external influences, Demons usually rise due to an internal change. Some part of the bubbling mass of pain that comprises a Demon shifts, and something good is introduced into them. Usually, the Demon quashes this ''infection'' quickly but very rarely, the infestation of good spreads and transforms the Demon into a Periyan. (Thank you, Zorastrian Mythology, for finally giving me a name for this concept.) Every Demon is born of a ''theme'' of pain, existing as an embodiment of some form of suffering. Well, what happens when that suffering is relieved or changed into something more? Let''s take our old friend from the tunnels Gaol-gru-Mapa, a Demon born of codependent abusive families, and make him a Periyan. Imagine a horrible fucked up family gets better, something changes, and the dynamic becomes healthier, and maybe even a repentant abuser is forgiven. This adds a theme of repentance, forgiveness, and healing to Gaol, which normally the Demon would quickly excise or pervert by its nature. But maybe the story added to it strikes a chord with the long-buried damned soul that forms the heart of a Demon, and the little bit of good survives to grow and fester. Eventually, the Demon will reach a breaking point where its contradictory existence becomes unstable. At this point, it can either risk damaging itself by ripping out the infested parts of it, or it can try and survive the transformation. Usually, this weakness ends in the Demon''s destruction by its fellows, but sometimes an isolated demon will have its balance fully shifted in favor of good. From the husk of a Demon rises a Periyan, a spirit of redemption. Who seeks to end the pain it was born from and heal all those affected, both victim and perpetrator. Demons are utterly terrified of Periyan''s as they pose an almost existential threat to them. Where Seraphs are about protecting against evil, Peryians are about healing pain. The Risen will actively spread their ''corruption'' of forgiveness, remorse, and redemption to any they can help. Because of this, Peryians are one of the few things that can get Demons to straight up cooperate. All the infernal backstabbing and metaphysical cannibalism will be put on hold while an active Peryian is a threat. To make matters worse for the Risen, they aren''t regarded well by Seraphs, the Pantheon, and most mortals because there is always the possibility a Peryion can ''relapse'' back into being Demon. In fact, some truly devious Demons have managed to exist right along that knife-edge of rising and use it to manipulate people. Letting themselves become something other than pure evil just for the advantages a gray perspective and nature provide. Book II: Chapter 1: Red Dreams Book II: Heart-Stealer

Chapter One: Red Dreams

¡°Every act ripples across the Cosmos. Every act of benevolence strengthens the Light. While every act of malice feeds the Dark. In our own small ways, we help tip the balance in the Beyond. Our lives and even our deaths give to the Beyond, and in turn, the Beyond gives to us. Our Gods and Seraphim are built upon our virtues. While the Fell Gods and Hellkyn gorge themselves on our sins. Our existence is balanced on a terrible knife-head that we control in a tiny but noticeable way. Never forget that truth, and let it guide your actions'''' - Book of Saint Mira 3-13
A field of identical corpses surrounded the God of Death. While they all belonged to the same person, they each showed a unique and terrible death. No one mourned these bodies nor even knew they existed. For, in fact, they didn''t. The field of corpses was little more than a metaphor. A collection of echos, each marking a time when Cole the Deathless proved his epitaph. Souls are strange things. Magical imprints of experiences, beliefs, and traits that connect a living creature to the Beyond. To see a Soul in its entirety is to see who its owner truly is. Something that can be traumatic for both sides of that exchange. Examining a Soul is something only the most capable mortals can hope to do. But it is the bread and butter of the Gods. One God, in particular, had spent countless eternities doing just this. Master Time, the God of Entropy and its myriad facets. Lord of the Halls of Judgment and final arbiter of a Soul¡¯s destiny. Master Time wore one of his countless faces. A mortal perception of his cosmic whole, acting as a buffer between his totality and the soul he now examined. The shape he wore was of an Angler, one he favored when dealing with humanoids. In taking this form, Master Time purposely limited himself. Forcing himself to see through the pinhole mortals call consciousness. A necessary trade-off for subtlety and safety. Having a God brush against your soul without any buffer could be deeply disturbing. Something poor Natalie Striga could attest to. So, where Master Time might be able to see the totality of Cole¡¯s soul, the Angler could only see the field of Corpses he stood upon. On the surface, this was a manifestation of the trauma of Cole¡¯s myriad deaths. But it hid other even fouler secrets that the Angler now searched for. Cole was not the only one disquieted by his most recent resurrection. The God who he served had noticed the abnormality and wanted to investigate. Leading him here, inside of Cole¡¯s soul while he slept. Walking through the field of bodies, the Angler quickly found what he was looking for. Laying atop a small pile of ruined bodies was a disemboweled version of Cole. The Paladin¡¯s most recent death. Leaning down, the Angler placed a hand on the Corpse-Cole¡¯s face. The face cracked under the light touch and disintegrated into ash. Brushing away the layer of soot, the Angler saw what lay beneath. A different face, one painfully familiar to the Angler. It was Petar, the Corpse Feeder and near-usurper of the Alukah. Gently, the Angler brushed away at the Corpse-Cole and uncovered the rest of Petar¡¯s body. It truly was the Feeder or at least a copy of his corpse. Something that did not bode well. Leaving this body, the Angler went over to another and repeated the processes. As he did, the new Corpse-Cole fell apart. Its ashy exterior crumbling away to reveal a twisted mismatch of body parts. Arms, legs, and bits of torso that did not match each other. Only held together by the Cole-shaped shell of ash. Stepping away from the exposed bodies, the Angler looked around at the hundreds of corpses surrounding him. Speaking to himself, the God-in-Disguise said. ¡°Oh, this is not good.¡±
Natalie Striga had spent her entire life in the town of Glockmire. Only leaving it a handful of time and only then journeying a little more than two days ride. Of her two months of undeath, she¡¯d spent most of it out in the frozen wilderness. Learning to hate every last second of it. The weather had turned almost the minute she and Cole left Glockmire. Winter arrived in the Dragontail mountains with its full fury. Catching the Vampire and Paladin out on the road in miserable conditions. The bitter cold didn¡¯t truly bother Natalie anymore. She was a Vampire now. It would take temperatures not seen outside of the Farthest North to hamper her. But what did bother her was the eternal dampness and her own hunger. Without any body heat or real ability to recognize the cold, Natalie¡¯s clothes were constantly moist. Her own movement and the nightly campfires kept her clothes from actually freezing but did little to dry them out. Every snowflake or bit of frost inevitably added to her damp torment. Of course, a living person would have long frozen to death or noticed the problem before it became so bad. With her newly warped senses, Natalie did neither. Instead existing in a moist purgatory. To make matters worse, being up in the day and using her supernatural endurance to match Cole¡¯s pace was rapidly burning through her blood supply. Cole could only feed her with so much, as he needed to keep his wits about him. Leaving Natalie both damp and slightly hungry for nearly two months. Cole had forced them to travel as fast as they could, trying to get as much distance between them and Glockmire before the inevitable hunt started. Leaving little time or energy for anything other than simple survival. The days and nights turned into a quiet monotony of miserable travel and little rest. While Cole was used to this sort of thing, Natalie was starting to crack under the strain. She wasn¡¯t sleeping much, using her Blood Reserve to keep herself awake for days at a time. Fearing the helpless corpse-sleep that came with each dawn and the strange dreams arriving with it. It was after nearly two months of this torment that the two sat around a pitful campfire in silence. Cole was too tired to make conversation, and Natalie was busy trying to keep her frantic mind under control. It had been three days since she last fed, and the Hunger was becoming louder and louder. Its insidious whispers combined with Natalie¡¯s own irritation regarding the situation. Slowly marinating into a petulant grievance aimed at Cole, a grievance that could only be forgiven with enough blood. Trying not to look at her new partner, Natalie stared at the campfire. Using the slight disquiet the flames inspired in the Vampire-part of her to combat the Hunger. They sat like that for a few minutes. Having finished up making camp and now thawing themselves by the fire. Eventually, Cole broke the silence. His words were dry and quiet, coming from a throat now unpracticed with speech. ¡°I need to teach you how to hunt.¡± Natalie looked up at him, a questioning look on her pale face. Cole answered before she could voice her queries. ¡°I think we are close to the border. We should be leaving Roloyo in the next few days. We can slow our pace some and focus on other priorities.¡± That knowledge (ironically) brought new life to Natalie. A long overdue respite would do wonders for her mental health. But still, Cole hadn¡¯t answered her unspoken question. ¡°Hunting, what exactly?¡± she said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. Cole looked at her steadily. ¡°I can tell how bad the Hunger is getting for you.¡± Natalie flinched at that. Vampire instincts and her own shame reeled at Cole¡¯s bluntness. ¡°You need Blood from sources other than me. There is plenty of game in these woods. I know Animal blood is not as¡­filling, but it will help.¡± Natalie cocked her head in surprise; she hadn¡¯t even thought of using animal blood. It was moments like these that made her remember exactly how knowledgeable Cole was about Vampires. He¡¯d spent his entire life close to them, either as an ally or enemy. Pondering this, Natalie changed the topic. ¡°Can you teach me Blood Magic?¡± Natalie knew she had a knack for it, even before becoming a Vampire. And Cole seemed to know little magic outside of the grim art. If he was going to teach her how to hunt, then maybe he could teach her other skills? Cole seemed to think on it for a moment before answering. ¡°I can try, but I don¡¯t know how good of a teacher I will be. I¡¯m not particularly good at Magic, period, and I think Vampire Magic will take more talent to teach than I possess.¡± Biting her cheek in annoyance, Natalie winced slightly. Despite having fangs for two months, she still hadn¡¯t managed to drop that habit. Idly, Cole asked. ¡°Why do you want to learn?¡± Wrinkling her nose in slight annoyance, Natalie answered. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be helpless. I¡¯ve had these powers forced upon me, and I feel like I should at least know enough about them to defend myself.¡± Cole¡¯s question irked something deep in Natalie. Why was he questioning her right to use her power? She was the bloody Alukah now; she should have the right to use its power. A bitter frown found its way onto Natalie¡¯s face, and the conversation petered out. Watching her, Cole could almost see the warring emotions and reactions inside of Natalie. Over the last few weeks, he¡¯d watched a bitter, angry streak develop in her. It worried Cole and left him uncertain of what to do. It could be a simple reaction to so much loss in Natalie or a symptom of something much more sinister. Bitterly Cole had to admit it was probably a mixture of both. Throwing a few more sticks onto the fire, Cole tried a new tactic. ¡°Do you know how its possible for mortals to fight Vampires and win?¡± Natalie looked at him and gave the obvious answer, ¡°Because of the weaknesses placed on the them? Sunlight, Fire, Silver, that stuff.¡± Weaknesses that Natalie had shown an incredible resistance to. Only Silver seemed to effect her like a normal Vampire, with the rest having muted or absent effects. Considering that, Cole replied. ¡°That helps but isn¡¯t the real secret. In truth, the biggest flaw for Vampires is how little most focus on defending themselves. All that aggression and hunger drives them to fight with overwhelming offense. Couple that with their pride, and you get ambush predators who like to toy with their prey. Leaving openings that can be exploited by anyone who knows where to find them.¡± A little annoyed at this conversation topic, Natalie bitingly asked, ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Pointing a gloved finger at her, Cole actually smiled. ¡°You said you wanted to learn in order to defend yourself. Not to kill your enemies or get revenge. But to defend yourself.¡± Getting up from where he sat, Cole came over to where Natalie sat opposite the campfire. Slowly, he put out a hand, which after a moment of hesitation, Natalie took. Looking into her eyes Cole half-whispered. ¡°That''s what is going to be the difference, Natalie. Between you and everyone else who wants the power inside of you. Don¡¯t lose it, I beg of you.¡± Something about the honest sincerity in Cole¡¯s pale blue eyes put a crack in Natalie¡¯s growing spite. Deflating slightly, Natalie leaned against Cole. Letting herself nestle into his larger form. She let out a slightly annoyed huff upon realizing she couldn¡¯t put her head on his shoulder and needed to be content with just leaning on him. Natalie made another noise of annoyance as Cole moved to wrap his arm around her. Her small protest died quickly as his warmth started to reach her. In a voice so small it was almost drowned out by the Campfire, Natalie whispered. ¡°It''s hard, Cole. It''s so jagging hard.¡± His only answer was to pull her closer. Shutting her eyes and letting the bone-deep exhaustion hit her, Natalie continued. ¡°I¡¯m hungry, tired, and feel so angry all the time.¡± With a bit of difficulty, Cole managed to take his glove off with one hand and started running his fingers through Natalie¡¯s snow-damp hair. That seemed to melt through the last bit of Natalie¡¯s anger, and she felt herself fully relax into Cole¡¯s embrace. Letting out a pleased hum at the attention, Natalie asked, ¡°How did you know I like that?¡± At the best of times, Cole was never the best with people. For all his compassion, a lack of tact tended to be his downfall. Exhausted from their trek, and not fully recovered from events in Glockmire, Cole¡¯s facility for some things was diminished. So he answered honestly. ¡°Isabelle used to like it. So I figured you would.¡± Instantly, Natalie went rigid. An iron-spike of jealousy hitting into her core. Pulling away from Cole, Natalie fought the desire to say some truly unkind things. It was a struggle. She¡¯d experienced enough to pull out people¡¯s worst self, not even counting having her soul contaminated with an ancient evil. Wincing at her reaction, Cole tried to find suitable words. He settled on the tried and true ones. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± The bitter part of Natalie that seemed to grow with every day wanted to dismiss the whole thing with ¡°It''s fine¡± and let herself stew in her anger. But the memory of Cole¡¯s warmth and kind words got through to Natalie¡¯s better parts. On some half-baked impulse, Natalie asked. ¡°Why do you love her?¡± A more jaded partner would see her question as a trap. Cole being Cole, just answered honestly. ¡°Lots of reasons, but the one that sticks out to me is her joy.¡± ¡°Her joy?¡± asked Natalie, having not expected that answer at all. ¡°Yes, she was a scholar at heart. She was happiest when she had a project to work on and discoveries to make. I know it sounds silly, but when she would make a breakthrough, she would run from her labs, laughing loud enough to wake the dead, literally in one case. Then she¡¯d track down anyone who would listen and explain what she learned. I know it sounds strange to say, but in those moments, she was more filled with joy and life than you could imagine.¡± Cole¡¯s words made Natalie reassess some things. Predominantly her image of Isabelle. She¡¯d thought of the semi-dead Vampire as a soulless leach who¡¯d created Cole just to abuse and manipulate. While Natalie wasn¡¯t fully ready to discard that idea, she was willing to believe there had been more complexity to the Vampress. They sat in silence, Natalie debating whether to apologize for her reaction or to try and change the subject. Cole did it for her. ¡°I first started having feelings for you when we left for Lungu. Your liveliness and passion struck a chord in me. When I later learned of the great personal strength accompanying that passion, I was infatuated. I¡¯ve seen lots of terrible things in my life, including how tragedy can burn people out. That you¡¯ve resisted that and kept that spark is inspiring.¡± Natalie hung her head, guilt and self-loathing running rampant in her soul. Predatory instincts screaming for her to emotinally distance herself from Cole. To cut this connection and the weakness it created. Instead, Natalie bared her heart. ¡°That spark¡­ do I still have it?¡± a faint tremble accompanied her words. The bare hint of the sobs bearing down on Natalie. With that intimidating strength of his, Cole spun Natalie to face him and put his forehead to hers. Then spoke the truth. ¡°Of course you do. While it might be buried now more than it was in the past, it''s still there. I see flickers of it so often, Natalie. It''s not gone, and I don¡¯t think it could ever be. I think it''s part of who you are.¡± Pulling away from Cole slightly, Natalie looked him in the eyes and softly said. ¡°Thank you.¡± Cole simply smiled ¡°You are welc-mmpph¡± Natalie cut him off with a kiss. Showing off her increasing skills by returning life and warmth to her mouth and lips. They both melted into the kiss. Enjoying their mutual passion. The intensity of it only increased as Natalie ran questing fingers along Cole¡¯s body, and he tentatively returned the gesture. Placing his large hands on her hips and small of her back. Smiling as she kissed him, Natalie was acutely aware they hadn¡¯t ¡°consummated¡± their relationship in the most classical sense. Something she was planning on rectifying. Eventually breaking the kiss, Natalie let her lips trail down to Cole¡¯s neck, ready to continue their descent down along his body. As she kissed his throat, the overpowering instincts of a Vampire slammed into her mind in full force. This close to willing prey, in the perfect situation to feed, the terrible mix of lust and hunger inside her was incredible. With a pained yelp, Natalie pushed herself away from Cole. Launching herself back a good meter. Leaving a surprised Cole lying on the ground, having been knocked over by her retreat. Hugging herself, feeling the warmth drain away, Natalie spoke shakily. ¡°I-I-I want to. I really, really want to. But¡­ I¡¯m afraid. If I lost control and¡­fed while we were together. I don¡¯t know if I could forgive myself.¡± The still stunned Cole answered with all the eloquence expected from a man who¡¯d just been aggressively kissing a beautiful woman. ¡°Uh.. yes, that makes sense.¡± Awkwardly the two adjusted their clothes and settled back into silence. Cole stared off into space and tried not to think about what had just happened. He hadn¡¯t been intimate with someone since Isabelle¡¯s death and was completely shocked by this new experience. Not because he hadn¡¯t enjoyed it, precisely the opposite. The feeling of Natalie¡¯s soft body pressed to his body left a curious phantom sensation. Trying not to focus on it, Cole changed the topic in his usually deft manner. ¡°Let''s get some food and get some rest.¡± Sheepishly, Natalie nodded. She doubted the wisdom of feeding right after what just happened. But her self-control was just about spent; she wasn¡¯t about to object. So they settled into their strange nightly ritual. Cole offered his right arm to Natalie while he ate his dried rations with his free left arm. There was something perverse about this odd pattern, but neither of them commented on it. Cole gnawed on the preserved food he had. Annoyed at the weather for freezing his rations into a single solid food clump. While Natalie drank his blood and felt the cruel hunger slowly ebb. Shortly after, they retired to their tent and prepared to sleep. Vampires don¡¯t so much as sleep as they do ¡°die,¡± becoming little more than a lifeless corpse until the Sun sets. Sleeping during the night was not something a Vampire was supposed to do. So for a time, Natalie had been forced to simply lie awake throughout the night. Distracting herself with wood carving and little else. Noting her distress at this, Cole had offered to help find a way for her to sleep during the day. After a little experimentation, Cole had found a way to force Natalie into corpse-sleep. Lying down in the tent, Natalie let out a useless breath and said. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m ready.¡± Smiling sadly at her, Cole took off his medallion and placed it on her chest, right over her heart. The effect was instantaneous. Natalie dropped into unconsciousness. The sacred relic¡¯s influence shutting her down. Through trial and error, Cole and Natalie learned that a sacred item like the medallion might burn away a normal Vampire''s flesh. For Natalie, it simply shut off whatever part of her body it touched. Knocking her out when placed on her heart. It was just as effective as staking a normal Vampire, and once removed, Natalie could awaken as normal. With her settled, Cole plopped down into his sleeping bag and let out a tired sigh. He was holding together better than Natalie was, but the last two months hadn¡¯t been easy on him either. In part because of the strange dreams that haunted him every night. Dreams he knew were more than unconscious worries. He hadn¡¯t told Natalie about the dreams hoping they would go away, but as he shut his eyes and tried to sleep. Cole knew that hope was probably a foolish one.
Cole felt like he was falling. He felt like he was plummeting through the air at incredible speeds. Shooting his eyes open in surprise, Cole looked around him, trying to get his bearings. His first impression confirmed his initial thoughts. He was definitely falling. The world around him was a whirl of ash clouds and red-tinted sky. As he tumbled through the air, Cole caught sight of a twisted Moon hanging above him. Its light distorted into a reddish hue with hints of silver around its edges. An Eclipsed Moon. In the pale glow of the Moon, Cole saw other things falling with him. Through the ash and shadows, he caught glimpses of shredded bodies and torn limbs. Grimacing, Cole thought to himself. ¡°So far, just like all the other dreams.¡± Awkwardly, he tried to position his body so he could see the ground while he fell. While Cole had fallen off a cliff more than once, he had no knowledge on falling properly. He was no Griffin Knight trained to slow his descent and maneuver through the air if thrown from a mount. Still, Cole managed to change his momentum, so he flipped through the air a little slower. Looking down, Cole saw what lay below him. A strange wasteland of ash awaited him. Dotted by ruined monuments and crumbling towers, it stretched out in every direction. In the distance, Castle spires and Temple cloisters stuck out of the ash. While directly below him was a small pile of crumpled figures. Bodies or bits of bodies spread out over a field. As he watched, Cole saw some of the falling corpses around him hit the ground with puffs of ash. Looking away from that, Cole saw he had gotten close to one of the ruined bodies in the air. He was only a meter or two away and could recognize its face. It was Wilhelm or at least part of him. The Innkeeper''s ruined face stared at him unblinkingly. Stunned, Cole didn¡¯t even realize the ground had come up to meet them. A bone-pulping impact smashed into Cole and knocked him clear out of his dream. Cole lay in the tent, gasping for breath. The wind had been knocked out of him. Frantically sucking down air, Cole sat up and tried to collect his thoughts. The dreams of falling through a sky surrounded by ash and corpses were not new. Hitting the ground in them was. Looking over at the still ¡°sleeping¡± Natalie, Cole winced and lay back down. He really wouldn¡¯t be sharing these dreams with her now. She had enough of her own guilt and loss without him adding to her plate. Shutting his eyes, Cole tried to sleep. Uncertain of what his evolving dreams portend, but doubted it was anything good.
Natalie¡¯s dreams were, for the most part, fairly normal. In her strange corpse-sleep she dreamt of serving drinks at the Silly Goat. Except all the customers were actual Goats, and the food she was serving kept trying to scuttle away on legs made of sawdust. While her teeth also kept falling out whenever she concentrated on anything. In this strange false copy of happier memories, Natalie bustled about. Eventually, realizing she needed to go to the pantry and get something. She couldn¡¯t remember exactly what, but she needed to enter the pantry. Slipping past a small herd of Goats, Natalie entered the pantry and stopped mid-stride. She was standing in the middle of a lake. A lake of blood, with an oversized moon hanging overhead. Turning back to the pantry door, Natalie was startled to see it was missing. Whirling around to see where it was gone, Natalie stopped her little spin when she realized she wasn¡¯t alone. Standing not two meters away was a tall, elegant woman with imperious cheekbones, hawkish features, and a tight smile. The strange woman gilded towards Natalie across the blood lake. Her long skirts leaving a rippling wake in the ichor. Nervously, Natalie took a step back and nearly tripped. The blood lake was strangely slick under her feet. The woman shot out a lightning-quick hand and caught Natalie. Gasping at the cold strength of the stranger''s grip, Natalie regained her balance. Just in time for the woman to drag her closer. Suddenly Natalie was a handspan away from the woman. Their faces almost touching. Startled, Natalie just stood there as the woman checked her over. Natalie had the uncomfortable sensation she was being assessed somehow. After a few seconds, the stranger released her grip but did not stop her unblinking examination. The woman circled around Natalie, observing her with that same hyper-focused interest. Shivering slightly under the intensity, Natalie broke the silence. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Who the Hells are you? And what are you doing in my dream?¡± while she hadn¡¯t been certain earlier. The jarring switch from the Silly Goat to this strange lake was confirmation enough. The stranger¡¯s smile widened, showing pearly fangs that Natalie somehow recognized. It was those fangs that had started this entire story. When Natalie found the skull in Cole¡¯s room. Answering her own question, Natalie said. ¡°You are Isabelle!¡± Isabelle just nodded and gestured nearby. Where a pair of wrought iron chairs emerged from the blood. Well, perhaps emerge was the wrong word; they seemed to be made from the blood. It snaked up and congealed into surprisingly comfortable-looking chairs. In a lilting voice with an accent similar to Cole''s, Isabelle finally spoke. ¡°We have much to discuss. Come sit with me, Natalie.¡± Shrugging her shoulders, Natalie did as she was asked. Sitting into the chair opposite Isabelle and fixing the phantom with a scowl. ¡°How are you doing this?¡± Raising a single perfectly sculpted eyebrow, Isabelle asked, ¡°Entering your dreams? It wasn¡¯t hard with that drop of blood I took from you. But worry not; I can do little more than link my own dream with yours. Creating this little overlap we can talk in.¡± One of Natalie¡¯s fingers tingled slightly at the memory. She¡¯d cut herself on Isabelle¡¯s fangs shortly before her father¡¯s funeral. Realizing that hadn¡¯t been an accident but some ploy by Isabelle, Natalie spat. ¡°What do you want?¡± Isabelle actually laughed. A melodic sound that Natalie knew had been practiced for noble functions. ¡°Oh, I can see why he likes you. You have a fire in you, Natalie.¡± Ignoring Isabelle¡¯s ¡°compliment,¡± Natalie reiterated. ¡°What do you want with me, Isabelle?¡± Smiling with all the haughty confidence you¡¯d expect from a powerful Vampire, Isabelle explained. ¡°I want to teach you, Natalie. You have all these gifts but no one to teach you how to use them. Something I can easily rectify.¡± Narrowing her eyes, Natalie half-snarled ¡°Why would you help me?¡± pointing an accusatory finger at the older Vampire, Natalie cut off the expected retort. ¡°If you even try to say it''s out of the goodness in your heart or some other paper-thin lie. I will huck your skull into the next Well I find.¡± Tired, stressed beyond words, and coping with enough trauma to break a person, Natalie was not taking kindly to her dream being invaded. Dropping any attempt at politeness, Natalie was ready to verbally flay Isabelle at any provocation. Instead of getting angry at Natalie¡¯s threats, Isabelle laughed. An actual laugh this time, not the false-thing of before. Deep rolling laughter that ended with a few undignified snorts. Clutching her mouth and trying to stifle the last few giggles. Isabelle looked at Natalie with genuine mirth. ¡°Oh, you are a fun one. We are going to have so much fun together!¡± collecting herself, Isabelle steepled her fingers and returned to her earlier aristocratic bearing. ¡°No, I won¡¯t insult your intelligence or feed your paranoia through such an overt lie. I intend this to be a mutually beneficial relationship.¡± Crossing her arms and glaring at Isabelle, Natalie asked. ¡°What would you get out of teaching me?¡± Isabelle answered with a thin-lipped smile. ¡°A body eventually. You are an Alukah and have incredible potential in all manner of dark magical arts. Flesh crafting included. Once you get a handle on that ancient power inside of you, creating me a body would be a simple side project.¡± Smile broadening, Isabelle gestured at herself. ¡°Especially if you have the greatest scholars of this age to help you!¡± Natalie didn¡¯t break her guarded posture and resisted the urge to lash out. She had some choice words for this ¡°greatest scholar.¡± But her earlier anger was receding as warry curiosity took its place. Tentatively, Natalie tested the metaphorical waters. ¡°I still don¡¯t see why I should accept your offer. It might take me some time, but I should be able to figure things out. That seems an acceptable cost to ensure you aren¡¯t resurrected.¡± A tiny crack in Isabelle¡¯s demeanor appeared. A moment of seething anger that quickly disappeared beneath aloof airs. Seeing that made Natalie smile slightly. ¡°See, Cole might still love you, but I think that has more to do with your venom and manipulations than anything else. I wonder if you are even capable of loving him in kind? From where I sit, you seem like an ancient monster so proud of her genius that she became obsessed with her own creation. Engaged in a self-absorbed parody of affection without giving a damn about your partner in truth. Now unwilling to let him have his own life even after you jagging died!¡± Building up momentum, Natalie continued pushing. ¡°Even if we disregard everything with Cole. Which is in itself reason enough. I think the world is probably better off without you. While Cole said you were one of the nicer Nobles, I don¡¯t buy that for a second. I¡¯ve seen firsthand what the Nobles are like and how well they can hide that truth. On top of that, whatever Dark Magic you used to create Cole was not developed innocently. I heard as much from a literal God!¡± Finishing her rant, Natalie stared at Isabelle. Neither broke eye contact. Neither needing to blink or breathe. The only sound in the strange moonlit lake was the faint clicking of Isabelle''s teeth rubbing together. Eventually, Isabelle broke first. Shutting her eyes and leaning back into her chair. In a faint, almost wavering voice, Isabelle asked. ¡°There is¡­ an element to truth in what you say. But you also lack the full picture. I will not deny I¡¯ve done things that would merit my demise. I, however, will contest any claim that my feelings for Cole are in any way false!¡± Isabelle¡¯s last words built into almost a shout before dying back down. ¡°You¡¯ve met him and fallen for him. Natalie, you know what Cole is like. That strange empathy of his and the effect it has on people. From the moment of his creation, he had that¡­oddity to him, and no matter what life has thrown at him, it¡¯s not been stamped out. Is it so hard to believe being around him was enough to convince even an old monster to change? I may have created him, Natalie, but he saved me!¡± The tense silence of before was replaced by an uncomfortable twin. This time it was Natalie¡¯s turn to break it. ¡°I¡¯m willing to maybe reassess my opinion, Isabelle. Before I even consider creating you a body, I need to trust you. Which is something you are going to have to earn.¡± The weary sorrow in Isabelle faded as Natalie started speaking the familiar language of transaction. Drawing on years of experience haggling at the market, Natalie set her terms. ¡°Teach me something basic. Something I can use. No strings attached. Do that, and I might consider your offer.¡± To Natalie¡¯s surprise, Isabelle clapped her hand together and smiled. ¡°I accept! This will be so much fun. I haven¡¯t had a proper pupil in close to a century!¡± Getting out of her chair and gliding over towards Natalie, Isabelle continued speaking. An oddly chipper note to her words. ¡°In fact, as an additional gesture of goodwill, I¡¯ll teach you two valuable skills. One practical, one pleasurable!¡± In one smooth motion, Isabelle grabbed Natalie¡¯s hand, pulled her to her feet, and dissolved the two chairs with a flick of her wrist. Isabelle made another gesture, and a strange shaft emerged from the blood-lake a few meters away. Natalie watched as the shaft continued growing, turning into a tall withered tree. With branches snapped away, and its bark burned. It looked like a victim of a forest fire. As the tree settled into being, Isabelle strode over to it and placed a hand on the tree. Turning her head back to face Natalie, she explained. ¡°I take it, you know how to activate your strength and speed?¡± Natalie nodded; she¡¯d learned that much herself. Focus on whatever muscles she wanted to strengthen and pour some of her stored blood into them. Spending the precious ichor to enhance her body in proportion to much blood she¡¯d used. It had been the second trick Natalie had picked up after learning to stay awake in the daytime. ¡°Good,¡± replied Isabelle. ¡°Now, I would like you to punch this tree with all your might.¡± Scoffing at that, Natalie gestured at the tree and remarked. ¡°I¡¯d break my entire arm in the process. I¡¯ve figured out that much by myself.¡± In some of her experimentation, Natalie learned that enhanced strength did not mean enhanced durability. She¡¯d more than once snapped a bone in an ill-advised attempt at using her powers. Even though she could heal from such a wound in minutes, it still hurt like the Hells. Isabelle, for her part, seemed both disappointed and amused. ¡°That''s because you¡¯ve been doing it improperly. Let me demonstrate before I teach you.¡± on that mark, Isabelle backhanded the tree. Slamming her elbow and forearm into the worn wood with incredible force. A loud crack echoed through the dreamscape, and Natalie winced instinctually. But in contrast to her gut reaction, the sound didn¡¯t come from Isabelle¡¯s bones splintering but from the tree shattering. Its trunk torn open like a particularly large if blunt axe had hit it. Standing about a meter farther away from the tree was Isabelle regaining her balance. Meeting Natalie¡¯s eyes, Isabelle explained. ¡°It''s not enough to merely enhance the muscle, bones, and anything else you want to preserve needs to be strengthened as well.¡± raising up her arm, Isabelle showed it was intact¡­mostly. The skin had been shredded. Black blood was regrowing the ruined patches. ¡°The main problem is concentrating on the different bodily systems and balancing the used blood is difficult. So sacrificing less crucial elements can be necessary.¡± Wincing, Natalie looked down at her hands. Clenching them into fists, she took an unneeded breath. ¡°Alright, I can start with that, but what''s the other thing you want to teach me?¡± Isabelle¡¯s serene smile turned almost predatory as she answered. ¡°How to appear mortal, of course!¡± Eyes widening in surprise, Natalie rushed over to where Isabelle stood and frantically asked. ¡°How? I¡¯ve figured out how to make some body parts life-like, but it''s not enough to appear truly human¡± In response, Isabelle closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Natalie watched as Isabelle¡¯s color turned from pure white to tan. Her chest rose and fell with breaths, and her body adopted the thousand tiny twitches and unconscious movements absent in the Undead. Clearing her throat, Isabelle opened incredibly dark brown eyes and smiled. The presence of fangs in that smile dampened Natalie¡¯s excitement. Seeing that, Isabelle closed her lips. ¡°Learning to speak without showing any teeth is another important skill, but I think you can manage that one by yourself. Now restoring your body to false-life is tricky at first, but with practice can become second nature. First channel blood to your heart.¡± Natalie did as requested, but nothing happened. ¡°Make sure you are pouring only a little bit of blood into this. It will make things easier.¡± Natalie obliged Isabelle¡¯s instructions and awaited the next set ¡°Now try putting a little more blood into your heart. Then lower the amount back to the original amount.¡± Haltingly, Natalie did as she was commanded and experienced something she hadn¡¯t felt in two months. Her heartbeat. A single weak thump that echoed through her chest like a physical blow. Isabelle glided over to Natalie and placed a now warm hand on her student¡¯s neck. Uncaring of the subtly intimate touch, Natalie tried again. Feeling like she was squeezing a sponge and releasing it over and over. Rapid unsteady heartbeats came to Natalie, and she felt her body begin to warm. Fast breaths came next, and in her excitement, she lost the rhythm. Losing the little warmth she¡¯d gained. Restarting, Natalie kept practicing. Unconsciously smiling at Isabelle in triumph. Isabelle returned the smile and leaned forward. ¡°You are an interesting one, young Natalie. I look forward to a rewarding relationship with you.¡± Acutely aware of Isabelle¡¯s closeness, Natalie looked away and nodded in response. Up close, she was acutely reminded of how beautiful Isabelle was. A truth enforced by the new life breathed into her. Rapidly retreating from that dangerous line of thought, Natalie turned her focus back to the technique. Forcing her mind to dwell on the processes of forcing life back into the corpse she inhabited. After nearly half an hour of this, only interrupted by Isabelle giving Natalie pointers. The older Vampire stepped away. ¡°You have the basics down well. Let''s spend the remaining time on practical skills.¡± Grimacing, Natalie stopped her effort and looked at the burnt tree. She instinctively knew this wasn¡¯t going to be fun. Natalie had been right in her worries. She¡¯d broken both her arms thrice and pulped her knuckle bones more times than she wanted to count. Throughout this torturous exercise, Isabelle lectured Natalie on the anatomy of the hands. Insisting knowledge of the complicated bone structure would help Natalie better fortify them. Natalie wasn¡¯t sure about that but was willing to listen. Eventually, after a small eternity, Isabelle stopped Natalie''s training. The pale moon overhead was becoming darker like it was obscured by something. Isabelle gestured at it and said. ¡°It''s time for you to return. I can only connect our dreams for so long before it starts to wear on me. When you decide to take up my offer, just feed my skull another drop of your blood.¡± Not if, when she agreed to take up her offer. The confidence rankled Natalie and brought back some of the earlier anger. Before it could grow out of proportion, Isabelle clapped her hands excitedly. ¡°Oh! One thing before you go. I overheard my Darling is taking you hunting tomorrow. If you catch anything, keep its skull. I can use that in your next lessons.¡± Natalie wanted to ask why she needed the skull, but before she could, the Blood-Lake changed. Natalie plunged into it, no longer skimming along its surface but dropping into its depths like a stone. Stunned, Natalie inhaled a lungful of blood and felt the world go black.
Cole held his wrist over Natalie¡¯s mouth and let a few drops of his blood fall into it. The effect was instantaneous. The young Vampire awoke with a start, limbs flailing in sudden surprise. Making a soothing noise, Cole put a hand on Natalie¡¯s arm and helped ground her. Pushing past the surprise of sudden violent consciousness, Natalie looked up at Cole and smiled. A smile that quickly turned into a concerned frown. Partially because her ¡°dreams¡± from the previous night returned in full force. Partially because of how weary Cole looked. Just from his slightly glazed eyes and stooped posture, Natalie knew he hadn¡¯t slept well. ¡°How long have you been up?¡± asked Natalie, suddenly worried he¡¯d stayed awake all night to guard her. He¡¯d done that a few times. When their path took them close to settlements, and each time, Natalie had almost throttled him in frustration upon realizing it. ¡°Not long,¡± replied Cole. ¡°It''s a little after first light. How are you?¡± Natalie opened her mouth to answer but paused. She was about to tell Cole about her nocturnal communion, but some part of her decided against it. ¡°I¡¯m feeling decent. But my dreams were odd.¡± Cole answered with a mirthless chuckle. ¡°So were mine. Sometimes there''s nothing better than to wake up.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± said Natalie halfheartedly. She didn¡¯t know why she wasn¡¯t telling Cole the details of the dream. He had a right to know what Isabelle was up to, right? But some gut feeling told Natalie not to. The only question was, where was that feeling coming from? Was it a legitimate worry about Isabelle manipulating Cole or Natalie¡¯s own jealousy? Bitterly Natalie knew the truth was probably a mix. As she got up and exited the tent, Natalie made a promise to herself. If Isabelle proved herself trustworthy, then she¡¯d tell Cole. Which admittedly was a promise as vague as it was flimsy. Sighing slightly, Natalie went over to the remnants of last night''s fire. Where Cole was breathing new life into its final embers. Natalie took a moment to watch him work. While Cole swore his methods of resurrecting the fire weren¡¯t magical, Natalie wasn¡¯t so sure. He would crouch over the few final embers and, in a minute or two, have it restored to a crackling flame. Stepping away from today''s example, Cole warmed his hands on the rapidly growing fire. No magic was involved in the effort. Just a mixture of wisdom and luck. In his travels, Cole had learned a wide variety of survival skills, either from fellow wanderers or by trial and error. Finding dry bits of tinder even in the winter was a prime example of this. Content with the fire, Cole started his next order of business. He needed to teach Natalie how to hunt. She needed a source of blood that wasn¡¯t him or an innocent. Of course, he doubted any wildlife could be considered guilty of a crime worthy of death. But the loss of a Rabbit¡¯s life weighed less on the soul than a fellow humanoid. As Natalie got to work packing up the tent, Cole went over to some nearby trees and got to work. Using his Axe and knife, he started harvesting strips of bark. He was careful not to take too much from any tree, not wanting to damage the sturdy Pines surrounding them. With the stripes in hand, he went back to Natalie, who¡¯d just finished folding up the small tent. Natalie looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ¡°What are those for?¡± In answer, Cole started twisting one of the strips into a crude bit of rope. Winding it tighter and tighter to form a sturdy string. He handed one of the other strips to Natalie and said, ¡°Snares are useful and easy to make. With strips of bark like this, you can make a simple rope.¡± Shrugging her shoulders, Natalie took the bark strip and started twisting it like Cole had. They sat like that for a few minutes. Cole offering some advice but mainly leaving Natalie to her own devices. Once he was certain Natalie knew what she was doing, Cole grabbed a quick breakfast. They were running low on rations, and Cole hadn¡¯t had any real opportunity to replenish their stock while traveling. So going at a slower pace and teaching Natalie some survival skills would come in handy. Because, well¡­ if he ran out of food, then so would Natalie. Cole hadn¡¯t starved to death before and was not eager to try that particular form of death. After eating and finishing packing up, Cole and Natalie set out. They hadn¡¯t camped far from the road, so returning to the old Imperial highway wasn¡¯t too terrible of a hike. The snow was starting to truly pile up in parts of the forest. But between Cole¡¯s experience and Natalie¡¯s enhanced agility, they made it through alright. The road was still faintly visible beneath a layer of white powder. Some magic or a clever bit of engineering stopped snow from sticking to the Imperial Roads. Where the forest had a solid half-meter of snow at parts, the road held only a fine dusting. Continuing their trip, they headed along the road. Heading west to the edge of the Blood Duchies. They¡¯d soon be entering the Southern Marches. While technically a Holy League province, the Marches were contested territory. With cities and towns across the region changing hands between Mortal and Vampire every decade or so. Few places outside the capital, Harmas were truly safe. The border between the Southern Marches and the Roloyo Duchy was an ever-shifting mess. A mess Cole and Natalie intended to cross in the next few days. So far, they¡¯d been relatively lucky in their flight from Glockmire. They had taken the main road and avoided any fellow travelers. Natalie¡¯s hearing made it fairly easy to do so. Giving them plenty of warning to get off the road and obscure their tracks. This day of travel proved to be similar to most of its predecessors. Only contrasting in the slower pace the two wanderers set. Cole and Natalie spent the time chatting about a thousand different topics. Some important, some mundane. No matter the topic, they both enjoyed being able to actually talk with one another. Their frantic pace over the past two months had left little for conversation. Eventually, as the Sun started its inevitable dip towards the horizon and they broke for camp. Settling into the familiar routine of finding a relatively open clearing and setting up the tent. Cole had at first scoffed at it, viewing the tent as unnecessary weight. But upon Natalie¡¯s insistence, they¡¯d kept the small tarpaulin and wooden stakes. As the weather had turned, Cole had learned to enjoy the simple comfort of having something over his head at night. Once camp was set up, Cole took Natalie deeper into the woods. During their trip, they¡¯d kept their hands busy twisting bark into a surprising amount of string. String Cole now started to put into use. Following his instruction, Natalie started setting up a number of crude snares in the forest around their campsite. Many of them were near-useless in the Winter, but Cole still wanted Natalie to know the different varieties. The one type he had high hopes for was the Squirrel snares. He¡¯d seen a number of nests in the surrounding trees and figured at least one of them would journey to the forest floor in search of their stashed nuts. Returning to camp, Natalie flexed her fingers. As a Vampire, she was immune to the usual soreness you¡¯d expect from such work. But that didn¡¯t stop her from doing the familiar gestures. As Cole got working on the campfire, Natalie leaned against a tree and asked. ¡°Will those snares really work?¡± Cole shrugged as he picked through fallen branches and twigs. Looking for ones dry enough to be usable. ¡°Technically, yes, but I don¡¯t expect more than one or two to catch anything. It''s wintertime, and our scent will be everywhere. Not ideal hunting conditions. If we had more time, I¡¯d try and track some Deer. Still, snares are useful, and being able to make decent rope is even more so.¡± Once the fire was set, Cole moved over to where Natalie was leaning. She slid down the tree, ending up with her knees by her face. Settling into this new posture, she patted a dry spot of ground next to her. Accepting her prompting, Cole sat down next to her. The first bits of the fire¡¯s heat was reaching them, and Natalie leaned against Cole. They sat like that for a little bit. Until Natalie tentatively made a request. ¡°I¡¯ve been practicing with something. I¡¯d like to show you¡­ but I need some blood.¡± Natalie¡¯s words trailed off as her own shame. She hated this, literally leeching off of Cole and his kindness. Cole simply pulled at his clothes, exposing his neck to the cold winter air. Natalie¡¯s eyes widened at that sight. She hadn¡¯t fed from his neck since¡­ since the first time she¡¯d ever fed. There had been an unspoken agreement between them to not bring that incident up or repeat it in any form. ¡°Are you sure?¡± asked Natalie; she shifted uncomfortably in her place, pulling away from Cole slightly. He nodded and plucked his amulet free. The unusual knot tying it around his neck unraveled with the proper tug. ¡°I have this in case you lose control. But I don¡¯t think you will. You haven¡¯t used your venom on me this entire time. From my understanding, that takes self-discipline.¡± Natalie bit her lower lip, her fangs shining in the setting of winter sunlight. She didn¡¯t have the heart to tell Cole why she hadn¡¯t used her venom. While she knew there were multiple types, each with its own unique purpose. Natalie didn¡¯t know which was which. The worry of knocking Cole out with a dose of tranquilizer or messing with his memory had blunted the temptation to use her most dangerous venom. The Sting, as Cole had referred to it, is a potent narcotic, aphrodisiac, and ¡°blood spice.¡± A person dosed with it became pliant, amorous, and easy to magically control. While their blood became far more enjoyable to drink. It was through this sick toxin that Vampires cultivated eager harems of blood-slaves. Humanoids hopelessly addicted to the Sting and utterly subservient to their master. The presence of that temptation had nagged at Natalie ever since Cole explained it to her. The interplay of sex, violence, and control spoke to the twisted Vampire side of her. Giving her Hunger new things to whisper in her weaker moments. Doing everything to ignore those whispers, Natalie decided to accept Cole''s offer. Even if she had no faith in herself anymore, he did. Right now, that might just be enough. Gently, Natalie bit Cole. Letting his blood enter her. Something about the gesture felt right to Natalie. This was how a Vampire was supposed to feed. It spoke to her new instincts, and the blood arriving somehow tasted better. The pleasure arriving with it enhanced to new levels. After not enough time for her liking, Cole gently pushed Natalie away. She complied reluctantly but still licked the wound shut, leaving the puncture marks with a perversion of a kiss. With the new blood in her, Natalie tested out one of Isabelle¡¯s teachings. She¡¯d practiced a little during the day but hadn¡¯t wanted to use too much of her limited blood supply. Now she was ready to try in earnest. Shutting her eyes, Natalie focused on her heart. Doing what Isabelle had taught her to do. Letting the flow of blood rise and fall at a steady drum beat. A drum beat soon matched by her heart. Soon warmth returned to her body. The winter air having all that more bite from the contrast. Keeping the focus on the drum beat, Natalie pulled Cole close and kissed him. Her newly warm lips meeting his. This was subtly different from her crude attempts to animate just her mouth and lips. Now all the minutiae of life filled her body, and with it came a true kiss. Just like the one she¡¯d shared with Cole a lifetime ago in the Silly Goat. As she slowly broke it, Natalie looked to see Cole wide-eyed and smiling. ¡°How did you-?¡± he tried to ask. Natalie cut him off with another kiss. Destroying his chain of thought in the process. Something Natalie had long learned to enjoy doing. Putting the serious and ever-focused holy warrior on the back foot just with her affection was a private joy for Natalie. Maybe not the most mature of enjoyments but an ultimately harmless one. Breaking the second kiss, Natalie explained. ¡°It took some effort, but I can mimic life now.¡± as she spoke, her concentration lapsed, and the new warmth fled her body. Chiding herself, Natalie continued. ¡°I can¡¯t do it for long yet, but I think with practice, I¡¯ll be able to do it without thinking.¡± Cole¡¯s smile turned pensive as he asked. ¡°Did you know your eyes are different now?¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow, ¡°Of course, it wouldn¡¯t be much good if they were still red.¡± Cole cut her off, ¡°No, not what I meant. They are a different shade than¡­before. A much darker brown. Almost as black as your iris, in fact.¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie lifted a hand to her eyes before asking. ¡°You noticed that?¡± The corner of Cole¡¯s mouth quirked up. Stretching some of the scars there. ¡°I¡¯ve spent a lot of time looking into your eyes since we met. I noticed.¡± Now it was Natalie¡¯s turn to be on the back foot. If she¡¯d kept up her false life she would definitely be blushing. Sighing in a strange sort of contentment, Natalie returned to leaning against Cole. Watching the fire and enjoying his company. While Natalie had more than her fair share of romances. No man or woman had managed to make her feel like Cole did. Just something about him made her feel warm and safe. A significant achievement considering she was an animated predatory corpse.
The night came and went without incident. For Natalie, at least. Cole¡¯s dreams hadn¡¯t been pleasant. More of the same, falling through ashen skies surrounded by corpses. Pushing through the disturbing memories, Cole now led Natalie to check their various traps. As he¡¯d suspected, they were all empty. Well, empty except for one. Dangling from a branch was a particularly irate squirrel. The reddish ball of fur was nearly round with winter fat and thrashed in the snare caught around its upper torso. Seeing this, Cole gestured at the creature and said to Natalie. ¡°Alright, it''s up to you now.¡± Looking at the fuzzy animal thrashing in distress, Natalie felt new pangs of guilt run through her. The theoretical idea of killing an animal was very different from confronting the practical. Still, she needed to do this. A dead squirrel was infinitely better than a dead person. Haltingly Natalie stepped toward the squirrel. It seemed to sense her arrival and paused its thrashing. A single beady black eye looked at her. After a moment, some sort of recognition seemed to pass through the squirrel. It thrashed harder and started to make an awful chattering sound. Shutting her eyes, Natalie pushed forward. Reaching the Squirrel in less than a second. Vampire senses and speed guiding her to the Squirrel. Opening her eyes, Natalie reached out and grabbed the rodent. Its chattering stopped, and it looked at her with wild-eyed animal panic. Letting out a deep sigh, Natalie started to undo the snare. She couldn¡¯t do this. The look of fear in the Squirrel¡¯s eye was too much. Its incredibly fast heartbeat pulsed against her palm and added to her melancholy. She couldn¡¯t do this. Then the Squirrel bit her. With speed surprising to even a Vampire, the Squirrel sunk its teeth into Natalie¡¯s finger. Yelping in pain, Natalie followed her instincts. Which for a human might have been to toss the Squirrel as far as she could. As a Vampire, she instead responded in kind. Sinking her fangs into the Squirrel and quickly killed it. The little blood in the rodent entered Natalie. To her surprise, it didn¡¯t taste bad. It just lacked¡­ potency. Like watered-down beer or diluted broth. Gulping down the creature''s meager lifeblood. Natalie dropped its body onto the ground and let out a disgusted groan. The disgust was directed at herself more than the Squirrel. How quickly she¡¯d attacked it startled her. She hadn¡¯t expected her new instincts to hit her so hard or so fast. Natalie had been hungry before this hunt, her experiment last night taking up more of her blood than she expected. Her thirst let The Hunger have more control. Leading to the dead squirrel at her feet. Shutting her eyes again, Natalie reminded herself of an important truth. If she started to starve, she would lose control. At best, she would attack Cole. At worst, someone less likely to survive (or revive.) This was unpleasant, but something she could live with. Drinking another person to death because she lost control? That might just kill her soul. Opening her eyes and turning to Cole, Natalie looked pitiable. Her shoulders dropped in dejection, a bit of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth. Absently licking up the little bit of blood, Natalie said. ¡°I hate being a Vampire.¡± Book II: Chapter 2: Scarlet Snow

Chapter Two: Scarlet Snow

¡°Everyone deserves a second chance, but not a third. And by my reckoning, you lot are begging for a fourth or fifth chance. A chance you never gave those poor people back in Marighold. So I officially reject your pleas for mercy. PULL THE ROPE BOYS!¡±- Marshal Seigfried of Hohenbaden speaking to members of the ¡°Rusted Scythe¡± Bandit Clan before executing them.
Natalie closed her fist around the tiny skull she held in her hand. She¡¯d pulled the soot-blackened thing from the previous night''s campfire and now carried it as a morbid talisman. Telling Cole, she wanted a reminder of her first hunt. He¡¯d seemed a little surprised but hadn¡¯t pushed the topic. The slightly ashen squirrel bones in Natalie¡¯s hand felt incredibly delicate. She could easily crush them to powder and be rid of the temptation. But she didn''t, instead keeping the option open. Grimacing slightly, she turned to her traveling companion and asked, ¡°Do you think we are in the Southern Marches yet?¡± Cole glanced around the snowy fields around them and shrugged. ¡°I think so? The border is constantly shifting, but we should at least be close.¡± For months they¡¯d traveled through forest and foothills. Leaving the Zaubervold Gap and heading west. Skirting the Dragontail mountains and keeping away from the scattered towns and villages. They¡¯d left the mountains behind weeks ago, their rolling peaks disappearing behind the horizon. The forest that had replaced them had also faded away. Turning to wind-swept plains and now what might be snow-covered farm fields. The weather had worsened in the few days since Natalie¡¯s first hunt. With near constant snowfall covering the land in a white blanket. Only disrupted by an occasional copse of Trees and the Imperial road. A thin grey line cutting through indistinct fields, guiding Cole and Natalie onwards. While the snow didn¡¯t ever seem to stop, the wind was surprisingly mild. With only a rare gust sending clouds of loose snow crossing the road in serpentine tendrils. Leaving Cole and Natalie in the muffled silence of winter. The crunch of boots on snow and their conversation the only sound aside from the wind. ¡°Where exactly are we headed to?¡± asked Natalie. ¡°I never got to really map this trip out with Barnabas. So I¡¯m more than a little lost.¡± Cole took a moment to pull up his mental map before answering. ¡°We are going to continue heading west through the Southern Marches. Taking the backroads like we have been until we reach the Alidon River. That''s when things will get a bit riskier. We will need to find a boat willing to take us to Vindabon.¡± Glancing around the snowy environment, Cole appended his plans. ¡°Probably a River Sled, now that I think about it. But after a few more weeks of travel, we should reach Vindabon. I don¡¯t think getting into the city will be that hard. My status as a Paladin is known to the local Temples, and that should smooth over any issues we might have. From there, we will need to get lodging and make further plans. Vindabon is a safe city; we should be able to stay there for a few months if need be.¡± Natalie digested that for a few seconds before asking. ¡°I guess I still have some time to practice. I can sustain the False-Life for a few minutes now, but I¡¯m not anywhere as proficient as I need to be.¡± Shrugging slightly, Cole said. ¡°Vindabon is an¡­eclectic city. While I wouldn¡¯t recommend flaunting your condition, you won¡¯t be marked for death like in most other parts of the Holy League.¡± The matter-the-factness of Cole¡¯s statement made Natalie miss a step. Almost stumbling, she caught herself and felt a whole new set of worries mounting. For some reason, she hadn¡¯t even considered what Cole was suggesting. She¡¯d been so caught up with her status as a fugitive heir in the Blood Duchies. She hadn''t realized how other nations might consider her. Not as a pariah or potential asset but as a monster in need of slaying. Shuddering slightly, Natalie crossed her arms over her stomach. Seeing this, Cole tried to brighten her mood. ¡°You will be safe as long as you travel with me. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time a Vampire has been bound to a Rest-Bringer.¡± A grimace crossed Natalie¡¯s face at that. The slight core of resentment she felt for Cole was not helped by his words. The idea of being bound to someone, even someone she loved, rankled some part of Natalie. Not only had she lost her home, family, and life, but now her autonomy was severely curtailed. Swallowing that bitter truth down her unnaturally dry throat, Natalie stared off down the road. The grey strip of stone seemed to go on forever, a drab line through the cold wilds. Pushing past the bitter taint gnawing on her soul, Natalie put her arm through Cole¡¯s and moved closer to him. The sheer body heat the Homunculus gave off stunned Natalie every time she embraced or touched him. She couldn¡¯t tell how much of it was him and how much of it was her icy Vampire flesh. Either way, the warmth was nice and helped her spirits. Looking to further distract herself, Natalie asked Cole. ¡°Can you tell me a story? Something to keep my mind off the road.¡± Reaching down and squeezing her hand, Cole gently said. ¡°Do you want to talk about what''s bothering you instead?¡± Natalie shook her head in the negative, her cheek rubbing against Cole¡¯s shoulder with the movement. Giving her cold fingers another gentle squeeze, Cole started speaking. ¡°Have you ever heard of a Manei?¡± Again shaking her head no, Natalie asked dryly. ¡°Let me guess. Is it some kind of undead?¡± Cole snorted in amusement. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve become predictable. Yes, a Manei is a type of undead, but this isn¡¯t one of my Paladin stories. I¡¯ve never hunted a Manei and doubt I ever will.¡± That caught Natalie¡¯s attention. Cole had told her all manner of tales involving his duties as a Paladin. Grim stories about hunting the Undead and protecting their prospective victims. Stories that Natalie had found herself enjoying less and less these days. In part because Natalie wondered if she would star in one of those stories eventually. While she¡¯d asked Cole to stop her if she became a true Monster. The dreadful prospect of dying by his blade still hung heavily over her. A firm squeeze of Cole¡¯s hand pulled Natalie from her melancholic worries. He¡¯d felt the sadness radiate off of her. While Natalie had many skills, hiding her emotions was not one of them. Cole had quickly learned to decipher her moods. An impressive feat considering his own social deficiencies. She hadn¡¯t shared what was bothering her, and that worried Cole. The stress of the past two months had withered some of their connections. A small but noticeable bit of distance had grown between them after leaving Glockmire. Natalie¡¯s grief and ever-turbulent emotions had pulled her away from Cole. While his own guilt and exhaustion stopped him from truly trying to close those gaps. Seeing no obvious solution to his worries, Cole started to tell his story. ¡°The first friend I had in this world was a Manei.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow at that and considered commenting but decided not to. Her Undead-Hunting Paladin of Death had already fallen in love with two Vampires. By that standard, Cole¡¯s newest revelation was practically banal. ¡°I suppose I should explain a bit before continuing. Manei are Wraiths, spirits without bodies. Who are willingly bound to a location by a powerful ritual. They tend to be far more sane and sociable than similar types of Wraith. Acting like a ghostly protector or steward for their home. In the Old Empire, it wasn¡¯t uncommon for Noble Estates to have one or two Manei inhabiting them. My friend was an example.¡± ¡°His name was Pavlos of Pleuron, and he¡¯d watched over Thoas Citadel since the reign of Emperor Drusus. As he was so fond of telling me. Pavlos had been Majordomo to the old Noble Family who created the Citadel and ruled. A job he adored in life, and one he refused to surrender in death.¡± Chewing on this information, Natalie asked, ¡°What did you like about him? Why did you consider him a friend?¡± Cole smiled warmly, old memories returning to him in a gentle trickle. ¡°I¡¯ve never met someone so devoted to a cause. The man spent twelve hundred years protecting and caring for those he was entrusted with. Pavlos had found a purpose and flourished in it. A rarity and something I¡¯ve always aspired to.¡± Absently, Natalie noted a pattern. This wasn¡¯t the first time Cole talked about purpose and duty with such reverence. The man seemed to aspire to a level of commitment Natalie found obsessive. Which was perhaps why he¡¯d been entrusted with the mantle of Paladin in the first place. ¡°As for why I considered him a friend?¡± Cole continued. ¡°Well, I guess he was the first person I trusted.¡± Absently itching at one of his scars, Cole grimaced. ¡°I wasn¡¯t born or even grown like a normal person. I came to life as an adult with all the knowledge and awareness you¡¯d expect of an adult. Except without any of the structure or understanding to go with it. It¡¯s a little embarrassing to say, but I spent my first few months of life little more than a feral animal.¡± Shutting his eyes tight, Cole tried to describe his experiences. ¡°In those months, Isabelle was busy trying to fix my jumbled mind, so it fell to Pavlos to keep me company. He did a good job too. Helping me learn what it was to be alive and giving me an anchor through the process.¡± Cole looked down at Natalie and saw the confusion plan on her face. Attempting to better explain, he said: ¡°Imagine you have a book with all its pages torn out and scattered about. That was my mind. Isabelle found the pages and put them in order while Pavlos rebound them. Does that make sense?¡± Nodding slowly, Natalie commented. ¡°I don¡¯t ask much about your creation. To be honest, I sometimes forget you are a¡­ what was the term?¡± ¡°Homunculus,¡± answered Cole. ¡°I¡¯m a Homunculus, an Artificial Person. Created using Flesh-Crafting and other Magic.¡± Cole¡¯s voice was slightly monotone, his face unreadable as he spoke. Frowning slightly, Natalie knew there was something painful under those words. Despite dealing with her own pain, Natalie felt the need to help. Unlinking her hand with his, Natalie stepped in front of the large Homunculus and put her hands on his shoulders. Stopping him mid-stride and forcing him to look into her eyes. ¡°Homunculus, Human, Vampire, it doesn''t matter to me. You are a special person Cole, and despite everything, I¡¯m glad to have met you. Remember that the next time painful memories are stirred up.¡± Natalie smiled up at Cole, and after a moment, he returned the smile. The sight of her helped chase away some of the dreadful recollections unleashed by her innocent question. Cole¡¯s status as a Homunculus had brought him much grief. Torture, mutilation, exsanguination, and devastating loss could all be traced to his unnatural nature. A fact that weighed heavily on Cole. Taking one of her cold hands, Cole kissed Natalie¡¯s palm and said. ¡°Thank you. I feel the same way, Nat.¡± With that little exchange, the two returned to walking down the road. Both knew there was more to be said, but both were also unable to muster the energy or courage to do so. Instead, they settled for the slight balm of mutual kindness. A powerful remedy, but not one capable of truly healing the deep wounds in both their souls. Continuing the earlier conversation with a slight alteration, Cole asked: ¡°Who was your first friend?¡± Natalie smiled as old memories played across her mind. The smile died quickly as the conclusion to those memories also came forward. ¡°Her name was Angela. We became friends when I was five, and she was six. Her Dad was a shepherd and farmer who supplied the Silly Goat. So she would come along sometimes when he dropped off produce. Angela had bright red hair, and I thought it was beautiful. I told her as much, and we quickly became friends.¡± Staring off into the distance, Natalie wistfully continued. ¡°We used to play in the Inn¡¯s backyard. Chasing each other between the clotheslines and the like. As we got older, we drifted apart. I continued schooling, and she left to work with her father. But we still remained friends. In fact I played matchmaker between her and her fiance. Angela was always shy, and I pushed her to make the first move with the boy she liked.¡± Shutting her eyes, Natalie finished sadly. ¡°They were going to get married when she turned eighteen. I think they were really in love, not the silly kid stuff, but the real deal. But Angela died in the plague, and Eugen, her boyfriend, was killed in the Breach.¡± The crunch of feet on light snow was the only sound for a little while before Cole let out a mirthless chuckle. ¡°It seems the more things change, the more things stay the same. I seem to remember the two of us walking along a lonely road sharing harrowing stories on more than one occasion.¡± Memories of Angela and Eugen were replaced in Natalie¡¯s mind by her first real talks with Cole. Which seemed remarkably similar to the current situation. Both of them trying to connect to the other while only managing to dredge up past pains in processes. Natalie could see the bitter humor in the parallel and snorted in amusement. Looking up at Cole with a bleak smile, Natalie remarked. ¡°There is one major difference. Your story of the Undead was the pleasant one. While mine of simple village life was the tragedy.¡± Nodding in agreement, Cole stiffened slightly as an errant thought crossed his mind. ¡°Oh, I just thought of something I¡¯d forgotten to ask you. Why did you put the statue of Stockings in my bag? I found it the first night after I left, and I¡¯ve kept it. But I keep forgetting to mention it.¡± It was Natalie¡¯s turn to stiffen in surprise. Absently she raised a hand up to her covered hair before stopping herself. She couldn¡¯t play with her hairpin like normal. Getting it in her hair without burning herself was difficult enough, let alone playing with it. Absently, Natalie realized she needed to find other ways to fidget. ¡°Ah¡­ that,¡± she said, a mixture of embarrassment and anxiety coloring her voice. ¡°It''s silly, but I didn¡¯t want you to forget me. A year is a long time, and I wanted you to have a reminder of me. I know it''s dumb, but¡­.¡± Natalie stopped when she saw the large smile on Cole¡¯s face. Old scars and burns were stretched in a wide grin Natalie hadn¡¯t ever seen before. Eyes shining, Cole reached out for one of Natalie¡¯s fidgeting hands and commented, ¡°You are incredibly cute when you are embarrassed.¡± Eyes wide with sudden indignation, Natalie spat back, ¡°I am not!¡± With the type of lazy amusement usually seen in cats, Cole replied. ¡°Not cute? I must doubt your words, Ms. Natalie.¡± Grinding her teeth in annoyance, Natalie glared up at him. ¡°When did you suddenly become so clever?¡± Cole just shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know; around the same time, I noticed you are positively adorable when annoyed.¡± Giving him a playful swat, Natalie had to restrain herself from actually growling. The more animalistic tendencies she¡¯d developed with her condition could manifest at the strangest times. ¡°But no, seriously, you have always acted so reserved and abashed. Why the sudden quips and cleverness?¡± she asked. His smile turning fragile, Cole softly said. ¡°I¡¯ve not had anyone I could truly be honest and open with in over a decade. I trust you, Natalie, more than I have anyone in a long time. So I¡¯m letting myself be a little more¡­verbose and passionate than usual.¡± A flash of guilt hit Natalie. She still hadn¡¯t told him about her talk with Isabelle. Cole¡¯s honesty was not being answered in kind. Swallowing her worries, Natalie tried to push her mind back to better things. ¡°So you really think I¡¯m cute?¡± Cole actually took a moment to consider. ¡°Normally, I¡¯d say you are beautiful or stunning. But yes, in some situations, you are indeed very cute.¡± Basking in the compliments, Natalie snuggled up to Cole and latched onto his arm. Even through her layered clothes, Cole became very aware of exactly how soft Natalie was. Seeing his sudden awkwardness, Natalie smiled and remarked. ¡°You are rather lovely yourself, Cole. Those eyes of yours, pale blue, yet gentle and warm. They are very easy to get lost in.¡± Walking slower, enjoying the feeling of each other, the couple exchanged compliments in the strange, silly way of infatuated youths. To an outsider, it might have looked ridiculous, and if either Cole or Natalie stopped to think about it, they would probably share that outsider''s opinion. But for now, both of them just enjoyed being silly with each other. The shameless flirting a balm to tense nerves and a sweetener for jaded hearts. ¡°Oh? So what exactly do you like about my-¡± Natalie¡¯s bold teasing stopped as her sensitive ears caught something. Pulling Cole to a stop, she put her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. Shutting her eyes, Natalie focused on her ears. Feeding a little bit of blood to them to boost her sense of hearing. She¡¯d not experimented with this before but could make some educated guesses about the process. The sound of shifting snow and the creaking of distant trees filled Natalie¡¯s ears. Broken up by the crunch of powder beneath heavy feet. No, not feet, hooves. Natalie could hear the steady rhythm of horses from down the road. Clenching her jaw in concentration, Natalie tried to focus on the hoof beats but found it difficult. Every errant gust sounded like a howling gale; every shift of snow was an avalanche. Still, she managed to scrape together a few nuggets of information. Letting her focus drop, Natalie whispered to Cole. ¡°Horses, maybe a kilometer or two up the road. I don¡¯t know how many, but I doubt it''s more than ten. Should we get off the road?¡± Cole¡¯s hand went to his belt, and the Axe slung there. He glanced around them and at the surrounding fields and ditches. ¡°No, we wouldn¡¯t be able to hide or cover our tracks. It''s better if we stay on the road and try not to arouse suspicion.¡± Nodding, Natalie reached for the short sword slung on her lower back. She hadn¡¯t ever used the thing and wondered if it would be of any help if things came to that. Seeing her worry, Cole gave Natalie a reassuring smile. She tried to return it but realized the sight of her fangs might have the exact opposite effect. Frowning at the sight of Natalie¡¯s fangs, Cole said, ¡°Keep those hidden and don¡¯t make any sudden movements. Mistrust and aggression are cultural tenants here. The Southern Marches have a long bloody history, and even if they don¡¯t guess what we are, they might still react badly.¡± Natalie nodded and trailed slightly behind Cole. Figuring that he might make a better first impression in all his scarred glory. Trying to calm herself, Natalie forced her body to breathe. Setting a steady rhythm that her heart might follow later. Natalie didn¡¯t know how long she could project false-life, but hopefully, she could use it to avoid any suspicion. Cole prepared by nicking his forearm. Letting a little bit of blood flow onto his weapon. Recent experiences had pushed Cole¡¯s skill with blood magic forward a smidgen. He¡¯d learned to ¡°prepare¡± his weapon beforehand. Shedding blood up to an hour before, he wanted to change its shape. The process wasn¡¯t perfect, but it gave Cole a little more adaptability than he¡¯d previously had. Focused on her breathing, Natalie did her best to ignore the sweet smell of blood in the air. Something helped by Cole¡¯ quickly covering his injury. Deadening the smell just enough. It didn¡¯t take long for the riders to come into view. The snow had relented, and soon a black smudge became apparent down the road. The wind kept the riders scent away from Natalie but did little to mask the crunch of hoofs on snow. Squinting at the distant group, Natalie watched them come into focus. Lined up on the road, it was hard to tell, but Natalie was fairly certain five or maybe six riders were coming. She relayed this to Cole, who accepted the information without a word. The sound of hoofs became loud enough for Cole to hear, and more details became apparent to Natalie¡¯s enhanced eyes. There were six riders, each bundled up in heavy clothes. While their mounts were a rag-tag mix. The leader of the small column was astride a hulking War-horse. Yet one member seemed to be riding a skinny Mule. As the distance decreased, the leader of the riders waved at them. A curt gesture that conveyed a desire to speak with them. Cole and Natalie exchanged glances and kept moving forward. While Natalie feared exposure, she wasn¡¯t afraid of being attacked. Her traumatic encounters with myriad Undead had altered her perception of what constitutes an actual threat. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. A cloudbank parted overhead, and the too-bright winter sunlight poured down upon them. Muted gray was replaced with blinding white. Wincing at this, Natalie rubbed her eyes for a few seconds. Recovering slightly, she glanced back at the rapidly nearing riders and cursed. The shine of metal was apparent in the direct sunlight. ¡°Cole, they are wearing armor.¡± she hissed softly to her companion. Cole just nodded in acknowledgment and set his jaw. When Natalie relayed the number of riders, his fears had been confirmed. One or two riders out on the backroads wasn¡¯t too odd, but six? That meant soldiers on patrol or other more worrying groups of armed travelers. The riders increased their pace, trotting up to Cole and Natalie. Who could now see them in truth. They were each clad in a strange mixture of chain-mail, leathers, furs, cloth, and a few rare armor plates. There was no set color scheme nor even anything resembling a pattern to their clothing. Only the fact they were all armed and armored united them. The leader approached Cole and titled the dented kettle-helm he wore so he could properly look at the Paladin. The leader''s face was a work of inspired ugliness. Nose bent from multiple breaks, lips chapped from the cold, eyes sunken and beady, with a few missing teeth. He looked every bit the ruffian and thug Cole had feared. Speaking in a lisping accent Cole vaguely recognized as some kind of Zentlander, the rider addressed him. ¡°I¡¯m Captain Volk of the 9th Hochburg Scouts. You are traveling on Holy League Roads and must pay a toll as commanded by the Lord of these lands, John of Harmas.¡± In response, Cole fished out his amulet and held it up for the ¡°Captain¡¯s¡± inspection. ¡°I am Cole of Atredia, servant of Master Time. I kindly request you let us pass in full haste.¡± Cole knew this ¡°toll¡± was utter horseshit. No lord, even one in a land as chaotic as the Southern Marches, would trust taxation to wandering horsemen. Doing so was asking for embezzlement, corruption, and banditry. But the lie was something a scared peasant might swallow a little easier than outright robbery. Which Cole suspected was the point. By informing these so-called Scouts of his religious affiliation, he hoped to avoid conflict. Even bandits might think twice before trying to rob a Priest or someone they thought was a Priest. Captain Volk didn¡¯t take the offered excuse and pressed the issue. ¡°I¡¯m sorry yer holey-ness,¡± he said with a sneer. ¡°Not every traveler can rely on a God¡¯s protection. Even some that can, might find these roads dangerous. Especially if my squad lacks the funds to properly patrol.¡± As the Captain talked, some of his fellows unsheathed weapons. Mainly sturdy-looking swords and axes. With one large soldier holding a great axe and the mule-rider drawing a bow. Two of them bore shields. Whatever heraldry had decorated those shields had been purposely scratched away. Giving Cole bigger insight into who he was dealing with. Softly, like he was speaking to a spooked animal, Cole addressed the bandits. ¡°I know the fighting here in the Southern Marches can be bloody and near-endless. With incompetent commanders and thuggish officers looking to prove themselves. So it''s one of the few places where a Deserter might earn some sympathy. You could all sell your equipment and horses and go somewhere far from this mess. Create a life for yourselves, and start fresh. There is no need for you all to continue down this path.¡± Natalie struggled to keep her growing smile toothless. ¡®There he is,¡¯ she thought. ¡®There is the Paladin, the divinely chosen hero. Right out of a storybook and standing right before me.¡¯ The compassionate strength radiating from Cole was a beautiful rarity. Natalie knew without a doubt he could fight and kill all six of these bandits. It wouldn¡¯t even be that hard for him. But he instead tried to push them toward a better life. This was a type of strength the foolish dismissed and the wise admired. Volk proved which category he fell into quickly. Unsheathing his own sword, a long cavalry saber. The Captain snarled. ¡°You think you know my story, Priest? Do you think your two-copper sermon is going to change anything? Hand over your fucking valuables.¡± Sighing, Cole reached for his axe and asked with almost tired resignation. ¡°And if I refuse?¡± Volk¡¯s snarl turned into a predatory smile. ¡°Then we take your valuables after we rape your wife while you watch and then torture you to death while she watches. And when that''s done, I¡¯ll add that shiny axe to my belt, and the two of you will decorate the roadside as a warning to any other smart-asses.¡± Cole got very still for a moment before saying. ¡°I don¡¯t like killing. True, I spend my life fighting, but I rarely have to kill. Most of the time, I¡¯m simply¡­ putting things to sleep. Aiding the cycle of life and death. While helping those I can.¡± One of the bandits, a squat fellow with a sword and shield, spoke up. ¡°We told you no more jagging sermons!¡± Pulling his axe free, Cole shifted it to a halberd and stabbed its billhook into Volk¡¯s far side. With a single swift tug, Cole pulled the bandit leader from his saddle and onto the frozen stone below. Volk hadn¡¯t used his stirrups properly and had been easy to dislodge. The impact knocked all air from the bandit¡¯s lungs and sent his world spinning. Volk had just enough focus left to realize a booted foot was about to slam into his chest. If he could have, Volk would have smiled. He¡¯d stolen a breastplate months ago, protecting him from anything like a simple stomp. The crunch of metal and bone filled Volk¡¯s addled mind. To his horror, the boot hadn¡¯t simply bounced off his armor but instead punched through the solid steel. In his last moments, Volk¡¯s world was a thing of confusion and pain. As his chest cavity collapsed, he went into shock, despite whatever cruelties Volk inflicted on others and threatened to inflict on Cole and Natalie. The Paladin did not let the Bandit die slowly. A servant of Master Time ends suffering, no matter how deserved that suffering might be. Gore staining his leg and body, Cole looked at the other bandits and said. ¡°I said I don¡¯t like killing. That doesn''t mean I¡¯m not good at it..¡± He then moved to the next bandit. Cole offered no chance to surrender or counter-attack. These people had chosen their path and refused a Paladin¡¯s mercy. Their deaths would be swift but brutal. Cole didn¡¯t bother to pull this bandit off his horse. He simply drove his halberd¡¯s spike into the axe-man¡¯s side and twisted. Puncturing a lung in the process. Pulling his weapon free, Cole slapped the horse on the side. Sending it galloping away as its simple brain overloaded from fright. Uncaring of the dying man slumped on its back. By now, the four remaining bandits had reacted. Three had dismounted. Being amateurs equestrians but experienced killers. They preferred their chances on the ground. Cole just let out a tired sigh. He¡¯d hoped they would run with their leader''s death. The next bandit, a plain-looking fellow with a sword and shield, charged Cole; the man wore a filthy tabard that flapped with his movement. To Cole¡¯s perception, the man seemed slow and clumsy, his movements exaggerated and uncoordinated. On some level, Cole knew that wasn¡¯t a fair assessment. His standards were rather skewed. He usually fought Undead horrors warranting literal divine intervention, and that was before the recent changes to his body. Changes that had Cole far more worried than he¡¯d even admit to himself. He¡¯d first noticed his enhanced strength back in Castle Glockmire when he recovered his equipment. Easily crushing plate armor with a barehanded blow. During his long trek with Natalie, he¡¯d also learned his endurance, and even speed had increased. Cole had basically force marched for a month and a half through freezing conditions without any real physical issues. Only requiring more food and drink to sustain himself during the effort. Now, as he fought a seasoned veteran without any issue, Cole could no longer ignore how much his body had changed. Cole swung his halberd down, hitting the Bandit¡¯s shield. The Dwarven-forged steel of his weapon bit into the sturdy wooden round shield and caught on its metal underlay. The raw power of the blow pushed the Bandit back. Forcing him to stick his leg out behind him to keep his balance. Exactly what Cole had been expecting. Using his reach advantage, Cole swung one of his own long legs into the Bandit''s forward leg. Catching the Bandit¡¯s knee right on the side in a swift kick. Cartilage cracked, and the Bandit screamed as he collapsed. Pulling his halberd free of the Bandit¡¯s shield, Cole winced and prepared to finish the fight. It occurred to him that his fighting style, specializing in crippling blows, might seem unduly sadistic when used against living foes. Such ruminations could wait for later as Cole pulled back to dodge the massive great-axe heading for him. Another Bandit had moved into the frey, this one a hulking woman with a crude tattoo covering part of her face. She was almost as tall as Cole, and the massive slabs of muscle on her made the Bandit even broader. Wild-eyed, with ashen skin and a bit of an underbite, Cole guessed this Bandit had some Orc blood in her. Not uncommon even in the Western Continent. Orcish nomadic traditions scattered their seed all across the world. The Bandit Cole had knocked down, rolled away, and scrambled to his feet while Cole dodged another axe blow. While he was faster the woman was probably stronger. Every strike roared through the air as oversized muscles drove the axe towards Cole. Shakily, the Bandit who¡¯d barely survived Cole cackled. ¡°That''s right! Fuck him up Helga! Show him what our War-Master can do!¡± Cole¡¯s eyes widened in surprise at that statement. Just in time for him to catch Helga¡¯s war-axe on his Halberd¡¯s haft. The strike sent Cole to one knee, the impact overtaxing even his enhanced body. Twisting his waist, Cole knocked the axe away and rolled back, getting to his feet, halberd tip pointing at Helga. The axe-woman had a cruel look in her eyes, a bully eyeing up a potential victim. While Cole doubted this Helga was an actual War-Master, he could believe she was an Axe-Adept. Which made things somewhat more complicated. While Mage¡¯s could be divided into the categories of Magi, Shaman, Priest, Cultivator, Contractor, and Savant. They are not the only type of being who used magic. The Aether reflects the Material and connects it to the Beyond. With actions and events causing a resonance between the different facets of existence. While naturally occuring Undead, dimensional rifts, and ritual magic are some of the flashier examples of this. Other more subtle examples are almost commonplace. Like people who spend an incredible amount of time on a particular skill. Practicing and perfecting a talent to the point the Aether itself reflects this. Enhancing the skill to a supernatural degree. A swordsman''s blade might cut what its edge alone wouldn¡¯t. A painter''s brush will be as precise as the painter desires. Or a smith might find steel unusually pliant under their ministrations. Of course, many people use this boon unconsciously and never realize what they are doing. Those that do understand are called Paragons; people can channel this instinctual magical connection in surprising ways. Classified by their specialization and skill, Paragons could be found in all walks of life, but the majority of them are Warriors. A sad truth that reflected poorly on the World. Cole was a skilled Halberd user, but he was no Halberd Paragon; he had no training or insight into how to use the ¡°flow.¡± What Paragons call the magical blessing they are imbued with. Even with his now truly superhuman physical capabilities, Cole might not win a straight duel with this Helga. So Cole didn¡¯t fight a straight duel. With the space he¡¯d gained, Cole had the time to reopen the cut on his forearm from earlier and let a little bit of blood drip down to his fingers. Muttering a spell he¡¯d been working on, Cole swatted his arm in front of him. Droplets of blood sprayed out from his fingers and connected in the air. Forming a crude scarlet net. The blood-net caught itself on the advancing Helga¡¯s legs and made her stumble. Cole charged forward and swung his halberd into her right side, ready to take her arm off. Tearing through the net, Helga regained her balance and folded her arm to block the halberd. A foolish move meant to block unarmed strikes, not sharpened steel. The weapon¡¯s killing edge tore through Helga¡¯s chain and leathers, sinking into the meat of her arm but going no further. By some Paragon processes Cole didn¡¯t understand, Helga had strengthened her bones into something stronger than steel. Grimacing in pain, Helga spoke in a deep Eastern Marches accent. ¡°Good trick, but not enough.¡± with her uninjured arm, she swung her great-axe at Cole. Cole had just enough time to bring his bleeding hand up to bear. After his repeated failures at Castle Glockmire, Cole had been forced to expand his arsenal. Developing a few new spells and techniques to compliment his growing strength. Including a little trick inspired by his fight with the Varcolac. The blood covering Cole¡¯s hand pooled together and covered his palm in a black mirror. The great-axe struck his palm and the hardened blood shattered on impact, and Cole¡¯s arm instantly went numb from the impact. Both Cole and Helga stared in surprise at what had happened. Cole had caught a battle axe in his bare hand, or at least that''s what it looked like. Under his breath, Cole exclaimed. ¡°It worked!¡± Knocking the great-axe aside, Cole pulled his halberd free and spun away from Helga, coming in a full rotation to bring the halberd to her opposite side. The risky spin gave Helga time to bring her axe up into a guard. It did her little good. Cole¡¯s weapon splintered the axe¡¯s haft and continued onward to cut a long red line across Helga¡¯s torso. Not a killing blow, but the strike had done plenty in destroying her axe. Just then, the other bandits made their move. An arrow whizzed a handspan from Cole¡¯s face, and the two other dismounted Bandits attacked. The first one to dismount and attack came from the back, while the other, a wiry fellow with a longsword, came from the side. A beautiful pincer maneuver that should have skewered Cole. But one he saw coming thanks to his spin. Cole lurched sideways, shoulder-tackling the longsword wielder, catching the Bandit with his sword up in a chop. The weight of Cole¡¯s body knocked the man back and gave him time to whip his halberd¡¯s haft back and catch the first attacker in the face. The clubbing blow let out a sickening crunch, and Cole dismissed the bandit as dead or unconscious. With both attackers dealt with, or at least delayed, Cole returned his attention to Helga. To her credit, the large Axe-Adept had recovered quickly. Dropping her ruined axe and instead wielding an oversized dagger. Helga rushed Cole when she realized his attention was back on her. Coming in low, attempting to put her full momentum behind her weapon. Cole faced her charge with one of his own. Cole swept out with his halberd and watched Helga duck underneath it, coming up inside his guard. Where she met Cole¡¯s free hand as his fist slammed into her face. Cole winced in pain as his blow hit home. While her nose shattered without issue, her skull felt like punching a boulder. The strike was still enough to send Helga reeling and let Cole move in for the kill. Bringing his halberd back around, Cole Gripped it with both hands and swung for Helga¡¯s neck. A fountain of blood escaped the dying woman''s throat as she toppled down. Her enhanced bones prevented a clean decapitation but did little to stop her throat from being slit. Another arrow flew towards Cole, this one was luckier, catching him in the chest. Luckily it struck bone and didn¡¯t sink in too deep. Knocked a step back by the arrow, Cole glared at the mule-rider. Who was drawing back his bow for another shot. Gripping the arrow lodged in his chest, Cole pulled it free and whispered another spell. He¡¯d used blood darts as an improvised ranged weapon, but hadn¡¯t ever considered combining them with an actual projectile. The results were impressive as the arrow-turned blood javelin struck home. Hitting the archer square in the chest and knocking him from his mount. The mule, for its part, seemed markedly unconcerned by events. ¡°Drop your jagging weapon!¡± screamed a nasal voice. Cole spun around to find the two remaining bandits regrouped behind him. The first one hadn¡¯t been knocked out but had his nose broken. A small stream of blood poured down his face and onto the robed figure he held to him. Cole¡¯s eyes widened in horror as he realized what he was seeing. The Bandit had Natalie pressed to him, his sword to her throat. But that wasn¡¯t what made Cole¡¯s blood run cold. The steady stream of blood flowing from the bandit onto Natalie did. ¡°Back away from her!¡± shouted Cole, his halberd raised. ¡°I¡¯m begging you, step away from her.¡± the Bandit just sneered and pushed his sword closer to Natalie¡¯s throat. The slight shift moved Natalie¡¯s cloak enough for Cole to see her eyes. Wild terror and ravenous hunger shone in those red orbs. Cole could actually see the war going on in Natalie¡¯s mind, and he could see the human part of her losing. Unconsciously, Cole took a step toward Natalie, his mind racing for a solution. The Bandit saw Cole¡¯s movement and let his sword scrape along Natalie¡¯s throat. Enough to draw a little bit of blood if Natalie was alive; enough to trigger her instincts now that she was dead. Moving faster than even Cole could follow, Natalie lunged for the bandit¡¯s throat. Serpentine fangs struck and pumped the Bandit full of venom. Cole could only watch as a silent scream died on the Bandit¡¯s lips as the paralytic compound did its work. The other bandit let out a surprised yelp and charged Natalie. The motion was enough to pull the young Vampire from her meal. Spinning on the second Bandit, Natalie leaped onto him. Fangs bared and eyes filled with blood lust. Cole rushed forward but wasn¡¯t fast enough. Natalie tore the second bandit¡¯s throat out with a vicious yank and rode his collapsing body to the ground, drinking his life-blood. Pulling his amulet free, Cole roared. ¡°STOP!¡± Cold silver light erupted from the amulet, and Natalie flinched away from it. The Vampire turned on Cole and let out a furious hiss. Cole dropped his halberd and tackled Natalie. Clutching the amulet to her in a furious bear-hug. Natalie screamed when the amulet touched her, a sound that broke Cole¡¯s heart. But he didn¡¯t relent, he wrestled the Vampire so her fangs couldn¡¯t reach him, and her thrashing limbs were restrained. Keeping the amulet pressed to her, Cole held Natalie tight. His own enhanced strength warring against Natalie¡¯s own. Denying her leverage and keeping the amulet in place, Cole wrapped around his lover in a twisted parody of an embrace. Natalie¡¯s screams turned to hissing cries and eventually to angry wails. Before slowly dying down to sobs and finally low weeping. Throughout the whole ordeal, Cole kept her contained, only removing the amulet when she stopped struggling. Listening to Natalie¡¯s sobs, Cole just held her close. Cradling the fading monster and returning woman to his chest. Gently rocking them both and trying to hum a tuneless song, Cole did all he could. While they sat in the scarlet-stained snow.
Cole didn¡¯t know how long they sat there, only noticing the snowfall had started again. Covering the massacre in a thin white pall. The horses had run. Without riders to soothe them, the death and destruction proved too much. Leaving Cole alone except for the shaking figure he¡¯d wrapped in his cloak. Natalie hadn¡¯t said a word, ignoring Cole¡¯s questions and just oscillating between sobs and silence. Morbidly, Cole glanced over at the two bodies nearby. She¡¯d torn the throat out of one and pumped the other full of paralytics after ripping open his jugular. They¡¯d both died badly, but thankfully Natalie hadn¡¯t been feeding when it happened. For a Vampire, drinking a person to death was an addictive rush. Consuming a piece of the victim''s soul and increasing the Vampires'' own power. It was bad enough that Natalie had killed him once. But apparently, his deaths were ¡°watered down¡± compared to the real deal, at least according to his former jailers. Resisting a pained shudder at that thought, Cole squeezed Natalie closer. Fighting her had been bad. Seeing the monster take over and forcing him to hurt her in order to save them both. Cole had seen many horrors and experienced more nightmares than he¡¯d wish on anyone. But violently subduing a loved one was a new variety of pain for him. Cole¡¯s distress bled more into his actions than he expected as Natalie made a pained noise at his embrace. Loosening his hug, Cole murmured an apology. Surprisingly, Natalie answered. In a small voice, she rasped. ¡°It''s okay. I¡¯m okay; everything will be okay.¡± Natalie unfolded herself from Cole¡¯s lap and pushed away his cloak. A mixture of dried blood and dried tears stained her face. Coupled with her soul-crushed expression, she looked every bit the tortured Vampire. Letting out a deep sigh, Cole grimaced and asked. ¡°Can I help you in any way, Natalie?¡± Shaking her head in response, Natalie just slumped against him. Her head nestled next to his heart. After a moment, Natalie finally started to speak. ¡°I understand they weren¡¯t good people. They were bandits, deserters, thieves, and probably rapists. Not the type of person to shed tears over. I know it was self-defense; he had a sword to my throat. I did what I had to do. It''s just¡­.¡± Gently Cole answered. ¡°They were still people, and no matter what they¡¯d done, that hadn¡¯t changed.¡± Natalie vigorously shook her head in the negative. ¡°No! It''s¡­ it, Jag! It¡¯s because I didn¡¯t get a choice. The moment he cut me, I just lost control. The Hunger just took over, and I had no say in what happened. If it had been me, I could justify it. I could say it was self-defense and move on. But it wasn¡¯t me! It was the jagging monster I¡¯m becoming!¡± Cole tried to think of something to say, but everything he considered sounded trite or condescending. So he just settled for silence and let Natalie speak. ¡°That¡¯s what¡¯s breaking me! I¡¯m losing my choices; I¡¯m losing myself. Jag, it''s breaking me, Cole, and I don¡¯t know what to do!¡± Seeing no good options, Cole shrugged and said. ¡°Help me deal with the bodies.¡± Slowly moving Natalie off his lap, Cole got up and looked down at the bewildered Vampire. ¡°What?¡± asked Natalie, confusion evident on her face. Gripping her hand and pulling Natalie to her feet, Cole explained. ¡°You didn¡¯t get any choice in killing those bandits. But you get a choice in how to treat them after death. Your curse stole a choice from you, so steal one back. Help me do the right thing and do the opposite of what a true Monster would.¡± Uncertainly, Natalie stood there in the falling snow. Watching Cole grab his dropped halberd and go over to one of the bodies. Fishing his spark-stone from his pocket, Cole used its flames to clear a spot of ground next to the road. Blood-enhanced flames carved a muddy circle in the snow-covered fields. With that set, Cole dragged the body of Natalie¡¯s first victim to the circle¡¯s center. His enhanced strength turned a difficult labor into just a bothersome one. Turning back to the road, Cole smiled as he saw Natalie dragging her second victim towards him. Natalie answered the smile with a nauseated expression but finished the task. Eventually, they gathered up all six bodies. Even taking the time to track down the bandit Cole hadn¡¯t knocked off his horse. The horse in question had bucked its dying rider off maybe a hundred meters down the road. Forcing Cole to hoist that corpse onto his shoulder and heft it back. The six bandits now lay in a row on the muddy ground. The duo admired their handiwork for a moment before Cole stooped over the bodies and started checking their pockets. A stunned Natalie asked. ¡°What in the Hells are you doing?¡± Cole looked up at her and shrugged. ¡°They aren¡¯t using their coin. Other people can, maybe even some of the people they robbed.¡± Mortified, Natalie asked. ¡°You are grave robbing! You are a Paladin of Master Time, and you are grave robbing!¡± Giving her a peculiar look, Cole went back to his task. ¡°I¡¯m not taking mementos or grave goods. Just their coin.¡± Still stunned, Natalie didn¡¯t say anything more and just watched Cole finish up. The Homunculus had a small pile of silver and copper in his hand. Depositing them in his pack, Cole pulled out his bottle of Pyre Wine and sprinkled a few drops over each body. With the bodies so fresh, the Pyre Wine wouldn¡¯t be as effective as normal, but it would still be sufficient. Flames shot from Cole¡¯s spark stone and ignited the bodies. Cole and Natalie watched as the flames consumed the corpses. The Pyre Wine covered the bodies in orange flames and filled the air with grape-smelling smoke. An alchemical property of the substance covering up the smell of burning flesh and giving the concoction its name. Looking at the flames and smoke, Cole bowed his head. ¡°Forgive me for the pain I caused you and beg forgiveness for those you wronged in life. Ignore the whispers of Hellkyn and pass through Master Time¡¯s Halls without incident. Bear your sins well and do better in your next life.¡± Turning away from the bodies, Cole scratched at his chin and absently muttered. ¡°I wonder if we can find the horses? They might have supplies in their saddlebags.¡± Natalie, for her part, was still stunned. The weirdly callous way Cole had dealt with the whole situation was enough to distract her thoroughly. ¡°That''s it? You aren¡¯t going to say more?¡± she asked. ¡°You sang a Saint-Speech hymn when you burned the Vryko-Ghouls.¡± Cole glanced back at the burning bodies and remarked. ¡°The Vryko-Ghouls were innocent, or at least more so than those six. They deserved all the respect and compassion I could muster. These bandits¡­ did not.¡± Hard-faced, Cole frowned and elaborated. ¡°Everyone is entitled to a quick death and last rites. Anything else I might spare for another, those bandits had long given up any claim to. I don¡¯t know how many people they¡¯d hurt, but I doubt it was few. They also hurt you and threatened to do worse. As far as I¡¯m concerned, becoming an ashen stain in a nameless field is an appropriate end for them.¡± While he hid it, Natalie heard the undertone of anger in Cole¡¯s words. In everything that had happened, she¡¯d almost forgotten the bandit leaders'' foul threats. Cole, it seemed, had not. The rage he felt in Natalie¡¯s name was darkly flattering. Both Natalie¡¯s Human and Vampire sides appreciated it. Deciding to drop the topic, for now, Natalie followed after Cole as they hit the road. Adjusting her bag, Natalie felt a strange shape press against her hand from inside the leather sack. The squirrel skull. Feeling it, Natalie was struck with a sudden thought. ¡°Cole, did Isabelle ever have issues losing control?¡± Surprised, Cole took a moment to think. ¡°No, she was more than a few centuries old by the time I was created. Vampires of that age develop remarkable control. They don¡¯t react like young ones do,¡± pausing for a second, he continued. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me how they do it. I¡¯ve no real idea, but if I had to guess, it¡¯s some sort of mental technique or the result of experience.¡± Accepting his answer, Natalie fished the squirrel skull free from her pack and held it in her palm. A technique or experience? After today''s horrors, Natalie realized she might just have to ask Isabelle. Book II: Chapter 3: Crimson Flames

Chapter 3: Crimson Flames

¡°Do not make peace with Evil; destroy it. Destroy it before it takes everything and everything. When the Hellkyn and their thralls come with honeyed words and silken overtures, greet them with Fire and Iron! Only through strength of mind and strength of body can we find peace. Never forget and never forgive those who¡¯d compromise with the Darkness.¡± Collected Speeches of The Accuser. (Dated the Fourteenth of Stormthaw, 472 Fourth Epoch.)
: Thirty Five Years ago : Countess Isabelle Gens Silva, ruler of Pleuron, Lady of the Thoas Citadel, Master Alchemist, and renowned magical Scholar, stared down at a burning village. The crackle of flames and screams of frightened peasants filled the night. Something that would not do. These mortals were under Isabelle¡¯s protection, their lives only hers to spend. Not to be stolen by the scurvy-addled Corsairs raiding the town. Isabelle had gotten word of the attack and quickly rushed to the fishing hamlet. It was one of the myriad similar settlements in her territory. A cluster of houses made from local stone and wood squatting in a natural harbor. Protected by a cliff, steep hills, and the sea. The Vampress hadn¡¯t even bothered to learn the village¡¯s name. Just Hearing of the attack upon waking and rushing to its defense. She arrived just in time to witness the southern pirates begin covering their tracks. The bastards had set the village on fire, driving the few peasants they hadn¡¯t captured towards the shore. Where they found chains and the lash waiting for them. With her enhanced eyesight, Isabelle could see the Corsairs gathering up their booty on the beach. Huddled groups of villagers were being shoved into rowboats. A large leather-skinned man loading crates of produce and valuables into an already packed dingy. Two brutish-looking Corsairs dragging a young woman away from her family and towards the nearby shadows. The Vampress had seen enough; she would save her people and make sure these Corsairs enjoyed the bitter fruits of their labor. Standing on a cliff overlooking the village. Isabelle raised one of her hands high and made a gesture. A head-sized sphere of blue flame erupted from her fingertips and sailed through the air. It traveled in a great arc before landing in the sea. Hitting the water between the beach and the Corsair¡¯s moored Galley. The warm summer sea started to boil, and froth as Isabelle¡¯s magic did its work. Fog bloomed up from the water in a great cloud separating Pirates from their ships. Two huge lumbering shapes clambered up to Isabelle¡¯s position. Having finally crested the hill and joining her on the clifftop. Isabelle spared a glance at the two figures. Both easily three meters in height with ill-proportioned simian bodies. The two Flesh-golems were some of Isabelle¡¯s cruder work. Stitched together from human, orc, and troll corpses. Each carried a large barrel over one shoulder. ¡°Gog, Magog, are you ready?¡± the Countess asked. Both Flesh-golems nodded, their disproportionately small heads bobbing at the end of over-muscled necks. Smiling fiercely, Isabelle gave the command. ¡°Launch the payload.¡± The two Flesh-golems shifted their barrels and prepared to throw them. Arms long enough to drag upon the ground stretched back like organic trebuchets. Unnatural muscle groaned taught, and Isabelle made a note to tweak their shoulder musculature next time she got the chance. Alongside the sound of cord-like muscle was the frantic skittering of the barrel¡¯s cargo. Isabelle hoped the results of this generation would be better than her last experiment. The Flesh-Golems heaved their cargo into the air with great grunts of effort. The barrels sailed through the air heading towards the Corsairs position. Spinning through the night sky, the barrels popped open and started disgorging their cargo. Thousands of rats fell over the burning village in a bizarre rain shower. Shutting her eyes and reaching out with her powers, Isabelle opened up a link between her mind and that of her rat swarm. Roughly eighty percent of the rodents had landed without injury. A marked improvement over the previous test. Responding to her will, the rats scurried in all directions, flitting through the burning village and towards the beach in a small tide of furry bodies. Isabelle¡¯s consciousness drifted between the rodents, scattering herself among them in a strange nearly-meditative state. She didn¡¯t possess them but collected information from their minds and guided them as she saw fit. Through a thousand different sets of eyes, Isabelle drank in the battlefield and made her plan. Where other Vampires used rodent swarms as war-fodder and spies, Isabelle found them much better as scouts. Especially when coupled with her experimental delivery system. A few years of selective breeding had produced this batch of fast, agile, and vicious rodents better suited to great falls than mundane rats. Rats that now swarmed between the legs of the unnoticing corsairs. While a few of the rodents climbed into the dozen or so dinghy the Pirates had beached, the majority clung to the shadows waiting for Isabelle¡¯s appointed signal. It came when the first Pirate noticed the scurrying shapes dancing between their feet. Letting out a startled scream, the pirate unknowingly sealed his fate. Hundreds of rats lept onto him and his fellows. Sinking vicious teeth into unprotected skin. Soon a chorus of confused shouts and screams echoed through the night. Surprise and pain were the first stroke of this fight, fear and death would be the second. The clatter of bones and metal started to drown out the crackling flames. Isabelle¡¯s army had arrived. From her perch on the cliff, Isabelle could watch as a solid mass of Rattlers came into view. Hundreds of undead soldiers marched down the hill opposite of her cliff and directly towards the beach. Pained shouts turned into frantic screams as Pirates and villagers saw this corpse legion arrive. The black steel of Eternal Soldiers pressed down the steep hill. An entire company coming to punish the Sea Thieves. Or at least that''s what it looked like in the darkness. Isabelle had only been able to rouse a squad of twenty Legionnaires from the local Garrison-Crypt for this fight. In rushing to meet the Pirates, Isabelle had outpaced all her servants except for the Flesh-Golems Gog and Magog. Forcing her to improvise and requisition the graveyards of every nearby town and village. It had been a tricky bit of necromancy to do on the fly, but Isabelle was nothing if not talented. Smiling smugly, Isabelle watched as her army fast approached the raiders. The Corsairs were quickly abandoning any effort to loot and were busy trying to escape. Clambering into the rowboats, forgetting their prospective slaves and even their more mundane loot. Isabelle watched as one Pirate tried to throw some of the already loaded booty overboard to make room on the dingy. Another Pirate stabbed the first one in the gut and ordered his fellows to cast off. A dozen more of these ugly scenes played out across the beach as craven cruel men acted on their worst instincts. Gog and Magog started picking up large stones and tossing them at the escaping rowboats. They were purposely clumsy in their throws, doing more to scare the Corsairs than actually hitting them. Providing plenty of motivation for the Corsairs to abandon any pretense of a careful withdrawal. Dozens of panicked Corsairs waded into the water, trying desperately to reach the leaving rowboats. Other more foolish Pirates stood their ground on the beach. Those were subsumed under the wave of bone crashing down onto them. More screams filled the night, and the smell of fresh blood mingled with the scent of sea foam, smoke, and old death. Isabelle hadn¡¯t bothered to give her ¡°conscripted¡± Rattlers any real dexterity, just using the mass of bodies to tear into the few remaining pirates. Combined with the handful of proper soldiers dispersed among them, the army did its grim work. Cleaving through the Pirates and driving the rest into the sea. Throughout this, the surviving villagers cowered in small pockets left in the corpse-tide. Isabelle doubted any of the traumatized peasants noticed the handful of rats scuttling nearby, marking their position and sparing them the army''s onslaught. The escaping Pirates rowed into the fog bank and tried to push through its murky clouds. Isabelle had mainly intended the fog as a way to protect her ground forces from the Pirate Galley. The fog obscured any enemy Mage¡¯s line of sight and would force them to reveal themselves if they wanted to break the fog. No Corsair spellcaster showed themselves, but Isabelle didn¡¯t consider the effort wasted. At her command, Gog and Magog stopped being careless with their throws. The crunch of splintering wood and the scream of crushed Corsairs filled the night as the Flesh Golems started the bombardment in earnest. Deep in the fog bank, the Corsairs should have been safe from projectiles. But the handful of rats clinging to each rowboat told Isabelle exactly where they were, and she, in turn, relayed the knowledge to the Golems. Smirking at the screams and wails, Isabelle couldn¡¯t help but feel proud of herself. This was how a true Vampire should fight. With guile and focus. Not the crude violence and bullying cruelty of her rivals. Only one dingy remained afloat, and Isabelle ordered her minions to let it escape unmolested. She needed a few survivors to carry her ¡°message¡± to the ship. The rowboat obliged, pushing through the fog bank and desperately paddling towards the Corsair Galley. Turning from this, Isabelle descended the cliff. Her dress flowed around her like liquid shadow as she lept between rocky outcroppings. At her command, the Rattler Company started work putting out the growing flames. Hundreds of skeletons forming a dozen bucket chains connecting the ocean to the burning village. Isabelle did not offer this aid out of the goodness of her heart. Fire was as much a menace to her as any mortal, perhaps more so. But she would be equally deluded to think she was purely selfish in her acts. She saved these people and worked to preserve what little they had left. A Vampire protecting her property and foodstuff; a Countess helping her people in their time of need. Balancing those two aspects and finding goals they could agree on was something Isabelle had long practice with. Not surrendering her humanity nor ignoring her Monsterous nature. The surviving villagers were huddled nearby. A motley collection of fisherfolk who looked at Isabelle with undisguised terror. In their inbred panicked eyes, she wasn¡¯t a savior but simply a different predator. One with uncertain goals and plans. Seeing the frightened clustered peasants, Isabelle couldn¡¯t help but reflect that perhaps her kindred had a point in calling these mortals sheep. Still, they were her sheep. To be protected and provided for until shearing or slaughter. Isabelle unslung a bag from her side and fished through it. Finding the hypodermic needle, bottle of sterilizer, and beaker of elixir. At a snap of her fingers, Magog trundled down the cliff and set a table he found somewhere next to her. Placing her items on the table, she turned to the even more frightened peasants. Even in this backward corner of her realm, Isabelle Gen Silva¡¯s reputation for dark magic and twisted experiments was well known. In a clear orator''s voice, Isabelle addressed the panicked villagers. ¡°Approach and choose which arm you want to use.¡± That got a stir of barely disguised panic from the villagers. Isabelle saw more than one glance at the surrounding Rattlers as if assessing their chances of escape. Realizing her choice of words might have been ominous, Isabelle rephrased. ¡°If I wished you harm, I would not have brought my army nor ordered them to spare you all. You are all my subjects and under my protection. Protection I extend in the form of this injection.¡± she gestured at the beaker of elixir. ¡°My rats are infected with a breed of pestilence designed to ruin those Corsairs. I cannot be certain none of you were infected by accident. This potion will spare you from the disease.¡± Still, none of the peasants moved, only looking more confused and worried. Sighing to herself, Isabelle remarked. ¡°Oh honestly.¡± and strode forward towards the frightened fisherfolk. Isabelle grabbed one, a nervous-looking boy not older than twelve, and dragged him back toward her makeshift medical station. The boy flailed for a second but went limp in her grip. Muted wails and cries issued from the villagers at her ¡°kidnapping¡± Letting go of the boy, Isabelle snapped. ¡°Stay put if you value your life.¡± the scared adolescent did as instructed and stood there perfectly still. Isabelle noticed he was doing everything in his power to not even twitch or change his stance. Taking her command as literal as possible. Deciding not to correct his assumption, Isabelle got to work preparing the first injection. Flicking the glass and metal syringe, Isabelle inspected the yellowish solution inside it. The contagion she infected the rats with was a side project of hers. A nasty and highly infectious fever that killed slowly and painfully. It was also relatively easy to treat. Any healing magic or even sufficient rest and fluids would let most survive it. Things Criminals, Pirates, Rebels, and other undesirables would struggle to get. Isabelle called it Bandit Bane and was eager to see how well it performed. Isabelle grabbed the scared Peasant boy''s forearm and found his vein. Before the youth could protest or struggle, Isabelle stuck the syringe in and injected her serum into the subject. Removing the syringe, Isabelle licked a finger and smeared her saliva over the injection mark. Letting go of the boy, she turned back to her medical station. ¡°You will feel sluggish for the next day or two. Now, who is next?¡± quickly sanitizing the needle and refilling it, Isabelle turned back to the still nervous-looking Fisherfolk. After a moment, a middle-aged woman came forward. Brandishing her arm and a fierce glare. The volunteer had the same nose and eyes as the boy, probably his mother or aunt. Quirking her mouth at that little display of familial loyalty, the Vampire Countess got to work. The rest of the injections went without issue, and soon Isabelle retreated to her vantage point on the nearby cliff. The last embers of the fire were dying, and her army was starting to disperse. With a lazy thought, she commanded the relatively intact skeletons to return to their place of rest and bury themselves. It was the least she could do after conscripting the bones. She¡¯d sent Gog and Magog to help the villagers do what little repairs were possible. The two hulking Flesh golems were made for war, but could just as easily move timber as they could tear apart bodies. Leaving Isabelle in relative solitude, watching the distant lights of the Corsair ship. The Galley was moving slowly and was still visible to Isabelle¡¯s eyes. This far away, she couldn¡¯t contact any of her rats and could only hope they¡¯d been successful in infecting more of the ship. Idly she wondered if the vessel would limp back to some port, be reduced to a Ghost Ship, or more likely sunk by a storm. It mattered little; the catastrophic failure of this little raid would send a message to any other enterprising pirates. Not that Isabelle feared other raids much. This had been a strange fluke. Few pirates were stupid enough to raid the Blood Duchies. So a crew going out of its way to sack one of her dirt-poor fishing villages made little sense. Too much risk for too little reward. Something about the situation stunk, and Isabelle knew she needed to investigate. An idea that rankled her. Every night spent playing politics was another away from her experiments. She was making so much progress! Distractions from her work, while never welcome, were now positively infuriating. Her recent efforts in splicing had gone markedly better than previous attempts. The goat she was using as the primary host had so far survived decapitation and exsanguination. But the blood quality still left much to be desired, and the cost of sacrifices was proving to be- An odd sensation ended Isabelle¡¯s musing. Isabelle tasted something strange. The heady flavor of Vampire blood filled her mouth. Confused, she reached to her lips, wondering if she¡¯d bitten herself. As she digested the incoming blood, information came to her. This blood belonged to a young Vampire, not even a year changed, but a powerful one, an extremely powerful one. Something that made no sense, a Vampire¡¯s power is directly related to their age. How could she be tasting what she did? Eyes widening, Isabelle looked around her and let out a silent ¡°Oh¡± in realization. She wasn¡¯t really sitting on a cliff overlooking the sea. She wasn¡¯t really pondering her experiments. This was a memory. A recollection her trapped soul had immersed itself in as a distraction. A distraction she no longer needed as one of the few seeds she could still plant was bearing fruit. Natalie had made contact.
Two Vampires stood across from each other in a field of red lilies. Previously Isabelle had drawn Natalie into her soul for their conversations. Now they met in Natalie¡¯s internal world. Standing next to a strange stream, Natalie folded her arms below her breasts and tried to look confident. Isabelle saw right through the display and found its bravado almost cute. The two Vampires eyed each other up. Both projecting confidence and control, but neither truly feeling it. For all of Isabelle¡¯s bluster, she was actually concerned Natalie would turn her down or worse. But like any skilled political animal, the former-Countess knew the illusion of power could be just as effective as the real thing. Grimacing slightly like she¡¯d tasted something foul, Natalie spoke first. ¡°I¡¯d like to discuss the arrangement you proposed.¡± Arms crossed and face screwed up in a foul expression, Natalie didn¡¯t even try and hide her distaste for this whole ordeal. Lying to Cole felt wrong, and her shallow justifications held little water in light of her choice to make contact. Still, despite her shame and guilt, Natalie had gone through with her decision the moment she had the opportunity to. The night after the ordeal with the bandits, Natalie had pricked her finger on Isabelle¡¯s fang while Cole relieved himself away from camp. Renewing the connection, Isabelle had forged and opened a bridge of dreams between the two Vampires. Isabelle glanced around the field of flowers and smiled. ¡°You have a lovely soul Natalie. The red lilies are a nice touch, very¡­ poetic.¡± Ignoring the unspoken insinuations she could only guess at, Natalie pushed forward. ¡°I¡¯m still not willing to commit to your offer. But I am willing to develop a partnership with you.¡± Raising a single perfect eyebrow, Isabelle purred. ¡°Oh? Whatever do you mean by that?¡± Licking her fangs, Natalie took a useless but comforting breath. ¡°If I am ever to make you a body, you need me alive and sane. Teaching me will ensure that¡± Isabelle scoffed at that. ¡°You want my knowledge and aid at no cost? Come now, Natalie, charity, and Vampires do not mix.¡± An ugly grin, more like an animal''s snarl than anything born of mirth, came to Natalie. ¡°You do get something from this arrangement; the opportunity to convince me to help you. Earn my trust and protect the option I represent. Make an investment in both our futures. It''s that or keep wasting away.¡± The older Vampire became deathly still at the implied threat. Barely contained rage boiled below the surface. Isolation and helplessness had gnawed away at Isabelle¡¯s mind. An ugly truth the former Countess was forced to contend with as she wrestled her anger back under control. Wrath had never been her sin of choice, but more than a decade as a skull had changed her tastes. Bringing forth fits of pique the likes she hadn¡¯t felt since her first years as Undead. Shoving the prideful anger of a petulant Vampire away, Isabelle came closer to Natalie. Her unnaturally smooth movements and flowing skirts let her glide over the flowers and approach the now nervous Natalie. The newborn Alukah had to stop herself from stepping back in fright. Natalie had no idea of what might happen if Isabelle harmed her in this soulscape and did not want to find out. Enjoying the flicker of fear in her rival and possible student. Isabelle softly added a condition. ¡°I am willing to teach you some basic skills, but I require a small token of your cooperation. Trust is a two-way path after all.¡± Licking her lips, Isabelle explained. ¡°I want to make this connection we have more permanent. It will let us keep in contact without the messy blood and lies.¡± Natalie frowned; some instinct scratched at the back of her mind, sending unspoken warnings. But the idea of never having to feed the skull or sneak behind Cole¡¯s back had an appeal. Hesitating, she weighed her options and decided more information was needed. ¡°What will this involve?¡± Isabelle smiled. ¡°We will both be able to arrange these meetings when you sleep. I will also be able to speak to you while you are awake. Nothing too severe, just being able to offer you advice and perhaps catch a glimpse of the world through your senses.¡± Natalie¡¯s frown only increased. ¡°I¡¯m not liking this option. What''s to stop you from abusing it to jag with me?¡± ¡°It will cost me to reach out to you. My blood reserve is small, and I use much of it to stay lucid. Communicating outside of dreams would be grossly expensive.¡± Isabelle answered. Mulling that over, Natalie found herself ignoring her concerns just a little more. ¡°Can the connection be broken?¡± Isabelle nodded yes. ¡°The bridge will fade if it''s not reinforced. Refuse to meet me enough times, and our dreams will become disentangled.¡± ¡°Refuse to meet you? How is that possible? I¡¯ve had no control over this so far.¡± snapped Natalie. She was warming up to Isabelle¡¯s proposal, and that very fact annoyed her. Isabelle started to idly pace, her skirt catching on the surrounding flowers as she moved. ¡°Magic of any kind is based on intent and focus. Even this crude little dream bridge I¡¯ve spun into being. Focus yourself on leaving the dream like you might to invoke your blood, and you will break free easily enough.¡± Natalie shut her eyes and started to focus, just for Isabelle to hurriedly interrupt her. ¡°...I would suggest you wait on that. Reconnecting this sleep would be difficult.¡± Feeling a little more confident that she had an escape route, Natalie was seriously considering taking the leap. While the more logical and paranoid aspects of her warned against this. But another far deeper desire held greater sway. Natalie just wanted to feel safe again. A primal but unquestionable hope both Human and Vampire aspects could agree on. The only way to fulfill that hope Natalie could see was to grow stronger. Either through her own desperate struggle or with Isabelle¡¯s help. Shutting her eyes for a long, painful moment, Natalie made her choice. ¡°I chose this. I followed Cole, I fought Petar, and I accepted Lord Glockmire¡¯s offer. I¡¯ve claimed this power and become the Alukah. I¡¯m a monster now, but I won¡¯t let that stop me from being me.¡± She was speaking more to herself than anyone else, hoping to find grounding in her words. Fixing Isabelle with a fierce glare, Natalie hissed. ¡°But betray me or swindle me, and I¡¯ll grind your skull to dust, dump you into an outhouse and light the cesspit on fire!¡± Isabelle looked at Natalie for a long moment before snorting in laughter. ¡°Oh, you are positively adorable! Now then, let¡¯s get started. Cut your tongue or lip deep enough to bleed.¡± Incensed by the older Vampire¡¯s reaction, but still willing to follow her instructions. Natalie bit down on her tongue, ignoring the needle of pain her sharp fangs brought. ¡°Okay, now wha-¡± she started to say before Isabelle shot over and kissed her. The action was so unexpected it caught Natalie totally off guard, and she didn¡¯t resist. Natalie tasted blood not her own, flavored by some exotic spice, and found herself wide-eyed and utterly stunned. After a long moment, Isabelle broke the kiss and stepped away, dabbing at her own lips, and the blood smeared there. Looking at the stunned Natalie, Isabelle let a coy smile play across her lips. Natalie slowly processed what happened and stared at Isabelle, aghast. A strange mix of wrath, surprise, and disconcertingly, desire played behind Natalie¡¯s eyes. She¡¯d kissed girls before but had always been too initiate. Being ambushed by the admittedly stunning Isabelle was just plain confusing. Balling her fists and tensing up, Natalie shouted the first words that came to her mind. ¡°WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?¡± Isabelle just laughed, a tinkling thing made of poise and noble confidence. ¡°Forming a stronger connection, young Natalie? What else did you think it was?¡± Knowing she should be blushing and for once thankful for her undead nature, Natalie snapped back. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that! Why did you just JAGGING KISS ME?¡± Stolen story; please report. The sly amusement in Isabelle¡¯s countenance infuriated Natalie. Partially because she recognized it. She was no stranger to the coy games of flirtation, but she wasn¡¯t used to being on the wrong end of this type of spar. Isabelle ran a hand through her long dark hair and shrugged. ¡°Another lesson for you. Magic is often sympathetic, reacting to symbols and allegory in potent ways. We needed to form a bridge between souls. Arcane words and thoughts aren¡¯t enough. The mixing of our blood during a kiss proved a potent if simple, ritual. Why did you think there was something more to the gesture?¡± Smiling like a well-fed cat, Isabelle glanced over Natalie with an appraising eye. ¡°While you are quite pleasant to look at, that kiss was strictly business. Don¡¯t interpret my begrudging acceptance of Cole¡¯s affair as any real desire to share him or a bed with you.¡± Grinding her teeth together, Natalie licked her fangs and tasted Isabelle''s ichor on them. Resisting the urge to spit out the flavor, Natalie refocused. ¡°Whatever. Now make good on our arrangement. I need to not lose control. Teach me how¡± Isabelle placed a contemplative hand under her chin and said. ¡°Yes, I caught bits of your frenzy. All things considered, it went better than could be expected.¡± Natalie¡¯s nostrils flared in anger, and Isabelle put her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. ¡°Fledgling Vampires have a long history of committing accidental massacres. You just killed two bipedal vermin only after being threatened. I¡¯d considered that a success.¡± Somehow hearing that from Isabelle was strangely comforting to Natalie. The blunt declaration from a fellow Vampire carried more weight than Cole¡¯s well-meaning words. ¡°So can you help me from not ¡®frenzying,¡¯ as you put it?¡± After a moment of consideration, Isabelle answered. ¡°I can but not easily. Gaining the discipline necessary to resist the Hunger isn¡¯t like learning how to mimic life or enhance your body. It''s something brought on by experience and self-control. I can help you gain both and perhaps offer useful advice.¡± Natalie felt dissatisfied with that answer. In retrospect, she probably should have confirmed exactly what Isabelle was willing and able to teach before making any sort of deal. It was too late for that now; all she could do was go forward and get the most out of her Hellkyn Bargain. Still, she asked: ¡°Expedite? How?¡± Isabelle glanced around the flower field and gestured broadly. ¡°We are in a Corpse¡¯s Dream. The usual limits of the unconscious mind are murky here at best. I can train you here, turning wasted hours into valuable experience. But we can focus on that later. Did you grab your kill¡¯s skull?¡± Absently, Natalie reached where her pack should be. Stopping herself halfway through the familiar gesture, just in time to feel a familiar cold shape press into her hand. Bringing her hand back, she looked down at the ashen squirrel skull and almost dropped in surprise. Internally she chided herself. ¡®I¡¯m in a dream, don¡¯t expect logic¡¯ Isabelle looked at the skull and nodded approvingly. ¡°A rat or bat would be better, but a squirrel will do. Tell me, did you drink the rodent to death?¡± Natalie nodded, thinking back to her ugly experience with the trapped animal. Isabelle came closer and grabbed the skull. Holding it like a prized jewel, she examined the bones. ¡°This should be enough to begin your Necromancy lessons.¡± Eyes wide, Natalie sputtered. ¡°WHAT?¡±
It had been two days and two nights since the encounter with the bandits. Cole and Natalie continued their trek west, following the tesselating bricks of the Imperial road. The weather had changed from near-constant snowfall to bleak sunlight filtered through high clouds. Neither traveler was much pleased by the shift. Natalie found the sun reflecting off the snow blinding and irritating. While Cole felt exposed without the shroud of winter to obscure their passage. This contributed to the low mood shared between them. Shedding living blood and wrestling a frenzied Natalie had brought up far too many ugly memories for Cole. Putting cracks in the mental wall he put up around his past. The ugly life and deaths of the Homunculus Knight were not things Cole liked to think about. Natalie, for her part, was distant, jittery, and guilt-ridden. Her lessons had started in earnest with Isabelle, and they had been less than pleasant so far. Cole knew something had changed but didn¡¯t know exactly what. He¡¯d tried and failed to breach the subject thrice so far. Each time earning a cool non-answer from the distracted Natalie. The distance between the two was growing with each step down the road. With neither knowing how to fix it. Something about that scared Cole more than every nightmare he¡¯d faced. Staring off into the middle-distance, he wrestled with his feelings. Natalie¡¯s presence and affection had warmed part of his heart so cold he hadn¡¯t even realized it still existed. For a few precious moments, he hadn¡¯t felt alone anymore. Now that flame was fading, and Cole had no bloody idea how to stop it. That threat, the idea of being alone again, terrified Cole. Grappling this problem internally, Cole kept trying to breach the subject again, but no configuration of words sounded right. Leaving him grasping for a solution to a problem he didn¡¯t truly understand. All while Natalie buried herself under a mountain of secrets and mired in self-loathing. Unable to reconcile her involvement with Isabelle and her commitment to Cole. So they traveled like this, stuck in the silent hell of the distant and disturbed. The monotony of step after step is broken by a few simple words and little else. Until the wind shifted and Natalie caught a strange scent. ¡°Smoke, I smell smoke and lots of it,¡± she murmured. Cole turned to say something to her, but a sudden cold yank on his chest stopped him. It felt like an icy hand had gripped his heart and pulled it down the road. Putting a hand to his chest, Cole cursed. ¡°Something¡¯s happening. I doubt it''s anything good.¡± Nodding in unspoken agreement, the duo started down the road with new haste. Between Natalie¡¯s nose and Cole¡¯s god-touch, finding their target wasn¡¯t difficult. A column of thin gray smoke billowed up over the horizon, and with it came the smell of fire and death. A worrying marker of where they needed to go. It took them another hour to reach their destination. Cutting off the road through snowy fields towards the smoldering remains of a destroyed farm. A blackened skeleton of charred timber marked where a barn once stood. While a smoking farmhouse stood nearby. Its thatch roof long burned away, and its last wooden innards still smoldering in the late afternoon sunlight. The cold-blunted smell of dead flesh flavored the smokey air, an unmistakable scent of burned and spoiled meat. Cole stepped over to a snow-covered lump and brushed away the powder dusting. The dead body of a hound lay before him. The lean creature¡¯s fur was matted with frozen blood, and its glassy eyes stared up blankly. Cole shut the beast''s eyes and looked back to where Natalie stood nearby. Natalie had moved over to the barn and looked at its burned husk. While the style was different, the basic layout of the farm was similar to the few she¡¯d visited near Glockmire. A similarity that brought a pang of homesickness to her already beleaguered soul. In the ash and soot-stained timber that might have once been a barn door was a blackened skeleton. Or at least part of one. There was no sign of its limbs, and its ribs were split open. Cole approached her, looking at the skeleton. ¡°What happened here?¡± asked Natalie, glancing around the ruined homestead and pushing back memories of Glockmire and Lungu. Cole leaned down and looked at the ground near the stable. Patches of disturbed snow and ash-smeared gravel started to tell a worrying picture. A number of large creatures had left the barn before it burned, their tracks obscured but still faintly detectable in the snow. Looking to the barn, Cole picked up a rock and stepped into the ruined structure. Flicking his wrist, Cole threw the stone up towards the hay loft and the main post supporting the barn¡¯s roof. With a crunch and a clatter, the stone fell back, followed by a puff of ash and a dirty hunk of metal. Picking up the piece of iron, Cole held it up to Natalie. It was a horseshoe, and a large one at that. ¡°Farmers often put old ones up high as a luck charm. The larger the shoe, the more luck it can catch. This one belonged to a War Horse judging by the size.¡± Leaving the barn, Cole looked back at the faint tracks and dropped the old horseshoe into the snow. He couldn¡¯t be certain since multiple days had passed in bad conditions, but Cole guessed the shoe¡¯s former owner had made some of these tracks. ¡°A good horse is valuable, especially for those on the run.¡± Getting what Cole implied, Natalie looked at the burned farm with new disgust. ¡°You think those bandits did this?¡± Cole shrugged, ¡°it''s a reasonable guess. Do you smell anything familiar?¡± Natalie shook her head in the negative. ¡°No, just death and smoke. Lots of death and smoke.¡± Narrowing his eyes, Cole quickly walked back to the dead dog and looked around the farm for similar lumps. Finding none, he moved over to the still-smoking farmhouse. It was a large building for the area. Easily twice the size of what Natalie remembered from near Glockmire. Cole quickly ducked his head inside the building and looked around. Leaving with an annoyed cough as the smoke found his lungs, Cole started moving towards the farm''s other side. Head bobbing back and forth like a bloodhound on the trail. Confused, interested, and a little bit worried, Natalie followed after the skulking Paladin. She found him on the other side of the building, staring out at the white field before them. Even to Natalie¡¯s untrained eyes, what he found was obvious. A ragged trail cut through the snow as if a small crowd had cut across the field, all moving in the same direction. Cole had his hand on his amulet and let out an unusual oath. ¡°Fixed Stars.¡± Unsheathing his axe, Cole looked back at Natalie, a worried expression on his face. ¡°This was a large Farmstead. Probably home to a successful family, a retired soldier by the looks of things, and a dozen or more field hands. I¡¯ve found evidence of violence but only one body. I doubt those bandits took the time to consecrate their victims. Probably stealing any valuables, including the horses, and torching the rest to cover their tracks. Maybe thinking that was enough.¡± Gesturing out at the field and the tracks, he continued. ¡°It clearly wasn¡¯t. There are probably close to twenty Ghouls moving as a herd. That might be enough to overwhelm another farmstead. From then it will just get worse and worse. I need to clean-cut this before the rot spreads.¡± Clicking her teeth together in worry, Natalie asked. ¡°Twenty ghouls? That shouldn¡¯t be that bad to deal with, right?¡± Cole¡¯s momentary silence was all the answer she needed, but he elaborated anyway. ¡°If they were normal ghouls, not at all. But I don¡¯t think these are. They reanimated too quickly, and the tracks are strange. Moving too quickly and too much in concrete. I think these are Grinners.¡± Seeing her confusion, Cole waved a hand towards the tracks. ¡°Grinning Ghouls. Faster, smarter, and deadlier. They can quickly overrun entire villages if not dealt with quickly.¡± Natalie had heard of Grinners and even seen some during the Plague and Breach but hadn¡¯t known the correct term for them. Which, in retrospect, should have been obvious. Considering the undead¡¯s signature rictus smile. Of course, the people of Glockmire hadn¡¯t bothered with clear labels, just calling them ¡®The fast ones,¡¯ Which was enough to describe the nightmarishly quick Undead who swarmed over people like starving wolves. Turning his axe into a pole-axe, Cole asked Natalie. ¡°How are you on blood? We are going to move fast and probably jump right into a fight.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got a good amount. Let''s go.¡± was her answer. She still had the glut of blood taken from the two bandits at her disposal. They dashed off into the field after the herd of Grinning Ghouls. Following Cole¡¯s example, Natalie unsheathed her shortsword. While Isabelle had promised to train her in its use, their two lessons had focused on other skills, and Natalie had no faith in using the weapon. But she considered swinging it like a bladed club a better option than using her hands and mouth to fight rotting Ghouls. She also pulled out the squirrel''s skull. Natalie was more confident in using that to fight but somehow doubted it would prove particularly useful. Dashing through the snowy plains, Cole and Natalie were both reminded of their unpleasant forced march after leaving Glockmire. Neither tried to dwell on that comparison as they pushed forward. After nearly two hours of following the trail, more structures came into sight. A windmill and a few surrounding hovels cut up the monotony of white fields. Even in the calm weather, the windmill''s great sails turned. A slow creaking waltz of groaning stone and worn wood. Weapons raised, Cole and Natalie exchanged glances and approached the miniscule settlement. No sound other than the mill greeted them. But the smell of fresh death more than compensated. Black patches of half-frozen blood slicked the ground, and the acrid stink of torn innards colored the air. Slowly, with his weapon at the ready, Cole swept between hovels. Checking for signs of life, death, or undeath. No bodies, just more signs of violence and little else. As Cole crept closer to the windmill, a wet bubbling growl caught his ears. Sitting in the mill''s doorway was a ragged-looking sheepdog. The creature had noticed him and was building up to a loud bark. Cole paused and looked at the Dog. Nasty-looking bites covered its flank, and fresh blood dribbled out onto the wooden floor the Dog lay on. Black gore covered the hound''s muzzle, and its eyes were fevered. Stepping closer to the Windmill, Cole watched the Dog carefully. Its presence concerned and befuddled him. The Ghouls had obviously attacked, but somehow this lone dog had survived. That did not make much sense. Pole-Axe leveled, Cole, stepped closer, provoking a series of snarling barks from the Dog. The Canine tried to stand up but only managed to drag itself forward a bit. Trembling limbs unable to support its wounded bulk. Natalie hung back slightly, glancing around the Millstead, expecting an ambush. Skull in one hand, sword in the other, Natalie felt like she was being watched. Cole reached the entrance of the windmill, keeping the Dog at weapons-length but close enough to see inside the Mill. Blood, both red and black, covered the Mill floor. While the crude wood and stone machinery of the Mill trundled on, uncaring of the carnage decorating its home. The Dog¡¯s barks became more frantic, yipping pained snarls. A flicker of motion caught Natalies attention, and she looked up to the Windmills top. Something hung from a window in the Windmills cap. A rotting corpse leaning out of the Mill and just about ready to fall. Eyes widening in surprise, Natalie yelled, ¡°COLE!¡± The Paladin spun to her just as the corpse plummeted. It fell the twenty-meter drop and smashed into Cole with a sickening crunch. The impact knocked Cole right off his feet, and the two bodies became entangled in a thrashing pile of limbs and cloth. Cole¡¯s Pole-Axe went skittering away, knocked from his grip. The Corpse¡¯s mouth spread open in a rigor mortis smile as it snapped at the stunned Paladin¡¯s flesh. Cole got his arms between him and the revealed Ghoul and tried to push it away. But he lacked leverage and strength. The Grinning Ghouls'' ambush had knocked the wind from him and left Cole struggling to breathe. Blood-stained teeth lunged for his throat, and it took all of Cole¡¯s effort to shove the thrashing Grinner back. Natalie charged forward, her sword at the ready. She faltered as no clear avenue of attack showed itself. The thrashing pair were stuck in a close ugly grapple. She couldn¡¯t just stick her blade into the mess and hope for the best. Even if Cole could survive, or well, revive from such an accident, they didn¡¯t have the time to waste on his resurrection. So she did the only thing she could. Natalie hurled the Squirrel skull at the Ghoul. As it flew through the air, she spat out the crude incantation she¡¯d made with Isabelle¡¯s help. ¡°Biter, Biter! BITER! I call yee!¡± A small sigil Natalie had carved upon the skull¡¯s forehead flared red, and gray smoke poured from the skull. In less than a second, the smoke congealed into a shape. An ethereal squirrel with bones made of red light. Partially translucent, the Squirrel-thing¡¯s flesh and bones faded in and out of existence. Its skull the only thing composed of true matter. Natalie¡¯s aim was true and her Undead Familiar latched onto the Ghoul''s back. With a mental command, she got the Squirrel to scamper up to the Ghoul''s face and start biting and tearing at its eyes and mouth. The surprised Ghoul reached to its face, trying to remove the distraction. Giving Cole the moment he needed to roll away. Scrambling to his feet, Cole grabbed his Pole-Axe and turned back to his foe. The Squirrel had shredded the Ghoul''s face, its rodent dexterity put to good work. Barely pausing to process the bizarre sight, Cole charged the Grinner and swung his Pole-Axe in a wide sweep. Dwarven steel and Homunculus strength lopped the Grinner''s head off. The headless corpse collapsed, and its head tumbled to the ground next to it. Scratching his thumb, Cole pulled out his spark-stone and launched a gout of fire at both body and head. The Squirrel Familiar just barely leaping away from the flames. Scuttling back to its mistress on phantasmal limbs. Cole sucked in deep breaths and looked at the Squirrel and then up at a very guilty-looking Natalie. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the creaking windmill. ¡°That¡­ is a Bone-Bound Familiar. A potent bit of Necromancy. Would you please explain how and why it exists, Natalie?¡± His tone was perfectly calm and unfailingly polite, but Natalie stopped breathing at his words. The steel-hard and winter-cold undercurrent to his words startled her out of the habit. Cole was asking her not as a friend or lover but as a Paladin. Looking away from Cole¡¯s hard eyes and down at the familiar she¡¯d so creatively named Biter. Natalie told the truth, or at least part of it. ¡°I¡¯ve been having dreams recently. Dreams of other Vampires, dead Vampires. They¡¯ve been teaching me things. How to use my powers effectively.¡± Cole didn¡¯t respond. Leaving a cold silence between them. Wincing, Natalie tried to muster up the courage to tell the full truth. To say who exactly had been teaching her. But that idea scared her even more than anything. She¡¯d lied to protect Cole; that''s what she told herself. But at that moment, she was forced to admit the truth. Natalie was afraid to be alone. She was afraid if Cole was given the option to pick between his original lover or her replacement, she¡¯d lose the one bit of stability and happiness left. Sucking in useless lungfuls of air, Natalie wrestled with her emotions and words. This had grown into a massive mess because of her own foolishness, and she couldn¡¯t even confess properly. ¡°I was scared of how you¡¯d react. I know it''s stupid, but I didn¡¯t want to lose you. I¡­I don¡¯t want to be alone in all of this.¡± Cole became very still at her words. His own fears were bitterly reflected in Natalie¡¯s words. Shrinking and sheathing his axe, Cole walked toward Natalie. Gently he held out a hand and took hers into his own. ¡°Look at me, Natalie,¡± he murmured, pulling her eyes from the ground. Lip trembling, the closest she could come to crying without feeding, Natalie looked at Cole. She expected anger but not the saddened disappointment she saw there. Which was somehow worse. Squeezing her hand gently, Cole let out a pained sigh. ¡°I know you are suffering. You¡¯ve lost much and fear losing more. But please, PLEASE trust me. I¡¯m not going anywhere. I¡¯m not going to abandon you. So no more lies, no more secrets. Alright?¡± That broke Natalie, she wept, but no tears came. A dry parody of grief. Cole let go of her hand and embraced Natalie. His arms wrapped around her frame and nestled her close. Gently in his rumbling voice, he murmured. ¡°No more secrets.¡± Enjoying the warmth of his embrace, Natalie swallowed back her sobs and licked her lips. He was right. No more secrets. It was time to tell him about Isabelle. ¡°Cole, I-¡± A loud snarling bark startled both of them. Breaking the embrace, they whirled back to Windmill. The dog had dragged itself out of Mill¡¯s doorway and sat next to the smoldering Ghoul Corpse. Its blood-flecked muzzle spat a few more bubbling barks at the pair. Cole looked at the Dog, circled around it, and went towards the Windmill. The Dog followed him with its head but refused to move from its new place. Cole stepped into the Windmill and looked around. The trapdoor leading to the structure''s second floor was shut, its ladder pulled up. Taking advantage of his great height, Cole reached up and pressed his hands onto the trap door. It barely budged. Something very, very heavy had been put on top of it. Leaving the structure, he returned to the dead Ghoul, placing it between him and the growling Dog. Getting closer to the body, Cole looked at its arms and legs. The clothes were torn, and ugly bites were visible on the Corpses¡¯ forearms. Nodding to himself, Cole retrieved the ghoul¡¯s severed head and placed it next to the body''s neck. Looking at the snarling dog, Cole noted its bloody paws and numerous bites before speaking. ¡°Your master was a good one, wasn¡¯t he?¡± Setting down his pack, Cole pulled out some pyre-wine. Natalie stepped up behind him and asked. ¡°What did you find?¡± Letting a drop fall on both body and head. Cole watched as the smoldering body quickly caught flame. The Dog didn¡¯t shy away from the flames, just watching them for a moment before letting out a mournful howl. Watching the pitiable display, Cole answered Natalie. ¡°I can¡¯t know for certain, but I think this poor fellow survived the initial attack by hiding in the Windmill''s upper levels with his dog. But he¡¯d been bit, badly too, by the looks of it. With no medicine or magic, he was doomed. The Grinners left, and he knew once he turned, his Dog was also doomed. So he left the poor thing downstairs and locked himself up high to protect it from himself.¡± The dog in question stared at his master''s burning body with glazed eyes. ¡°A pointless tragedy, all of this. I doubt the dog will live to see dusk.¡± Cole remarked. ¡°But the Grinners must not be far. We might be able to catch them before the next attack.¡± Looking around the Millstead, Natalie asked. ¡°How many Grinners will there be?¡± Cole grimaced and looked to the tracks leaving the settlement. ¡°Thirty or forty easily. This will not be easy.¡± Tentatively, Natalie looked at the dying dog and back to Cole. ¡°Could¡­ Could I maybe help?¡± Cole glanced back at her and saw the nervous tension on her face. ¡°What did you have in mind? You are stronger than a Grinner and aren¡¯t at risk from their bites. That should be enough to help destroy the herd.¡± Natalie stepped toward the Dog and chose her words carefully. ¡°My Squirrel would be helpful; you¡¯ve seen that. But another familiar might be more useful.¡± glancing down at the sickly creature, she remarked. ¡°It seems cruel to leave him to die here, and like you said, this is a waste. What if I could help even the odds and help this creature avenge its master?¡± Natalie was surprised by her own boldness. The words seemed to flow out of her faster than she could think of them. Something about creating another familiar felt right. It scratched some itch she never knew existed. A Vampire''s urge to grow an army surfacing with the opportunity. In that iron-calm voice Cole used when acting as a Paladin, he rebuked her. ¡°I cannot let you enslave this creature''s soul Natalie. Even if it is a simple animal, it deserves to rest.¡± Natalie vigorously shook her head in contrition. ¡°No, no, nothing like that. I would just use its remains and its Hollow.¡± Surprised, Cole asked. ¡°Hollow?¡± Natalie quickly explained. ¡°Imagine a person is a jug of water. The flesh is the jug, and the soul is the water. When you die, the soul is dumped out, but a little bit of moisture clings to the jug. That''s a Hollow. Trace elements of a soul I can use to make a more effective familiar.¡± Letting out a slow breath, Cole answered. ¡°I see. You wouldn¡¯t actually be using the Dog¡¯s soul, correct?¡± Nodding quickly, Natalie stepped closer to the rapidly weakening dog. ¡°Yes, and I can get the Hollow easily enough. This poor thing is already dying. I¡¯ll just be easing its passage.¡± Speaking so softly, Natalie could only hear it because of her enhanced senses; Cole agreed. ¡°Do it if you must.¡± Looking at the stoney-faced Paladin, Natalie nodded weakly. Kneeling down next to the dying animal, Natalie made a shushing noise as she lowered her face to it. Before the Dog could react, Natalie sank her fangs into its throat. She injected her full complement of venom into the animal, hoping to remove its pain. Then she drank, killing the dog and consuming a tiny scrap of its Soul. Feeling the little bit of stolen life enter her, Natalie unsheathed her shortsword and her carving knife. With a single clean motion, she cut the Dog¡¯s head off and set it in front of her. Wincing slightly, she forced herself to not apologize to the corpse. Setting her weapon down, she held up her artisan''s tool. Jabbing her finger with its tip, she covered its point with Vampire blood and got to work. Whispering strange words of a dead language, Natalie carved a symbol into the Dog¡¯s forehead. For this type of ritual work, Isabelle had told her to make up her own unique sigil. It hadn¡¯t been hard for Natalie. She simply reused her artist''s mark. A pair of looping ram''s horns outlining a Cat¡¯s eyes. Now with an added loop at the center representing a drop of blood. As she carved, Natalie kept thinking how this was just like her normal art. She wasn¡¯t carving through flesh but through green bark. Her knife wasn¡¯t etching bone but a tree¡¯s solid heart. The lie helped, just a smidge. Hands coated in dried blood, Natalie finished. Holding up the skull, she whispered. ¡°At a Mill, you were found. After a Mill, you shall be named. Grist is your name. At my call, you shall answer.¡± Natalie¡¯s ritual sigil glowed bright red, and Natalie felt the consumed Hollow flow from her along a magical bridge into the severed head. The great pool of blood in Natalie¡¯s soul shrunk as her power fed the ritual and created her second familiar. As the sigil became more intense, Bloody flames started to leak from it. Grimacing, Natalie had to resist the urge to drop the head. The flames spread out, consuming the Dog¡¯s flesh and leaving polished bone behind. Gingerly, Natalie set the cleaned skull down and called upon her new familiar. ¡°Grist, Grist! GRIST! I call upon yee.¡± Red light and gray smoke bled from the skull, and soon the phantom shape of a Sheep Dog stood in front of her. The undead creation looked at its corpse and that of its former master. Then looked up at Natalie. It cocked its head to the right and then licked her fingers with a tongue made of icy fog. Getting back to her feet, Natalie looked at Cole. His expression was completely neutral, and Natalie could almost see the mental barriers coming up inside him. Wincing, she looked back down at Grist and said. ¡°Let''s go.¡± Cole nodded, and the Bone-Bound Familiar trotted off in the direction of the Grinner''s trail. Natalie turned to follow it, but Cole set a strong hand on her shoulder. Wobbling under the phantom weight, his hand added to her back. Natalie went perfectly still. In a sad murmur, Cole said. ¡°When the Ghouls are dealt with, we will need to talk.¡± Without turning to look at him, Natalie nodded in agreement and went after her Familiar. For a second, Cole watched them both and looked back at the bodies of Dog and Man. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Sleep well and awake in a better life.¡± Following Natalie, Cole set his jaw. She wasn¡¯t telling him everything. He knew that now. A Bone-Bound Familiar is a complicated piece of magic created by an Atredian Vampire long since dead. Isabelle¡¯s sire. While her Sire had certainly taught others that unique piece of Necromancy, the number was small. And it was possible Glockmire might have learned it. Or maybe the ritual wasn¡¯t created but rediscovered, having roots back to the Alukah¡¯s era. Believable, if flimsy explanation that crumbled under the next bit of evidence. The term ¡®Hollow.¡¯ Cole had never told Natalie about Isabelle¡¯s research. How she explored the mechanics of souls in ways no other scholar had. It had been Isabelle who coined the term Hollow and learned how to use the spiritual residue to bolster spells. Potent magical secrets that had died with her. No one had inherited Isabelle¡¯s knowledge, not even Cole. He only understood the most basic principles, not the actual ritual work involved. But Natalie had cast them expertly like she¡¯d learned them directly from Isabelle herself. Reaching back to his pack and the familiar lump of Isabelle¡¯s skull, Cole knew the truth. Isabelle had contacted Natalie and was teaching her magic. Natalie had hoped to hide this from him, but Isabelle was clever. She¡¯d taught Natalie something that gave the secret away. A message in a bottle only Cole would recognize. He should have been angry. At the betrayal and lies from Natalie. And those emotions were there, but hidden. Buried under another far more powerful and shameful reaction. Cole was afraid. Isabelle was strong enough to reach out and teach Natalie, but hadn¡¯t made contact with him. Why send a subtle message instead of just speaking to him like she had in the past. Something about this whole situation stunk, and it worried him. Forcing him to consider a possibility he¡¯d never let himself dwell upon. Isabelle¡¯s soul, or at least part of it, had clung to her skull. Trapped for twelve years after a particularly horrible death. Persisting by feeding on Cole in some process he didn¡¯t fully understand. But while she survived, had her sanity? Had the good he¡¯d helped foster in her? Or was there nothing left but the Monster both Cole and Isabelle feared she could become? Shutting his eyes for a second and unsheathing his axe, Cole focused on its comforting weight. Those questions could wait. He had a duty to fulfill. The Grinners needed to be stopped. Then he could worry about the two monsters he loved. Book II: Chapter 4: Miscommunication, Mercy, and Misery

Chapter Four: Miscommunication, Mercy, and Misery

¡°Curse!? You call Lycanthropy a curse? Bah! How pathetic you southern folk must be to call it such? The Beastblood is the ultimate crucible! In mastering it, our Jarls and Warriors prove themselves mighty in body and mind. Taming the power and using it to conquer and command their lessers. It is not a Curse, but a blessing meant to weed out the chaff. Leaving only those worthy to rule!¡± - Thane Bulveye Bitten-Shield. Sworn-Brother to Jarl Olaf Grim-Eye.
Paladin, Vampire, and Familiar pushed hard, following the Grinner trail in tense silence. The Ghouls had cut across fields and ditches, heading in a nearly straight line toward the next cluster of souls their magical animus could detect. As they moved, Cole became more confident in his estimate of the herd¡¯s size. Forty or so Grinners made up the herd. The original Farmstead bolstered by the Mill¡¯s people. A dangerous amount but not insurmountable for Cole, especially with Natalie¡¯s aid. Glancing at the spectral sheepdog loping before them, Cole grimaced. He¡¯d fought alongside Undead before, and all things considered, Natalie¡¯s Familiar was ¡°palatable¡± by the standards of dark magic. But the whole situation still disquieted him. Too many unknowns and too many distractions in the form of Natalie¡¯s secrets. Squeezing his axe so hard his knuckles creaked, Cole refocused. Catching Natalies attention, he spoke. ¡°I will draw the Grinner''s attention. They won¡¯t be interested in you or the Familiar unless you attack them. Get any civilians clear first, then use the Dog to protect my back. Any questions?¡± Natalie shook her head no and turned her attention back to the trail. She was dreading what Cole might say or do later. It would not be a pleasant discussion. She¡¯d had enough arguments and breakups to tell that much. And she was going to make things worse by telling him about Isabelle. But she owed him that much, the opportunity to speak with Isabelle. Wincing at her own brooding thoughts, Natalie looked down at her new familiar. Grist moved and acted like any herding Dog she¡¯d known. Something that blurred the line between endearing and disturbing. With every movement, Grist''s flesh and bones faded in and out of existence. Never all at once, never at the same time, and never with any sort of pattern. The effect reminded Natalie of an anatomy text she¡¯d once seen in the Temple. Different layers of flesh and bone exposed in a rippling transition. Animating Grist also taxed her blood reserve, but not by much. She could probably use him for hours without any real downside. Isabelle had said creating or repairing the spectral body would be more draining, something Natalie knew she¡¯d probably confirm in the coming fight. She¡¯d also let Biter fade back to a skull and deposited him in her pack. Grist was enough of a drain on her resources. Not just her blood supply, but having the Familiar active was mentally draining. His senses and mind were an ever-present weight in the back of her skull. While the Hollow did most of the work in puppeteering the Bone-Bound Familiar, it still relied on Natalie to make decisions. While she¡¯d practiced for hours of dream time, Natalie still felt like she was controlling an additional ungainly limb in the form of Grist. It had been late when they reached the Millstead. Now, after nearly an hour of pushing through snowy fields, the Sun had finally set. Natalie barely noticed. The sudden strength to her body and the lack of light did not even register. Cole, by contrast, cursed and took a moment to wrap a section of grease cloth around his axe¡¯s head. Igniting the makeshift torch, he barely slowed down as long shadows bled into darkness. Just to make visibility worse, the trail led into a copse of trees edging the farm fields. Soon the torchlight was broken by myriad trunks, and any moonlight was stolen away by the needled canopy. The wind had blown drifts of snow around the outermost trees, and the Ghoul¡¯s trail looked like the breach in some great earthworks. The single-minded Undead had shoved through the glacial heap without care. Grinners were smart by Ghoul standards, but that says little. They pushed toward their next victims with little care for any obstacles. A double-edged trait if there ever was one. Cole had destroyed hundreds of ghouls by leading them off cliffs or into spiked pits. Using their own persistence against them. As they entered the forest proper, Natalie finally spoke. ¡°What exactly is a Grinner? Where do they come from?¡± For a single bitter moment, Cole was almost tempted to ignore her, but he quickly dismissed the idea as petty and ridiculous. ¡°Grinners arise in places with an extremely tainted Aether. The corruption animates Ghouls faster and more effectively than normal. They Rise up in hours instead of days and are much more dexterous. Normal Ghouls have all the strength of the living person but generally stumble about, barely able to shuffle, let alone run. Grinners can run, jump, climb and even use crude tools sometimes.¡± Cole looked around the forest, sniffing the air for any signs of rot. ¡°A battle must have happened in these parts. Perhaps in the last decade or two? That should be enough to produce Grinners, but I can¡¯t say for certain. The exact requirements are murky. Magic is more about intent and connections than any concrete mathematics or logic.¡± Grist the Familiar made a low warning bark. It sounded muffled like it was coming through thick fog or from a great distance. Natalie answered Cole¡¯s unspoken question. ¡°He smells something. His nose is better than mine, it seems.¡± Pausing to digest the information related to her through the mental link. Natalie recognized the smells. ¡°Rotten bodies, fresh blood, and¡­Wet Dog?¡± Cole and Natalie exchanged a puzzled look and pressed onwards. It didn¡¯t take long for the smells to reach Cole as well. He could only smell the rot but trusted the Familiar¡¯s nose that other smells were buried beneath. Soon the faint flicker of firelight in the distance became visible. Pinpricks of orange contrasting with the grays and blacks of the winter forest. No sooner had Cole seen the fire was the night ripped apart by screams. Cursing under his breath, Cole pushed himself forward. Legs pumping furiously as he dashed towards the screams. Extending his axe into a Halberd, Cole tightened the straps securing his spark stone and smeared it with blood. Feeling the smooth warmth of the stone in his right hand, Cole felt confident. He never would have guessed how useful the little trinket would become. Holding the stone high, Cole spat a gout of flame into the air. A large and flashy display of fire meant to attract attention. He doubted it would have any effect, but if it distracted a single Grinner or brought hope to any of their victims, it would be worth it. Grist kept up with Cole, the tireless canine bounding along the trail, matching the Homunculus¡¯s pace. Natalie was not far behind, slowed by her inexperience in navigating difficult terrain. Despite living in the Dragon Tail Mountains, she¡¯d been a village girl, rarely venturing into the wilds beyond the town walls. The distant fire grew brighter and brighter, casting dancing shadows upon nearby trees. Scared cries and hungry moans filled the darkness as Cole came close enough to see what transpired. Six large wagons formed a circle in the middle of a forest clearing. Light from a Campfire within the circle flickered as shapes passed before it. Nearly forty Grinners surrounded the make-shift fort, pushing into the gaps between the Wagons or trying to crawl underneath them. One of the wagons rocked as a group of Grinners shoved against it, trying to push a path into whatever prize lay within the circle. Babbling screams warred with undead moans and panicked shouts to fill the night. Charging the nearest cluster of Ghouls, Cole roared. ¡°MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!¡± Maybe a dozen smiling faces turned to his approach. The taught muscles of the Ghouls splitting their mouths in twisted grins. Seeing Cole as easier prey, the Grinners stopped pushing on the wagon and launched themselves at him. After the messiness of earlier, Cole couldn¡¯t help but smile at the simplicity of his new task. A smile he quickly forced from his face as he smashed into the first Ghoul. He was a Paladin now with a sacred task. Destroying these cursed bodies was not something to take pleasure in. Chiding himself for his momentary slip, let his weight and momentum knock a Grinner into one of its fellows. Sending both stumbling in a tangle of twitching limbs. Swinging his Halberd, Cole smashed its killing edge into the two Grinners. He didn¡¯t try for a clean decapitation, just trying to cripple the Undead. He succeeded as the Halberd¡¯s axe-head tore through both Ghoul¡¯s bodies and sent their bisected pieces flying in a tumble of gore. Spinning with his weapons momentum, Cole reached out with his free right hand and gripped onto the biting head of a lunging Ghoul. Flames erupted from Cole¡¯s palm as his newly superhuman grip crushed bone. Sending a burning, ruined corpse toppling to the ground. Cole kept up the spin, whirling about like a Sun-Dancer of the Central Continent. His body in a constant flow of violence and destruction. Everywhere his halberd swung, a Grinner fell. Ripped apart like so much rotten meat below a butcher''s knife. One smarter Grinner lunged low as Cole turned away from it. The undead¡¯s jaws snapped as it went for Cole¡¯s unguarded spine. Grist barreled into the Ghoul, the Dog-spirit¡¯s jaws sinking into Grinner''s leg and knocking the undead over. Phantasmal claws and bone jaws tore at the Ghoul. Ripping into the thrashing Ghoul like a Wolf might an injured sheep. As he spun to face the noise, Cole saw his unusual ally and looked back to where he¡¯d last seen Natalie. After commanding Grist to help, Natalie prepared to do as Cole asked. She would find the survivors and aid them the best she could. To do this, she''d trotted a few meters away from the Wagons and now ran towards them at full speed. Stolen blood surged through her legs, and she pushed off the ground with every bounding step. Moving faster than she ever had, Natalie jumped. Vampiric strength propelled her into the air, and she let out a startled yelp. Soaring a good five meters in the air, Natalie flailed her legs helplessly as she tumbled through the air. A stunned Cole watched as Natalie flew overhead. Long pale legs pointlessly spinning, as windmilled her limbs and shouted an impressive stream of curses. A snapping Ghoul forced Cole to refocus on the fight and ignore Natalie¡¯s flight. Still, part of him had to acknowledge her legs had looked fantastic. Shaking his head at that¡­hot-blooded thought, Cole returned to his grisly work. To Natalie¡¯s utter surprise, she¡¯d aimed her jump well. In planning this escapade, she¡¯d half-expected to land among the Ghouls or overshoot the wagons entirely. Instead, Natalie was set to land right on top of the nearest wagon. Which led to a new problem: she¡¯d not planned how to land. ¡°JAG! JAG! JAG! JAG! JAG!¡± she shouted as she slammed into the Wagon top. Instead of smashing through the Wagon¡¯s roof like she feared, Natalie hit and skidded down its sloped surface. The icy wood and her own momentum sent Natalie tumbling off the Wagon in a mess of fabric. Slamming into the frozen ground below. Natalie let out a pained groan. ¡°Goatshit! That hurts!¡± Feeling her skinned arms and bruised torso starting to heal, Natalie looked up to see what awaited her. A trio of spear tips were pointed at her, each held by three different men who looked the exact same. For a moment, Natalie wondered if Vampires could suffer concussions before she realized the men were triplets. Each a brawny, hairy fellow with thick brows and brutish features. Unsure of what to do, Natalie smiled up at them and said. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Natalie¡± She realized her mistake the moment she opened her mouth. The triplets saw her fangs and pressed their spears closer to her. Trying to recover from the situation, Natalie raised up conciliatory hands. ¡°Wait, wait, wait! My friend and I have come to help. He¡¯s fighting the Ghouls outside, and he sent me to make sure you were all safe.¡± That had no effect, and the triplets maintained their stoic threat of violence. The clink of bangles and beads came to Natalie, and she looked over to see an elderly woman standing between the Triplets. Hunched over with age, the woman had light-brown skin and the same thick brow as the Triplets. A colorful and heavy dress covered her small body, and myriad metal loops adorned her wrists. While her hair was held up in a tight bun with a few loose strands holding dozens of beads each. In a warm thick voice colored by an alien accent, the woman addressed Natalie. ¡°While my pack, thank you for your concern. We have no need of your help Vampire.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow and pulled herself to her knees, not moving fast enough to worry the Triplets. ¡°Not to be rude, but you have a host of Grinning Ghouls literally battering at your defenses. If I were in your position, I¡¯d be happy for any help. ¡° The old woman made a chuffing noise and looked at the Triplets. ¡°Boys, you will be more use manning the barricades. I can handle this one.¡± They looked like they might argue with her, all three exchanging worried looks. The old woman gave the closest a gentle swat. ¡°GO! I¡¯m not so decrepit as to fear a newborn Vampire.¡± The triplets left, joining the maybe half a dozen other men and women defending the gaps in the Wagon wall. Leaving the two women alone. Natalie took an opportunity to glance around what was apparently a campsite. A raging bonfire sat in the center with maybe a dozen figures clustered around it. Children and elderly, those unable to fight by the look of it. A long boney finger shot out from the Old Woman¡¯s robes and caught underneath Natalie¡¯s chin. ¡°Eyes here, Vampire.¡± the elder murmured. Natalie looked at the Old Woman and saw her eyes were a rich amber color, with large pupils. They reminded Natalie of something, but she didn¡¯t know what. Natalie tried to pull back and suddenly felt a sharp edge cutting into her chin. Gasping, Natalie flicked her eyes down to see the woman¡¯s hand had changed. It had grown in size, the fingers stretching into long muscled claws covered in thick brown fur. Natalie could only stare in utter shock. The Old woman had an amused smile on her face upon seeing Natalie¡¯s surprise. ¡°You see, little Vampire. You aren¡¯t the only one cursed. And unlike you, some of us learn to turn our curse into a blessing.¡± An echoing howl cut through the night. Drowning out the clash of metal and groans of ghouls. Natalie became very still, her eyes widening in utter terror. She knew that howl; she could never forget it. While the one she¡¯d heard was coarse and wet with decay, this one was clean and unbroken. But it was still unmistakably the cry of a Werewolf. Seeing her fright, the old Werefolk woman chuckled. ¡°We are in no need of your help. We needed only wait until the rest of the pack returned.¡± Cole turned to the howl and gripped his halberd tight. From out of the shadows, a pair of lupine juggernauts exploded. Each easily two meters in height while hunched over, they were monstrous hybrids of wolf and man. Gleaming eyes wild with bloodlust set above snarling maws, attached to muscle-bound bodies covered in thick dark fur. Standing upright, they lunged for the Ghouls with colossal paws. Gnashing teeth and tearing claws fell upon the remaining undead. Shredding them apart with an unbridled ferocity, even Cole¡¯s darkest moments couldn¡¯t match. Shrugging his shoulders in resignation, Cole joined the Werewolves in finishing the Grinner herd. It didn¡¯t take long for the final Grinner to be dispatched. Falling to Cole¡¯s halberd in a crunch of bones and slurp of ripping flesh. Leaving the Paladin alone with two vicious-looking monsters. Never letting his eyes dip away from them, Cole kept his halberd raised and spoke clearly. ¡°I am a Rest-Bringer of Master Time. I came to destroy these ghouls and protect any who they might harm.¡± The Werewolves glanced at each other, and the smaller of the two spoke. It was a deep feral rumble coming from a mouth not meant for anything as complicated as language. ¡°I smell Vampire¡­ The hunt not finished¡­ Join us or flee from us¡­.¡± Letting out an annoyed sigh, Cole leveled his weapon at the Werewolf. ¡°The Vampire is in my custody. She is no threat to your pack. I-¡± A number of worried shouts and the sound of clashing metal erupted from the Wagon Camp. Shutting his eyes in tired resignation, Cole cursed. ¡°Fixed Stars and Fractured Souls. What am I going to do with you, Natalie?¡± Natalie¡¯s paralyzing fear at the Werewolves'' arrival faded. Replaced by the mildly more productive terror of a trapped animal. All thoughts but the desire to escape fled Natalie. Her human mind and Vampire instincts in utter agreement on that front. Shakily, she said. ¡°Let me go! I mean you no harm. We just came here to help.¡± The old woman narrowed her strange lupine eyes. ¡°I find that very hard to believe. No, I think you and whatever brood of Vampires you belong to are looking for a quick meal. Sending those ghouls after us the moment our Fullbloods left. While offering parly through a newly turned welp they don¡¯t mind sacrificing. But your elders weren¡¯t fast enough. My daughter and nephews have returned to us, and now you will die.¡± Natalie¡¯s mouth opened, and she tried to think of what to say. Unfortunately, she had to agree with the Werefolk Matriarch. From her perspective, this looked incredibly suspicious, and if they had traded places, Natalie wouldn¡¯t believe a thing out of her own mouth. Shrugging her shoulders, she made her decision. ¡°Screw it. BITERBITERBITER!¡± The Squirrel''s skull burst from her cloak¡¯s internal pocket and flew at the Matriarch. Biter materialized in a spray of mist and phantom fur. Latching onto the Werefolk woman¡¯s face and giving Natalie time to push herself backward. Narrowly dodging the scything claw of the Matriarch aimed at her throat. Slamming backward against the Wagon, Natalie turned and started desperately scrabbling up its side. A speartip slammed into the wood panels next to her as one of the Werefolk guards tried to stop her. Swearing vigorously, Natalie made it to the top just in time for her to feel her connection to Biter break. It was an ugly snapping sensation that made her wince in pain. Glancing down, Natalie saw the furious-looking matriarch dropping the crushed remains of the squirrel skull to the ground. Unsheathing her shortsword, Natalie turned away from the Werefolk and tried to find Cole. It wasn¡¯t hard; the Paladin was busy fighting two Werewolves at the same time. The sight made Natalie freeze up. Twin behemoths of fur and muscle clashed with Cole in a vicious fight. Images of her mother¡¯s death flared through Natalie¡¯s mind. Of the Varcolac and its terrible jaws closing on Iona¡¯s body. Shaking her head, Natalie glanced around, looking for something to do. White-hot pain suddenly erupted in her back, and she stumbled forward. Stunned, Natalie reached to her back and found a crossbow bolt sticking from her. Giving the Werefolk another glance and seeing two women armed with Crossbows aiming their shots. Natalie decided to take her chances outside the circle. Leaping down from the wagon, Natalie called Grist to her. The spectral sheepdog bounded over to her from where it had been standing. With a quick mental command, she sent the Familiar after one of the Werewolves. Skeletal fangs sunk into the monster''s calf and gave Cole an opening. To Natalie¡¯s surprise and slight disappointment, the Paladin didn¡¯t go for the kill but instead rammed the spike of his halberd through the Werewolf''s other knee. Sending the creature to the ground. Cole grimaced at the pained howls erupting from the Werewolf. He didn¡¯t want to kill the Lycanthrope and saw no other way to end this fight other than crippling both his foes. A gut feeling told Cole this all came from a misunderstanding. Something that might be rectified if he could de-escalate the situation. A difficult prospect considering he had two prey-driven Werewolves trying to rip him apart. He could only spare a glance for Natalie and find some solace she¡¯d escaped whatever mess was to be found inside the wagon camp. Her aid in the form of Grist was appreciated but not strictly needed. Cole was stronger than he¡¯d ever been, and even when limiting himself to just fire and steel, he could hold his own with the Werewolves. A disconcerting sensation for the Paladin. He was not used to being a physical equal to his foes. Natalie watched the fight and stalked closer, pressing down her raging terror. The sights, sounds, and smells of the Werewolves were a constant bombardment on her all-too-sensitive senses. While they didn¡¯t stink of rot like the Varcolac, the Werewolves still filled the air with a pungent mix of musk and wet dog. A memory-summoning mixture that made Natalie incredibly thankful she didn¡¯t need to breathe anymore. Glancing between the circling monsters and Cole¡¯s flashing Halberd. Natalie racked her brains for something to do. She wanted to help Cole, but she had no clue how. Holding up her short sword with deathly still hands, Natalie noticed something odd about the fight. Neither side seemed to be pushing to finish the fight. Cole was showing mercy every chance he could, and the Werewolves fought incredibly conservatively. Seemingly content to snap at Cole and pressure him but never striking with true malice. While she understood Cole¡¯s mercy, the Werewolves¡¯ actions made little sense. Maybe Cole wasn¡¯t the only one seeking an ending to this other than bloodshed? As she crept closer, ordering Grist to keep harrying the Wolves, a stray thought entered Natalie''s mind. Of what the Matriarch had said. ¡®My daughter and nephews have returned to us and now you will die.¡¯ Nephews, as in plural. The flickering fire of the camp was suddenly blocked out by a massive shadow. Natalie swore and spun around just in time for two hundred kilos of Werewolf to smash into her. The third Werewolf had arrived. Sharp fangs sunk into Natalie¡¯s side, and she let out a pained scream as bones cracked and flesh tore. Frantically Natalie flailed out with her shortsword. Its silver tip opened a red line along the attacking monster¡¯s flank. Werewolf and Vampire tumbled to the ground, fangs gnashing dead flesh, while an inherited blade tore open lupine skin. Cole heard Natalie¡¯s scream and answered it with a shout of his own. ¡°LEAVE HER ALONE!¡± Cole charged the Werewolf on top of Natalie. Roaring in fury, Cole slammed his halberd into the beast''s exposed flank. Putting the full force of his body behind the blow, he knocked the Werewolf clear of Natalie. The bleeding Werewolf skidded along the ground, the Halberd¡¯s tip jammed into its torso. A furious Cole let go of his halberd and leaped onto the Werewolf, straddling its chest like a grappler. With a feral intensity that surprised even him, Cole punched the Werewolf in the face. Shattering some of its teeth and shredding his knuckles in the process. With his spark-stone in the opposite hand, Cole shot a gout of flame into the Werewolf''s face, driving a howling scream from the beast''s throat. Improvising, Cole spat out an incantation, focusing his will on a spell. ¡°A red blade for a beast who strayed!¡± Crude spikes of blood grew from Cole¡¯s torn knuckles, and Cole slammed his fist into the Werewolf¡¯s throat. Upon impact, Cole screamed in pain, and his foe let out a wet gurgle. The untested spell proved double-edged in the most literal sense. Hardened blood tore at the Werewolf¡¯s throat and lodged itself deep into Cole¡¯s knuckle bones. Getting up from the maimed Werewolf, Cole looked for his foolishly discarded halberd. The two remaining Werewolves descended on him in a flurry of fangs and claws. Cole was carried to the ground as the smaller Werewolf pounced on him. Its claws sank into his sides, and its fangs savaged his shoulder. The other larger Werewolf went low, its jaws wrapping around Cole¡¯s lower leg, shattering the bone like dry kindling. Screaming in pain, Cole let a torrent of flame spray over the smaller Werewolf. The stink of burned hair drowned out anything else and the Wolf let go of Cole, yipping in pain as its pelt smoldered like a quilt left too close to a fire. Free of one threat, Cole turned his attention to the other beast destroying his leg. With his free leg, Cole aimed a vicious kick at the Werewolf''s nose. Thick leather boots driven by superhuman strength smashing into the sensitive skin. Blood sprayed from the Werewolf¡¯s snout, and it let go of Cole, stumbling back to paw at its nose. Dragging himself away from the Werewolf, Cole tried to ignore the plethora of pains. But the mauling he¡¯d received overwhelmed even his well-practiced pain tolerance. Strong but soft hands grabbed Cole underneath the armpits and started dragging him away. Cole looked up to see a frantic Natalie pulling him over the snowy ground. Hoping to flee into the forest and escape this disaster. With a shaky hand, Cole reached up to Natalie. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Leave me. I¡¯ll distract them long enough for you to escape. It¡¯ll be okay.¡± he rasped, his voice shaky with blood loss and shock. Natalie had to resist the urge to smack Cole on the head. ¡°I¡¯m not jagging leaving you! We promised each other we¡¯d stick together, right? Well, I¡¯m not letting either of us break that agreement!¡± A trio of deep growls she could feel in her chest stripped the bravado from Natalie. Looking up, she saw three furious Werewolves stalking toward them. All three were badly injured. Covered in cuts, burns, and dribbling blood from their maws. But they were each in better condition than Cole and far tougher than Natalie. Still dragging Cole, Natalie commanded Grist to attack the weakest-looking Werewolf, the one Cole had pummeled. The Familiar came at the Werewolf from the side, and without even looking, the monster caught the spectral dog with one hand and tossed Grist into the forest with incredible force. With a squealing bark, Grist flew through the air. The new damage and distance to Grist started to rapidly tax Natalie¡¯s blood reserves. Forcing Natalie to deanimate her one weapon. ¡°Jaaaaaag,¡± she swore as the Werewolves parted to make way for the Matriarch. The old woman glanced at her wounded family members and glared at Natalie. ¡°Run along, little Vampire. Leave your slave to die, but know this isn¡¯t over. My pack has your scent.¡± Natalie let go of Cole, gently setting him down on the snow. Seeing the self-satisfied smirk on the Matriarch¡¯s face, Natalie barred her fangs and hissed. A feral gesture that came unbidden. Ignoring her more craven Vampire instincts, Natalie unsheathed her short sword and stood between her injured partner and the Werewolves. ¡°You crazy old bitch! We tried to help you!¡± snarled Natalie. Glancing back at the bleeding Cole, her anger faded to worry. While Cole might resurrect, Natalie felt distinctly uncomfortable trusting that contingency. It only needed to fail once¡­ Besides, Natalie didn¡¯t know what the Werewolves might do to Cole. She saw how much-buried pain came from his immortality and didn¡¯t want to know what being eaten alive would do to Cole¡¯s mind. So instead of doing the smart thing of running. Natalie stared down a pack of Werefolk and prayed to all Ten Gods for a miracle. The matriarch was silent for a long moment, just looking at Natalie. Dawning comprehension seemed to pass over the old woman as she drank in Natalie¡¯s last stand. ¡°You¡­you are in love with him?¡± she asked incredulously. Clearly stunned that a Vampire was even capable of such emotions. Bitterly, Natalie spat, ¡°Yes! But not that it''s any of your business.¡± A clammy hand gripped Natalie¡¯s ankle, and she spun to see Cole. He¡¯d dragged himself to her and was holding something up to her with his other hand. Seeing what he held, Natalie¡¯s eyes widened, and she grabbed the amulet from Cole. Turning back to the now much closer Werefolk. Natalie chided herself for turning away from a pack of predators and hoped at least One of the Ten Gods was listening. Holding up the amulet, Natalie ignored the numb cold spreading to her fingers from the sacred symbol. She really, really hoped she wouldn¡¯t drop it. ¡°My companion is Cole Rest-Bringer, Paladin of Master Time! I spoke the truth. We were hunting the Ghouls and had no knowledge you were here. Please! Let us go free and end this madness!¡± Seeing the amulet, the Werewolves hesitated and looked at each other. The Matriarch squinted her eyes and came forward. The largest of the Wolves put out a massive clawed paw to stop the Matriarch. She swatted it away and approached Natalie. Looking at the amulet and down at the wounded Cole, the Matriarch asked. ¡°Tell me, why is a Paladin traveling with a Vampire?¡± Gritting her teeth, Natalie glanced at the Wolves. ¡°He is helping me, protecting me and others from my nature. Again, not that any of this is your business.¡± Touching the amulet Natalie held out, the Matriarch chuckled. ¡°True, but your words might just convince me to spare you. Surely that has some merit, Little Leech?¡± The Matriarch gripped the amulet and tried to pull it from Natalie¡¯s fingers. Letting out a furious hiss, Natalie yanked the amulet away. Leaving the elder Werefolk standing just a step away with an amused expression. ¡°I see holding it hurts you,¡± the Matriarch remarked. ¡°Yet you won¡¯t surrender it. Why?¡± Glancing at the amulet and ignoring the fact she couldn¡¯t feel her hand anymore, Natalie said. ¡°It''s important to him. That¡¯s reason enough.¡± Musing on those words, the Matriarch stepped back and gestured at the Werewolves. ¡°Jaks, Jokin, grab one of our spare cots. Oh, and Ametza, be a dear and find my medicines.¡± The smallest Werewolf looked questioningly at the Matriarch but seemed to decide better to question the Pack leader. The trio of Werewolves loped back towards the wagons and left Natalie and the old woman alone. The Matriarch spat onto her palm and held out a hand to Natalie. ¡°I am Madam Kistine Shohgard, First Mother of the Shohgard Pack.¡± Natalie looked at the spit-stained hand and realized this was some strange form of greeting. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious? After all that, you want to shake hands and pretend nothing happened. You almost killed me, and your pack savaged Cole!¡± Kistine rolled her eyes. ¡°Would you prefer I let my family finish their hunt? Or would you like to stop wasting time and let me see to your mate?¡± Natalie spat onto her hand or at least tried to. Her body produced just enough moisture for her throat and mouth to work but wouldn¡¯t waste any energy on anything more complicated. Still, Natalie figured the gesture was more important than the actual saliva and shook the Matriarch¡¯s hand. Nodding her head at Natalie, Kistine broke the handshake and shuffled over towards Cole. Natalie was tense and ready to spring into action but sensed no malice from the old woman. Clicking her tongue, Kistine bent over Cole, her legs clearly straining from the effort. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Little Leech. The damage is bad, I will do the best I can, but I¡¯ll make no promises.¡± Natalie was uncertain of what to say. She didn¡¯t want to reveal what Cole could do to this stranger but wasn¡¯t about to pass up getting Cole''s help. Eventually, Natalie said. ¡°Help him. He¡¯s stronger than you¡¯d think.¡± Eyeing Natalie, the Matriarch nodded and looked up to her returning relatives. Two men in their late twenties, brothers by the looks of it, carried a simple cot and tent between them. They wore loose baggy clothing over lanky muscled bodies. Trotting behind them was a short woman barely out of her teens in similar clothing carrying a child-sized crate with ease. The trio never seemed to take their eyes off Natalie but said nothing. Eyes that disturbingly hadn¡¯t changed at all between their Lupine forms in their humanoid ones. Setting the cot down, the brothers lifted Cole onto it. Carefully following their Aunt Kistine¡¯s directions to not further injure the Paladin. The girl, Ametza, Natalie guessed. Set the crate next to her mother and hovered nearby, her eyes flitting between Kistine and Natalie. This close, Natalie could see the scores of scrapes, cuts, and bruises covering the three Werewolves. They¡¯d healed quickly but still sported evidence of the fight. Ametza, in particular, looked to be in bad shape. A red stain was spreading along her clothes, and Natalie could smell the fresh blood. The silver-tipped short sword had done grisly work. Something Natalie tried not to feel too proud about. With Cole secure, the brothers started setting up a tent around him while Kistine got to work. She opened up the crate, revealing its lid to be a complicated bit of woodwork. Unfolding into a simple but effective surgical station. Natalie took a moment to admire the craftsmanship. The intricate grooves for instruments and the built-in porcelain wash basin. Simple but elegant pictograms of medicinal plants framed the surgery cart. From its inside, Kistine pulled out bandages, a bottle of something so pungent Natalie could smell it through the cork, and a bundle of instruments. Jaks continued setting up the tent while Jokin brought over a pail of freshly boiled water. With Ametza¡¯s help, Kistine got Cole¡¯s clothes off. Stripping him down and revealing the full extent of the damage. Kistine¡¯s eyes widened when she saw the scars covering Cole. She looked at Natalie and the collar of feeding scars around Cole¡¯s neck. Natalie hurriedly shook her head and explained. ¡°Those aren¡¯t from me.¡± Unconvinced but unwilling to press the issue, Kistine got to work. Using the harsh-smelling chemical, she cleaned Cole¡¯s wounds and started sewing them shut. Natalie only spared glances at the whole operation. The sight of Cole¡¯s nude form, his gruesome injuries, and the smell of blood was playing havoc with her mind. Sending all sorts of mixed signals, she didn¡¯t want to even start to decipher. So she leaned against a nearby tree, watching the operation from a distance. Kistine would occasionally sprinkle handfuls of odd powder onto Cole¡¯s wounds or pause in her work to whisper words in a cracking raspy language. By now, a tarpaulin was strung from the nearby trees, forming a crude tent around Cole and the others. The light of the campfire was completely obscured, and Natalie just then realized how dark it was inside the tent. Even her senses were trammeled by the night. About to say something, Natalie stepped closer to Kistine. Only then, realizing the woman¡¯s eyes were shut. Kistine looked almost asleep. Her mouth whispered a constant string of foreign words while her hands danced in a never-ending waltz between the surgical station and Cole¡¯s body. In the dark, Natalie could see faint wisps of something floating around Kistine¡¯s hands. Flickers of light like you might see after hitting your head. Drifting about the old woman¡¯s digits in uncertain patterns. A strange pressure was building in Natalie like something was pressing on her entire body. Glancing around, she noticed the Werewolf brothers had hung strange fetishes at the Tent¡¯s corner, and now, with the campfire illuminating the tarpaulin, she could see strange sigils inscribed on the fabric. This was more than crude surgery. Magic was at work here, but not any Natalie recognized. Upon that realization, a fickle gut reaction told Natalie to interrupt what was happening, but she shoved it down. Her acute senses told her the flow of blood had almost completely stopped from Cole¡¯s injuries. Whatever Kistine was doing, it was working. The night burned on, with the Wolf brothers bringing new buckets of water and Ametza occasionally taking over to give Kistine a break. Eventually, with an exhausted sigh, Kistine stepped away from Cole and dunked her hands in the soapy basin Jaks had just filled. The woman looked like she¡¯d aged another decade, the exhaustion wearing on her. Opened her eyes and blearily blinking at Natalie as she spoke. ¡°The Spirits doubt he will live through the night. I stopped the internal bleeding and stitched his most grievous wounds, but it''s not enough. Your partner has lost much blood, and I fear infection will take hold. My Tutelaries did what they could, but strange magic covers him. The Spirits shy away from him, and coaxing even the tamest of them to help was difficult. I¡¯ve never seen anything of the like. I guess you weren¡¯t lying about him being a Paladin.¡± In the darkness, Natalie could see flickers of regret cross the old woman¡¯s face. Her pack had attacked and possibly killed a Holy Warrior. An act the Gods would not look favorably on. Seeing that fear, Natalie was tempted to tell them the truth about Cole but knew it wasn¡¯t her secret to tell. But whatever Shaman-magic Kistine had worked sensed Cole¡¯s strangeness, and the Matriarch had assumed it was due to him being a Paladin. Natalie wasn¡¯t going to dissuade Kistine of that notion, and it could still give Natalie a reasonable explanation. ¡°He is blessed by Master Time. Death and he are old friends. He will live; just give him time to heal.¡± Kistine gave Natalie a small, sad smile. Clearly, thinking Natalie was in denial. ¡®Oh, if she only knew.¡¯ the Vampire mused. Kistine looked at the unconscious Cole and grimaced. ¡°I am sorry for this, Little Leach. Such senseless blood-shed is too common in these lands. I¡¯m ashamed my family has contributed.¡± Frowning at Kistine, Natalie spat. ¡°My name is Natalie, not ¡®Little Leech.¡¯ You jumped to an ugly conclusion, and the only reason you didn¡¯t pay for it is Cole¡¯s mercy. I watched the fight with your nephews, and I¡¯ve seen Cole fight greater monsters. He only suffered these injuries because of your family''s bloodlust and my foolishness.¡± The Werewolves flanking Kistine bristled at Natalie¡¯s words. Not taking kindly to Natalie¡¯s razor-words. Letting some of her anger boil up, Natalie hissed at the brothers. ¡°You have all your limbs and aren¡¯t frozen solid. Count yourself lucky!¡± Cowed by the righteous fury on Natalie¡¯s face, the Wolves looked at each other and backed down. Taking a deep breath, both calming and pointless. Natalie looked at Kistine. ¡°I thank you for your aid¡­ It has been a troubling past few days; let us try and move forward from this mess.¡± Nodding in agreement, Kistine dismissed her relatives back to the main camp. ¡°We will provide whatever food or medicine we can for the Paladin, but we won¡¯t be as accommodating to you. Is that a problem?¡± Rolling her eyes, Natalie bitterly remarked. ¡°I have no intention or desire to feed on your pack. If need be, I can hunt these woods for game.¡± That seemed to remove some tension from the Shaman. Raising a spindly finger, she pointed at Natalie¡¯s short sword. ¡°I¡­ know I¡¯ve no right to ask, but where did you get that weapon?¡± Glancing at the scabbard strapped to her waist, Natalie shrugged. ¡°A relative gave it to me when I left home. Something passed down through his family, he said.¡± Nodding at that, Kistine asked, ¡°May I see it? I wish to confirm something.¡± Looking over at the resting Cole, Natalie unsheathed the weapon and handed it to Kistine. While the bitter rage in her wanted to spite the old woman, Natalie knew she needed to be better than that. The Werefolk were trying to play nice, so she should meet them at least halfway. Holding the short sword, Kistine wrapped her fingers around the guardless hilt and examined its polished blade. Returning it to Natalie, she remarked. ¡°I wonder if the Gods are involved and if they are, which ones. Whoever it is, they have a sick sense of humor.¡± Cocking an eyebrow, Natalie asked. ¡°What do you mean? Do you know this weapon?¡± Shaking her head in the negative, Kistine let out a small bitter laugh. ¡°No, but I¡¯ve seen ones like it. That weapon is a Misoria Blade. A tool of cruel mercy.¡± Looking at the weapon, Natalie repeated the word. ¡°Misoria. What does that mean?¡± Grimacing, Kistine looked away from the straight blade. ¡°It''s Late-Imperial; it means both Mercy and Misery. Depending on the context and what syllable you stress.¡± Flipping the weapon over in her hands, Natalie¡¯s mind came up with at least a dozen questions before Kistine started to elaborate. ¡°They are weapons of euthanasia. Tools to kill as an act of final kindness. Crafted from Thunderbolt Iron with their tips dipped in blessed silver. Misorias bring final peace to the dying and the cursed¡± Eyeing the weapon, Kistine folded her arms, her bangles clinking as she did. ¡°I know of them only because they share history with my people. Many a Werefolk enslaved by their blood has met their end with these weapons. When I was a little girl¡­ One of my uncles surrendered to his blood and did terrible, terrible things. A Warrior-Priest with one of those ended his life. It''s a curious thing you find in your possession, Natalie.¡± Sheathing the weapon, Natalie looked back toward Cole. ¡°Thank you for the history, Kistine. I see what you mean about the Gods having a sick sense of humor.¡± To Natalie¡¯s surprise, Kistine put a gentle hand on her arm. ¡°I do not mean to add to your grief, young Vampire but remember that weapon''s purpose. Particularly if your partner starts to suffer. I¡¯ve seen what a cruel infection can do. A blade thrust is more merciful.¡± Stiffening at the morbid suggestion, Natalie nodded. ¡°That won¡¯t be needed, but I understand.¡± Grimacing, Kistine pulled her hand back and chose her words carefully. ¡°If the time comes and you need another to grant him peace¡­ I will take that duty upon myself. That is little comfort, I know, but I will still offer it.¡± Natalie looked away from the old Werewoman and nodded her head in understanding. With that, Kistine left Natalie. Returning to her pack and leaving the Paladin and Vampire alone in the makeshift tent. Slumping next to the cot, Natalie listened to the sound of Kistine¡¯s shuffling footsteps crunch through the snow. This close to Cole, the smell of his blood was strong. Overpowering the herbs and antiseptic Kistine had used. Shaking her head at the seductive aroma, Natalie was surprised she hadn¡¯t really noticed it till now. A surprising thing considering all the bloodshed and her own expenditures during the fight. Thinking about that, Natalie reached out with her mind to Grist and tried to reanimate him. She didn¡¯t want to leave the skull somewhere in the woods. A surge of pain hit Natalie like an arrow. A cold clear needle of agony rammed into her side, and she let out a yelp. Breaking her concentration, Natalie reached to the pain¡¯s source. Instead of a sword or arrow sticking in her, she found Cole¡¯s amulet tucked into a dress pocket. Gingerly pulling the small metal hourglass free. Natalie tossed it onto Cole. Careful to only touch the leather cord. The moment the amulet left Natalie¡¯s person, the smell of Cole¡¯s blood became much more intense. Forcing herself to stop breathing, Natalie backed away from Cole, surprised by the suddenness of the sensation. Grist now answered her call, reforming and loping through the woods towards her, and she felt her blood supply drain as he formed a new spectral body. Glancing at the amulet sitting on Cole¡¯s slowly moving chest, Natalie shrugged. It made sense; if it could knock her out, then having it on her person would stunt her abilities. Grist arrived, and Natalie knelt down to pet the phantom dog. Her fingers felt like they were passing through the cold fog to touch slightly damp fur. Grist seemed to appreciate the attention and let her scratch around his head and neck. ¡°I¡¯ve never had a dog before.¡± Natalie mused. Then with a thought, she let the magic end, and Grist¡¯s body faded. Returning him to a skull. Picking up said skull, Natalie went and found her pack and Coles. They¡¯d dropped them before entering the fight, but Natalie had a little issue finding them. Placing the dog skull in her pack, Natalie returned to the tent and let out a deep sigh. She¡¯d not been looking forward to talking with Cole after facing the Ghouls, but she¡¯d honestly prefer that to seeing him like this. Covered in blood-soaked bandages and barely breathing, Cole looked terrible. Leaning next to a nearby tree, Natalie was reminded of the time she¡¯d found Cole at the Glockmire gates and dragged him home. A small smile at the memory died under another pang of homesickness. Annoyed at her ever-traitorous mind, Natalie got up from her seat and moved closer to Cole. Ignoring the appetizing smell, Natalie licked her lips and got on her knees next to the cot. Leaning over Cole, she placed her head on his chest and shut her eyes. His heart was slow but steady, a powerful drumbeat that she¡¯d grown to associate with safety. Sitting like that, Natalie let out a pained sigh, making sure not to breathe back in the smell of blood. Turning her head, she looked at Cole¡¯s unconscious face. Even in a drugged sleep, he looked pained. The sight made Natalie¡¯s still heart twinge in pain. Without hesitation, Cole had jumped headlong into the jaws of a Werewolf to save her. Even after she betrayed his trust and messed everything up, the stupidly wonderful man hadn¡¯t hesitated to suffer for her. ¡°I owe you the truth,¡± she said. ¡°I tried to tell you at the Windmill but let myself be distracted¡­ That sounds like a dumb excuse, I know, but it''s true.¡± shutting her eyes and enjoying Cole¡¯s warmth, she continued. ¡°Okay, I guess what I¡¯m trying to do is practice. I¡¯m practicing my confession. So uh, just feel better, and I¡¯ll do this.¡± Feeling fantastically awkward, Natalie had to resist the urge to slam her head into Cole¡¯s chest out of embarrassment. ¡°Okay, so let me make this clear, Isabelle contacted me first. Jag, I sound like I¡¯m making excuses. But she did! When I cut my finger before my Dad''s funeral, she made some sort of magical connection. Jumped into my dreams and made me an offer. She would teach me how to be a Vampire, and I would make her a new body.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t take the deal. I don¡¯t trust her. But I got her to teach me a few things. I should have told you then, not kept any secrets, but I didn¡¯t. Partially because I don¡¯t trust her, partially¡­because I am afraid. Afraid that if you have the option, you will pick her instead of me.¡± Pulling her head up and looking at Cole, Natalie sorted through her jumbled thoughts. ¡°When I was little, a boy I knew got a puppy for his birthday. He adored the puppy, named him Chester, and showed him to everyone in the town. But Chester got sick and died maybe two months after the boy got him. Alphonse, that was the boy, he cried for an entire week. Then his parents got him a new Puppy, and he was happy again.¡± Swallowing her fear, Natalie made her point. ¡°What I¡¯m trying to say is¡­ Well, am I your second Puppy? Do you love me for me, or am I just a stop-gap? Isabelle seems to think so, and she¡¯s known you for longer than I have. While I don¡¯t trust her, the sneaky bitch. I¡­I jag, I am afraid. And I let that fear rule me. I hid this whole thing from you, hoping foolishly that somehow you¡¯d never find out. Thinking if Isabelle stayed dead, then I¡¯d never have to learn if I was a replacement.¡± Sitting back on her haunches, Natalie felt like she was about to cry. ¡°Then, after the bandits, I hated myself. Losing control was terrible, and I thought maybe Isabelle could help me. It was stupid, but I went to her. I snuck behind your back and tried to get Isabelle¡¯s help. We made a deal. She can talk to me in my dreams and sometimes when I¡¯m awake. While I learn from her. She taught me how to raise Familiars and has promised to teach me more.¡± Resisting the urge to take a steadying breath, Natalie leaned forward and placed herself on Cole¡¯s chest again. In a half-whisper, she pleaded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Cole. I¡¯m sorry for lying and all of this. I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t strong enough to stop the Werewolf and needed your help. I¡¯m sorry if¡­if I¡¯m not enough.¡± To her utter surprise, a large hand rested on her head. Freezing, eyes wide, Natalie reached up to where Cole rested his bloodied left hand on her head. Timidly she asked. ¡°H-how much of that were you awake for?¡± A rumbling laugh that turned into a cough escaped Cole. ¡°Enough.¡± Sitting up slightly, Natalie looked at Cole. Bleary-eyed and pale, he was conscious. Slowly with shaky fingers, Cole moved his hand to cup Natalie¡¯s chin. Twisting his scarred face in a sad smile, he said. ¡°You are you, Natalie. You are the woman I''ve fallen in love with.¡± Clearing his throat and wheezing slightly, Cole said. ¡°I love Isabelle, true, but I¡¯m not looking for some shade of her in you. Natalie, you¡¯ve helped me feel alive. Like there''s more to life than duty. I¡¯ve laughed more with you than I had in ten years. That means more than I can put into words.¡± Letting her head fall to his chest and stroking her cheek, Cole continued. ¡°We¡¯ve both been thrown in way over our heads. I knew something was wrong but lacked the words to ask you what. For the past two months, I have been so busy acting as a Paladin. I¡¯ve been an inadequate partner.¡± Frowning, Natalie reached up to Cole¡¯s face and traced some of his scars absently. ¡°I¡¯m trying to apologize. I¡¯m the one who messed up, not you!¡± Cole tried to shrug and winced in pain at the attempt. ¡°You have been in pain, and from that pain, you made foolish choices. I failed to help remove that pain, so some of the blame falls on me.¡± Bewildered, Natalie got up and carefully straddled Cole. Sitting atop him, careful to not hurt him, she looked down at Cole. Despite himself, Cole smiled. He could barely see Natalie in the dark, but the suggestions of a curvaceous form and long silken hair enraptured him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, Natalie almost growled. ¡°You silly, silly man! I messed up, so let me apologize, and don¡¯t take any of this onto yourself!¡± Glaring down at him with crimson eyes, Natalie said. ¡°I betrayed your trust, conspired with your half-dead lover behind your back. Lied to you and generally acted like a moody, insecure teenager for the last few weeks! Let me apologize, dammit!¡± Slumping down, so her forehead met Cole''s, Natalie continued in a gentler tone. ¡°You are not at fault for my screw-ups. Sure maybe in a perfect world, you might have found the right thing to say and help me. You didn¡¯t, but you still tried to help. Which is all you can expect, really. Where I just made a mess of things. These are my mistakes, and I¡¯m trying to fix them. Please let me?¡± Enjoying the softness of Natalie¡¯s body pressed against his, Cole nodded in assent. After a moment, Natalie softly said. ¡°I love you, Cole. I¡¯m scared of losing you. I let that fear control me and hurt both of us. Can you forgive me?¡± Gently moving her head, so their lips touched, Cole kissed Natalie. A gentle thing, not burning with desire like some previous ones, but a more tender act of affection. ¡°I love you too, Natalie. I can forgive anyone who is worthy, and you¡¯ve shown me you are.¡± Breaking the kiss, Natalie felt herself calm down. She¡¯d opened her heart, and Cole had answered in kind. A powerful act, especially after the mess she¡¯d caused. Natalie felt a great weight leave her shoulders. She had to resist the urge to snuggle into Cole, knowing putting too much of her body weight on him would be a bad idea. Still, she seemed to have miscalculated, Cole let out a slight groan, and Natalie pulled herself off of him. Whispering an apology, Natalie curled up next to the cott and put her head and elbows on it. Looking at Cole, she asked. ¡°How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?¡± After a moment, Cole replied. ¡°Like three Werewolves tried to kill me. So some water would be nice.¡± Snorting in amusement, Natalie grabbed a water skin from Cole¡¯s pack and helped him drink. After nearly emptying the almost full skin, Cole let out a relieved sigh and glanced around them. ¡°What happened? I woke up when you put your head on me, but the last I remember was giving you my amulet.¡± Gesturing towards the Werefolk camp, oblivious that Cole couldn¡¯t see the gesture, Natalie explained. ¡°They recognized the symbol, and we made nice. One of them is a Shaman and Surgeon of some kind. She treated you but said you wouldn¡¯t make it through the night.¡± Cole let out a pained chuckle. ¡°I don¡¯t think I did. It¡¯s probably the only reason I¡¯m conscious.¡± Natalie grimaced at that. He was probably right, but it was strange to think about. That Cole might have died while she argued with Kistine or when they later discussed the Misoria Blade. Sobered by that thought. Natalie grabbed the second water skin and went back to Cole. Looking around the shadowed tent they were in, Cole sighed. ¡°Werefolk, I¡¯ve had little dealings with them. How many do you think there are?¡± Seeing Cole shiver, Natalie got to work, starting a small fire, and asked. ¡°It was hard to tell, maybe twenty?¡± As the first bit of tinder started to crackle and spark, Cole let out a pleased sigh. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised they didn¡¯t leave a fire. I¡¯ve met Werefolk who walk through blizzards wearing only a loincloth and body hair.¡± Gathering what little dry material she could, Natalie fed the small fire and hoped its heat would reach Cole. She¡¯d hate for him to freeze to death or get a cough from this. Not that she¡¯d seen him suffer any from bad weather before. Curiously she asked. ¡°Hey Cole, can you get sick?¡± After a moment of thought, he answered. ¡°I think so? But I don¡¯t know for certain. Hmm, maybe not?¡± A silken voice from beside Natalie said. ¡°He can¡¯t, at least not for long. His body is stronger than any mundane contagion, and any magical malady will kill him quickly. Letting him reset without their side effects. So no danger of him becoming a Werewolf.¡± Jumping up and spinning around, Natalie saw Isabelle leaning against a tree. An amused expression on her noble features. Stunned, Natalie watched as Isabelle strowed over towards Cole and looked at him. Upon seeing him, a flicker of sadness passed over Isabelle¡¯s features, but it quickly faded. ¡°He¡¯s healing faster than I expected. How interesting. Be a dear and convey my love to him, little Natalie.¡± Between eye blinks, the phantom Isabelle disappeared. Leaving a shocked Natalie. Realizing something was wrong, Cole asked. ¡°Did you hear something? What is it?¡± Uncertainty and fear flickered through Natalie. ¡°You know how I mentioned I made a deal with Isabelle? How she could contact me. Well, she just appeared and said you can¡¯t get sick. She¡­she also said to give you her love.¡± Cole was silent for a long moment before letting out a deep sigh. ¡°Ah. Well¡­ this complicates things.¡± Book II: Chapter 5: Passion, Predators, and Prose

Chapter 5: Passion, Predators, and Prose

¡°I saw it. I saw the world¡¯s end with my very own eyes. The sky turned red as blood, and a great crack like a God¡¯s bones breaking could be heard. For a moment, all was quiet. The Eternal City was silent as its Necropolis. Then the screaming started. Oh, Gods¡­ I¡¯ll never forget the screaming. When it started I thought we were doomed. But when it stopped¡­ That''s when I knew we were.¡± - The testament of Cassius Gens Vulpus. Taken shortly after the Eternal City''s fall. (Dated Twenty-Fourth of Scorchset, 476 Fourth Epoch.)
Natalie just stared at the space Isabelle had occupied. ¡°She¡­ She said it was costly to talk to me while I¡¯m awake. Did she lie?¡± Shutting his eyes and letting his head rest on the cott, Cole spoke. ¡°Maybe? Perhaps speaking to you was worth the cost.¡± shrugging with the one shoulder that worked, Cole mused. ¡°This has been an eventful evening; Isabelle is not the type to sit out such things. Intruding into the waking world, even at great cost, just to prove a point. Well that sounds like her.¡± Grimacing, Natalie looked around, half-expecting Isabelle to appear just to countermand Cole. The phantom vampiress didn¡¯t, leaving Natalie and Cole alone for the time being. Cole took a long drink from the water skin and let out another pained sigh. He wasn¡¯t used to being in this bad of shape for any length of time. For better or worse, he usually died and revived instead of persisting in such an injured state. Trying to move his left arm, he winced, and Cole briefly considered resetting himself. But a glance at the skittish Natalie convinced him not to. While she¡¯d accepted his immortality, some part of it still made her deeply uncomfortable. To her credit, it was the idea of Cole¡¯s ability failing or the mental stress it put him under that disturbed her. Not fear of what might be considered unnatural or deep-seated envy as Cole had seen in others. After everything that had happened, Cole figured attempting (temporary) suicide might just push Natalie too far. She seemed to be doing better, and if Cole needed to spend a few days in a sick bed to not quash that recovery, so be it. Shutting his eyes again, Cole felt exhaustion hit him like a warhammer. Thirst and Natalie¡¯s words had woken him from much-needed rest. Now both of those concerns were managed; the sleep of the wounded called to him like a Sirin. Resisting the urge to simply give in to his exhaustion, he forced his eyes open with great effort and called to Natalie. ¡°Nat, I¡¯m ready to pass out again. Do you need anything from me before I do?¡± Pulled from her anxieties, Natalie shuffled over to the cott and sat next to it, her hands resting on Cole¡¯s side. ¡°Is it okay if I stay close to you? I¡¯ll try not to wake you.¡± Smiling, Cole groped in the darkness until he caught Natalie¡¯s hand. ¡°Of course. I love you, Natalie. Wake me up if you need it to.¡± Returning his slightly pained smile, Natalie squeezed his warm hand and murmured. ¡°Of course, I love you too. Sleep well and feel better.¡± Nearly the moment Natalie¡¯s words left her mouth Cole¡¯s breathing changed. The demands of broken flesh pulling him into sleep. Looking at the scarred warrior, Natalie gently set her head on his chest and simply listened to the sound of his breathing. After a time, she pulled away and went over to her pack. The effects of Cole¡¯s amulet had given her an idea. Grabbing her carving knife and a piece of wood she¡¯d kept for such purposes. Natalie sat at the edge of the small fire and got to work. Even with the faintest sparks to guide her eyes, Natalie¡¯s hands fell into long practiced rhythms. When she¡¯d packed her things back in Glockmire, Natalie had grabbed this piece of wood from among her carving stock. The simple fist-sized block had sat in the back of one of her cupboards for years. Ironically only seeing use when she needed to abandon her material collection. Superstition and melancholy had driven Natalie to take this piece instead of any others. The block of Yew wood had been taken from a tree that had once sat at the edge of the Temple cemetery. It had been felled shortly after the plague to make room for new graves. Somehow Natalie had ended up with a scrap of ill-omened tree. Poisonous and useful for crafting weapons of war, Yew trees have a long association with Death and Doom. Something that had kept Natalie from ever using the wood. But when she was leaving Glockmire, that reputation seemed appropriate and was even more so now. Getting to work, Natalie started her newest carving project. Careful to only use a small part of the block, Natalie started carving herself an Amulet. Losing herself in the work, Natalie slowly but surely freed her imagined trinket from its surrounding wood. Bringing the small wooden Hourglass into being one focused cut at a time. To her chagrin, Natalie noticed her enhanced strength and dexterity eased the process. A firmer, more steady hand doing an excellent job. As the first faintest bits of dawn started to approach, Natalie finished her work. The hourglass amulet resting in her palm, the fire kept alive by a steady diet of wood shavings. Clutching the wooden sigil to her breast, Natalie half expected it to suddenly start burning her. When nothing happened, she came to a grim conclusion. If she wanted to face divine judgment, she needed to ask for it. Under her breath, Natalie started to pray. ¡°Master Time, ensure our lives are long, our deaths are quick, and our rest undisturbed. Master Time, protect the living, protect the dead, and strike down that which is neither. Master Time, keep the dead till they live again, and ignore the living till their end.¡± As the old benediction flowed from her lips, the newborn amulet seemed to grow colder. It was a small thing, but instead of wood, Natalie swore she was holding a piece of chilled stone. More than a little surprised this had worked, Natalie continued her prayer. This time in a more personal flavor. ¡°You said I didn¡¯t have to be a monster. I¡¯m trying my best, and I know my best isn¡¯t great. So any help in would be appreciated.¡± A vague coldness pressed against Natalie. She expected it to be the soul-breaking power she¡¯d experienced in previous encounters with a God. Bracing herself, she was surprised when the icy pressure stayed as it was, a faint chill in her soul. Leaving as quickly as it came, the presence left a strange impression in her mind. An echo of an emotion, a vague sense of belief. As Natalie touched the echo, she got flickers of different sensations and experiences. Snippets of her life and memories played for her to tell a story. One that was not too hard to decipher. Master Time had confidence in Natalie; he believed she would rise to the occasion. In short, God had faith in her. A fantastically sobering thought that did little in the way of soothing Natalie. Looking down at the chilled amulet, Natalie stuffed it into a pocket and let out a deep sigh. The faint sound of footsteps and creaking wood alerted her that others were awake. The Werefolk were starting their morning. Looking around the loaned tent, Natalie spotted an unfamiliar pot. The Werewolf twins had taken their Aunt''s surgical kit with them when they left, but they¡¯d left the small cauldron they¡¯d used during the operation. Picking up the half-filled container of icy water. Natalie decided she should try and be ¡°neighborly.¡± Giving Cole one last check and taking the time to throw her cloak over him. Natalie left the tent and prepared to enter the Wolfden. The wagons were still pulled close together, and Natalie was for a moment confused on how the Werefolk had left their encampment. Walking around the wagon circle, she finally noticed how one of the wagons was cocked at a strange angle, leaving a gap. The gap was blocked by a large wooden structure with slots cut into it. It looked like a wooden wall someone had stuck on wheels and reinforced with strips of metal. Faded drawings of snarling animal faces decorated the barrier. If she had to guess, Natalie would say it was some kind of mobile fortification. Which made sense considering its placement. Setting the pot against her hip like she might carry a load of laundry, Natalie knocked on the barricade. The sounds of the waking Werefolk camp became muted for a moment as the occupants realized the knock''s source. The bustle resumed, and footsteps signaled someone¡¯s approach. A set of stern gray eyes appeared in one of the slots and looked at Natalie. A rasping voice came from behind the barricade. ¡°What do you want, Vampire?¡± Holding up the pot, so it was visible, Natalie answered. ¡°Returning this. Kistine left it last night.¡± The speaker¡¯s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ¡°Set it next to the Gulyay and take five steps back¡± Natalie wanted to protest but decided against it. She was here to play nice, and if placating their paranoia was part of it, so be it. Following the instructions, she watched as the fortification, or Gulyay as the speaker called it, slid open. Revealing an older-looking Werefolk man with receding gray hair and a thick mustache. He had the weathered look of an old tree. Carrying the mix of leathery wrinkles and taught muscle Natalie associated with old tradesmen. A curved sword hung at the man¡¯s waist, and he kept one hand on it. He never took his eyes off Natalie as he grabbed the pot and pulled it inside. Shutting the Gulyay, the Werefolk grunted something halfway between a noise of exertion and a thank you. Standing there, uncertain of what to do, Natalie took a breath. The smell of fresh blood and animal musk hit her nose, and she whirled to its source. Sitting on top of the closest wagon was the young female Werewolf. Wearing trousers and a loose tunic barely covering her bandages. The girl had short dark hair in a scruffy cut with a hard if not unattractive, face. Barefoot and hunched down on her haunches, the Werewolf looked at Natalie with undisguised suspicion. ¡°Took you long enough, Vampire. I¡¯ve been watching you since I smelled you coming towards the camp.¡± Looking up at the Werewolf, Natalie asked. ¡°Ametza, right? How are your injuries?¡± Stiffening slightly, the Wolf bared her teeth, which were far sharper than any human''s. ¡°They will heal up quick enough. Unlike the burns you will get any minute now. I¡¯d hurry back to your dead man before the sun rises.¡± Natalie had honestly asked the question out of concern and an attempt to forge a dialogue. But that wasn¡¯t how Ametza took it. Biting her tongue, Natalie resisted the urge to fire back and instead turned to leave. Calling after the retreating, Natalie Ametza said. ¡°I know you leeches like to show skin, but that outfit of yours is ridiculous. Just asking for your back to get all burned up by the noon-day sun!¡± Confused, Natalie reached back behind her and realized what Ametza was referring to. A huge part of her dress was torn. A long gash stretched from her shoulders down to right above her hips. The crossbow bolt she¡¯d taken last night and the later struggles had torn apart the fabric. Sighing to herself, Natalie went back to the tent. Going into her pack, she grabbed her needle and thread. Looking over at the unconscious Cole, she made sure he was asleep. Stripping off her dress, Natalie got to work. While her lower undergarments were intact, her upper set was also damaged. Taking those off as well, she started sewing. As the sun started to rise, Natalie sat nearly nude, trying to repair her clothes. She hadn¡¯t packed much in the way of clothing when leaving Glockmire, something she regretted now. This had been her last clean dress. The rest were worn and stained by the journey. They¡¯d not had time to really stop and wash. Something that was wearing fiercely on Natalie. While she didn¡¯t sweat or shed hair, the idea of wearing the same clothes for weeks on end and not being able to take a bath was profoundly unpleasant. As she worked, she wondered if they were near a river. Getting through the ice wouldn¡¯t be too terribly difficult, and she doubted the cold would bother her any. After all, she was sitting here on a cold winter morning naked and unbothered by the generally glacial environment. Sunlight started to filter in through the tent''s canvas and made Natalie wince as the light stung her eyes. Forcing herself to remember it was better than burning alive. She continued working. Once she was finished repairing the dress, she intended to go speak with the Werefolk. She didn¡¯t have any particular reason in mind, but she wanted to see their reactions. Natalie doubted the nomadic Pack would know details of the Alukah and figured Cole¡¯s line about her being ¡°Less cursed than most Vampires¡± would work. Glancing up at Cole, she saw he¡¯d moved somewhat in his sleep. Pushing one of his blankets, so his left arm and part of his torso was uncovered. The tent was still chilly but now at a habitable temperature, so Natalie didn¡¯t rush to cover him up. Instead, she took a moment to look at his sculpted muscles and brutal scars. She¡¯d found those marks disturbing when she first met him but never had she considered them ugly. They spoke of pain and suffering, yet didn¡¯t disfigure like one might expect. Now with the context for those wounds, they were transformed from gruesome markers to noble badges of courage. Each telling a story of Cole¡¯s valor. Somehow that idea made her giddy. Appealing to the daydreaming girl she¡¯d once been who dreamed of noble warriors and epic quests. While she would never have admitted it. Some part of her had always liked the idea of being swept off her feet by some gallant knight. Natalie had always prided herself on being strong and tough. Being the type of woman who would pull her own weight and forge her own path. But that didn¡¯t mean the idea of having a hero who helped her feel safe and desired lacked an appeal. Natalie had no desire to be some Damsel in Distress. But the idea of being a great Queen with a noble Knight at her side or in her bed¡­ Well, that had a charm. Looking at Cole and letting out a sigh. Natalie realized that in spite of everything, she really had been lucky in meeting him. The pale winter light pulled Cole from his sleep. Striking his heavy eyelids and pulling him from the dreamless rest he¡¯d been enjoying. Forcing his eyes open, Cole blinked away sleep and started to sit up from the stiff cot. A sight of alabaster beauty froze his movements. Sitting nearby and focused on her work was Natalie. Her elegant neck bent over her sewing work. Long dark hair spilling out like a waterfall of black silk. A pensive expression on her face, the unnaturally red lips of a vampire in the half-smile Natalie wore while focusing. Cole¡¯s eyes traveled downwards to Natalie''s full breasts and narrow waist. She looked like the image of seductive femininity with her toned legs and sculpted rear. Hearing the creak of the cott, Natalie looked up at Cole. For a second, she froze. But seeing his surprised face and his wide-open eyes tracing her body. A coy grin spread across her face. Slowly getting up so Cole could admire how her body flexed and bounced. Natalie came over to the injured Paladin. Curvaceous hips swayed as she moved. Audibly gulping, Cole looked away. Realizing his eyes had been glued to her chest for a shamefully long time. A throaty chuckle escaped Natalie at that. ¡°Cole, Love. If I didn¡¯t want you to look, I¡¯d have covered up when you awoke.¡± With her permission, Cole looked at Natalie. Who spun about on one foot, showing off her body in a dancer¡¯s seduction. Slinking forward, she got on her knees next to the cott and grabbed Cole¡¯s hand. With cold but oh-so-soft lips, she kissed the back of his hand. ¡°I forgot to thank you last night.¡± Swallowing nervously, Cole asked. ¡°Thank me? What for?¡± Bringing his fingers up to the side of her face, Natalie smiled. ¡°You practically jumped into the jaws of a Werewolf to protect me. A girl can¡¯t help but swoon at that sort of behavior.¡± Taking his hand from her face and placing it on her breast. Natalie leaned down and kissed Cole. A long passionate thing that made him stop breathing. Ending the kiss, Natalie rested her head in the crook of Cole¡¯s neck. Making sure to not touch any of his bandaged flesh. Somewhat reluctantly removing his hand from her breast, Cole looped his arm around Natalie. This close to his neck, Natalie felt the Hunger rising in her. Something not helped by the blossoming arousal her boldness with Cole had sparked. Kissing his neck, Natalie warmed her lips and mouth. Letting her animated tongue lick along his jugular. Sending an unconscious shiver across Cole¡¯s body. Surprised and a little bit nervous, Cole asked. ¡°What in the Stars are you doing?¡± Shrugging slightly, Natalie said. ¡°Your blood tastes good, so I wanted to check if the rest of you does.¡± That got a morbid laugh from Cole. A laugh ending in a pained wince as his stitches pulled taught. Apologizing, Natalie got up from Cole. Wincing as she saw new red on his bandages. Forcing herself not to breathe, she took a few steps back. Suddenly afraid the fresh blood might push her too far. Seeing her worry Cole murmured. ¡°I¡¯m alright.¡± To prove his point, Cole tried to sit up. He managed but with numerous pained groans. More crimson blossomed below his bandages, and Natalie¡¯s nose filled with the smell. In a voice both annoyed and desperate, she hissed. ¡°Stop! You¡¯ll only make it worse!¡± Looking up at Natalie, seeing the restrained hunger in her eyes. Cole slowly lay back down and wrapped himself up in the thick blankets the Werefolk had provided. Running her hands through her hair. Careful not to touch the silver clip buried in her dark tresses. Natalie let out a whimper. The smell of blood was only adding to her sexual ardor ¡°Cole, you really need to stop getting injured. I find you tempting enough without my Hunger adding fuel to the fire.¡± Completely missing the double meaning. Cole grimaced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know controlling the Hunger is difficult. I¡¯ll do my best in the future.¡± Resisting the urge to sigh. Natalie looked down at her nude form and Cole¡¯s bleeding body and sighed. ¡°We¡¯re a hopeless pair, aren¡¯t we?¡± Cole let out a sad chuckle in response. ¡°I guess we are. I¡­I hate to ask, but could you grab my pack for me. I¡¯d rather not move and open anything else up.¡± Natalie complied and brought him his pack before returning to her half-fixed dress and slipping it on. Tugging at her crude stitches, Natalie knew more work would be required. But for now, it was presentable. Stretching her arms out, she asked Cole. ¡°How do I look?¡± An uncharacteristically wolfish grin split Cole¡¯s scarred face. ¡°I preferred you without, but the dress looks nice.¡± Returning his smile with one of her own, Natalie adjusted her dress. She liked when Cole was more assertive in these matters. As much as she enjoyed making him flustered with her filtrations, having it returned was a whole other form of joy. As she set her sleeves in place, Natalie knew something had changed between the two of them. Some unspoken barrier had fallen, and new passion sparked between her and Cole. Giddy at that thought, she looked up to see Cole struggling to get rations from his bag. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Natalie helped him grab the food. Seeing Cole wolf down the withered bread and dried apple slices, Natalie turned to leave. ¡°I¡¯m going to get you some warm food, the Werefolk owe you that much, at least.¡± Cole nodded in acknowledgment and bit into a piece of jerky. Natalie left the tent and returned to the wagon fort of the Werefolk. Knocking on the Gulyay, she was greeted again by the same stern-looking Werefolk man. ¡°What do you want?¡± he barked. Glancing around to check no spiteful young Werewolves were watching her, Natalie answered. ¡°My friend has awoken, and I¡¯d like to get him a hot meal.¡± The guard¡¯s eyes narrowed and he turned away from the Gulyay slot and said something in a rough northern dialect Natalie barely made out. She did catch the words ¡°Vampire¡± and ¡°Lies,¡± though. Bracing herself, Natalie looked around again. After maybe a minute of waiting, Natalie heard fierce words and angry shouts from behind the wall. Natalie caught a fraction more of this. An argument between the Guard and another familiar voice. The Gulyay rolled open, and Kistine, the guard, and one of the Werewolf brothers greeted her. Kistine looked better than she had last night. Rest, having washed decades from her face. Kistine¡¯s eyes were wide when she saw Natalie and whatever words she¡¯d been spitting at the guard dying on her lips. ¡°You¡­you are in the sunlight?¡± the old Werewoman said, confusion and surprise filling her voice. Natalie shrugged and smiled. Making sure her fangs were visible. ¡°I am the companion of a Paladin. I¡¯m not an ordinary Vampire. The Gods¡¯ curse doesn¡¯t weigh heavily on me.¡± Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Kistine pushed past the impossible sight before her while her escort still stared at Natalie, stunned. ¡°The Paladin is awake? I find that very hard to believe.¡± An edge of acid touched Kistine¡¯s words, and Natalie could tell she wasn¡¯t believed. Despite everything that had happened, they clearly still didn¡¯t trust Natalie. But considering her own experiences with Vampires, she couldn¡¯t entirely blame them. Still, Natalie felt it was getting a little ridiculous. ¡°Yes, as I told you, he¡¯s hard to kill.¡± Flanked by her two relatives, Kistine followed after Natalie. Clearly expecting some sort of trap or trickery. Natalie paid them little mind, trying her best to ignore the pressure of the three predators staring at her back. Each wondering at her ¡®miraculous¡¯ protection from the Sun and questioning the truth of her words. They entered the tent and found Cole awake and busy eating. Natalie spun in time to see the look of shock on Kistine¡¯s face. Which Natalie decided was compensation enough for her discomfort. Sitting up slightly, Cole was picking at some frozen rations. ¡°Ah, I take it you are the folks I have to thank for my injuries and my treatment,¡± he said with a genuine smile on his tattered face. Kistine bowed deep, grabbing each relative and forcing them to mimic her. ¡°My humblest apologies Sir Paladin. We sought only to defend ourselves from the Dead. Me and mine can only throw ourselves upon your mercies.¡± Cole¡¯s smile faded and was replaced with an icy coldness that Natalie knew was him taking on the mantle of Paladin. ¡°Tell me, Matron. What is your Pack¡¯s destination? Where do you travel next?¡± The Werefolk seemed to sense the change in Cole as well. Kistine took an unconscious step back, and the two men bared their teeths and hunched low. Kistine swatted at the older of the Werefolk. ¡°Bruto! Stop that! Brother, we are in the presence of Power. Let''s not give him any more reasons to be angry.¡± Returning her focus to Cole, Kistine answered. ¡°We intend to head west, towards the Alidon River. Then follow the river towards Vindabon. Why do you ask, Sir Paladin?¡± Natalie had to do a double take on hearing Kistine¡¯s words. She shared a knowing glance with Cole, who gave her a flicker of a smile. ¡°I can understand why your family attacked me and my companion, Matron,¡± spoke Cole. ¡°But that does not change the fact that blood was spilled. While no lasting harm may have occurred. You still acted rashly and harmed someone under my protection. This is a stain upon your Packs honor. A debt is written in my blood. I intend to help you cleanse it.¡± Meeting Kistine¡¯s wolfen eyes with his own inhuman blue, Cole made his judgment. ¡°I ask you to let my companion and I travel with you to Vindabon. Let us mend this mess and move forward to a shared destination.¡± All three Werefolk glanced at Natalie, an unspoken worry in their eyes. Seeing this, Cole answered their question. ¡°My companion is no threat to you or yours. I swear she will not harm any of your pack as long as she¡¯s given no just reason. A fair promise I hope might be reciprocated.¡± A tense moment passed before Kistine answered. ¡°As Elder and Spirit-Caller of the Shohgard Pack, I accept these terms.¡± Cole spat onto his working hand and offered it to Kistine, who responded in kind. They shook in agreement, and Cole¡¯s mood shifted dramatically. Dropping the mask of Paladin, he properly introduced himself. ¡°My name is Cole. Feel free to call me as such. I wish to thank the skilled healer who attended to my wounds. What may I call you, Matron Spirit-Caller?¡± Slightly surprised by the pleasant tone of Cole¡¯s words, Kistine replied. ¡°You can call me Kistine.¡± gesturing to her escorts, she said. ¡°This is my brother Bruto and his eldest son Jaks¡± The men exchanged nods, and Kistine said. ¡°I will inform the rest of the pack of our agreement. I¡¯ll send someone with food when that is done. Is there anything else you require, Sir Paladin?¡± Cole¡¯s face flickered in a momentary grimace at her insistent use of his title. ¡°No, thank you. But please, call me Cole.¡± The Werefolk left, and Natalie went over to Cole. Helping him lie back down, she gave Cole¡¯s arm a gentle squeeze. He wasn¡¯t actively bleeding, which was a blessing for the both of them, but he was still weak. Not letting go of his warm skin, Natalie asked: ¡°What was all that about honor and debt?¡± Interlinking his fingers with hers, Cole answered. ¡°I¡¯m not too terribly familiar with Werefolk culture, but from my understanding, every Pack has a sort of collective sense of honor. Like any family or clan, really, but with some curious differences. Acting rashly and spilling blood by mistake is a major taboo for them. It''s some sort of cultural reaction to their bestial instincts I¡¯d wager. So by attacking us, they erred greatly. I gave them a way to fix things that is neither an act of charity nor unduly cruel.¡± Accepting that, Natalie decided since Cole was awake and seemingly feeling better, she¡¯d tell him every detail from the previous night. He listened and occasionally asked questions. Explaining a few things that Natalie didn¡¯t quite understand. Like how a Shaman can see through the eyes of spirits, and that was how Kistine healed him. But eventually, they came to the matter of Natalie¡¯s shortsword. ¡°A Misoria Blade? She really said that shortsword is one?¡± he asked, genuinely surprised by the revelation. ¡°You¡¯ve heard of them?¡± Natalie asked. Unsheathing the weapon and holding it out for Cole to see. Cole nodded and eyed the blade. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve heard of them. Never seen one till now, though.¡± pausing for a second, never taking his eyes off the dark steel of the weapon, he asked cautiously. ¡°Did Barnabas give you any details of where his family got it?¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Natalie shook her head no. ¡°No, just that it was from the White Isles, and it had been in his family for generations.¡± Cole grimaced. ¡°I assume neither he nor Kistine told you who originally owned these weapons?¡± Looking down at the suddenly far more sinister-looking short black blade, Natalie said. ¡°Kistine said they are tools of euthanasia.¡± Letting out a snort of derisive laughter, Cole gently picked up the weapon. ¡°That is their purpose. But these weapons were once the signature weapons of the Inquisitors.¡± Natalie mouthed the word. It was familiar. But she knew not where from. Cole held the blade up and looked as its blade drank in the light while its silver tip shone. ¡°They were an order of Religious Assassins. Holy Killers tasked with stopping something like The Day of Red Skies from ever happening again.¡± The Day of Red Skies. One of the most horrific events in the world''s history. Known by a dozen different names, The Realm-Rape, Lucius¡¯s Laughter, The Doom, Final Night of Imperator. When the manifest sins of the Old Empire came calling. The day the Infinite Hells tried to consume the world. The mere mention of that long-distant Apocalypse was enough to make Natalie want to shiver. Looking at the shortsword, Natalie asked. ¡°But that should be a good thing, right? Trying to stop the Hellkyn from invading again?¡± Cole handed the weapon back to Natalie, and she sheathed it. ¡°Yes, but also no. Because noble intentions mean nothing if an organization abandons them. See, the Inquisitors weren¡¯t true Priests, Paladins, or anything of the like. They underwent strange rituals to protect themselves from Demons and, in the process, made themselves untouchable to most forms of Magic, including the Gods. Couple that with their mastery of Shadowcraft and the paranoia their duties provoked. It wasn¡¯t two decades before the first questionable killings started.¡± Wincing at his words, Natalie buckled the shortsword to her waist. The image Cole painted was an ugly one. Before she could ask any more questions, Kistine and Ametza returned. The young Werewolf carrying a large bowl of soup and looking annoyed she¡¯d been reduced to waitressing for Cole. Thanking Ametza for the stew, Cole shoveled in mouthfuls. His healing body happy to have a good meal after weeks of cold rations. After finishing half the bowl in a startlingly small time, Cole looked up to Kistine and asked. ¡°Madame, if I may ask, why do you take your pack to Vindabon?¡± Kistine and her daughter exchanged glances before she answered. "A Moonmoot is to take place in Avar Woods. Just west of the city. My pack is overdue for such a meeting.¡± Confused, Natalie asked. ¡°A Moonmoot? What is that?¡± Kistine answered. ¡°The last Fullmoon of the year is sacred to Werefolk; Wolf-kin especially. We meet then at sacred places to trade stories, news, goods, and bloodlines.¡± Cole nodded at that and had another spoonful of soup. ¡°What about the Moot at Doldrak Forest? Surely that should be closer?¡± Kistine kept a neutral face, but Ametza gave away her surprise. ¡°Things have been difficult in the South-East. The Ancient Leech Drakovich is fighting Sultan Kariu at the Iskari Gates. John of Harmas is gathering support from the Elector Princes to push into the Blood Duchies proper. I want my family as far away from that brewing mess as possible.¡± Grim tidings indeed, and surprisingly relevant ones to Cole and Natalie. If the Archduke''s enemies were putting pressure on him, he¡¯d be even more interested in getting an asset like the Alukah. Nodding his head in understanding, Cole met Kistine¡¯s eyes and said. ¡°You are wise Madam, and your purpose is just. As we travel together, my companion and I will do what we can to help.¡± Bowing slightly, Kistine responded. ¡°I thank you for that, Sir Paladin, but I must ask. Why are you traveling with a Vampire, one who is¡­ spared by the Sun.¡± Cole paused eating and carefully considered his words. ¡°I¡¯m protecting her. For your safety and ours, I can say little more. Just that it is in the interest of the Living and the Dead for her to survive.¡± Ametza seemed displeased with that answer, but Kistine accepted it. ¡°When will you be strong enough to travel, Sir Paladin? We can spare you space in one of the Wagons, but it won¡¯t be any Lord¡¯s carriage.¡± Deciding it was pointless to insist for Kistine not use his title, Cole slowly stretched his body. Feeling the various twinges of pain and getting a rough assessment of his condition. ¡°If need be, I can leave as quickly as someone can carry me to a Wagon, but give me a day, and I should be able to make it there under my own power.¡± The old matriarch seemed doubtful, but she didn''t challenge Cole. She¡¯d already seen enough oddities between him and his Vampire companion. ¡°That works for us. We need time to repair the wagons and treat our wounded as well. I¡¯ll leave you to your rest, Sir Paladin.¡± Kistine and her daughter turned to leave, but Natalie interrupted them. ¡°Um, is there anything I can do to help? If we are going to be traveling together, I want to be of some use.¡± Ametza¡¯s hackles raised at that, and Natalie could practically see the scorn pouring off of her. Kistine looked at her daughter and Natalie before saying. ¡°Ametza, take her with you during the Hunt tonight.¡± The young werewolf seemed ready to argue, but some flicker of unspoken reasoning passed between mother and daughter. Backing down, Ametza glared at Natalie. ¡°We hunt at twilight. I hope you don¡¯t slow us down.¡± Natalie was suddenly regretting her attempt to be civil. As much as she relished the idea of getting a meal, being alone in the woods with three Werewolves sounded nerve wracking. After delivering another bowl of soup and some fresh bandages, the Werefolk left Cole and Natalie alone again. With Natalie¡¯s limited help, Cole was changing his bandages. His stitches were holding, and the dried blood did little to goad her Hunger. As they finished Natalie looked at his scarred body and the new collection of wounds decorating it. Absently she reached out and stroked a finger along a faded scar crossing his chest. Cole stiffened under the touch and looked away. Seeing his discomfort, she pulled her hand away and asked. ¡°You are healing quickly.¡± Looking down at his new bandages, Cole nodded. ¡°Too quickly. Even with Kistine¡¯s aid, I¡¯m healing faster than normal.¡± shutting his eyes for a moment, he pondered his choices. ¡°My strength has grown dramatically since fighting the Feeder. Something is happening to my body, and I¡¯m worried.¡± Tentatively, he asked. ¡°Did¡­ did Isabelle say why she contacted you instead of me?¡± Natalie recoiled slightly, she¡¯d almost forgotten that whole mess somehow. ¡°She said it was difficult to communicate with you. That contacting my dreams is much easier.¡± Sighing and rubbing his face momentarily. Cole made his choice. ¡°When you speak to Isabelle next, ask her about this, would you?¡± Eyes wide, Natalie cautiously asked. ¡°You¡­want me to keep in contact with her?¡± Cole nodded in confirmation. ¡°While you should have told me everything when this started, learning from Isabelle is a good move. She¡¯s probably one of the most knowledgeable people on the continent when it comes to Flesh and Soul magic. Learning more about both our natures is important, and she might be the key to that.¡± Glancing to his pack where the Vampire skull rested, Cole continued under his breath. ¡°Just be careful, Natalie. I¡­I worry sometimes how her strange state might have effected her.¡± The words seemed to take something from Cole. An admission he was loath to make. Sitting on the edge of his cot, Natalie put a hand on his. ¡°I will be. But if you don¡¯t mind me asking, how is Isabelle still alive? Uh¡­well, Undead?¡± Cole seemed to wither slightly, painful memories sagging his broad shoulders like some massive weight. ¡°I don¡¯t know. They burned her to death, Natalie. The Voivode had her impaled on a spike, doused in pitch, and set alight.¡± Cole shut his eyes, terrible memories playing behind them. ¡°They left her skull on display, a warning to any who might follow her footsteps. I took the skull, intending to bury it. I never expected she¡¯d survive in some way.¡± Grief and trauma oozed from Cole like bloody bile, and it made Natalie¡¯s still heart ache. She knew those feelings all too well. Seeing them in Cole was disconcerting. His strength cracked like some broken glacier, leaking a stream of cold misery. Somehow the weakness he showed then touched Natalie just as much as his strength usually did. Despite her betrayal, her unnatural existence, and everything else Cole still let himself break in front of her. Natalie wrapped her arms around him. Holding him tight and willing heat and life into her body. As false-life filled her flesh, winter¡¯s bite grew stronger. Natalie paid it no mind, just hoping to be there for Cole. ¡°You don¡¯t need to say anymore. But I¡¯m here to listen if you want to.¡± Returning her hug, Cole let out a pained sigh as Natalie''s warm skin pressed against his. He was so used to the cold. Be it mental, physical, or spiritual. Being reminded warmth existed was something he needed. So they sat like that for a time. Cole thawing as Natalie stoked the flames of false-life. Eventually, by some unspoken signal, they broke the embrace. Nothing was said, for nothing needed to be. Natalie settled next to Cole¡¯s cot and started repairing some of her other clothes. Somehow stripping down with Cole in such a tender state and with the camp of Werefolk awake seemed tactless. So she worked to make her other clothes more presentable. A borrowed wash tub, some melted snow, and her sewing kit proved effective. Getting the mud and grime out of her clothes while closing the damage of travel. For his part, Cole simply rested. Occasionally sharing words with Natalie, but both content to spend the time this way. Ametza returned twice more with food for Cole. Depositing the bowls on Cole¡¯s lap and leaving without a word the first time. The second time, she stiffly said to Natalie. ¡°We hunt in half an hour. Be ready by then.¡± Quickly, Natalie changed. Cole shutting his eyes more out of his own abashment than any desire of hers. She liked to show off and enjoyed seeing his reactions to her body. Her new outfit was a set of hunting leathers she¡¯d gotten years ago. A gift from an old suitor. They were a little tighter than she remembered. Squeezing her bust and hips in ways that Cole more than noticed. Thankfully not needing to breathe made wearing them not an issue. Spinning around for Cole¡¯s enjoyment, she asked. ¡°What do you think?¡± Cole kept forcing himself to blink. While a naked Natalie was an image of alabaster sensuality. Natalie, in form-fitting leather, was the stuff of adolescent fantasy. Stunned and leaden-tongued, Cole managed. ¡°Uh¡­you look¡­Um well. Just amazing.¡± Smiling in that coy way of hers, Natalie leaned over Cole, letting his eyes flick down to her cleavage. Kissing him gently, she whispered. ¡°They are rather tight. When you are feeling better, I¡¯m sure you will be a gentleman and help me out of them¡± Getting up, Natalie turned to leave, her hips swaying in an almost sinful fashion. As she exited the tent, Cole found enough of his intellect to say. ¡°Before you go! Be careful, and don¡¯t get between them and any prey.¡± Natalie nodded and blew him a kiss. ¡°Love you, Cole. Get some rest.¡±
She found the three werewolves at the entrance to the Wagon fort. All three wore loose tunics that could be easily slipped out of. Jaks and Jokin both did a double take upon seeing Natalie. Hints of a blush spreading on their tan faces. Ametza, for her part, looked decidedly unamused. Her scowl deepening to chthonic levels. ¡°We scented a Boar last night before the Ghouls attacked. Our hunt was interrupted by those Rotters. I¡¯ll lead us to where we last smelled them. Jaks and Jokin will go ahead and flush the prey toward you and me. As our ¡®guest¡¯ Little Leech, you will get the honor of the kill. I¡¯ll stay close to make sure you don¡¯t screw it up.¡± Biting her tongue, the sharp pain helping her push back her annoyance. Natalie calmly replied. ¡°It seems like a good plan. But my name is Natalie. Please call me by it, or I¡¯ll be forced to call you Little Rug, Ametza.¡± Jokin actually bit back a snort at that, earning a fierce glare from his cousin. They set off, following the small Werewolf into the winter forest. For the first kilometer or so, no one spoke. Until Jaks broke the silence. ¡°So Natalie, you and the Paladin were hunting the Ghouls we fought, right? What''s the story there?¡± Before she could answer, Ametza interjected. ¡°She¡¯s screwing the Paladin, Jaks. Don¡¯t go sniffing around.¡± Jaks tried to splutter something to his defense, but Natalie cut him off. Ignoring Ametza¡¯s crude remark and answering his question. ¡°We encountered some Bandits. After Cole dealt with them, we traced their trail of destruction. They¡¯d butchered a Farmstead and let their victims Rise. We found the Farmstead and another hamlet they attacked then followed the Ghouls to your camp.¡± Thankful she hadn¡¯t acknowledged Ametza¡¯s words. Jak nodded as if pleased. ¡°That''s a righteous hunt. Not my cut of meat but still an important one. I¡¯m sorry my brother and I acted so rashly. See, we were rushing back to help. We didn¡¯t know what was happening, only that the pack was in danger. We got¡­overzealous and didn¡¯t act with Honor.¡± Natalie smiled at the Werewolf brothers, careful to not show her fangs. ¡°Apology accepted. To be perfectly honest, I can understand why you all reacted that way. If the roles were reversed, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d have acted any different.¡± Some tension seemed to ebb from the brothers and Natalie as well. Despite their respective curses, they were all around the same age. With a level of understanding easily growing in the fertile ground of a shared cohort. For the next hour, they talked. Swapping stories of their youths and experiences. Natalie kept tight-lipped about the details but still shared bits of her former life. Quickly it became clear to Natalie the brothers were similar to so many other Hunters and Woodsmen she¡¯d known back at Glockmire. Perhaps a little more¡­wild, but not deviating from the same basic archetype. Just as Jokin finished some anecdote about saving his brother from a Bog inhabited by a particularly ornery Rot Spirit Ametza raised her hand in a silencing gesture. Sniffing the air loudly, the youngest Werewolf turned to her companions and nodded. All three quickly started pulling their clothes off. Before fabric even hit the ground, the noise of popping bones and reforming flesh filled the winter forest. Natalie watched as tan skin was buried under thick fur. Limbs stretched and twisted while muscle swelled and bestial features manifested. Paralyzed by fear and morbid curiosity, she watched as Ametza¡¯s face stretched out. Pulled forward into a snout as fur sprouted and fangs lengthened. In less time than she could have imagined, three hulking avatars of primal fury stood before her. The only thing unchanged in the trio was their eyes, and Natalie forced herself to look at them. That little bit of familiarity helped ground her. It made pushing back the rising terror a little bit easier. Because, despite her best effort, Natalie felt pure fear when she looked at the Werewolves. Not because of what they¡¯d done to her or Cole. But because of what she saw every time she shut her eyes. The rotting form of the Varcolac, with her mother''s blood dribbling from its maw. Forcing herself to breathe, using the motion to calm herself. Natalie whispered under her breath. ¡°Imokayimokayimokay.¡± sucking in another breath she continued. ¡°They aren¡¯t the monster. We can do this.¡± Pulling herself back to the present, she realized all three Werewolves were looking at her with intense, curious expressions. Scratching her neck, resisting the urge to reach for her hair-pin. Natalie murmured. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ve had bad experiences with¡­ um, well, a Werewolf. Or at least kind of a Werewolf.¡± The three Werewolves looked at each other for a moment. Then Jak and Jokin took off. Slightly relieved to be dealing with only one Werewolf, even if she was the most hostile one, Natalie started her own preparations. She unsheathed her shortsword and dropped the dog''s skull to the ground. Whispering her familiar''s name thrice and calling him into being. Almost instantly, a barrage of new smells hit Natalie. Her own supernatural senses easily surpassed by the ghostly dog. Chief among the odors, a whiff of fetid mud, pig feces, and musty fur. The smells of a Wild Boar. While faint, it was more than enough for Grist and the Werewolves to track. Forcing herself to look at Ametza, Natalie nodded in confirmation she was ready, and the two loped out into the forest. Even with stolen blood pumping through her legs, pushing her to speeds a Hare might struggle with. Natalie could barely keep up with Ametza. The power of the Wolf, enhanced by a millenia-old curse and directed by the mind of a keen huntress proved its worth. Vampire and Werewolf ran side by side. Following the scent of the Boar. Grist ahead of them both, his unliving stamina and four-legged gait matching Natalie and Ametza. They ran for a time, the setting Sun casting long shadows as the scent grew stronger. Something about the whole experience was dreadfully thrilling to Natalie. The speed, the chase, the thrill of the hunt. It spoke to her in new, dark ways. The howl of two monsters broke through the quiet evening. Prey had been spotted and was now being driven towards them. A wide smile spread across Natalie¡¯s face at that. Her fangs lengthened in anticipation. The smell of Boar was thick, and it seemed to drive Ametza to new heights. Falling onto all fours, the Werewolf shot forward, her monstrous form suited for the more primal method of movement. Annoyed at being left behind, Natalie tried to push more blood into her legs. But she knew any more would simply send her flying. The additional strength launching her up instead of forward. Unwilling to fall behind, Natalie wracked her mind for another solution. As she almost stumbled over a root, the answer hit her. Natalie poured her crimson power into her nerves. If she couldn¡¯t make her legs stronger, then she could make them more efficient. The world seemed to slow for Natalie. Time turned from a flowing rapid to a syrupy crawl. Suddenly the detail of her environment stuck out with ease. Her legs moving with a dancer''s poise. Wasting no time between steps. Every stride perfectly calculated. Smiling widely, Natalie caught up to Ametza. But her victory was short-lived. The effort was draining her blood incredibly quickly. While a throbbing headache started in Natalie¡¯s forehead. Her mind struggled to work at the speeds she demanded. Forced to slow down, Natalie started to lag behind Ametza. The Werewolf spared Natalie a glance, her mouth lolling open in some lupine smirk of victory. Ametza didn''t gloat for long. A massive shape smashed out of a bramble-thicket and right into Ametza. Skidding to a halt, Natalie¡¯s eyes widened as a behemoth plowed into her Werewolf comrade. The brothers had found a Boar, but not just any Boar. Easily the size of a farmers cart, and covered in soot-black fur was a colossal beast of a Hog. Ametza let out startled yips as dagger-sized tusks gored her. Pinned to a tree, trapped by the weight, hoofs, and tusks of the Boar, Ametza was desperately trying to get free. This close to the Boar, Natalie detected something else. A faint pressure radiating from it like a light breeze. It was no physical sensation but a magical one. The Boar¡¯s size was not natural. Something about that pressure brought Natalie¡¯s Hunger roaring to life. Peckish from her recent expenditures, the Vampire sensed powerful blood and wouldn''t be denied. Natalie, the human sought to save her ally, and Natalie the Vampire desired a feast. They found common ground and acted in rare concerte. Leaping forward, Natalie rammed her shortsword into the Boar¡¯s side. Dense fur, thick hide, and layers of fat blunted her strike, but the blade still sunk halfway to the hilt. At Natalie¡¯s command, Grist pounced for the Boar¡¯s back legs. Boney jaws trying desperately to hamstring the beast. Using her short sword as a crude handhold, Natalie pulled herself up onto the beast''s back. Undead instincts guiding her movements more than anything else. As Ametza struggled with the furious Boar, Natalie slithered along its back and down its side. Thick bristly fur made good handholds. Following the sound of the Boar''s thundering heartbeat, she reached its neck and tore out a chunk of fur. The Boar let out a thunderous squeal and started to shake violently. But it was too late. Natalie struck, fangs sinking into the Boars neck. More in control of herself than she¡¯d been in any previous violent feeding, Natalie experimented. Injecting one of her venoms into the Boar. Almost instantly, it''s thrashing slowed as it backed away from Ametza and stumbled for a few steps. Rich blood poured into Natalie¡¯s throat as she fed. Glutting herself on the feast, Natalie paid no mind to the Boar¡¯s tottering gait. Only realizing what was happening when the Boar started to list. Clinging to its side, Natalie could only brace for impact as the Boar collapsed onto her. Pain shot through her body as bones creaked, flesh bruised, and pride was wounded. Still, buried under hundreds of kilos worth of Hog, Natalie fed. Drinking down a colossal blood meal and tasting the Boar¡¯s death. Part of its soul flowed into her as she took its life. As its heart finally stopped, the Boar¡¯s blood flowed less, and Natalie¡¯s guzzling feast turned into a final few sips. The weight of the Boar started to shift, and Natalie ended her feeding. Spitting foul-tasting fur from her mouth and looking up to see the three werewolves rolling the boar off of her. Slowly, languidly getting to her feet, Natalie stretched. Her injuries instantly healed as she did. The Alukah¡¯s power putting the feast to good work. Skin warm with false life, Natalie felt alive. Natalie had fed more than she¡¯d ever before, and without any of the guilt, her previous large meals had been accompanied by. The Hunger was sated, for now, at least. Looking down at the colossal boar, she asked the Werewolves. ¡°Was it supposed to be that big?¡± All three Lycanthropes shook their heads in the negative. Jaks, or maybe Jokin croaking out an answer. ¡°It Dire¡­ beast.¡± A Dire Beast, well, that explained things. Humanoids are not the only creatures effected by magic. Animals exposed to magic could produce strange offspring. Mutants of all kinds, with Dire Beasts being the most famous. Animals grown to huge sizes. Sustained in part by magic and feared by Hunters the world over. Ametza approached Natalie and bobbed her head in what *might* have been acknowledgment. Then she left, returning the way they came to gather the Werewolves¡¯ clothes. As she departed, Natalie noticed the She-Werewolf was favoring one side. Her silver-inflicted injuries made worse by the Dire Boar¡¯s tusks. Jaks and Jokin wordlessly grabbed the Boar and started to drag it behind them. Grist was still latched onto the Dire Boar¡¯s leg, smiling at the sight. Natalie commanded the Familiar to let go. Grist complied, but she got a vague sense of displeasure from him. The magical animus overjoyed in the hunt. With a thought, she dematerialized grist, picking up his skull and pulling her shortsword from the Dire Boar¡¯s side. Dead blood splattered onto the snow, and she flicked the blade, sending a shower of scarlet to her side. Cleaning the blade, she sheathed it and followed the Werewolves. Soon Ametza came into view. Returned to her humanoid form and clad in a stained tunic. Drying blood dotted the shirt, her bandages ripped apart in the transformation. Falling into step beside Natalie, Ametza glanced over the Vampiress. ¡°Jumping onto the Dire Boar''s back took guts. You could have waited for my cousins instead of risking yourself. Why didn¡¯t you?¡± Natalie was surprised by the question. She hadn¡¯t even thought to wait, the idea never crossing her mind. ¡°I thought you needed help, and I wanted to feed. Two birds, one stone¡± Ametza accepted that answer and, after a moment, asked. ¡°You said another Werewolf hurt you once. What happened?¡± Scanning the young Werewolf¡¯s face, Natalie looked for any deception or mockery. She found none, just a stoic calmness. Deciding to bet on this moment, Natalie spoke. ¡°My mother. She was killed by a Varcolac.¡± Ametza digested that before matter-of-factly saying. ¡°We will kill it for you. It''s my people''s duty to put down our lost kin. Even if they are already dead.¡± Smiling sadly, Natalie looked at the two hulking Werewolves dragging the Dire Boar. ¡°Thank you, but no need. Cole destroyed it.¡± That got a flicker of surprise from Ametza. Natalie could almost see the Werewolf reassessing her opinions of both herself and Cole. Which, after a day of constant needling, suited Natalie just fine. As the sun finally set, Natalie felt new energy enter her limbs. Combined with the buzz of Feeding, she felt more alive than she had in weeks. The smell of smoke and grapes greeted them as they approached the Werefolk camp. A great pyre was burning. While they¡¯d been gone, the Werefolk had gathered up the Ghoul¡¯s bodies and set about burning them. The Pack stood near the pyre, heads knelt in prayer. A prayer Cole was leading. He sat on his knees before the pyre. A deep chant of Saint-Speech coupling with the crackling flames into a mourner''s melody. He finished as they arrived and two of the Werefolk Triplets helped pick up Cole. Carrying him back to his tent. Natalie couldn¡¯t help but giggle at how uncomfortable Cole looked. Being manhandled by the two shorter men made for a comical sight. Other members of the Pack broke away from the service. Two, in particular, caught Natalie¡¯s attention. A stout woman with forearms thick as tree roots, accompanied by a skinny fellow with a long lupine face. They met Jak and Jokin and directed them to drag the Boar a little ways from the camp. Two children slipped from the Wagons and towards the two older Werefolk. Presenting them with aprons and butcher tools. Life in an Inn had taught Natalie to recognize Cooks from across a mountain valley. The sight of the pair directing their kids to help them brought a throb of sadness to her. Stirring up memories of her Father¡¯s kitchen and her days helping him. Pushing down the sadness, Natalie found Cole in their tent. The exhausted-looking Paladin was stretched out on his cot. More blankets had been added to his sick bed, and that wasn¡¯t the only change. Natalie''s pitiful fire had been replaced with a small but serviceable circle of rocks with some tinder and wood in it. A wash basin and bucket of clean water was over in one corner. While a long wooden box lay next to Cole¡¯s cot. Natalie stared at the box for a few seconds trying to figure out its purpose. Then it hit her. Someone, probably out of misguided courtesy, had supplied her with a coffin. Slipping past the morbid container, she reached Cole''s bed and climbed onto it. Carefully slipping a leg over him and straddling his body. Cole slipped a hand to her thigh and opened his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve certainly had worse dreams¡± Natalie leaned down, embracing him but careful to not put her weight fully on him. Warm with false life, she nestled into Cole¡¯s chest. Putting his other hand on the small of her back, Cole asked, ¡°How was the hunt?¡± Shrugging slightly, Natalie kissed Cole¡¯s chest before answering. ¡°I fed well, and I think the Werewolves are tolerating me now. So that''s good¡± ¡°Yes, it is,¡± murmured Cole, his hands drifting along Natalie¡¯s body. With surprising speed, he found her buttocks, squeezing the firm flesh beneath the tight leather. Natalie let out a surprised gasp followed by a contented purr. ¡°You seem to be feeling better,¡± she remarked. Cole chuckled, a deep rumble Natalie could feel. ¡°More, I just have had the image of you in these leathers stuck in my head for the past few hours.¡± Sitting up, putting her hands on his chest, Natalie smiled down at him. ¡°Oh? Then how about you help me get them off, and we measure your recovery?¡± An awkward cough brought both of them back to reality. Ametza was standing at the tent entrance, looking profoundly uncomfortable. Quickly pulling herself from Cole, Natalie sheepishly asked. ¡°Uh, how long were you¡­.¡± Ametza shrugged. ¡°Long enough. I¡¯m here to invite you both to the Feast. But I can clearly see you are busy, so¡­¡± After exchanging an embarrassed look, Cole, and Natalie said in unison. ¡°No!¡± Natalie recovered quickly. ¡°I mean, we¡¯d be happy to join the feast.¡± Ametza looked at the abashed Cole and asked. ¡°Do you need me to get someone to help you?¡± Cole pulled himself off the cot and started to stand. Through great wincing effort, he got to his feet. Just to nearly topple over. Natalie caught him. Her enhanced strength let her catch Cole. Looking down at Natalie, Cole smiled slightly. ¡°If she helps me, I¡¯ll be fine.¡± The trio left the tent and entered the wagon fort. A great fire was roaring with multiple kettles, grills, and pans balanced over it on a huge metal rack. The two cooks and their helpers scurried about preparing a veritable feast. The smell of roasting pork and strong spices filled the air. Making Cole¡¯s mouth water and making Natalie mildly envious of the living. Awnings stretched between wagons covered part of the camp clearing, and fallen trunks had been repurposed as benches. Laughter, conversation, and the clatter of cooking filled the winter night. The sounds only lulled slightly as Cole and Natalie entered. The two or three score Werefolk observing their new companions before going back to their earlier business. Jaks and Jokin came over and greeted Natalie. The older brother clapped her on the back. ¡°The woman of the hour! It''s not every day you see someone rip out a Dire Boar¡¯s throat with their teeth!¡± The Werewolves settled Cole and Natalie next to one of the wagon wheels. Soon two Werefolk children approached them cautiously. The first, a small boy, maybe seven or so, gave Cole a plate with a side of boiled meat on it. The other, a girl entering her teens, handed Natalie a large mug. Confused, Natalie looked down at the mug and realized it had fire-warmed boar''s blood in it. Another crude but appreciated attempt at hospitality. Cole dug into the strip of Pork eagerly, and Natalie tentatively sipped the blood. Hours after the beast''s death, it lacked magical charge, but it still tasted good. Looking around them, she saw other Werefolk diggings into their meals. They lacked anything resembling table manners, and the meals seemed to be just varieties of meat and flavoring. But as she sipped her blood, Natalie knew this was to be expected. They were wolves, after all. Conversation died down as a lanky Werefolk with a mess of long shaggy hair stepped from one of the wagons. He wore a strange patched coat and held a bizarre contraption in his hands. Wooden in construction, it had a small hand crank on one side and was vaguely fiddle-like in shape. A small cheer went up from some of the Werefolk as the newcomer sat down on a log nearby Cole and Natalie. Jaks hollered. ¡°Three-Fingers! Play us a song, will you!¡± Three-Fingers smiled broadly and spoke. His voice was loud and clear but flavored by an odd creaking sound. ¡°Family and new Friends! It is my pleasure to play for you all!¡± Standing up, he strutted over closer to Cole and Natalie. Cole glanced at the man¡¯s hands and saw his alias was accurate. The hand holding the crank of his instrument was missing two digits. Running his intact hand over his contraption. Three-Fingers bowed to Cole and Natalie. ¡°Sir Paladin! Lady Natalie! I am Martzel Three-Fingers. Troubadour and vagabond of the Shohgard Pack.¡± Slowly at first, he started to spin the crank and strum his instrument. ¡°Have either of you heard the arcane melodies of the Hurdy-Gurdy?¡± Both of them shook their heads in the negative, and Three-Fingers beamed. ¡°Oh, then you are in luck! For I am one of the few Minstrels trained in this most rare instrument! Hand-crafted by the Clock Monks of Conradburg! It is a marvel gifted to me in my travels and now here for your enjoyment.¡± His cranking sped up, and a creaky, humming melody came forth. Initially disconcerting, but slowly becoming pleasing. Cole and Natalie listened to the strange music as Three-Fingers started to sing. ¡°~Oh, I speak to you of the Storm Knight! Brave and true was he! Herald of the Father and Sword of mystery! Oh, I sing of him whose blade was lighting and whose foes were frightening!~¡± ¡°~Champion of the Sky, born to fly. You twirled through the air like a dancer and faced the Demon¡¯s cancer!~¡± ¡°~He who braved the Giants'' lair to save a lady fair! The Storm Knight of yesteryear whose memory we keep ever dear. He fought Titan¡¯s spawn and ventured where none had ever gone.~¡° ¡°~Champion of the Sky, born to fly. You twirled through the air like a dancer and faced the Demon¡¯s cancer!~¡± Three-Fingers continued on. Singing the familiar anthem as bellies were filled and gentle snow started to fall. Natalie leaned her head against Cole¡¯s side and shut her eyes. Only opening them at the sound of Cole¡¯s gentle whisper. ¡°This road we travel. It¡¯s going to be a long one. But I think it''s the right one.¡± Looking at the minstrel and the laughing Werefolk, Natalie smiled. ¡°I think you might be right.¡± Book II: Chapter 6: Knights, Nights, and Nightmares

Chapter 6: Knights, Nights, and Nightmares

¡°Weaving magic into matter is a tricky art. No matter the technique used, it requires specialized training, equipment, and materials. Most modern enchantments derive from the old Dwergaz Runic arts. With some hints of the Ochre and Bone techniques of ancient Humans complementing the¡­ inflexible Dwarven traditions. But no matter the techniques used, Enchantments require a power source. The magically talented can, of course, act as this source, using enchantments to cast complicated spells quickly and effectively. But for those lacking that talent or seeking to save energy, other sources are useful. Particularly gemstones, which by some quirk of their structure drink in ambient energy from the Aether.¡± - From chapter two of Johannes Steinruck''s ¡°So you want to be an Enchanter''''
:: Ten Days after Cole and Natalie met the Shohgard Pack :: An army of corpses marched off to war, and Dietrich Freymond wasn¡¯t joining them. The Scarlet Knight and his thrall stood on a small outcrop overlooking the main Roloyo road. Below them, Eight Legions of the Zaubervold Duchy marched in a never-ending column of armored bones. The magic animating the Eternal Soldiers kept them in perfect lockstep. Eight thousand pairs of feet stepping in unison. Creating an echoing drumbeat that reverberated kilometers around. Dietrich frowned down at the marching legions. His missing fang, a phantom ache in his mouth. Worms of discontent stirred in his guts as he recognized numerous Battle Standards held up. Lesser warriors and commanders would be leading this force. While he was stuck chasing a cold trail. Yara, his thrall, watched the procession with eyes wide. The village girl had never seen anything of the like, and it filled her with awe and terror. Sparing a glance for his thrall, Dietrich noted she looked healthier. While still skinny, she¡¯d gone from emaciated to willowy. Her red hair was less stringy, and the bags under her eyes had shrunken. Ironically her time as his sole thrall and blood source had been good for her. Mostly in part to the better food and rest Dietrich insisted she have. Yara was his property and had proved her devotion. Ensuring her health and well-being was Dietrich''s responsibility. Fidgeting in the saddle of the skeletal horse she rode, Yara looked to her similarly mounted master and asked. ¡°Where are they going, Master?¡± Looking towards the column head in the far distance, he answered. ¡°The Southern Marches. Our destination.¡± Rage, as bitter as it was controlled, oozed from Dietrich''s voice. The hunt for the Alukah and Paladin was not going well. The coming war would only make things worse. His prey was headed northwest into the Southern Marches and probably towards Vindabon. Full-scale conflict in the Marches would spread chaos and confusion. With the flow of refugees heading deeper into the Holy League being the perfect place for his quarry to hide. Dietrich needed to get ahead of the Army and make it deeper into the Southern Marches before the War started in earnest. Only then would he have any chance of catching his prey. The window of opportunity was shrinking every night. Once the Paladin made it to Vindabon or another major city, Dietrich''s odds of success became negligible. Even a pitiful excuse for a Paladin like Cole Restbringer could call upon significant resources once in Vindabon. Squeezing his armored fists tight, Dietrich felt another surge of anger at remembering Cole. The Paladin had snuck into his jurisdiction, exposed and foiled a conspiracy Dietrich hadn¡¯t even guessed at. Then had the gall to spare him and escape with one of the most powerful relics of Vampire-kind. With a thought, Dietrich commanded his Rattler horse and Yara¡¯s to move. Yara clung to her saddle, a mere passenger instead of a rider. The undead horses padded down the trail on iron hooves. While ten Eternal Soldiers marched behind them. A token force, some of the scraps Dietrich had been afforded for his mission. As they rode, dark wings fluttered in the night. Yara flinched as a great Owl flew down and landed on Dietrich¡¯s shoulder. Information flowed from the Owl into the Scarlet Knight. A collection of sights, sensations, and memories he¡¯d grown used to deciphering. While he normally preferred Bats and Crows for this work, Dietrich was quickly recognizing the value of Owls. Less numerous than Bats, dumber than Crows, and incapable of long flights, they, on paper, made poor scouts. But a unique magical quirk made them invaluable. Owls can see magic. Their great reflective eyes pick up disturbances in the Aether as easily as they might a field mouse. A perfect tool to have when hunting a Primordial Vampire and a God-Touched Warrior. Even if they tried to cloak themselves magically, that would only make themselves even more visible to the Owl¡¯s eyes. It took a very talented Illusionist to hide from Dietrich¡¯s scout. Something he doubted a Vampire Fledgeling, or that hunk of scarred meat was capable of. So after weeks of searching, with the help of dozens of Owls and Crows; Dietrich had found his quarry¡¯s trail. It had been faint, but between the Magical Sight of the Owls and the intelligence of the Crows, Dietrich had managed. Slowly but surely, Dietrich had been closing the distance. Each old campfire a little fresher than the last. But now with the Legions in play, his steady pace wasn¡¯t sufficent. Battles, even without heavy magical use, would disturb the Aether for kilometers around. While scouts from both armies and fleeing peasants would make mundane tracking harder. Gritting his teeth, the socket where his fang had once been aching. Dietrich turned to Yara. ¡°Hang on. We are going to push hard till morning.¡± The thrall swallowed nervously and started tying herself to the Rattling Horse''s saddle. She¡¯d learned from ugly experience what Dietrich meant by ¡°pushing hard.¡± No sooner had she completed her bindings did both Horses shoot off at an incredible speed. Iron hooves thundered over snowy gravel while a squad of armored Rattlers followed behind. Yara looked back to see the Eternal Soldiers running over the ground at surprising speeds. Of course, none matched a horse (living or dead), but they were faster than any normal soldier had the right to be. As the Rattlers fell behind, Yara couldn¡¯t help but smile. This was proof of her master''s talent. Commanding an entire squad of soldiers like they were extensions of his own body. Dietrich shut his eyes as he rode. He didn¡¯t need them to see. Witch-fire glowing in his Horse¡¯s skull and the myriad Crows, Bats, and Owls flying over the surrounding fields were more than enough. He followed the information his Owls had given him. Their eyes told of a curdled knot in the Aether nearby. where something dark had happened. After an hour or so of riding, he reached his destination. A lonely stretch of country road, surrounded by snowy farm fields, awaited Dietrich. A trio of enthralled Crows circled a patch of the field off the road, cawing at him. Dismounting, Dietrich went to investigate. Gesturing for Yara to stay with the Horses with one hand, gripping Lex with his other. One of the crows fluttered down into the snow and pecked at a buried lump. Dietrich brushed it with his foot and found scorched metal. Leaning down, he brushed off ice and snow to reveal soot-stained armor and burnt bones. Continuing his investigation, Dietrich found more bones. Perhaps half a dozen corpses, each clad in crude armor. Dietrich¡¯s Owl came down and landed on his shoulder. Borrowing the Bird¡¯s eyes, Dietrich looked over the bones. The shine of consecration clung to the bones. A Priests work clearly. While something dark clung to two of the skeletons. An oily shadow like congealed blood. The mark of a Vampire feeding. Smiling, Dietrich stood up. He was on the right trail, and he was getting close. If he¡¯d been more than two weeks behind his prey, the feeding would have been undetectable. Looking up at the cold night sky. Dietrich let his tongue trace his missing fang. Any night now, he would end this farce and return to Noct-Bucharos redeemed. Looking over the bones, Dietrich mused on how he¡¯d accomplish his objectives. The Paladin would be tricky to eliminate but not impossible. From what Dietrich had seen, the Restbringer had limits to his power. Cole had been unwilling to use his strongest magic early on. He¡¯d nearly died facing the Varcolac and then had to ambush Dietrich with that strange ice magic to win. Dietrich would hit him hard and fast before the Paladin could even respond. While killing Cole was preferred, keeping him alive for a time might have its uses. That depended on how strong the Alukah¡¯s new host had grown. Dietrich hoped to subdue the Alukah with his troops. Ten undead in full plate armor commanded by someone with Dietrich''s skill should be enough. But that was only if the Alukah¡¯s strength hadn¡¯t grown radically past what was expected of a Fledgling Vampire. Which the late Lord Glockmire had hinted at, but Dietrich didn¡¯t know how trustworthy those words were. Using a crippeled Paladin as a hostage could maybe work. But that was a gamble Dietrich was reluctant to take for multiple reasons. The Paladin seemed the type to sacrifice himself if the need arose. While the Alukah¡¯s influence might have already eroded any empathy the girl had for her protector. Looking back at Yara, Dietrich frowned. His thrall clung to the horse, blind in the deepening darkness. Winter storm clouds obscuring the moon and stars, robbing the snowy field of any light. Dietrich had brought Yara along for a number of reasons, blood ironically low on that list. If it came down to it, Dietrich could sire Yara as a Vampire and use her as a new container for the Alukah. A prospect that would be kept only as a last resort. Dietrich assumed the Alukah would be less ¡®entrenched¡¯ in the Innkeeper¡¯s daughter than its ancient body. Perhaps it would be more pliable and willing to take a new host without all the messy preparation Lord Glockmire had been forced to go through. But that was only an educated guess, and not one Dietrich wanted to gamble with. Getting this Natalie girl intact would be preferable. Staking her should paralyze the stupid child, but that still might not be enough considering her resistance to the Old Banes. Returning to his horse, Dietrich¡¯s mind suddenly filled with the sound of tearing metal and cracking bones. Spinning to look down the road he unsheathed Lex. Someone or something was attacking his Troops. Cursing under his breath, he reached out to his minions and assessed the situation. Something massive had smashed into the squad''s side. Tearing two of Rattlers to bits. Exploding with movement, Dietrich charged to confront the attacker. Cursing himself for the decision to let the Soldiers lag behind. He¡¯d hoped to cover more ground unconstrained by them. Now someone was picking off his unsupported troops. The Eternal Soldiers fought valiantly, but whatever they faced was strong. As Dietrich ran, he caught flickers of the fight through the connection he shared with them. Dagger-sized talons tore through armor while the Soldiers tried to form up. Try as he might, Dietrich was too slow. Every second another Rattler fell, torn apart by the unknown enemy. Dietrich¡¯s control was useless in the face of such an overwhelming onslaught. It wasn¡¯t a minute before the last Rattler¡¯s connection was cut. As soon as the ambush had started, it was over. Stopping mid-stride, Dietrich scanned the snowy fields around him. Red eyes gleamed in the dark. Slowly spinning in a circle, he held Lex in both hands, preparing for whatever came next. He saw nothing, no riders, no marching force. Then it occurred to him. Talons the enemy had talons. Dietrich looked up just as a great screech filled the night. The wings and claws of a titanic bird-of-prey hurtled towards Dietrich fast as the wind. The Scarlet Knight dived to the side as his foe struck. Rolling through the snow, Dietrich came to his feet, Sword at the ready. A mass of feathers and hate wheeled about on the ground and charged him again. Dietrich raised Lex high and prepared to kill his avian foe. Steel rang on steel as a blade intercepted him. Briefly surprised, Dietrich was unprepared for the massive talons to reach out and swipe at him. Spinning to avoid the brunt of the impact, Dietrich was still sent sprawling. Looking up at his foe, recognition dawned. He¡¯d at first thought some Dire-Hawk or similar had been attacking him. But as his red eyes pierced the shadows, the truth became clear. A mighty Hippogryph reared up on its equine hind legs, flashing eagle talons lunging for Dietrich. Massive wings flared, and the beast''s rider pointed his sword at Dietrich. Armored in white plate, with sword and shield in hand. A Knight of the Holy League atop his Beast of War faced Dietrich. As Dietrich dodged the talons and the Hippogryph came down onto all fours. The rider sneered at him. ¡°Undead scum! Meet your doom!¡± The Knight had a thick Guyenne accent that echoed from his helmet. For the first time in a long time, Dietrich actually smiled. His foe was a Hippogryph Knight who¡¯d been scouting the Eternal Legions for Harmas. Upon seeing Dietrich''s detachment, the fool had sought to earn cheap glory at the cost of his mission. The typical arrogant disregard for discipline that plagued the upper ranks of any Holy League army. If this whelp made it back to Camp, he¡¯d have his hide tanned for insubordination or cheered for his bravery. Depending on the Knights'' breeding and his commander''s skill. But as Dietrich gripped Lex tighter, the ¡°If¡± in ¡°If he made it back¡± became a very large one. The Hippogryph charged again, and Dietrich didn¡¯t bother to dodge. He fed power to his flesh and let bones become steel, his muscles rock. Shoving his shoulder forward, Dietrich slammed Lex into the frozen ground. Using its buried length to keep him secure. The Hippogryph slammed into Dietrich like he was solid stone. The beast was sent sprawling, its rider tossed from its back. Tellingly the Hippogryph recovered first. Pulling itself up, one forelimb clearly injured. Shying away from Dietrich, it tried to reach its rider. The Scarlet Knight had no intention of letting it. Exploding forward with inhuman speed, Dietrich swung Lex high. Bringing its edge down onto the Hippogryph''s neck. Warm blood sprayed out across the snow as the executioner¡¯s sword did its work. Like a headless chicken, the War Beast stumbled forward a few steps before Dietrich landed a solid kick in its side. Reminding the corpse, it was already dead. The Knight let out a pained cry of grief at the sight. ¡°You bastard! I¡¯ll have your head!¡± Dietrich lazily spun to face his new opponent. On his feet, the Knight slammed his sword and shield together. With a hiss of arcane power, both came to light. Red flames danced along the sword''s blade while silver runes glowed on the kite shield''s face. Dietrich noticed fainter glowing patterns on the Knights'' armor. Well, this explained the welp¡¯s arrogance. Enchanted equipment was expensive. Even in the Holy League, where magical craftsmen were relatively common. Still, it wouldn¡¯t change anything. Dietrich had been breaking arrogant young lordlings since before his death. As the two combatants circled each other, Dietrich growled. ¡°Look at my armor Boy. I¡¯m certain you will recognize the design.¡± The Knight did, and even under the visor of his helm, Dietrich could see the Knight¡¯s eyes widen in shock. The Scarlet Knight¡¯s signature blood-red armor was known wide and far. Dietrich could literally smell the boy¡¯s sudden fear. Before the Boy-Knight could recover or piss himself, Dietrich charged. The full explosive power of a Vampire bringing Lex down on the Boy-Knight¡¯s shield. A brilliant flash of light and a sharp snap cut through the night air, and Dietrich stumbled back, his eyes momentarily overwhelmed by the light. Quickly collecting himself, Dietrich couldn¡¯t help but be impressed by the Shields artifice. It didn¡¯t try and stop his blow but instead converted much of the strike to light. A light the wielder was protected from by the shield''s own shadow. Dietrich wagered the shield was designed with Vampires in mind, exploiting their night vision against them. In the grip of a more capable foe, Dietrich might actually be worried by the shield. But instead of capitalizing on Dietrich¡¯s momentary surprise, the Boy-Knight merely held his ground. Recovering from his suprise, Dietrich circled around, bringing Lex to bear. To the boy¡¯s credit, he parried the strikes. His flaming sword and shining shield kept Dietrich at bay. Eyes shut, relying on his other senses, Dietrich worked to wear down the Boy-Knight. He didn¡¯t bother to pursue killing or crippling strikes. Just keeping up a steady barrage of bone-cracking strikes. Never giving the Boy-Knight time to recover or reposition. With every parry or block, the Boy-Knights reaction time grew slower and slower. His equipment could only protect him so much from Dietrich''s wrath. The Knight¡¯s muscles were screaming, and his shield arm was numb. Every swipe with the fiery sword became clumsier and clumsier. Dietrich barely needed to put any effort into dodging. As the Boy-Knight let out a furious shriek and swung his sword in a great uncoordinated arc, Dietrich spun behind his foe. Bringing a great mailed fist down onto the Boy-Knight''s back. Sending him sprawling to the ground. With shaky limbs, the Boy-Knight tried to get to his feet, but his own armor weighed him down. Stalking over, Dietrich glared down at his foe. ¡°Get up,¡± he growled. The Boy-Knight struggled uselessly, his limbs shaking with exhaustion. Dietrich slammed an armored boot into the Boy¡¯s side. Sending him skidding along the snowy ground. ¡°I SAID GET UP!¡± A whimper came from the boy. Disgusted with the weakness before him. Dietrich leaned down and ripped the Boy-Knights helmet off. Below it was a pimply-faced teen with bright red hair. Tears welled up in the boy¡¯s eyes. His lips trembled as he tried to speak. ¡°P-p-please! H-have mercy! My-my father will pay my ransom, I swear!¡± Dietrich couldn¡¯t help but smile. The sight brought back fond memories of his youth. ¡°In another life, I¡¯d take up your offer,¡± he growled. ¡°But in this one, you''re more use to me dead.¡± The Boy-Knight screamed as Dietrich bit into his neck. The taste of blood was ambrosia to the Vampire, and he drank it down eagerly. The oh-so-noble blood of the Knight tasted of rich meals and pampered living. Of an arrogant child, who if he¡¯d lived, would have spent his life growing fat and doughy. While telling anyone who¡¯d listen about his ¡°glory days¡± during a war other men fought. As the last drop of blood was drained from the Boy-Knight. Dietrich stepped back from his kill. Crunching snow brought his attention to a worried-looking Yara. She¡¯d left the horses to seek him out. Foolish but loyal. He wouldn¡¯t punish her, but he would reprimand her later. Tentatively, his thrall approached Dietrich. Her eyes squinted in the darkness. A life spent serving Vampires had given her better night vision than most people, but even that had limits. ¡°Sir? Are you alright?¡± she asked. Looking to the guttering flames of the Boy-Knights sword. Grunting in acknowledgment, Dietrich tossed the Boy-Knights helmet to her. A startled Yara caught the helmet with a yelp. ¡°Put it on,¡± Dietrich commanded. She complied and looked around the snowy fields. ¡°I¡­I can see? How is this possible?¡± Yara spun around, looking everywhere like a small child at the town fair. ¡°Magic,¡± said Dietrich. ¡°I figured the helmet was enchanted. No way this welp was keeping up with me blind.¡± Dietrich called the two horses and turned his attention back to the dead Knight. Putting his armored hands on either side of the Knight¡¯s face, Dietrich started whispering dark words. An infernal incantation spoken in one of the Six hundred and Sixteen languages of Hell. Inky shadows bled from Dietrich''s mouth and eyes and onto the Boy Knight¡¯s corpse. The shadows slithered into the body, through his open mouth or shredded neck. Infesting the corpse with Dietrich¡¯s spell. Twitching dead limbs came to life, and the Corpse-Knight started to thrash. Magical currents activating dead nerves and animating the corpse. Dietrich stepped away as his newest minion rose up. Sword and shield still gripped in death grips. Frowning slightly, Dietrich inspected his work. Like any Vampire warrior, he knew the quick and dirty spells of Battlefield reanimation. But his knowledge of more complex workings of necromancy was lacking. He¡¯d need to experiment to make full use of the Corpse-Knight. Looking in the distance to where his fallen Soldiers lay and then looking back at the burned bones he¡¯d discovered. A fell idea crossed Dietrich''s mind. The taint of war and death was upon these lands. Its Aether would react to his magic easier than normal. He could perhaps punch through the crude consecration on the burned bones. Replenish or repair his forces before setting out. The blank-eyed Corpse-Knight shuffled after Dietrich as he walked. Gripping the Ghoul¡¯s cloak, Dietrich tore off a piece and used it to clean Lex, then sheathed it. Looking at the enchanted armor and weapons the Ghoul carried. Dietrich mused on the possible uses for them. He¡¯d let Yara keep the helmet. Actually, being able to see at night would help keep her alive. For the rest of it, well, Information and influence among stupid Mortals had been bought for less.
:: A dark alley somewhere in Vindabon :: Guard-Captain Arkaz Iron-Teeth hated the smell of blood. A poor feature for a Dwarf in his profession. As Guard-Captain of the Thirteenth District of Vindabon, he smelled a lot of it. While by no means a violent City, Vindabon was still a City. Where sheer numbers made ¡°rare¡± crimes almost a daily occurrence. Of the twenty-four Districts, the Thirteenth, or Weinstadt as it was known, was usually about middling in terms of violence. Drunken brawls and thievery took up most of Captain Iron Teeth¡¯s time usually. Truly terrible acts didn¡¯t usually happen in his district, emphasis on usually. The corpse in front of Iron-Teeth was the seventh of its kind discovered in twice as many days. Splayed out in the middle of the District Cemetery was the dead body of a young woman. She lay atop a slab tomb like it was a bed, her limbs stretched out in all directions. Her eyes were shut, and her face was peaceful. A direct contradiction to the gruesome death she¡¯d suffered. Dried blood covered her chest. The tips of her ribs sticking out of the mess of gore where they¡¯d been pulled open. Exposing the internal cavity that was conspicuously empty. Twenty guards, all pulled from their patrols, blocked the Cemeteries'' various gates while Iron-Teeth, his Lieutenant, Darvy, and Priestess Mina examined the crime scene. Iron-Teeth rubbed his bulbous nose, hoping to somehow dislodge the smell of blood from it. His district and every other in the city were already short-staffed. Half the guards in town had joined up with Prince Franz¡¯s ¡°relief force¡± into the Southern Marches. Leaving Iron-Teeth and his fellow Guard Captains trying to watch over an increasingly tense city. Looking away from the murder, Iron-Teeth asked Priestess Mina, ¡°Is it like the others?¡± His voice had the sound of crushed gravel, and the faintest Dwerick accent still colored his words. Mina, who had been crouched over the body, let out a worried hum. Setting her hands on the victim''s head, she opened the corpse''s eyes and stared into them. A sound that wasn¡¯t a sound echoed through the cemetery. The mortal mind interpreting the touch of magic the best it could. Mina reeled back from the corpse and stumbled away. Cursing under her breath, the Priestess tried not to throw up. Lieutenant Darvy placed a metal pall next to the retching Priestess. After a moment, Mina got back up, blinking away tears. Nodding shakily, she spat bile into the bucket. ¡°It''s like the others. She was drugged, brought here, and had her heart ripped out.¡± shaking her head to dispel the images, Mina gestured wildly. ¡°It''s hard to tell anything more; her mind was all syrupy. I¡¯m guessing Aunty¡¯s Tears or Dream Sap.¡± Iron-Teeth grunted in acknowledgment. He¡¯d broken the fingers of every Tear Peddler or Dream Den owner in half the city. The drug angle hadn¡¯t paid out so far, but he might give it another try. Rubbing her eyes, Mina looked exhausted. As Priestess of Master Time, she was gifted with the ¡°miracle¡± of Corpse Sight. The ability to see (and in some cases) feel the last moments of a dead body by looking into their eyes. It was a grim gift and one that had gotten Mina assigned to Iron-Teeth. The young priestess was a skinny thing with short blond hair and the perpetual look of someone without sleep. A look that was becoming increasingly common among the Guards of the Thirteenth District. Iron-Teeth and his subordinates had been working around the clock to investigate these killings with no luck. The Elector-Prince¡¯s court was breathing down Iron-Teeths neck, and the entire District was getting twitchy. Occult killings were the sort of thing even normally rational people got jumpy about. As Mina recovered, Iron-Teeth looked back at the body. This whole thing had the stink of magic about it. Removing the heart in the middle of a cemetery? Even an old army veteran turned City Guard could tell that had magical significance. The previous six bodies had also been found in hallowed ground. Half the bloody shrines in the Thirteenth District had been desecrated this way. The killer somehow avoiding detecting each time, performing seven Gods-damned ritual murder in the middle of a sacred spaces. So far, it had been minor shrines and family tombs, but this new killing in the District Cemetery spoke to escalation. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Iron-Teeth had gone to the Ivory Tower, the Magical Library of Vindabon in search of answers. Calling upon the old orders of Magi to help. Annoyingly the Magi had been mostly unwilling or unable to help. Entire Circles of Magi had been drafted to aid in the fight against the Leeches and their armies. Most everyone else was wrapped up in research so crucial it got them excluded from the War Effort. Iron-Teeth personally thought most of that ¡°crucial research¡± was an excuse to avoid serving in the army. Still, a few Magi worthy of the title had spared the time to help him. But they all said the same thing. The evidence could point to a dozen different rituals and workings. It seemed every breed of fell magic had rituals that matched what Iron-Teeth was dealing with. The Magi said it could be a Hellish Rite to call upon Demons of Envy or just as easily a Flesh-Crafters attempt to create Tale-Teller Hearts. As for the victims, they¡¯d all been young. Each in their twenties. Four women and three men, all different backgrounds. Seemingly only united by poor luck. The first two victims had been Escorts, and it ashamed Iron-Teeth his subordinates hadn¡¯t paid much attention to those killings. Only realizing something was amiss when the third and fourth victims (A merchant''s son and a messenger girl) were found. By the time Iron-Teeth made the connection, others had as well. Rumors and gossip spread like the plague through Weinstadt. Leaving Guard-Captain Arkaz Iron-Teeth right in the middle of a mess he had no clue how to fix. But that didn¡¯t mean he wouldn¡¯t try. Looking at the recovering Mina, he asked. ¡°Are you strong enough to preserve her? ¡° The Priestess nodded, got up, and went back over to the corpse. Raising her arms up like she was giving a benediction, Mina started whispering Saint-Speech over the body. Streams of icy fog fell from the Priestess¡¯s fingers onto the body. Another of Master Times¡¯s gifts. The victim''s body would be preserved until burial. Perfect for mourners, morticians, and anyone trying to solve a mystery. With a whistle, Iron-Teeth got two of his guards to come over with a stretcher. They¡¯d take the body to the Mortuary. Where Mina could get a more in-depth look into the victim. As they left, body in tow, Mina followed after. She¡¯d be no more use out here, better for her to start examining the body. Leaving Iron-Teeth with Darvy and the last member of his quartet. Calling out into the dark graveyard, Iron-Teeth bellowed. ¡°Oi! Cat-Eyes, you find anything?¡± While Iron-Teeth, Darvy, and Mina had examined the body, City-Warden Alia Cat-Eyes had stalked through the cemetery looking for tracks or similar. The position of City-Warden was a new invention, and one Iron-Teeth had initially been skeptical of. Wardens patrolled the roads and wilds of the Holy League. Being about as far from the City Watch as fellow Law-bringers could get. But some Noble had gotten the idea of assigning skilled trackers to the various Guard contingents. With Alia being Iron-Teeth¡¯s example. But in the last two years, City-Warden Cat-Eyes had proven her worth. Showing that in comparison to rogue beasts and bandits. City criminals were painfully easy to track. Iron-Teeth waited for a moment before Alia melted out of the shadows. Coming into Darvy¡¯s torchlight, a sour look on her face. Short and waifish-thin. Alia had long tawny hair gathered up in a tight braid, with high cheekbones and sharp features. Her eyes lived up to her name and betrayed her ancestry. One of Alia¡¯s great, great grandparents had been a Werelion. Something not uncommon in Vindabon. The city''s central location in the continent and its liberal reputation made it one of the most diverse places in the Holy League. Iron-Teeth himself another example of this fact. Reaching him, Alia shook her head in the negative. ¡°Just the same as before. One set of footprints into the crime scene. Tracks were heavier than to be expected, but I bet that''s the victim''s weight. I¡¯d guess one hundred and seventy centimeters tall, but strong and fast.¡± Iron-Teeth quirked an eyebrow at the last detail. ¡°Strong and fast? Why do you say that?¡± Alia gestured back toward the direction she came. ¡°Snow¡¯s deeper in the cemetery compared to the othe crime scenes. I can get a better read on stride length. The killer could run through the cemetery while carrying a drugged person without issue.¡± Taking a moment to consider her words, Alia amended herself. ¡°Not just jog, but really run. Doing that with that sort of weight on your shoulders isn¡¯t easy.¡± Iron-Teeth thought on that. He¡¯d seen strong laborers do as much before. Looking around the cemetery for what felt like the hundredth time, Iron-Teeth noted the myriad grave markers, statues, shrines, and their offerings. Even with Darvy¡¯s torch, navigating the Cemetery at night had been a hassle. Doing so in the middle of the night with only the moon and stars to guide you while carrying a load and running at high speeds? Iron-Teeth would bet his left boot the killer could see in the dark. Looking at Alia Cat-Eyes, Iron-Teeth could see she was thinking something similar. A grimace wrinkled her face, and worry filled her eyes. The killer was taller than a Dwarf, strong enough to carry dead-weight while running, and could see in the dark. All feats capable through magic, but also innately possible to some humanoids. Werefolk, in particular. Two weeks ago, the killings had started. A few days before that, the first Werefolk caravans had arrived. Every year, close to the Winter Solstice, Werefolk clans would congregate in Avar Woods for their Moonmoot. This year was no different. With close to a thousand Werefolk in the Vindabon area. Many packs tried to arrive early to the Moonmoot to do business in Vindabon and enjoy the lead-up to the Solstice festival. Typically this meant little for Vindabon. Other than Butchers and Alehouses making small fortunes off revealing Werefolk. While exotic goods entered the market courtesy of far-traveling Packs. The timing of the Werefolk''s arrival and the start of the killings was suspicious. Something not helped by old legends and old prejudices. In Vindabon, the fear of Werebeasts stalking the night was a remote, rural idea. One that was slowly returning to prominence as word of the killings spread. Savage ritual murders right around the time of a Werefolk holy time? The city''s rumor mill was filled with speculation and fear-mongering. Something not helped by some very old stories about some very nasty Werewolves. In the old legends, Feral Werewolves feasted on the hearts of their victims. Gaining power from the act. Iron-Teeth personally doubted those legends. While he¡¯d never personally dealt with a Feral Werewolf, he knew people who had. From what they described, the Monster wasn¡¯t so¡­ discriminate about what parts of their victims they ate. But somehow, Iron-teeth knew the nervous citizenry wouldn¡¯t find much comfort in that fact. Every night, as news of the murders spread, tensions rose. Try as Iron-Teeth might, he couldn¡¯t keep a lid on this. Not because of his subordinates. They wanted trouble as much as he did. No, his problems came from the fact he had to submit his findings to Vindabon¡¯s labyrinthian bureaucracy. Where bored clerks and gossipy officials lept at the chance to spread the lurid details his reports contained. Already some of the Thirteenth District Guards had been required to break up a Pub brawl that turned nasty predominantly because one of the drinkers was Werefolk. The seventh murder would not help matters. Rubbing at his nose again, Iron-Teeth asked Alia: ¡°Should we talk to the Moonmooters?¡± Alia scoffed. ¡°About what? Politely ask them if any of their family members is ripping the hearts out of our citizens? You know as well as I do how touchy the Clans get about that sort of thing.¡± Moving his fingers to his soot-dark beard, Iron-Teeth shrugged. ¡°I was more thinking of giving a warning. Telling them the city is tense right now and for them to keep their heads down this year.¡± Darvy spoke for maybe the fifth time since they¡¯d arrived at the cemetery. ¡°I think they already know that, sir.¡± Grinding his jaw, feeling his false teeth rub against each other, the Dwarven Guard-Captain grunted in acknowledgment. Darvy looked to his superior and Alia and swallowed nervously before speaking. ¡°Just to play Accusers-Advocate here, What if this is exactly what it looks like? Alia shot him an icy glare, and the Lieutenant held up a hand placatingly. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t think the Clans are bad folk. But I¡¯ve been around enough people to know bad ones can easily slip among the good ones. The murders started when the Clans arrived. Every victim had their heart ripped out, like in the stories. We know the crimes were committed by someone strong and fast, with good night vision. So maybe if it breathes fire like a Dragon. Flies like a Dragon. Has scales like a Dragon. Then it''s a Dragon?¡± Iron-Teeth knew Darvy had a point. All the evidence pointed in that direction. Looking for more complications in an already complicated situation was stupid. Maybe this was exactly what it looked like. Some nasty throwback of a Werewolf causing problems when presented with the opportunity. Looking at Alia, Iron-Teeth knew she wasn¡¯t convinced. Even though she belonged to no Pack or Clan, she had a certain loyalty to her kindred, no matter how distant. She was biased, and maybe Iron-Teeth was as well. As an immigrant, he found the idea of this being something so stereotypical as a foreigner going on a killing spree almost offensive. Perhaps Darvy, for better or worse, had his coin under the right cup. As Iron-Teeth started to consider the possibility, the crunch of snow underfoot caught his attention. Priestess Mina was running towards them. Her vestments billowed as she dashed. She carried no lantern or torch, simply running headlong toward Darvy¡¯s light. So it wasn¡¯t a surprise when her foot caught on a half-buried grave marker. Alia shot forward on feline-fast feet and caught the stumbling priestess. Alia clucked her tongue in annoyance. ¡°Clumsy clumsy humans. What''s the point of rushing if you slip and break open your skull.¡± Mina blushed and stumbled over her words as she regained her balance. ¡°Thanks, Alia.¡± Turning her focus to Iron-Teeth, the Captain could see a strange mix of excitement and disgust on her face. ¡°Captain Iron-Teeth! I found something!¡± That got a stir out of all three Guard officers. Gesturing for Mina to continue, Iron-Teeth held his breath. Could the Priestess have found something important? Mina¡¯s excited mood dimmed as she started to recount her discovery. The gruesome nature of it blotted out her joy in success. ¡°When Fergy and Gunther loaded the Victim into the wagon, I decided to take another look at the murder wound. Just on gut instinct. See, we found this body faster than the previous ones. So some things stuck out to me more.¡± In every previous victim, it had been at least twelve hours before the body was discovered or at least reported to the Guards. For the seventh, they¡¯d gotten lucky. A mourner with insomnia had been visiting a grave near the Third Bell and found the corpse. Mina estimated the body wasn¡¯t three hours old when they arrived. Rubbing her hands together to warm them, Mina continued. ¡° I noticed something odd about the chest cavity. Where the heart was torn out. The incisions were strange and tricky to decipher previously. But in this body¡­ Well, I finally recognized what had done this. Teeth, someone used their¡­um¡­mouth to rip the heart out.¡± Darvy gave the Captain a tight-lipped look. The Lieutenant seeing Mina¡¯s words as confirmation of his own theory. But then the Priestess continued. ¡°I¡¯ll have to do a closer examination later but the bite marks¡­ They were human.¡± Alia, Darvy, and Iron-Teeth all shot Mina with stunned looks. Taking their expression to mean doubt, Mina vigorously bobbed her head. ¡°I¡¯m no Rest-Bringer, but I know what marks human teeth make. A Corpse Eater Undead is behind this!¡± An undead inside the walls of Vindabon? Something dangerous enough to slip through the city''s defenses and go undetected? Yet ravenous enough to feed every other night? That was a very, very worrying prospect. Unwilling to believe, Iron-Teeth asked. ¡°But the bodies have been found on hallowed ground; it can¡¯t be Undead!¡± Mina looked nervous for a second. ¡°The first few murder sites were barely maintained. Little magic protected them. Certain powerful types of Undead can bypass weak defenses. I don¡¯t think it''s a coincidence the killings are happening at progressively better-cared-for places. I think whatever is doing this, it¡¯s getting stronger.¡± That sent a chill through Iron-Teeth. If Mina was right, this whole situation suddenly jumped from bad to terrible. Suddenly the idea of a rogue Werewolf seemed almost appealing compared to what Mina suggested. Reaching down to his belt, Iron-Teeth ran his fingers over the weapon dangling there. Called a Krazkrak, Part axe, part mining pick, it was one of the few mementos the Dwarf kept from his homehold. A weapon as ugly as it was utilitarian. Something deep in Iron Teeth¡¯s bones told him he¡¯d be needing it in the near future. Sighing to himself, he looked at Mina and said. ¡°I hope you are wrong, Priestess. But if you aren¡¯t¡­ Well, pray to that God of yours for help.¡±
Cole dreamed he was falling. Plummeting through ash clouds, Cole fell through a familiarly twisted dreamscape. It had been weeks since the last of these dreams, but he hadn''t forgotten the terrible descent. Blinking away the soot and wind, Cole looked around him. Dreading what he might spot in between reddish clouds. A bolt of cold blue lightning cut through the clouds and illuminated the sky around him. Dozens of bodies tumbled nearby. Some were burnt husks, still trailing bits of fire as they fell. While others were missing limbs. As much as he wanted to shy away from the grisly sight, Cole steeled himself and tried to get a closer look. One of the bodies, the closest to him, was intact. It fell in slow lazy spirals, its thick limbs splayed out by the ashen wind. Clad in brutish armor; something about the body seemed familiar to Cole. Angling his body to ¡°fall closer¡± to the corpse, Cole got a better look. The corpse was a woman, strong of limb and stout of body. Empty eyes stared up at the dark sky while small tusks protruded from her heavy jaw. Below that was a ruined neck. Torn open by a Halberd¡¯s edge. It was the Axe-Adept. The toughest of the bandits Cole had fought. Startled by this, Cole flinched back and was spent spinning through the air. The rushing wind hurtled him head over heels in a sickening spin. Everything became a whirling Kaleidoscope of reds, browns, grays, and blacks. As sickening as it was beautiful. The whirly-gig ride ended with a sickening crunch as Cole hit the ground. His body landed face up into the ashen wastes of the dream. A terrible mix of pain and silence shot through Cole¡¯s body. Half of his body hurt terribly; the other half didn¡¯t feel anything at all. He¡¯d broken his back on impact. Something the immortal Paladin was experienced with. Blinking away stars, Cole looked around him. He¡¯d landed atop a dune of ash amid a plane of similar. At the edges of his vision, ruins stuck up from the Ash. Crumbling temples and castle towers protruded from the desert like the bones of some long-dead titan. Cole drank this all in, confused and worried. Normally his falling dreams ended shortly before or after impact. Never leaving him in this limbo state. Movement caught his attention, and Cole craned his neck back, earning him a stab of pain. Seeing the world upside-down, Cole watched as two figures approached. Seeming to fade into being, the ashy wind obscuring them slightly. The first figure was unmistakable. Tall, statuesque, and frighteningly beautiful was Isabelle. Her silver dress and dark hair blowing in the wind. Trailing behind her was an even larger silhouette, covered head to toe in a night-black cloak. Isabelle glided over the ash and reached Cole. A mixture of worry and sadness was on her face as she looked down at him. Kneeling before him, Isabelle put his head in her lap and stroked his hair. Making a shushing noise, she whispered. ¡°Oh darling, I¡¯ve missed you.¡± Looking away from him, she glared at the second figure. ¡°Surely there was an easier way than this!¡± In a voice both quiet and familiar, the second figure answered. ¡°You requested this meeting. His soul is neutral ground, Countess Isabelle. The pain he feels is not my doing.¡± Looking down at Cole, Isabelle sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, darling. This will be over soon.¡± The cloaked figure approached and, in a deadpan voice, remarked. ¡°That is a lie. You made sure of that.¡± Isabelle hissed at the Cloaked man and spat. ¡°I meant the dream! Can¡¯t you be any less obtuse, you Cosmic Paradox!¡± The cloaked man didn¡¯t answer for a moment before saying. ¡°Then let us speak quickly and not steal into his dreams any longer.¡± Looking between Cole and the Cloaked Man, Isabelle nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll make this quick. What is happening to him? Is this your influence altering my design? I never accounted for external reality factors in his Aetheric Lattice.¡± The Cloaked figure scoffed at that. ¡°No, this is not my doing. But a manifestation of your hubris. It wasn¡¯t enough for you to make a Soul, was it Isabelle? You had to try and improve it.¡± Isabelle shot to her feet, letting Cole¡¯s head fall into the ash in her haste. ¡°I tried to improve upon the stunted work you and your fellow Mummers preside over. I created something better and if you let me I could finish my work!¡± A pale hand extended from the Cloaks depths and pointed an accusatory finger at Isabelle. ¡°You had a life. One you extended by stealing others. Do not dare to presume you deserve more than every other person who has ever lived.¡± The hooded cowl of the Cloaked Man looked to Cole and he continued. ¡°Besides, we both know your motivation was nothing so noble as bettering the World¡¯s Souls.¡± Isabelle recoiled like she¡¯d been slapped. Trying to speak, a difficult thing with his broken body, Cole asked. ¡°Who¡­who are you?¡± The Cloaked Figure moved closer to Cole and pulled his hood down. Revealing a handsome face, perfect in its proportions and unblemished by any mark. Looking as if some master had carved it from marble the face looked down at Cole with unnaturally pale-blue eyes. Cole recognized the face. Despite not seeing it in twelve years, he could never forget it. His face. The pale eyes started to shine, like an ancient glacier catching the sun. A smile unblemished by countless scars Cole now wore shone down on him and the Cloaked Man spoke softly. ¡°You know who I am, Cole. You¡¯ve always known who I am.¡± Trying to reach up to his unblemished twin. Cole whispered the answer. ¡°Death. You are Death, Time, Cold and Entropy. Master of all that and more.¡± Master Time nodded down at Cole. ¡°I don¡¯t wear this face to mock you Cole. It is simply how your creator sees me. Try as she might to deny it, we were linked from the moment of your decanting.¡± A stunned Cole looked to the God and then to Isabelle. Suddenly he felt the ground below him move. Looking down at himself, he realized his legs were sinking into the ash. Instant terror filled Cole. For an Immortal, the idea of being buried alive was literally a fate worse than death. Frantically he moved his shaky hands to start digging at the ash. But both Isabelle and Master Time stopped him. With sadness in her eyes, Isabelle smiled. ¡°Our time is done, it seems. I love you, Cole.¡± The ash started to speed up, Cole looking at the two beings responsible for his existence as he was devoured. Another bolt of blue lightning cut through the sky and arced down towards Cole. In the strange realm of dreams and souls, Cole could watch the lightning descend. Its streams of sky-fire howling down towards him like a descending Seraph. Fingers of lightning stretched out to him as the roar of thunder followed the coming lance. Reaching out, Cole greeted the bolt like an old friend and felt it caress him.
Bolting up from his dream, Cole blinked away sleep and thrashed at his blankets. For a single terrible moment, he couldn¡¯t feel his legs. They were lost behind a buzzing fog. As awareness returned to him, Cole looked down to see Natalie lying atop him. Her dead-sleep undisturbed by his flailings. Natalie had recently taken to sleeping on his chest like a particularly large house cat. An endearing habit except when it put his arms or legs to sleep as it had done this morning. Gently picking Natalie up, Cole moved out from underneath her. Settling the Vampire into their shared cott. Gently, he also removed his amulet from her chest. Resisting the urge to touch her impressive bust as he did. Once the cold metal was in hand, Natalie¡¯s eyes shot open. Unlife returning to her instantly. Smiling up at Cole, she stretched. A strictly unnecessary motion but one that caught Cole¡¯s eye. The past two weeks of traveling with the Werefolk hadn¡¯t given them much privacy. Something that had prevented the pair from moving to more¡­intimate behavior. But that hadn¡¯t stopped Natalie from taking every opportunity to tease him. Taking his eyes from her limber form, Cole looked around the small cabin they shared. Wood creaked under his feet, and distantly the sound of cracking ice could be heard. Going to the cabin door, he said. ¡°I¡¯m going to check on our progress.¡± Natalie blew him a kiss and burrowed under the blankets. She was clearly enjoying the warmth of their new accommodations. While Cole was more susceptible to the cold, he was also used to it. Natalie had spent her life near crackling hearths and heavy quilts. Not out on windy roads in all seasons like Cole. Shutting the cabin door behind him, Cole slipped down the tight passageway and to the stairs. Taking them, he opened the hatch and stepped out into the clear winter dawnlight. Blinking it away, Cole drank in his surroundings. He stood on the deck of a hulking river barge. Its squat prow cutting through the chilly Alidon River. Stretching his legs, Cole went over to the nearest railing and leaned over it. Looking down into the great river below. Despite its birth in cold-mountain run-off and fresh-water springs. The Alidon hadn¡¯t frozen entirely. The middle two-thirds of the river still flowed ever on. With the Bargefolk happy to still do business on their flat-bottomed vessels. Another early riser approached. Bruto of the Shohgard pack came up next to Cole. The old Werefolk handed Cole a mug of warm cider to match his own, and they both drank. In Between sips, Cole asked, ¡°Any idea how far we are from the city?¡± Bruto shrugged and said. ¡°Another week, maybe.¡± Life among the Werefolk had tamed Cole¡¯s sleep schedule to be early rising. With him and Bruto being the first ones up most days. Mutual polite stoicism had forged an odd friendship between the two. That translated to the two sharing a morning drink; with perhaps a dozen words said between them. Which suited both Cole and Bruto just fine. The Shohgard pack had made good headway after Cole and Natalie joined them. Making it to the village of Holderbruck in less than a week. Holderbruck, like so many other settlements on the Alidon, survived thanks to the constant barge traffic. It was there the Shohgard pack had met their contact. A Werefolk-operated Barge called the Stream Skipper. And spent a day loading their carts and themselves onto the vessel. Now the Stream Skipper plodded up the river, stopping occasionally to move cargo but never for long. Sailing ever onwards to Vindabon. Following the route it¡¯d done hundreds of times before. Leaning over the railing, Cole saw something huge move in the water. Instead of fear or worry, it brought a smile to his face. Soon the water was split as a large furry form came into sight. An Otter the size of a horse surfaced from the river and lazily swam beside the Barge. It let out a rattling squeak as it looked up at Cole and Bruto. Once it realized neither of them were going to throw it food, the creature dived under with a dismissive swat of its tail. The animal was a Barge Otter. One of the rare examples of a Direbeast being successfully domesticated. The gigantic river-dwellers were bred and used like draft horses by the Bargefolk of the Western Continent. At any time, six of the Otters pulled on great ropes attached to the Barge. Pulling it against the current and steering it better than any rudder might. Aided by some crude enchantments woven into a boat''s hull. The Barge Otters could pull shocking weight without complaint. Something helped by the paste of shellfish and herbs the Bargefolk smeared on the tug-ropes. Turning monotonous labor into a treat for the animals. Looking up from the river, Cole finished his warm cider and peered at the distant shore. Rolling farm fields cut up by forests and hamlets. With distant snow-covered mountains looming out of the west. They had passed through Harmas two days ago, and were now close to the border of the Southern Marches. Soon they¡¯d enter Norica. The Holy League Province that surrounded Vindabon. A peaceful land that lived well off of its city-state neighbor. Cole didn¡¯t know why Vindabon was considered a separate province. Being one of nine cities in the Holy League awarded such an honor. Any strife that distinction might have bred between Norica and Vindabon seemed negligible or at least very well hidden. The deck hatch creaked again, and Cole turned to see Natalie arrive. Wearing a clean dress and wrapped in her cloak. Natalie covered the lower half of her face with a scarf she¡¯d bought at one of the Barge¡¯s previous stops. A wise investment if they were to be dealing with strangers. Bruto saw Natalie, nodded at Cole, and left. A week ago Cole would have assumed it was out of fear of Natalie. But the silver tongue of his partner had slain the Werefolks'' apprehension; and they¡¯d come to respect her as a paliatable outsider. No, Bruto was being courteous and letting the lovers have privacy. Snuggling up to Cole, Natalie looked over the guard-rails. Cole put an arm around her and remarked. ¡°You missed a Barge Otter. It came sniffing around looking for scraps.¡± Natalie clicked her tongue in disappointment. ¡°Shame, they are so cute, aren¡¯t they?¡± Cole shrugged and looked down at her. ¡°Not really, but then again, my perspective is skewed.¡± Beaming at that, Natalie reached up and traced her fingers along his face. Absently her fingers licked one of his larger scars. Pulling away slightly, Cole asked. ¡°How did you sleep?¡± Natalie paused for a second, considering his reaction to her touch. Cole seemed to get skittish when she touched his scars like that. ¡°Fine enough. Still, no luck contacting Isabelle. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m doing something wrong, but she isn¡¯t responding. I¡¯m tempted to feed her more of my blood, but I worry about what that might do.¡± Cole grimaced. ¡°I think I know why she hasn¡¯t been responding.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡± Scratching at his white-blonde hair. Cole noted he needed to have it cut. After having it burned down to his scalp, it was finally starting to grow long enough to be annoying. Realizing he was trying to distract himself from the topic, he refocused and answered Natalie. ¡°She contacted me in my dreams last night.¡± Natalie got very still for a second. Cole could practically see her mind tracing out different possibilities and fighting back insecurities. Swallowing uselessly, she asked. ¡°What happened? What did Isabelle say?¡± Glancing at the river and its dark depths, Cole replied. ¡°Many things, but she wasn¡¯t my only visitor. Master Time entered my dreams.¡± Eyes wide, Natalie also looked to the river. Her own encounters with the God¡¯s Angler-persona coming back. Cole related what happened to him. Of his fall through the ashen skies and the conversation he¡¯d had with both Isabelle and Master Time. How Isabelle hadn¡¯t known the source of Cole¡¯s changing body and Master Time¡¯s ominous comments on his creation. He even told her about the falling bodies and his previous dreams. Leaving out the details of her father being one of the bodies. Cole couldn¡¯t bring himself to share that detail. Once Cole finished, Natalie let out a sigh. ¡°I¡¯d hoped Isabelle would have answers. But it sounds like she¡¯s just as confused as we are. Maybe she has more details, though. What was it she said? Aether Lettuce?¡± Lips twitching in a smile, Cole answered, ¡°Aetheric Lattice. Isabelle mentioned it once or twice when talking about her research. I know it has something to do with Souls but not much else.¡± Shrugging, Natalie leaned against Cole¡¯s larger frame. ¡°Another thing to investigate when we get to Vindabon, huh?¡± Cole put an arm around her shoulders and nodded. With his free hand, he touched his chest. Where a steady cold tug had started recently. A gentle thing that pointed him towards the City of Music and Dreams. Something more than his and Natalie¡¯s quest was pulling him to Vindabon. Duty was calling, and he¡¯d answer. But so was the mystery of his existence. He¡¯d thought to consult the Grand Temple about the Alukah and meet with some scholars knowledgeable about the old legends. Yet it seemed he would need to meet with other possible sources. Those knowledgeable in Isabelle¡¯s field of study. Isabelle had been one of the greatest scholars studying the nature of the soul, but she hadn¡¯t been without peers. One rival of hers, in particular, made his nest in Vindabon. Someone Cole had previous contact with. An event he was loath to repeat. Yet desperate times require desperate measures. The strange dreams and Isabelle''s cryptic words worried Cole. Reminding him how little he knew about his own nature. He¡¯d entered into this quest with Natalie, believing he only had to worry about her growing monstrous nature. But it seemed this bleak evolution was another thing they shared. Flexing his fingers and examining the scars lining his knuckles, Cole decided he needed more information. Even if the source was distinctly unpleasant. Sighing to himself, he looked at Natalie and asked. ¡°Have you ever heard of a Lych?¡± Book II: Chapter 7: On the Water and among the Towers

Chapter 7: On the Water and among the Towers

¡°The sword is the best weapon. Not cause it''s the strongest or fastest weapon, but cause it''s only a weapon. Hammers, Axes, even Spears have use outside killing. You ken? A sword don¡¯t have no use outside taking the life of another person. You see a bastard with a sword, you know he¡¯s a killer or pretending to be one. You ken?¡± - Words of Harold Bend-Blade. The infamous ¡®Drunken Sword-Saint¡¯ of Dun-Hoy Isle.
¡°A what?¡± Natalie asked. Grimacing, Cole repeated himself. ¡°A Lych. A rare and extremely dangerous type of intelligent Undead. I¡¯m surprised you¡¯ve never heard of them.¡± Natalie shrugged. ¡°Maybe I know them by another name? In Glockmire, we didn¡¯t have a specific name for Grinner Ghouls.¡± Accepting that, Cole started to describe Lychs. ¡°They are Spellweavers, typically Magi, who¡¯ve achieved pseudo-Immortality by putting their soul into an object. This lets them survive anything as long as their soul is safely sealed away. The magic involved is both complicated and cruel. Only the most skilled and amoral Magi even consider becoming a Lych. So by definition, Lychs are almost-unkillable Archmages with tenuous morality at best. They rank similarly to Elder Vampires in threat¡± Natalie shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of anything like that. They don¡¯t sound like the sort of thing to star in folktales; too complicated. Why do you bring them up?¡± Frowning, Cole looked out towards the west, where Vindabon awaited them. ¡°Because one of them lives in Vindabon, and he¡¯s probably the only person on the continent who might surpass Isabelle¡¯s knowledge of souls.¡± Eyes wide, Natalie asked. ¡°You think this ¡®Lych¡¯ can help you learn what''s happening to you?¡± Nodding, Cole leaned against the barge railing. ¡°Yes, he might even be helpful in regards to the Alukah. I¡¯d hoped to use other options, but with Isabelle unresponsive and uncertain, the Lych might be necessary.¡± It suddenly struck Natalie how little they¡¯d planned when it came to Vindabon itself. Till now, they¡¯d been focused on just getting there. With only some vague notions from Cole guiding them. Getting out of the Blood Duchies and to the relative safety of the City-State had been a good outline. Now with Vindabon almost in sight, it became clear more detail was needed. Voicing these concerns, Natalie asked. ¡°What exactly is the plan for when we get to Vindabon?¡± Cole just shrugged. ¡°I have connections in Vindabon. Both in the Ivory Tower and the Temples. I¡¯d hoped to use them to learn more about the Alukah.¡± pausing for a moment, Cole sheepishly admitted. ¡°To be honest, I didn¡¯t have much more of a plan.¡± Scratching at his scarred cheek, Cole turned his gaze towards the west again. A mix of shame and embarrassment colored his words. ¡°I¡­ I have never been one for long-term planning or complicated schemes. My life has honestly been one long trek with simple problems and usually simple solutions. I arrive at a place, deal with whatever threat I can, then move on.¡± Getting up on her toes to kiss Cole¡¯s cheek, Natalie said. ¡°Well, now you have me to help plan things. So stop moping, and let''s get to work.¡± Smiling despite himself, Cole nodded in agreement. ¡°I¡¯m known among the Priests of Master Time in Vindabon. I¡¯ve stayed at the Temple during my previous visits, but I doubt that will work now. We will need to find a good inn to stay in while we are in town.¡± Accepting that, Natalie breached a difficult question she¡¯d been gnawing on for a while. ¡°Cole, what do we do if the Priests react like Mathias did?¡± Natalie had known Mathias her entire life, and the Priest had still chastised Cole for not killing her. If that was how her hometown Priest reacted to her Vampirism. She didn¡¯t want to imagine what the Priests of Vindabon would do. After he was silent for a moment, Cole abashedly said: ¡°I hadn¡¯t considered that. I¡¯d assumed my Mantle would be enough to wash away any problems.¡± Frowning, Natalie remarked. ¡°You being a Paladin or not, I doubt the Clergy will be accepting of me. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they assumed you were under my control somehow.¡± Cole looked down at Natalie, pressed against his body, and thought of her recent flirtations. Maybe the Priests had a point there. While no magic was involved, Natalie certainly had him enthralled. Brushing off those bawdy thoughts, he said. ¡°We get lodging and I approach the Temple without you. Keeping you secret unless absolutely necessary, or my contacts prove accepting of the truth?¡± Nodding at that, Natalie asked. ¡°What about the Lych? Do you have a plan for him?¡± Letting out a sight at the idea. Cole shrugged. ¡°The temple should be able to put me in contact. If not, I can use some scraps of Isabelle¡¯s research to lure him out. But I¡¯d prefer not to do the second option. I¡¯ve met the Lych before, and he was unaware of my origin. Keeping it that way would be preferable. The fewer people know about my nature and Isabelle¡¯s research, the better.¡± ¡°You met the Lych? How did that happen?¡± asked Natalie, surprise in her words. Shutting his eyes, Cole let out a weary grunt. ¡°Three years ago, I was hunting the trail of a Necromancer who¡¯d fled to Vindabon of all places. He¡¯d barely beaten me to the city and hoped to use its size to hide. For a few days, it worked. I was staying at the Temple trying to find the trail when this Hearse Coach arrived at the Temple unscheduled. In the back of the Hearse was the Necromancer¡¯s body and the Lych. Apparently, the Necromancer had come to the Lych seeking aid and a possible alliance. The Lych found the idea repugnant and promptly delivered the Necromancer to the temple for consecration.¡± Bound by morbid curiosity, Natalie probed further. ¡°What did the Lych look like?¡± A momentary twitch of some undecided emotion on Cole¡¯s face made Natalie regret her question. Still, Cole answered it. ¡°I don¡¯t entirely know. The Priests said he looked like a perfectly normal Nobleman. The illusion he wore showed nothing of interest. My gifts let me see something closer to the truth.¡± Cole shuddered slightly, an action Natalie had never seen him do before. ¡°I saw the smell of a thousand rotting souls distilled by a man¡¯s denial and shaped by his will. I felt that distillation stretch over reality like so much dead skin. Taking a familiar form to be puppeteered by something old and hard as Giant¡¯s Bones¡± The groan of wood and slosh of water was the only noise for a moment. Recovering slightly, Cole shrugged. ¡°My magic is a strange thing. My gifts deal with the Aether and beyond in ways my mind can¡¯t quite process. Usually, my brain just interprets it as a smell or sight. Just enough for me to understand what I need to know.. Rarely, when things get more complicated my senses get¡­ strangely poetic.¡± Natalie thought back to her own experiences with Magic. The dark arts Isabelle had taught her and the bits she¡¯d learned herself hadn¡¯t been as esoteric as Cole described. They felt¡­more material in a way. Spending blood and carving bones, while morbid, wasn¡¯t too outside the realm of understanding. The only things that came close to what Cole described were her experiences with the old Alukah and Master Time. One an ancient horror, the other a literal God. It seemed even her Vampiric arts only skimmed the surface of Magic¡¯s impossibility. While Cole let himself be drowned in it without even realizing it. The creak of the deck hatch pulled the couple''s attention from the morbid discussion. Ametza pulled herself onto the deck, her hair was an utter mess, and she looked half-dead. The Werewolf let out a relieved gasp as the cold winter air surrounded her. Rubbing her eyes, she waved to Natalie and shuffled over to the railing. Grimacing, Natalie asked. ¡°Is the hang-over really that bad?¡± Ametza nodded meekly. ¡°I should have believed them. I SHOULD HAVE BELIEVED THEM!¡± Slumping onto the railing, she let out a groan. ¡°I thought the Captain was kidding about him using that stuff to strip the deck.¡± The previous night Ametza and her cousins had convinced the Captain of the Stream Skipper to share his ¡°special vintage¡± with them. The Captain, a Werewolf by the name of Siggurd, brewed his own liquor. Creating a concoction powerful enough to even effect a true Werewolf. Naturally, the Shohgard packs resident fullbloods had pestered the Captain until he shared. Groaning slightly, Ametza flopped onto the deck, it''s cold wood a boon to her recovering body. ¡°I haven¡¯t felt this sick since I was turned.¡± Confused by that, Natalie asked. ¡°Turned? Weren¡¯t you born a Werewolf?¡± Ametza scoffed. ¡°No one is born a Werewolf, not even Werefolk. We just take to the curse better than anyone else. When a Pack member turns thirteen, the sacred number of the moon, they are bit by a true Werewolf. Most don¡¯t become fullbloods, just getting pieces of the power, but some like me are transformed.¡± Pulling herself up, Ametza asked. ¡°What about you? How were you turned?¡± Both Cole nor Natalie didn¡¯t say anything; both of them pulled back to ugly memories. Ametza saw their subdued reaction and quickly backtracked. ¡°Oh, bad topics. Sorry, forget I said anything.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie swallowed uselessly. ¡°No, it''s fine. A Vampire tried to eat me. I fought back and injured him. His blood got into my wounds and turned me.¡± Ametza winced the younger Werewolf, clearly at a loss for words. Natalie put on a brave face and shrugged. ¡°The Vampire is dead now. Cole and I killed him. And his curse is¡­manageable, I guess.¡± An awkward silence filled the air, only broken by the splash of water. Cole looked over the railing to see the Barge Otter had returned with a friend. He gestured towards the two dire beasts. ¡°We seem to have caught their attention.¡± Leaping at the distraction, both Ametza and Natalie rushed over to see the two frolicking Otters. The creatures spun in circles, intertwining with each other in a helix of sleek fur. Noticing they had an audience, the two Otters looked up at the barge. Their whiskers dripped icy water as they gently paddled alongside the barge. Letting out a chorus of squeaks, the Otters eyed the passengers expectantly. When no food was forthcoming, they dove under, but not before sending a mighty splash of water up toward their observers. Cole quickly grabbed Natalie and spun them both away in a twirl. Leaving Ametza to be soaked. Shaking off the river water like a wet dog, Ametza glared at Cole. ¡°Oh, you couldn¡¯t have grabbed me as well?¡± Cole just shrugged and smiled. Ametza tossed him a rude gesture as well and left the Barge¡¯s deck. Soon other Werefolk made their way up to the deck. Some busied themselves checking the Wagons strapped to the Barge¡¯s surface. Others simply drank warmed cider and talked with each other. Some even exchanged polite greetings with Cole and Natalie. The Barge¡¯s crew was also visible. Two weary-looking Werefolk near the forward were busy with the tug-ropes while a wild-haired woman leaned over the front and jabbered at the Barge Otters. Even with her hearing, Natalie couldn¡¯t tell if the woman was speaking a language or just babbling madly. The woman was the Barge¡¯s River-Witch. A hedge mage and Shaman whose skills let the hulking Barge navigate the Alidon without issue. While the River-Witch had some sort of control over the Otters, Natalie had no clue if she could actually speak to them. After a moment, Natalie realized she wasn¡¯t the only person on the deck staring at the River-Witch. Madam Kistine stood a little ways away, her lupine eyes also locked on the River-Witch. Stepping over to the old Werewoman, Natalie asked. ¡°Do you know the River-Witch?¡± Kistine glanced at Natalie and shrugged. ¡°By sight only, my Pack has taken the Stream Skipper before. It''s the only Barge I trust for the trip. Only one of its size big enough for the whole Pack.¡± Looking over at Natalie, Kistine asked. ¡°That ghost dog of yours. It''s an impressive piece of magic. Especially for someone as young as you.¡± The two women watched as the River-Witch worked, and Cole joined a group of Werefolk trying to adjust a Wagon¡¯s straps. Natalie shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s something I kind of inherited.¡± Kistine nodded at that. ¡°I apologize for destroying the Squirrel. I know better than most how hard it is to replace magical tools.¡± The old woman looked at her wrists and the bangles there. Natalie glanced at the ornaments and did a double take. She hadn¡¯t noticed the hundreds of intricate marks carved into the metal. Now that she thought about it, Natalie realized Kistine had worn the bangles even while operating on Cole. They clearly weren¡¯t just jewelry. Adjusting the metal loops, Kistine sighed wistfully. ¡°Each Shaman of the Pack has made one of these. Passing them down to their successor. I will be the eleventh Shaman. Ametza will be the twelfth. If I can get the fool girl to properly focus.¡± Surprised by how much Kistine was sharing, Natalie asked. ¡°What do the bangles do?¡± In response, Kistine slipped one off and tossed it into the air. The circle of copper spun but didn¡¯t fall. Hanging in the air, its shiny surface made the air ripple. Squinting at the oscillating bangle, Natalie realized the shifting light was making a shape. As the loop spun faster and faster, the shape became clearer. A dove, flapping its wings. Its image projected in the center of the ring. Animated by the spinning bangle, its form shifting like a candle in the wind. The bangle suddenly dropped, Kistine catching it with practiced ease. ¡°Each ring marks a Spirit and the bond my Pack has with it.¡± Holding up the bangle, Kistine continued. ¡°This is Gentle-Breeze-Born-Of-Loving-Wings. She is a Spirit of Peace and Healing. My Great-Great Grandfather found her trailing our caravan when we passed through St. Rosiane.¡± Natalie swore she heard the flutter of wings and the touch of feathers on her skin. Kistine raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh, it seems she likes you.¡± Looking at the bangle as Kistine slipped it back on, Natalie tentatively asked. ¡°What exactly are spirits?¡± Scoffing slightly, Kistine folded her hands into her dress. ¡°They didn¡¯t teach you anything in your homeland?¡± Shrugging meekly, Natalie didn¡¯t contest the statement. While she¡¯d learned much in Glockmire. The town''s small schoolhouse hadn¡¯t given much of an education in matters Arcane. Natalie¡¯s own perceived lack of talent and the Vampire Noble''s policy of keeping human magical learning stunted left her woefully uninformed about such matters. Kistine shuffled over to a bench by the Barge¡¯s wheelhouse. Sitting down, she gestured for Natalie to join her. Once situated, the old Shaman started her lecture. ¡°Magic is the Beyond effecting the Material. Its influence forming the Aether and our Spells. But that interaction is not one-sided; the Beyond is, in turn, effected by our World. Our ideas, thoughts, and feelings spill over into the Beyond and take strange, powerful forms. Shaping the power of the beyond into what we call Spirits.¡± Before Natalie could start her questions, Kistine held up a finger and continued talking. ¡°Most spirits are small things, concepts, and feelings given a smidgen of life by our thoughts. With few stabilizing into anything we¡¯d recognize as alive. Gentle-Breeze-Born-Of-Loving-Wings is one of those. She is a collection of related concepts given life by our stories and thoughts.¡± Kistine gestured towards Cole, who was quietly talking with Bruto nearby. ¡°Some spirits, those born of powerful concepts, can become something greater. Their existence tied to the universe on some integral level. Living ideas that mold the universe, and in turn, we mold with our beliefs. We call those Great Spirits Gods.¡± Confused but still understanding the old matriarch''s words, Natalie asked for clarification. ¡°So Master Time isn¡¯t really Death, but the idea of Death?¡± Kristine chuckled. ¡°Is there a difference? Magic certainly effects the world, and so do Spirits. Death is real, and so is Time and anything else for that matter. The Beyond didn¡¯t create them, but it gave those ideas a Mind. Master Time is an idea of Death, and he is Death or at least a perspective on Death.¡± Mind reeling, Natalie took this information relatively in stride. It lined up with what Cole and Master Time himself said. Pausing on that thought, Natalie had to remind herself she¡¯d actually talked with a God. Or at least the idea of a God. Rubbing her temples, Natalie asked. ¡°This¡­this is a lot to take in.¡± Patting Natalie on the shoulder, Kistine smiled. ¡°Oh, it gets worse. Talk to your Paladin sometimes about the Idea of Emanation or the tides of the Beyond sometimes. But for my purposes, I don¡¯t bother with the Gods much. The Human Pantheon does their jobs well enough, and I offer my thanks when I can. As a Shaman, I mostly deal with the little Spirits. The ones who wade through the Aether.¡± ¡°My mother always liked to use water as a metaphor for dealing with the Beyond. She likened the Material World to dry land. Solid, stable, and difficult to alter without effort. While the Beyond is an Ocean, ever-changing in its currents and easy to alter.. The Aether is the shore and the shallows. Where waves lap and water mixes with earth. Creating mud and sand, both easier to manipulate than true Rock and Stone, but not as fickle as water. In this metaphor, magic is us land-dwellers making mud-castles and ripples on the shoreline.¡± Fingering her bangles, Kistine continued. ¡°The spirits who populate the Aether instead of the Beyond proper are the frogs and crabs scuttling about the shore. Weak as they may be, they know secrets their larger, stronger kin might overlook. Being able to go places, denizens of either side of reality might not.¡± More than a little overwhelmed, Natalie looked at the Spirit bangles and slowly got up from the bench. ¡°Thank you, Kistine. This has been¡­interesting.¡± The old Werewoman snorted in amusement. ¡°You are almost as bad as my daughter. You don¡¯t have a Spellweavers mind, do you? No matter, it''s not for everyone.¡± Feeling more than a little bit embarrassed, Natalie walked over to where Cole and Bruto were. It seemed odd how little she understood the Magical theory Kistine and others before her had tried to explain. Yet she¡¯d learned the bits of Vampire Magic and Necromancy Isabelle shared easily. Eventually Natalie chalked it up to the Alukah¡¯s influence or maybe another gift from her mother. That thought reminded Natalie she needed to investigate this ¡°Strixscion family¡± Petar mentioned, but she had no idea where to start. Sighing, Natalie added it to the growing pile of mysteries she needed to decipher. Refocusing on the present, Natalie realized Bruto was staring at her. Striding over to Natalie, the wiry old Werefolk shoved her hard. A surprised Natalie stumbled back but caught herself easily. Stunned, the Vampire swore. ¡°What the Hells was that?¡± Bruto glanced back at Cole and nodded. In his gruff voice, the Werefolk growled. ¡°Her balance is poor, but she is fast. I can work with this.¡± A confused Natalie looked at Cole. The sheepish Paladin just shrugged. ¡°You need to learn how to fight. I¡¯m no good with a sword, but Bruto is. I asked him to help train you.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes flicked to Bruto¡¯s waist and the long curved blade he always wore. Bruto unfastened the blade and held it up by its scabbard. ¡°In my youth, I served as a Hussar in the army of Prince Steffan Smok of Krakusmund. I fought Men, Goblins, Orcs, and Monsters in my time. You ken?¡± Swallowing uselessly, Natalie glanced at Cole and back at Bruto. Both men nodded, one in encouragement, the other in acknowledgment. ¡°I do; teach me to use the sword.¡±
A ring of Werefolk watched as two monsters clashed. One was the heir to an ancient pedigree of bloody royalty. The other a weary old man with a bit of wolfblood in him. The heir had quickly learned to fear the old man. Wood cracked against unliving flesh, and Natalie let out a pained yelp as her practice sword hit the deck. Bruto had gotten past her guard and landed a painful smack on her wrist. Unbothered by his pupil''s distress, Bruto gestured to the dropped wooden sword and said. ¡°Again.¡± Natalie picked up the weapon and held it ready. No quicker had she settled into the stance Bruto had taught her, then the old soldier charged. His faux blade was a spinning blur of brown, hungering for Natalie¡¯s suffering. Parrying the attack, Natalie fell back slightly, letting herself fall into the cadence Bruto had demonstrated. Blades clashed, and Werefolk cheered as Natalie tried desperately to hold her own. Stronger and faster than Bruto, she barely managed to keep him at bay. Fighting constantly on the defensive, trying to spare her poor hands any more punishment. Her efforts were token at best. Soon, her knuckles tasted Bruto¡¯s edge for the sixth or seventh time. ¡°Again.¡± Clicking his tongue, Bruto attacked with almost lazy assurance. His blade was slow but incredibly precise. ¡°Never stop moving, Natalie, don¡¯t ever let your weight settle. Keep up the dance. You ken?¡± Glaring at the unflappable Wereman, Natalie grumbled. ¡°I ken.¡± Jaks and Jokin sat nearby with Cole and Ametza. Upon hearing her words, Jokin let out a pained groan, and Ametza gave him a gentle punch. Hollering at Natalie, the younger Werewolf said. ¡°Dammit! I thought you¡¯d last longer.¡± A confused Natalie spared him a glance just to receive a blow on the hip. Bruto jabbed his faux sword at her ribs. ¡°Pay attention. You ken?¡± Grumbling under her absent breath, Natalie leaped forward, her wooden weapon lashing out with new aggression. Bruto easily slipped past her strike and cracked her on the knee as she passed. Spinning, Natalie let her leg buckle and spun out with her free leg to try and sweep Bruto from his feet. The Old Soldier simply jumped over her strike. But he stayed his blade as Natalie scrambled to her feet. ¡°Good, improvise more. Swordplay is a dance, but not any stuffy ballroom waltz. Take the basic moves and then make them your own. You ken?¡± So the spar continued, Natalie slowly but surely learned how to ¡°dance¡± with the Old Soldier. As they watched, Cole leaned over to Ametza and asked. ¡°What was that about with Jokin?¡± The young Werewolf snorted in amusement. ¡°Oh, that. Well, Bruto teaches everyone in the Pack how to fight. Usually, just the basic spear thrusts and some grappling. But any he takes under his wing will eventually pick up that phrase of his. We bet on how long it will take. Jokin said a week; I said less.¡± Chuckling, Cole nodded toward Bruto. ¡°A Hussar, huh? Did he leave the pack for a time?¡± Ametza looked at Cole, confused. ¡°He didn¡¯t tell you? Haven¡¯t the two of you been spending nearly every morning together?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°We don¡¯t talk much.¡± Rolling her eyes, Ametza made a noise most any woman would recognize to mean ¡®Men¡­¡¯ As Natalie parried a particularly cruel strike, Ametza gestured at Bruto and spoke. ¡°Most Pack Members leave the family for a few years sometime in their life. We call it Hatifaal, dream-chasing. When Bruto took his Hatifaal, the Pack was in the East, near the border with the Goblin lands. War was brewing, and the Prince of Krakusmund needed soldiers. Particularly Werefolk soldiers. Those false-wolves the Goblins breed fear us, apparently. So Bruto did a tenner in the light cavalry and another fiver as an instructor. Then he rejoined the pack and has been our best armsmen ever since.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Chewing on that, Cole asked. ¡°Do you want to go on Hatifaal?¡± Ametza shrugged. ¡°Maybe? It''s supposed to be a way for you to pursue a dream outside the Pack. Then maybe bring back new skills and experiences to share. I¡¯ve never had much interest, though. I guess maybe I¡¯m simple like that. A good hunt and good company seem to be all I need.¡± Just then, Natalie let out a particularly loud curse. ¡°JAG! OH, JAG, THAT HURTS!¡± The young Vampire was clutching her hand to her breast. Having just received a cruel strike to the ends of her fingers. Dropping the practice sword, she stalked over to where Cole sat. Eye¡¯s narrowed, Natalie pointed an accusatory finger at him with her uninjured hand. ¡°You¡­ How did you talk me into this?¡± Smiling, Cole Reached out, grabbed Natalie¡¯s hand, and pulled her into his lap. Taking her injured hand, he delicately kissed the healing fingers. Letting out something between a purr and a groan of annoyance, Natalie rolled her eyes. ¡°Not what I asked, but I guess this is acceptable.¡± Bruto walked over and kicked the dropped practice sword toward Natalie and Cole. ¡°The only business you have with your lover is if he joins us in practice. You ken?¡± Grumbling, Natalie unfolded herself from Cole¡¯s lap and picked up the sword. To her surprise, Cole followed after her. Stopping only to grab an unused mop from nearby. Both Bruto and Natalie watched the approaching Paladin with surprise. Seeing their expressions, Cole shrugged. ¡°Learning to duel is useful, but not every foe is a fellow bladesmen. Natalie has the basics down. Let us add some spice to this exercise.¡± The crowd of onlookers gave Paladin and Vampire space. Natalie held her wooden sword ready, and Cole casually twirled the borrowed mop between his fingers. Bruto leaned against a nearby wagon and seemed amused with this turn of events. His mustache hiding what might have been a flicker of a smile. As the two combatants circled each other, Natalie asked. ¡°You are going to go easy on me, right?¡± Cole smiled at her, shrugged, and said. ¡°Kind of.'''' Then he charged, his mop shooting out with surprising speed, its soaked head sending a storm of flailing rags toward Natalie. The Vampire spun beneath the thrust and charged right into Cole''s waiting palm. The open strike wasn¡¯t meant to hurt but instead teach. Natalie let out a surprised ¡®oof¡¯ and stepped back. Cole didn¡¯t give her the opportunity to regroup but simply whacked her in the head with the Mop¡¯s strings. The face full of grimy fabric made Natalie yelp and step back even farther. Another soft blow poked her in the stomach, and her every attempt to counter-attack was easily parried or dodged. With almost casual ease, Cole carefully pushed Natalie to the edge of the barge. Until Natalie found herself fighting with her back pressed against the railings. Only then did Cole knock her faux weapon away with a powerful strike. Not hitting her fingers like Bruto did but using raw force to disarm her. Weaponless, up against the railings, Natalie looked at Cole, who leveled his mop against her. Pouting, she put her hands up. ¡°I concede. I thought you said you were going to go easy on me?¡± Cole dropped the mop and approached Natalie with a shrug. ¡°I did. Your fingers and the rest of you are unharmed. While pain might be a good motivator in cadence practice, it does little for the two lessons I am trying to teach.¡± ¡°Oh, what lessons would those be?¡± asked Natalie. Cole nodded towards the mop. ¡°First is the importance of reach. No attribute is more important in the melee. If you are going to be using a shortsword, knowing its main weakness and accounting for it will be crucial.¡± Getting closer, Cole wrapped an arm around Natalie and brought her in for a kiss. A number of Werefolk who¡¯d been watching the duel whistled and jeered. Breaking the kiss, Natalie looked up at Cole, his imposing form towering over her, and a little breathlessly asked. ¡°What was the second lesson?¡± The wooden shortsword Cole had been hiding behind his back came out and gently smacked her on the butt, eliciting a surprised squeak from Natalie. Playfully shoving Cole away, she glared at the amused-looking Paladin. ¡°That was the second lesson. Never let your guard down when in a fight.¡± Swatting him on the shoulder, Natalie grumbled. ¡°I almost prefer Bruto¡¯s sadism to your trickery.¡± An uncharacteristically roguish smile split Cole¡¯s scarred face. ¡°Then I will let you get back to it.¡± Sighing, Natalie stalked back to the center of the deck, where Bruto waited. Cole tossed him his hidden weapon and went back to sit with the Werewolves. Rolling her shoulders, Natalie realized her shoulders and hair were wet. Cole¡¯s vicious mop attack had soaked her. The new work clothes she¡¯d bought in Holderbruck were stained by the mop. Glaring at Cole, she threateningly gestured at him with her wooden weapon. While she might not be able to extract a pound of flesh in recompense, she would surely get that much blood from him over the coming weeks.
With every passing day, the River Barge faced greater and greater traffic. The mighty Alidon was congested with all manner of vessels. Dinghy, Barges, Ferries, Yachts, and every other breed of river-craft devised competed for space on the semi-frozen river. The flowing two-thirds of the Alidon trying to hold a number of boats it would struggle with in the Summer. Soon the Stream Skipper was stuck at a glacial pace. It''s Barge Otters doing little more than giving the hulking thing half-hearted tugs to keep it from smashing into its neighbors. The reason for this slowdown was plain for all to see. Vindabon was in sight. Natalie stood at the foredeck, staring out at the incredible vista before her. A stew of ramshackle buildings covered the shore and beyond. Stretching as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of houses, shops, businesses, warehouses, and every other form of structure crowded together in a morass of civilization a dozen times larger than Glockmire. But this startling display of life and livelihoods wasn¡¯t what had Natalie¡¯s attention. What she¡¯d first assumed to be Vindabon was, in fact, little more than the accreta of urban living built up at the foot of the city walls. Impossibly tall slabs of salmon-colored stone stuck up into the sky. Forming a colossal wall that stretched around Vindabon-proper. Beautifully carved ramparts were broken up by baroque watchtowers, each overseeing a hulking gate of oak and steel. Behind the mighty walls were hints of the true city. Spires of silver and stone peeked up from behind the pink walls. Tantalizing tastes of the City-State hidden by those defenses. Upriver, just in sight yet still an eternity away, was the Grand Canal. A split in the Alidon, where part of the river was channeled through Vindabon and then returned to its mother. A bypass crafted through clever engineering, magical secrets, and pure grit. Where countless ships entered Vindabon through the Canal-spanning Wine Gate and unloaded their cargo into the City of Music and Dreams. Natalie drank in the incredible sights of the city''s exterior and was practically buzzing with excitement. After everything, after all the loss, madness, and suffering. She was finally here, in the City she¡¯d fantasized about since her youth. Next to her stood Cole, his own mood much darker. An insistent cold tug pulled him towards the city. Master Time wanted him here, and some gut feeling told Cole his and Natalie¡¯s questions weren¡¯t the reason. Leaving Cole to wonder what possible reason a Paladin would be needed in Vindabon? A few possibilities came to mind, none of them good. Slowly but surely, the Stream Skipper made its way down the Grand Canal. The walls of Vindabon growing closer and closer. The Wine Gate was now truly visible, and Natalie drank in its details. The river-spanning Gate was too large to be barred by traditional means. No grated doors or mammoth portcullises hung over it; instead, a system of heavy chains stretched across the river and held up near the Gate¡¯s arch. At a moment''s notice, any or all of those chains could be lowered to some other section of the gate. Sinking into the river to keep out deep-keeled vessels. Or hanging loosely in great metal curtains to catch the wings of Monsters. Maybe simply covering the entire gate in loose bands of steel. The Wine Gate could be adjusted to defend the city from any threat while also keeping the Canal open to friendly traffic. As the Barge started to pass beneath the Gate, the grinding clatter of thousands of chains blowing in the winter winds became audible. Natalie looked up at the bizarre contraption and marveled at its engineering. Even now, small figures in gray robes scampered up and down the wooden gantries that ran through the mechanical edifice like veins through a body. The Clockmonks hard at work, Natalie guessed. Kistine soon joined Cole and Natalie. The matriarch was followed by four young children, the newest members of the Shohgard pack. Who¡¯d never seen Vindabon. The little Werefolk stared up with wide eyes and slack-jawed amazement. Natalie was right there with them. Beyond the Gate, the true wonders of Vindabon were visible. A hundred docks of all manner of sizes contested the river while fields of warehouses fought over the shoreline. In the near distance, a huge structure hung over the river. At first glance, Natalie saw its size and assumed it to be a castle, but on closer inspection realized it was a bridge. A monster bridge held up on pillars of quarried stone formed five arches over the river. At the apex of each arch was a huge statue of marble. Each depicting a winged man with arms outstretched. The Four Brothers, Lesser Gods of the Winds. The Patrons of Travelers welcoming all to the city. Farther away, the gothic spires of true Castles and other structures were visible. Above all others were ten towers spaced across the city. Each the Belfry of one of the ten Temples, one for each God. Elsewhere a trio of domes marked the Opera Houses. While a silver spire covered in golden runes hid close to the City center. The Arcanum Scholastica of Vindabon; its Ivory Tower and center of magical learning. Overshadowing all of this was the hulking fortress-palace of the Elector-Prince. The primary holdfast of the City and its seat of government. While not particularly beautiful like its rivals on the skyline. It carried a brutish presence making it impossible to ignore. The sleeping dragon among its treasures. Awaiting anyone foolish enough to steal from it. As the initial surprise and wonder at the city wore off, Natalie looked to the nearby wharf. Where dozens of other barges were docked. The crew of each scurried about unloading goods in a never-ending stream of bodies. Soon the Stream Skipper started to turn slightly, its complement of Otters carefully nudging it towards an open berthing. Before long, the first ropes were thrown from the Barge to the wharf, the Sailors working together with their Barge Otters. Safely in her berthing, the Barge¡¯s crew finished their final checks and let out a loud cheer as the boat¡¯s Cook appeared from downstairs holding a steaming vat of soup. Setting it down, the Cook started to ladle out bowls of the soup to the crewmembers. Natalie was forced to cover her nose as the smell hit her. Pungent and fishy the broth was painful in its potency. Once the last Bargemen was fed, the Cook took the vat over to the boat¡¯s side and whistled. Glancing over, Natalie saw a dozen furry faces poke out of the water. Carefully the Cook poured the remainder of his creation into the river below. Excited squeaks and chirps erupted as the Otters feasted on their portion. Bewildered, Natalie looked to Kistine, whose nose was also wrinkled in disgust. It seemed only Cole, and the Crew were unbothered by the smell. At Natalie¡¯s unspoken question, Kistine just shrugged. ¡°It''s a custom. One of those strange things Sailors tend to develop like calluses.¡± Nearby a loud thunk echoed across the ship deck as the first gangplank was set down and the Barge officially made port. Approaching Cole, Kistine spat into her hand and held it out for him. ¡°I believe this marks the end of our arrangement Sir Paladin. But if we ever cross paths again, my family would be glad for your company. May Moonlight guide your hunt and fortune favor your family.¡± Cole returned the handshake, spit, and all. ¡°Thank you for your hospitality, First Mother. I hope your Pack has a successful Moonmoot and a good New Year.¡± Turning her focus to Natalie, Kistine narrowed her eyes. ¡°While our meeting was inauspicious, I am glad my fears about you were unfounded, Natalie. My offer to the Paladin stands for you as well. I hope you find whatever you are looking for in Vindabon.¡± The rest of the Pack gave their farewells to Cole and Natalie. Jaks and Jokin giving Natalie a necklace of boar teeth. Ametza exchanged hugs with both of them. Bruto presented Natalie with a crudely carved practice sword and instructions to continue her training. While a quick nod shared with Cole was a fitting conclusion to their odd friendship. Backpacks ready and debts settled, the odd pair of Vampire and Paladin left the Barge, exchanging final waves and entering the city of Vindabon. Cole pushed through the crowded dock while Natalie followed behind. Relying on Cole¡¯s height to keep from getting lost. The bombardment of sounds, smells, and sights was dizzying. Natalie repeatedly found herself stopping to gawk at something. Street vendors offering food she didn¡¯t recognize. Extravagantly dressed nobles and their entourages. All of it was proving as intoxicating as it was disorienting. Yet Cole made sure to gently pull her with him every time. His presence and intimidating appearance doing much to protect Natalie from any who might see an obvious country-bumpkin as an easy mark. Finally, squeezing from the mad bustle of the docks. The pair found themselves on a relatively empty street lined by four-story tenements. Finally able to breathe, or at least pretend to breathe, Natalie gripped tightly to Cole¡¯s hand and asked. ¡°You know where we are, right?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°We¡¯re in Weinstadt, the thirteenth district. We need to find an Inn. But I need to make a quick stop before that.¡± ¡°Oh, where?¡± asked Natalie, curious to learn more about the city and its layout. Gesturing at an alley not far off, Cole said. ¡°I can sense something. I want to make sure it''s nothing important.¡± They approached the alley and, upon entering, were greeted by an annoyed-looking Guard. Clad in loose leather armor with the City Seal of Vindabon painted onto them, the Guard leaned against the alley wall, his spear propped up next to him. Seeing them, the Guard stifled a yawn and said. ¡°Oi, no looking about.¡± Cole looked past the Guard to see part of the alley was partitioned with sheets emblazoned with the City Seal. The Guard snapped his fingers at Cole. ¡°Turn back now. This isn¡¯t a place for civilians.¡± Unconcerned, Cole kept looking at the partition, the cold throb in his chest growing stronger. ¡°What happened here?¡± he asked quietly. The Guard tried to shove Cole back, failing to do more than ruffle the Paladin¡¯s cloak. ¡°None of your business, now run along!¡± Never acknowledging the Guard, Cole turned and left the alley, Natalie right behind him. Sparing a glance at the annoyed guard, Natalie tightened her scarf around her face. ¡°What was that about?¡± Shutting his eyes in momentary sadness, Cole answered. ¡°Death and an ugly one. Something bad happened in that Alley. I can feel it. It seems I might have other business in Vindabon.¡±
:: An Army Camp in the Southern Marches. :: Varga was a soldier. He had lived as a soldier and honestly expected to die a soldier. The officer who came to his village when Varga was sixteen had used silver coins and a silver tongue to get him to join. Twenty more years of digging ditches, polishing armor, and cutting up turnips had robbed him of anything resembling hopes and dreams. Now an old man by the measure of soldiers, Varga just carried on as he always had. Following orders during the day. Then spending his coin on cheap liquor and cheaper whores during the evening. Creating a life others would consider sad and lonely. But for Varga, it was the only one he¡¯d ever known. This pitiable path had led him to his current post. Standing in a rickety watchtower at the edge of a fresh Camp. In the middle of the night, his only company was the cold weather and the half-asleep green boy standing next to him. Varga gave the boy a swift kick in the shin, rousing the dozing recruit from his stolen sleep. The recruit, who Varga thought was named Orban, yelped in pain but otherwise didn¡¯t respond. Orban knew better than to mouth off to the old veteran sharing the watchtower. Staring out at the blackness beyond the camp''s walls, Varga watched as snowflakes swirled down. Finding patterns in them was his only form of entertainment. It had been like this for five hours already, the engrossing life of a soldier. Varga didn¡¯t mind. Having survived a war, a Giant hunt, and years of minor skirmishes, he¡¯d learned to appreciate the boredom. The rattle of wheels and crunch of snow pulled Varga from his petty amusements and brought him instantly to full alert. Someone or something was out there. While his camp was far away from the front, existing to train fresh meat. A Night Raid wasn¡¯t impossible; in fact, considering they were fighting the jagging Leeches, it was almost likely. ¡°Who goes there?!¡± Varga bellowed into the night. His words escaping in a great plume of frost. The creaking of wheels stopped, and a voice shouted back. ¡°Uh¡­I¡¯m a villager from Marmezo. I found something while looking for firewood and was told to bring it here.¡± Squinting his eyes at the dark, Varga shouted. ¡°Approach slowly, no sudden movements; I have a crossbow trained on you.¡± Jabbing Orban, Varga pointed to the crossbow and then out at the dark. The bewildered green boy grabbed the weapon and aimed it out at the dark. The rattling started again, and soon a slim figure pulling a hand cart came into view. Confused and a little nervous, Varga ordered the recruit to keep watch and then descended the Watchtower. Arriving at the camp gate, he grabbed the two soldiers there and went to see the cart-puller. On closer inspection, the stranger was a waifish-thin girl with bright red hair and skittish eyes. Meekly putting her hands up, she started to babble. ¡°My father said to bring him to you as soon as possible! Please don¡¯t shoot me.¡± Varga pushed past the girl and looked at the cart''s contents. It was a Knight, or at least what was left of a Knight. A suit of dented armor lay in the cart, its stinking contents giving no question to the wearer''s status. Symbols of pedigree bedecked the armor, and its intricate make gave clear signs of what sort of person it belonged to. Varga had a dead fucking noble on his hands. Cursing, Varga motioned at the girl and her cart. ¡°Bring him inside.¡± Then he gestured at one of the two gate guards. ¡°Go wake up, the commander. Tell him we have a dead Knight on our hands.¡± Soon Varga and the Girl found themselves in the Captain¡¯s tent. Standing across the desk of Captain Jeks One-Fist. The scarred old officer tapped his remaining fingers on the cheap wooden table he used for business. ¡°So what you are telling me is you were looking for firewood in the forest near your village, and you found our dead Knight there?¡± The girl nodded vigorously. ¡°Yes, m¡¯lord, I-¡± Captain Jeks One-Fist cut her off with a wave of his stump. ¡°I¡¯m no lord. Call me Captain or Sir. Now first, what''s your name?¡± Varga¡¯s lips quirked at that. One-Fist was like him, a peasant boy who¡¯d joined up. Finding a place in training fellow peasants after his maiming. Happy to be away from the Nobles and their glory-seeking ways. The girl collected herself and spoke. ¡°I¡¯m Mara. And as I was saying, I was looking for firewood and found what I thought was a downed tree. But it wasn¡¯t a tree. It was a dead Hippogryph all covered in snow!¡± Mara then pointed behind her in the vague direction of the cart. ¡°And he was there with the Hippogryph. All rotten and stuff.¡± One-Fist cursed and shoved a nugget of Pipeherb into his maw before asking. ¡°You see anything unusual around your village? Or anything in the area?¡± Mara shrugged weakly and said. ¡°Things have been in a bad way. You lot have run off most of the bandits, but before the army came, we had some disappearances. Farmsteads abandoned, peddlers not making it to the next village. We¡¯ve kept our heads down, so I don¡¯t know.¡± Just then, the tent entrance flapped open, and a sour-faced Priest in stained robes entered. Eyes wide and mouth peeled in a grimace, the Priest ran to Captain One-Fist. His necklace of amulets and totems jangled as he went. Once to the Captain, the Priest hissed something into the officer¡¯s ears. One-Fist¡¯s expression became deathly calm. Getting up from his table, he grabbed his sword from where it leaned against his desk and calmly strewed out of the tent. Varga grabbed the Girl, and they followed behind. Finding One-Fist barking orders at any soldier near-bye. ¡°Rouse everyone! Get the Battlemages up and ready. Priest. check the wards. Someone find the Seer and get her ready to send a message.¡± turning back to Varga, the Captain pointed at the girl. ¡°Soldier Varga, keep watch over her. Make bleeding sure she never leaves your sight¡± Within minutes the camp came to life. Three units of Scouts galloped out of the Camp. While squads of nervous Green Boys stood at attention near the four gates. The Priest could be seen circling the outer wall, making strange marks with Ochre and Salt on the ground and palisade. While two sleepy-looking Magi, neither older than twenty-five, sat by a campfire, twisting its flames into crude shapes to amuse themselves. Eventually, One-Fist stomped back over to Varga, having finished haranguing his soldiers to action. Pointing his stump at Mara, the Captain growled. ¡°That Knight you found was killed by a Vampire. This whole situation went from a mess to a potential disaster. I need details, anything you can remember, and I need them NOW!¡± Trembling, Mara looked frantically around, her eyes darting about like a frightened animal. Only stopping as some recollection pulled itself to the forefront of her mind. ¡°That wood, where I found the bodies. I¡¯ve seen people near it, strangers. But that was weeks ago!¡± The Captain grunted. ¡°The body was there for a while, even starting to stink in this cold. Go on, girl.¡± Mara made a disgusted face but kept talking. ¡°Two of them on the road. One was a giant, not an actual giant but the tallest man I¡¯d ever seen. He wore a black cloak, and his face was scarred. I thought he was a mercenary, but he traveled with a woman. At least, I think she was a woman. She was covered head to toe in a shawl. But she moved like a woman, and the big man listened to her.¡± Listening to this, the Captain asked. ¡°The scarred man, where were his scars?¡± Mara let out a nervous snort. ¡°Where weren¡¯t his scars? I thought he might be a Ghoul when I first saw him. His face¡­ it was just covered in marks. And his eyes were wrong. They were too blue and kinda unfocused. Like he wasn¡¯t really paying attention.¡± Recovering herself, the girl continued. ¡°They passed through my village maybe two or three weeks ago. They bought a Pig from my uncle and asked for directions. They were headed North-West, I think.¡± Shutting his eyes, the Captain sighed, an exhausted noise heavy with worry. ¡°You did good bringing this to us, Girl. Stay in the camp till dawn, then return home when it''s safe.¡± Nervously, Mara asked. ¡°Uh¡­ Can¡¯t I leave now? I want to get home to my parents. They will need my help in the morning.¡± The Captain gave her a serious look. ¡°It''s not safe to be out this late. It was foolish of you to bring the Knight to us. Brave, and I thank you for it, but it was still foolish. Especially with Vampires and their minions nearby.¡± This didn¡¯t seem to change the Girl¡¯s opinion at all. ¡°Sir, please! My Father is missing a leg and needs my help with the morning chores. I need to get home.¡± One-Fist waivered for a second but stayed resolute. ¡°Girl, how would your parents get on if you died to a Wolf or worse. Be smart.¡± pointing to Varga, the Captain ordered. ¡°Keep an eye on her, and make sure she is comfortable. She did a good thing bringing this to us, even if she¡¯s now being stupid.¡± So Varga was stuck watching the nervous girl as the Camp awaited the scout reports. The Mara-girl said little, just looking about skittishly. This suited Varga fine. He was exhausted. His shift had almost been over when the Girl and her mess of trouble arrived. As his head started to throb and his eyes ached, Varga was reminded of his age. Staying up all night wasn¡¯t something he could do as easily anymore. Getting close to the nearest fire, Varga warmed his hands. The heat felt so good, and his bones ached from standing watch all that time. Yawning, Varga shut his eyes just for a second, letting his heavy lids fall. The next moment a swift kick knocked him onto his back. Stunned, Varga looked up to a furious Captain One-Fist. ¡°ONE JOB! YOU HAD ONE FUCKING JOB!¡± Confused, Varga looked around and realized two important things. It was dawn, and the girl was gone. ¡°Shit,¡± the old soldier exclaimed. Red-faced, One-Fist roared. ¡°YES, SHIT! YOU LET THAT GIRL RUN OFF TO HER FUCKING DEATH!¡± Even more confused, Varga said. ¡°She knows the land, the stars are bright, she¡¯ll be okay.¡± One-Fist growled. ¡°The scouts have found three destroyed villages just in the last four hours!¡± Eyes wide, Varga started to sputter in confusion before One-Fist cut him off. ¡°That brave, stupid Girl might have just saved all our lives. Something has been culling the locals over the last three days to amass an army. She probably left her village just before it was destroyed. We¡¯ve already lost two scouts to Ghoul ambushes, and Appo¡¯s Squad isn¡¯t even back yet.¡± Pointing at Varga with his stump, the Captain continued. ¡°I expect better from old meat like you, Varga. Now go prove to me you aren¡¯t a complete cock-up. Get the Greens ready; we don¡¯t know how many Rattlers and Ghouls are out there.¡± One-Fist stomped away, shouting. ¡°AND SOMEONE FIND ME, THE BLEEDING SEER!¡±
When Dietrich Freymond awoke from his daily slumber, the news was good. His improvised army had been massacred. Normally that would be poor news, but the bones and flesh he¡¯d conscripted proved their purpose. Stirring up the local Soldiers and spreading the information he wanted spread. Slowly, Dietrich started to flex his body. His armor scraped against the frozen ground, entombing him. Getting a pocket of free space, the Vampire found some leverage and started to push up. Cold hard soil cracked and snapped as the Vampire pushed himself up into the early night. Exhuming himself from the improvised lair, Dietrich looked over to the small camp next to his burial. Yara sat by the fire, warming herself, but upon seeing him, scurried over. A large smile on her face. Bowing to her master, the thrall spoke. ¡°Master, it went all according to plan.¡± Nodding, Dietrich wore a tight smile. Sending Yara to the camp with the Knight¡¯s corpse had been a serious gamble. But one that might have paid off. ¡°You gave them the description of our quarry, correct?¡± Yara nodded vigorously. ¡°I described the Paladin and said the girl was wearing a Sun-Shawl. I didn¡¯t say what it was but gave a good description, I think.¡± Certain spells and techniques could let a Vampire stay awake during the day. They were costly and rarely useful since they did nothing to protect from the Sun¡¯s rays. But in the rare times a Vampire needed to be out during the day, they would combine those techniques with a Sun-Shawl. Praying to the Red Night, the thick multi-layered covering would be enough. Dietrich assumed the Natalie-girl would wear one or something close to it. Not wanting to advertise her nature to the living or the dead. Combining that with the Paladin¡¯s¡­memorable appearance and the massacre Dietrich had committed. Word of his prey would spread, fear and distrust going with it. Putting a gentle hand on Yara¡¯s shoulder, Dietrich said. ¡°You did well, very well. You continue to impress me, Yara.¡± A shiver of pleasure ran along the thrall''s body at his words. Her eyes filled with adoration and subservience. In taking Yara with him, Dietrich had not realized how useful she would be. In retrospect, it was obvious. Raised by a drunken father and battered mother. Spending her teenage years among Vampires and their schemes. Yara had become a talented liar and competent manipulator. Much of this scheme''s details had come from the Thrall. Dietrich had been skeptical at first, but after tonight he would be a fool to deny the asset that fell into his lap. Brushing her short hair to the side, Dietrich leaned down and bit into Yara. Injecting her with the Sting and sipping just a few drops of her blood. Yara collapsed into Dietrich¡¯s arms, the potent drug of his venom doing its work. Pulling his fangs free, Dietrich licked the wound shut and set a trembling Yara onto the ground next to him. Half-delirious, with pleasure, she murmured. ¡®Th-thank you, Master.¡± Letting her fall into a drugged stupor, the Scarlet Knight shut his eyes and reached out with his magic. Seeing through the eyes of his undead minions and his avian spies. They told him an interesting story. Of boys playing at being soldiers fighting desperately against his army. While the local garrison braced for an attack that wasn¡¯t coming. Through the eyes of owls and the ears of bats he heard a one-armed Captain spread the word of a Scarred Warrior and a Day-Walking Vampire. The old veteran clearly recognized what ¡°Mara¡± had described for him. Soon everyone worth a damn would be on the lookout for a Vampire far from the frontlines. Just not the one they should be really looking for. Dietrich was scoring two birds with the same arrow. Causing chaos behind enemy lines while pursuing his goal. Yet somehow, this brought little contentment to Dietrich. All this scheming didn¡¯t suit him. Fitting like another man¡¯s armor. Dietrich would much rather track down his enemies and face them with steel and blood. Not dance about in the shadows letting others do his dirty work. While intellectually, he could see the value of robbing the Paladin of allies and alienating him from places of safety. In his cold dead heart, Dietrich wanted to settle this like a warrior. Forgoing all the lies and elaborate plots for the simplicity of battle. Running his tongue along the socket where his fang once had been. Dietrich knew he¡¯d surrendered the right to be picky when he failed the first time. His quest was one of redemption and grim practicality. With no room for any foibles or pickiness. Looking down at the drugged Yara, Dietrich found himself again surprisingly thankful he¡¯d brought her along. Having a capable and devoted aide who knew the ways of shadow and subterfuge would be useful. Deciding to let her rest a little and enjoy the reward. Dietrich started planning out his next move. The mortals would do the job of flushing out his quarry for him. He just needed to be at the right place and at the right time to catch them before anyone else. Another problem to be solved, but not an insurmountable one. Dietrich was used to hunting scared running prey. Driven from their dens and denied any help, the Paladin and the Alukah would prove far easier prey than Dietrich had feared. Book II: Chapter 8: Love and Circles

Chapter 8: Love and Circles

¡°Gemstones drink up the Aether¡¯s power like sponges do water. Any Magi can squeeze that power out of them to bolster their spells. But a clever Magi can use gemstones to power intricate enchantments. While the cleverest Magi instead asks why Gemstones do this and what can you learn from it. As one of those Magi I can tell you the answer is quite a lot actually.¡± - First Preceptor Leonid Lupa of Vindabon.
During their travels, Natalie had practiced night and day to keep her False Life active. Pumping her own heart minute after minute, hour after hour, until it became second nature. As the bustle of Vindabon surrounded her, Natalie was proud of her commitment. Surrounded by a million new experiences, it was painfully easy to lose focus. Yet her unliving heart kept beating as she was jostled about by bustling crowds. Stunned by the sight of Griffin Knights flying overhead and surprised by all the different varieties of people. As Cole gently pulled her through busy promenades and down lesser-used streets. Natalie tried to commit to memory every strange and interesting thing she saw. A trio of Dwarfs wearing intricate metal masks arguing with a woman in a flowing dress so long its hem was held up by a strange creature made of clay. Two tall men with skin as black as coal wrapped in striped white furs debated which direction they should go. By a tavern, a burly-looking Orc had set up a table and was challenging anyone who¡¯d listen to arm-wrestle. While a gaggle of Clockmonks haggled over the price of copper with an unenthusiastic merchant. They¡¯d been walking for nearly an hour, Natalie trusting Cole¡¯s experience and letting herself just soak in the sights. When they came upon a market square with a fountain at the center. The fountain was shaped like a huge throne with a marble king seated upon it. Water dribbled from his crown, the top of his scepter, and the tips of his outstretched fingers. On the rim of the fountain sat a man with a fiddle. Gently playing a soft tune as the water bubbled behind him and the crowd of shoppers murmured. Natalie watched the musician playing his gentle crooning melody and wondered at it. She¡¯d never seen music performed outdoors. Even during festivals, the few instruments in Glockmire were kept inside. Their players fearing the Vampire¡¯s attention. Worried their talent would catch the attention of a Noble or fixed-stars forbid, annoy one of them. Somehow that sight of the sandy-haired Busker and his fiddle made it real for Natalie. Proving to her mind, she¡¯d really left Glockmire and the Blood Duchies behind. That realization made her want to both laugh and cry. A passerby flipped the Busker a coin, and the young musician nodded thankfully, then played a long sharp note on his violin. Heads all across the square swiveled to the performer, and once he had their attention, the Busker started to play again. Faster and louder this time. No slow crooning but an incredible song that captivated the entire square. The song lasted perhaps a minute, and the Busker ended it with a note as loud as the first. Scattered applause spread through the crowd, and a coin piece of two. Frowning, the Fiddler tossed his instrument into the air. The crowd gasped, Natalie included, as the expensive instrument tumbled through the air. Then right as it came eye-level with the Fiddler, it stopped, bow and all. Hanging there in the air, gently spinning like Kisitne¡¯s bangle had days ago. With bated breath, Natalie watched as the floating violin started to play. Continuing its earlier song but at a slower tempo. Looking at the Busker, Natalie saw his eyes were unfocused, and his hands were twitching in time with the music. As the second stanza of the song ended, a louder cheer went up from the crowd. Clearly impressed with the flying fiddle. But the Busker held up a hand to quiet them. Reaching down with one hand, the Busker grabbed a case from near his feet and opened it. Pulling out a second fiddle. The square went silent except for the sound of the first fiddle still playing. Gently the Busker held up the second fiddle. Letting it and its bow roll from his hands. The crowd gasped as the second fiddle plummeted to the ground, stopping a handspan from the cobblestones. Shutting his eyes, the Busker smiled, and the two fiddles started to play a duet. Both orbiting him like planets around a Sun. The fiddles played faster and faster as they whirled through the air. Natalie pulled her eyes from the spinning fiddles to the musician. His eyes shut, his hands dancing in the air like a weaver at work on a tapestry. The duet continued, the twin instruments playing off each other in a hypnotic melody. A wide smile split the Busker¡¯s face as the song reached its climax. The two fiddle cases at his feet opened up, and the instruments dropped into them with a final note. As the cases snapped shut, the Busker grabbed both bows out of the air and bowed deeply. A massive cheer erupted from the crowd, and soon the wooden bowl before the Busker was overflowing with coins. Awe-struck, Natalie fished out a silver piece and slipped forward to deposit the coin. The musician saw her and winked. Snorting in amusement, she returned to Cole and linked her arm with his. Moving over to the far side of the market square, Natalie asked. ¡°Wasn¡¯t that amazing?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°A little disingenuous but still impressive.¡± Looking up at her towering suitor Natalie asked. ¡°Disingenuous? Was he not actually playing or something?¡± Shaking his head no, Cole explained. ¡°He was playing. That was what was impressive. Even if Telekinesis is a simple magical art, that level of control combined with musical skill is rare. What he lied about was his origin. Did you see his clothes?¡± Natalie flicked her eyes back to the Busker, still collecting his earnings and thanking the crowd. He wore a shabby coat and trousers that might have once been respectable. Confused, Natalie asked. ¡°What about his clothes?¡± Cole chuckled. ¡°They are shabby, but not too shabby. While he is immaculately groomed with two expensive instruments in magically locking cases. On top of that, his undershirt is silk. He¡¯s probably someone of Pedigree or Position pretending to be a humble Busker.¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie asked. ¡°How did you notice that?¡± Cole¡¯s smile faltered. ¡°Mild paranoia. A threat first presents itself through abnormalities. I looked for discrepancies and found them.¡± Sighing, Natalie got onto her toes, pulled down her scarf, and kissed Cole¡¯s cheek. ¡°I wish you could relax. But, still, I appreciate your watchfulness.¡± Putting his arm to the small of Natalie¡¯s back Cole found his smile returning. ¡°You are getting good at maintaining your False-Life.¡± Chuckling, Natalie leaned against him. ¡°You just say that because you like warm kisses.¡± Cole shrugged in acknowledgment. ¡°I won¡¯t deny it. I-¡± He was cut off by Natalie suddenly stopping. Worried, he looked to the Vampire and saw her eyes were wide and staring at a nearby food stall. Where a chubby Dwarven matron was selling an odd pastry. The smell then hit Cole. Of warm crust and hearty fillings. Vegetables, venison, and various spices baked into a marvelous creation. Natalie let out a pained whimper as she sniffed the air. ¡°What is THAT?¡± she asked. Licking his lips, Cole answered. ¡°An Oggy. Dwarven mine pies.¡± Humming in delight, Natalie spoke. ¡°Oh, they smell delicious. We¡¯ve got to get-¡± stopping mid-sentence, she deflated like a burst waterskin. Hanging her head, Natalie continued. ¡°I keep forgetting I can¡¯t eat anymore.¡± Putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, Cole tried to steer the young Vampire away from the delicacy. Natalie had learned the hard way that undeath and food don¡¯t mix. More than once, she¡¯d found herself idly snacking on a piece of bread or jerky during their trip. Only realizing her mistake much later. Anything she ate wasn¡¯t digested, simply rotting inside her stomach like so much garbage. Leaving the poor Vampire with the world¡¯s worst bad breath until she ¡®expelled¡¯ what she¡¯d eaten. By the third time, Natalie had given Cole strict orders to stop her from eating anything, violently if need be. Resisting his attempts to steer her away, Natalie let out a pained moan. ¡°It''s not fair. I make it here and can¡¯t even enjoy the food.¡± suddenly standing upright like she¡¯d been hit by lightning, Natalie turned to Cole and said. ¡°I wanna try something.¡± A confused Cole watched as Natalie went to the Dwarven Food Seller and bought an Oggy. Returning to Cole, she handed him the pie. ¡°Here, enjoy¡± Skeptical, Cole looked at Natalie and bit into the Oggy. It was better than he expected. The meat and vegetables blended together, doused in some sort of gravy, while the crust was the perfect mixture of fluffy and crunchy. Taking a second bite, Cole hummed his enjoyment and saw Natalie watching him intently. A little confused (and worried), Cole swallowed and asked. ¡°What in the Seraph¡¯s Songs are you doing?¡± Shrugging, the Vampire said. ¡°Flavoring you.¡± They just stared at each other for a moment before both burst into laughter. The midnight-dark comedy of Natalie¡¯s words hit home. A deep gut-busting laugh roared from Cole as he struggled not to drop the Oggy. Natalie grabbed his arm and steadied it as her own chuckles continued. Finally, when they both recovered, Cole quietly mused. ¡°I don¡¯t think a single Oggy will change how my blood tastes¡± Natalie smiled beneath her scarf. ¡°Who said I was talking about your blood?¡± then waggled her eyebrows suggestively. This time Cole really did drop the Oggy. Inhuman reflexes compensated for Cole¡¯s shock, and Natalie grabbed the pie before it hit the ground. Returning it to Cole, she patted him on a crumb-stained cheek and, in a sing-songy voice, said. ¡°~Eat up!~¡± Cole found his mind instantly going to Natalie''s oh-so-soft lips and her very sharp fangs. Sending a mixture of arousal and fear through him. Shaking his head and tentatively taking another bite, he looked at the amused Natalie. He could see the broad smile in the crinkle of her eyes. Leaning against Cole, she kept watching him eat. ¡°But in all seriousness, I¡¯m trying to eat vi-vi¡­¡± snapping her fingers, she found the word she¡¯d been looking for. ¡°Vicariously through you. I hope you don¡¯t mind.¡± Shrugging, Cole finished the Oggy, Natalie¡¯s eyes never leaving his face and mouth. Finishing the meal, he looked around the market square. ¡°Is there anything else you think we need, or should we be on our way?¡± Natalie mimicked his glances and saw a dozen fascinating sights. Pushing down temptation, Natalie shook her head in the negative. ¡°There will be time for that later. Let''s find this Inn. Where is it, by the way?¡± Cole looked up towards the nearest Temple tower. A dark-gray column inscribed with skulls, hourglasses, and runes of Rest. The Temple of Master Time in Vindabon. Pointing to the tower, he said. ¡°It''s near the Temple. I figured it would be convenient to have our base close by.¡± Accepting that, Natalie followed after Cole as he charted a course toward the Temple. With the market square behind them, Natalie looked up at the ominous belfry and swallowed nervously. She was more than a little worried about the Priests of Death and how they might react to her existence. Cole, like always, seemed confident things would work out. Natalie had a slight suspicion that attitude was either a sham for her sake or the coping mechanism of a suffering Immortal. After half an hour or so of walking, they reached the Temple Plaza. Unobstructed by its surroundings, the full form of the Temple came into view. A monolithic structure of basalt and silver, it sat in the center of a withered garden decorated with hundreds of statues. The main doors to the Temple were carved from some impossibly dark wood and inlaid with an ornate hourglass nearly two stories tall. Giant statues of hooded figures flanked the door. Each holding a Polearm in one hand and a lantern in the other. Glancing at Cole, Natalie wanted to shiver. The grim statues could be the Paladin¡¯s siblings. While less populated than the Market square, the Temple Plaza still had knots of people moving about it. Some attending business with the Temple itself, others simply passing by. Looking up, Natalie saw the Belfry''s shadow falling on the statue garden surrounding the Temple. The shadow lay on a statue of Hound sitting at attention. Glancing at Natalie and following her gaze, Cole remarked. ¡°Oh, it''s almost fifth bell.¡± No sooner had he said it when dolorous thunder boomed out from the Belfry. Answered in turn by the nine other Bells across the city. As each Temple rang out a different note. ¡®BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!¡¯ The bells counted off the hour, Natalie covering her ears as the sound shook her teeth. Looking at Cole, she raised an eyebrow in questioning. Gesturing to the Belltower and the statues, he explained. ¡°It''s a sundial. You can tell the time by what statue the tower¡¯s shadow falls upon.¡± Accepting that and giving the tower another glance, Natalie followed after the already departing Cole. She¡¯d never heard something that loud before. Only the worst summer storms and their thunder rivaled the Bells of Vindabon. Judging by the nearby pedestrian¡¯s reaction, this cacophony wasn¡¯t anything unusual or special. Natalie suddenly became very thankful for her odd relationship with sleep. The idea of trying to fall asleep with all ten of those bells going off every hour seemed nightmarish. Leaving the Temple Plaza, they ducked down a sidestreet and found their destination. A painted wooden sign hung out over the road, attached to a building of brick and timber. The sign depicted a Skeleton drinking from an oversized tankard of Ale. With the words. ¡®The Final Flagon¡¯ embossed in bright white below it. Cole went to the Inn¡¯s door and pushed it open, a small bell tinkling as he did. The pair entered, and Natalie felt like she¡¯d stepped back in time. For a single treacherous second, she thought she was back at the Silly Goat. Not because of the Flagon¡¯s interior. Its stone floors and tapestries could not be more different than the Goat. But the feeling of the place. The warm, inviting atmosphere felt oh so familiar. It felt like a kind hug and a gut punch at the same time. Another painful reminder of the home she¡¯d lost. Refocusing, she looked to realize Cole was looking at her, a worried expression on his face. Gently he asked. ¡°Should we just go to the Temple? I¡¯m certain I can explain the situation to the Priests, and we can-¡± Shaking her head, Natalie cut him off. ¡°No, I¡¯ll be fine. I can¡¯t let myself wallow.¡± Pushing down her emotions, she examined the Inn for a second time. Ignoring her initial feelings and trying to examine the place objectively. Tables and benches crowded up next to a fireplace. Four Vindabonians sat at one table engaged in a lively discussion. A large bar dominated one wall with a staggering collection of liquor on display behind it. In one corner was a staircase leading up to the Inn¡¯s rooms. At the center of the dining space was a large slab of marble with wilted flowers near its base. Nodding towards the marble slab, Natalie raised an eyebrow quizzically. Cole shrugged. ¡°Some Northerners have funeral feasts. With the body laid out as part of the celebration. Considering the place''s location, they probably host lots of those feasts.¡± Half-glaring at Cole, Natalie sighed. ¡°You take me to the most lovely places.¡± Sheepishly, he just shrugged and headed over to the Bar-counter. No one was there, but a small brass bell sat next to the counter''s edge. Cole reached for it before he could even touch it, a loud voice called from somewhere in the Inn¡¯s kitchen. ¡°Be right out!¡± Moments later, a short middle-aged woman bustled out from behind the swinging door leading to the kitchen. Straddling the line between curvaceous and plump, she had long blond hair and an even-tempered smile. Looking over the pair of newcomers, the Barkeep paused mid-stride on seeing Cole¡¯s appearance but quickly recovered. ¡°Welcome to the Final Flagon. I¡¯m Aunty Alissa. What can I get ya?¡± Trying to smile in a way not easily misconstrued as a threat, Cole asked. ¡°Do you have any rooms available?¡± The Innkeeper nodded. ¡°Aye, will that be one or two?¡± Before Cole could answer, Natalie butted in. ¡°ONE!¡± Both Aunty Alissa and Cole looked at Natalie with surprise, and the young Vampire wilted slightly. Embarrassed at her abruptness. She¡¯d been looking forward to getting Cole in a warm bed with some privacy for literal months now. Natalie wasn¡¯t about to let his awkward sense of honor spoil this opportunity. Even if it meant a tiny bit of awkwardness. Amused, the Innkeeper remarked. ¡°Well then, how long will you be staying? And is there anything I can get you two? Food? Drink?¡± ¡°Just two nights for now. But that might change,¡± answered Cole. ¡°As for anything else, do you have any news about the city? We¡¯ve just arrived, and I¡¯d like to know how things are.¡± Aunty Alissa¡¯s smile faltered slightly. ¡°Sure, but little of it is good unfortunately. The war with the Leeches is starting up again, and that''s got the Nobles all in a fuss. They¡¯re all distracted with the fight and not paying nuff attention to things round here. We¡¯ve got a Werewolf problem, see? And the Guards have done bugger all to deal with it.¡± Cole and Natalie looked at each other before asking in unison, ¡°A Werewolf problem?¡± The Innkeeper nodded. ¡°We¡¯ve had murders over the last month. Something been stalking the night, ripping out the hearts of people. It started right when the Werefolks started showing up. So people saying one of them lost it. Got everybody on edge, and the Guards have been busy stopping idiots from attacking any Werefolk instead of catching the right one.¡± Pulling out a pipe from a pocket, Aunty put it in her mouth and ignited it with a snap of her fingers. As smoke started to bloom from the pipe, she continued. ¡°It¡¯s probably a good thing this is happening while there is fighting. Every stupid youth with something to prove is off playing at Soldier. Not looking to stir up trouble with the Werefolks. Still, it''s been tricky; most of the killings have been here in Weinstadt. My night crowd¡¯s been shit. People not wanting to risk being out at night.¡± Pausing for a second, she blew a cloud of smoke out of her nose and remarked. ¡°I probably should have told you that after I got your coins. Oh well.¡± Cole paid for their rooms and thanked the Innkeeper for her honesty. She gave them both a key and directions. ¡°Third floor, right hallway, second door. No neighbors, so you two can be noisy. ¡° Slightly confused by the Innkeeper¡¯s words, Cole took his key and headed towards the staircase. Natalie, on the other hand, understood the Innkeepers words and was torn between thanking the worldly woman and looking for a small hole to hide in. She compromised by murmuring a word of appreciation while hiding her face in the folds of her scarf. As the pair retreated up the stairs, Aunty Alissia chuckled to herself. In the thirty years she¡¯d spent tending bars and keeping the Inn, she¡¯d seen nervous newlyweds, youthful trysts, scandalous affairs, and every other form of romance under the stars. It was part of life and, when done properly, one of the best.
:: Sexual Content starts Here:: The couple found the room easily enough. Dim glowstones and curtained windows illuminated a large four-poster bed, a washroom, and a cabinet. Cole set his pack down by the cabinet and took off his cloak. Finding a hook on the wall to hang it. Suddenly he felt warm breath on the back of his neck and a soft body pressing to his back. Natalie¡¯s arms snaked around him, clutching his chest as she nestled into him. Softly in a nervous voice, she whispered. ¡°Hey, Cole¡­¡± His own voice thick with tension, he answered. ¡°Yes?¡± Slowly slipping around Cole so she could look him in the eyes, but never breaking contact, she said. ¡°I want you. Do you want me?¡± Nodding slowly, Cole rasped. ¡°Yes.¡± His heart was pounding like a galloping horse, and every muscle in his body tight with nervous tension. Cole knew he wanted this with all his soul. Natalie¡¯s soft fingers moved to his face, her lips soon following. They kissed gently at first before moving into something stronger and more intense. Sparks flew between them as Cole reached up and gripped Natalie¡¯s hair, her own hands clutching to him with abandon. Eventually, Cole broke the kiss, the need to breathe overpowering even the sheer desire coursing through him. Kissing his neck, Natalie whispered. ¡°Hold still.¡± then sunk her fangs into his throat. Cole gasped in surprise, not just at the sudden bite but at what Natalie¡¯s wandering hands were doing. She¡¯d found his length and gently stroked it through his pants. Licking her bite close, Natalie pushed Cole onto the nearby bed. The eternally watchful and careful Paladin flopped onto the mattress, utterly blindsided. A coy smile playing across her red lips, Natalie licked the last few drops of Cole¡¯s blood from them. ¡°A little something to get us both warmed up,¡± she whispered, giving him a wink. While Natalie was fairly confident in her ability to keep False-Life mid-coitus, she preferred to let a little snack mute her hunger and do the work for her. Carefully she removed her hairpin, using her raven locks as insulation against the silver. As the heirloom clattered to the floor and her hair billowed out. She smiled, running her hands over her body and watching Cole¡¯s eyes follow them. Slowly she started to undo knots and let her dress fall away. The fabric catching on her stiff nipples before pooling to the ground around her feet. Cole¡¯s eyes were impossibly wide, and he looked half-hypnotized by the sight. Exactly the effect Natalie had been hoping for. No stranger to sex or foreplay, Natalie had spent some idle time planning out exactly how¡¯d she would do this. Cole could be so stiff and nervous, so she¡¯d decided to take the lead on this. Thankfully Cole had proven more than receptive and was, well¡­stiff in all the right ways. Thinking to her earlier ministrations, she couldn¡¯t help but notice he was rather¡­proportional in these matters. That didn¡¯t worry her much; months of unfulfilled desire and a little bit of blood had Natalie heady with lust. Slipping her underwear off, Natalie walked towards the bed. Hips swaying with all the seductive charm she could muster. Slipping onto the large mattress and crawling towards Cole, she ran a finger along his chest, making him shiver. Gripping the fabric of his tunic, she spoke in a husky whisper. ¡°I think you are a little overdressed, Love. Would you like me to help you with that?¡± Cole glanced down at his clothes and seemed to register they existed. A fierce internal war was going on inside Cole. Twelve years without sex or anything close to it left him starved for it. He wanted to pounce on Natalie and slack that hunger. To make love with all the passion, he could muster. He was also terrified of hurting her and, on some hidden level, of being hurt by her. His times in the Dungeons of the Voivode had been replete with all manner of torture and degradation. The Vampires were eager to sample the exotic ¡°Homunculus Knight¡± in all manner of ways. Many of which left him with nightmares he¡¯d wake up screaming from. But those painful memories were more than a decade old and would not break him. They could not break him. Natalie wasn¡¯t a monster in the dark desiring a quick snack and a cruel fuck. She was his lover, his companion, someone he trusted. Slowly, Cole gripped his tunic and started to peel it off. Natalie helped, her gentle fingers tracing his exposed flesh. As she drank in his imposing physique, she cooed. ¡°Gods, you really are built like a statue.¡± Cole blushed at that as he sat up and started to slip off his boots and pants. Natalie snuggled in next to him as he worked. Her hands traced his back and chest. Still tense, Natalie gently shoved the naked Cole back down onto the bed and took his hand. She guided one to her breast, his calloused palm encompassing the soft, warm flesh. By instinct, he squeezed, and Natalie let out a small moan. Before Cole could react or do something stupid like apologize, she set his other hand on her hip. Then came in for a kiss. They locked lips, Cole kneading her breast and enjoying the curve of her hip. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. As the kiss ended, Natalie said in a breathy whisper. ¡°I like touching you, Cole. I like touching you a lot. I know you like touching me. So touch me more.¡± Then with a wide smile, she added. ¡°I can smell your arousal. I can also feel it.¡± she wiggled her hips, Cole gasping as his member slid against warm slick flesh. Sinking down, her lips at his clavicle, she whispered. ¡°I know you can be more¡­ assertive, and I bet you want to be. Go ahead, I don¡¯t mind; in fact, I¡¯ll enjoy it.¡± That did it. That broke the dam. In an explosion of movement, Cole flipped Natalie onto her back and pounced on top of her. A mix of a laugh and a squeal escaped Natalie as she landed in the soft blankets. Strong hands gripped her hips, and Cole¡¯s mouth nipped at her neck, making her shudder. His lips traveled lower, finding one of her nipples and sending a note of pleasure through her. He continued his downward exploration reaching her stomach and eventually her inner thigh. Natalie¡¯s eyes widened as she realized what he was about to do. A throaty gasp escaped her lips as Cole started to lick. Shaky fingers found the back of Cole¡¯s head as Natalie writhed in enjoyment. Delirious with pleasure, Natalie tried to understand if unwilling abstinence was to blame or if Cole had some knack for ¡®The Paramour¡¯s Kiss.¡¯ As a long moan escaped her lips, Natalie hoped it was both. She could definitely get used to this sort of treatment. Feeling the Peak coming, she shivered and rasped. ¡°A-a-almost there.¡± A few seconds later, the avalanche hit, and Natalie was reduced to a twitchy loose-limbed mess. One final lash of Cole¡¯s tongue sent her spasming, and loosed a whimper from her mouth. Blinking away tears of pleasure, she looked up at Cole¡¯s imposing form. His muscled chest heaving. His face split in a wicked smile. Recovering slightly, Natalie let out a weak laugh. ¡°If¡­If¡­ I wasn¡¯t already in love¡­ well, that would have done it.¡± Cole snorted in amusement. ¡°Do you need a moment? Or are you ready¡­?¡± he asked. Rolling her hips and clutching her breasts, riding the ripples of pleasure, Natalie chuckled. ¡°More! By Sister Sun, that was wonderful.¡± Smiling, Cole reached down and cupped Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°I really love you Nat; thank you for being part of my life.¡± Natalie¡¯s already flushed cheeks ignited, and she whimpered. ¡°Oh, that just isn¡¯t fair.¡± Clutching her hands in his, Cole leaned down and kissed her. Positioning himself to enter her. Shaky with excitement, Natalie gasped as she felt him brush against her sex. Then her world went black. Bone-deep cold exploded through Natalie¡¯s body, and she let out a scream of pain.
: End of Intimate Scene: Panicked, Cole looked at Natalie and saw she was shaking and shivering. Pulling back, afraid he¡¯d hurt her, he saw frost billow from her lips. Natalie¡¯s eyes rolled back in her head while strange black runes started to form on her skin. Runes Cole recognized. They were rest-markers. Things carved on tombstones or at the gates of a Cemetary. Designed to trammel the Undead and weaken Necromancy. This was an attack; someone was attacking Natalie! Lust and love bled away into rage. Cole called Natalie¡¯s name as he looked over her body, seeing the marks spread with every second. Just then, Cole heard shouts from downstairs and the thunder of boots on the staircase. Someone had found them and sought to take Natalie. Snarling in anger, Cole found his pants and his axe. Lengthening it to a Halberd, he held it at the ready. If the jagging Vampires were brazen enough to attack in Vindabon, they must truly be desperate or arrogant. It mattered not, Cole would keep Natalie safe and make them pay. Gripping his weapon tight, Cole spared a glance at Natalie and thought back to Isabelle¡¯s death. Of how she¡¯d screamed when they set her on fire. How utterly jagging useless he¡¯d been, lying there, his arms torn off and his life-blood pooling out around him as his lover died. Turning back to the door and approaching footsteps, the Paladin of Death left, and the Homunculus Knight returned. Growling, he made an oath. ¡°Not again, never again!¡±
Guard-Captain Arkaz Iron-Teeth ground his titular teeth together in frustration. There had been two more murders since the Cemetary incident, and progress was negligible. One of the killings had been in the Fourteenth District, so now he had the other district Guards causing problems. More than one Guard-Captain had a grudge against Iron-Teeth. His status as an immigrant to Vindabon made his appointment a sore subject. While far more cosmopolitan than most places, Vindabon still got prickly about outsiders gaining any sort of internal power. It was less about him being a Dwarf and more about him not being native-born. Iron-Teeth couldn¡¯t tell if that spoke well or poorly of the city. Mina¡¯s lead about the killer being Undead had helped and at least gotten the City Guards to stop sniffing about the Werefolk. A closer examination of the bodies by Mina and one of her superiors confirmed the bite marks all came from a human. They lacked the sharpness you¡¯d expect from Werefolk. This superior was apparently a retired Rest-Bringer who¡¯d been happy to bring his knowledge of fighting the Undead to bear. Knowledge that eliminated possibilities but did not get them closer to the killer. For example, they knew they were looking for an intelligent and probably magically adept Undead. Something capable of hiding its tracks from the Temple¡¯s Arcane Wards. Iron-Teeth had insisted on being involved every step of the way and, in the process, had learned a great deal about the Temple of Master Time and its duties. Apparently, each of the Ten Temples protected the city from a different threat, with Undeath suitably being under Master Time¡¯s purview. A job the Temple took seriously and was apparently pretty good at. Massive wards covered the city, designed to repel lesser Undead and trap their masters. While the Temple kept a team of Rest-Bringers, who worked hand in hand with the Ivory Tower to crack down on Necromancy in Vindabon and Norica. These were just some of the more impressive resources the Temple could muster. Unfortunately, most of those resources were busy facing the Army of Skeletons and their Vampire masters in the southeast. Leaving Iron-Teeth with an overtaxed Temple barely capable of keeping up with the Funerary demands of a large City. Still, despite all this, the Temple had proved far far more cooperative than the Ivory Towers and the city government. With them scrounging up what they could to help him. Leading to Iron-Teeth''s current location and nervous frustration. The Guard-Captain and his inner circle were standing in the Arch Sanctum of the Temple of Master Time. A huge domed chamber large enough to fit a normal town¡¯s temple easily. Twin arches stretched over the Sanctum creating the dome, while bands of colored glass filled in the empty space. Creating a hypnotizing pattern of shrinking circles that met where the arches intersected. A huge piece of polished black stone hung down from the dome¡¯s peak on a long silver chain. Creating a pendulum the size of a bull Frosthorn. Numerous grottos lined the Arch Sanctum¡¯s walls. Each devoted to a different Saint or Hero of the Temple. The largest, of course, belonged to Saint Mira, the only figure with shrines in all ten city Temples. The walls between the grottos and doors leaving the Arch Sanctum were covered in murals depicting important events throughout history. While the floor was broken up by ten small pits. Each was ten meters across and ringed by small stairs. The pits were only two steps deep and were each a ritual space. A silver circle marked the bottom step and divided the pits from the rest of the temple. Iron-Teeth stood at the top of one of these ringed stairs, looking down into the pit below him. Below him, half a dozen Priests and Priestesses were hard at work. They¡¯d lain lines of salt and ochre onto the granite floor of the pit. Creating mesmerizing patterns and glyphs. Now they each stood equidistant from each other, forming a six-sided star as they murmured words in Saint-Speech. The nervous Guards watched as the seventh member of the ritual walked around her elder colleagues. Mina, dressed in a white robe, held a bowl in one hand, and an unlit oil lamp in the other. As she whispered incantations, Mina pulled items from the bowl and dropped them into the center of the circle. Most were vials of some black fluid, with a Soot-stained Rag and what Iron-Teeth swore was a molar the exceptions. Once they were placed, Mina held up the lantern, and the chanting grew louder and louder. Iron-Teeth felt some cold pull dragging him towards the ritual circle. Like some titan of frost was sucking in a breath and hoping to pull him into its maw. He glanced at Darvy and Cat-Eyes, seeing they were also feeling it. Darvy had his feet spread out like he was trying to keep his balance. While Cat-Eye¡¯s eyes were wide in what might have been fear. The sensation grew worse and worse as the chanting reached a crescendo. Brilliant silver light burst from the lantern Mina held, and its light cut through the air like million shining blades. Iron-Teeth flinched back from the light. Feeling its unyielding power press against his very soul. The light started to dim, taking on a slightly bluish hue as it did. Matching a mundane lantern in intensity, if not color. A shaky Mina, still holding the lantern, left the ritual pit and nodded to Iron-Teeth. ¡°We got it. I can get us close, then we can activate the binding.¡± Iron-Teeth actually smiled then, metallic teeth reflecting the blue light. It had taken nearly a week of planning and cajoling for this moment. Now finally, he¡¯d get some results. Vindabon was a city under constant threat of Vampire infiltration. Its wards could do much to stave off lesser Undead but had a more difficult time with more intelligent monsters. If a clever Undead horror didn¡¯t use any of its magical powers and kept on the move, it would be difficult to locate. To compensate for that weakness, the Temple had created the ritual Iron-Teeth had just witnessed. Shutting her eyes, Mina focused on the lantern. Letting her mind touch the intricate spell woven into it. Information flowed into her from the City¡¯s wards. Instantly she found what she sought. Eyes flying open, silver-blue light dripping from them, she yelled. ¡°IT''S NEARBY!¡± The Guards moved into action. Mina, flanked by Iron-Teeth and her superior, a Senior-Priest named Morri, left the Arch-Sanctum. Collecting the three squads of Guards waiting at the Temple¡¯s exterior. Iron-Teeth, Darvy, and Cat-Eyes grabbed their weapons from the Guards, and Morri pulled out a surprisingly large Mace from beneath his robes. Following Mina, they rushed down a side street near the temple and found a small Inn. Pausing for a second, Mina sucked in a deep breath. ¡°It''s on the third floor, second door on the right. I¡¯m going to activate the binding now.¡± Iron-Teeth looked at the thirty-strong force he had. ¡°Here¡¯s the plan. Darvy and I will go in first, with Priest Morri backing us up. Cat-Eyes, you and Mina circle around back with Dorick¡¯s squad. You watch all the exits and signal us if anything tries to run.¡± Rolling his Krazkrak between his hands, he added. ¡°Remember, we don¡¯t know what we¡¯re dealing with. Play this safe and stay close to the Priests. Got it?¡± A small murmur of confirmation went around, and Mina put her hand over the oil lamp''s strange flame. Instantly snuffing it. Black smoke billowed out from around her fingers and formed into the shape of Runes as it faded. Mina¡¯s eyes lost their glow, and in their place was fear. ¡°Sir, whatever it is, it''s powerful,¡± she whispered. ¡°The binding will hold, but whatever we caught, it¡¯s dangerous.¡± Grunting in acknowledgment, Iron-Teeth pointed to his two fastest Guards. ¡°Rake, head to the Fourteenth District Station and tell them what we¡¯ve found. Andria, head to the Twelfth and do the same. Get them to send that Battlemage of theirs.¡± Then the raid began. A big quarter-Orc Guard named Temir shoved open the door and bellowed in his brassy voice. ¡°HANDS UP AND FINGERS SPREAD! THE CITY GUARD IS HERE!¡± Two dozen or so early patrons looked startled. They quickly complied. Ensuring no weapons or spells were at the ready. The Guards piled through the doorway and charged towards the staircase. The Innkeeper screamed a mixture of questions and obscenities at them as they went. Reaching the third floor, they found the room in question. Iron-Teeth didn¡¯t even slow down but slammed his weight into the door. The lock splintered, and the Dwarven Captain roared out a battle cry. ¡°LEX AETERNA!¡± The motto of Guards and Judges the Continent over in Old Imperial. Behind him, his troops answered in Western. ¡°THE LAW FOREVER!¡± Entering the room, Iron-Teeth¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. A monster of ruined flesh stood before him. Two meters tall, covered in horrific scars, was a deathly pale Flesh-Golem. Behind the monster was a nude woman on the bed twitching. Iron-Teeth felt a mixture of elation and horror. The monster wasn¡¯t bound, but they¡¯d stopped it from taking another victim. Any other emotions or insights had to wait as Iron-Teeth realized what the Flesh-Golem held, a huge dwarven-steel halberd. Somehow the idea of this thing using something his people made only enraged Iron-Teeth further. ¡°COME ON, YOU BIG BASTARD! THIS HAS BEEN COMING LONG ENOUGH!¡± The Flesh-Golem roared and swung its weapon. Iron-Teeth rolled beneath the strike and came up with his krazkrak, the weapon''s hammer side reaching for the monster¡¯s kneecap. The Flesh-Golem dodged but didn¡¯t see Darvy¡¯s spear coming. The speartip rammed into the Flesh-Golem¡¯s chest, catching on a rib. The Monster didn¡¯t even notice, spinning its halberd¡¯s haft and cracking Darvy on the chin. Teeth went flying, and the Lieutenant stumbled back. Three more guards took his place alongside the Priest. Swinging his weapon again, Iron-Teeth brought it down on the Monster¡¯s foot. This got a scream from the Flesh-Golem as its barefoot took the hammer blow. Guards piled in, each swinging their weapons at the stumbling Flesh-Golem. Many hit, and it barely reacted. The halberd struck out towards Iron-Teeth, the Dwarf coming in closer to catch the shaft on his side instead of the axe-head. Even through his breastplate, it snapped two of his ribs. Seeing Iron-Teeth fall to a knee in pain, Temir the Orcblood roared and charged in. Dropping his club, he went to grapple the Flesh-Golem, whose weapon was busy fending off four different spears. With its free hand, the Flesh Golem reached out and grabbed Temir by his beard and swung the hulking Orcblood like a sack of produce. Temir¡¯s head met the bed¡¯s frame with an ugly crack that splintered wood. Iron-Teeth took the distraction his subordinates had created and went for the Flesh-Golem¡¯s knee. The blow connected, and cartilage audibly crunched. The monster collapsed to the ground, its leg unable to support its weight. Looming over it, Iron-Teeth raised his weapon high and prepared to splatter the walking corpse¡¯s brain all over the carpet. ¡°STOP!¡± bellowed a voice from behind him and silver light came with it. Iron-Teeth whirled around to see Senior Priest Morri holding up a magically shining hourglass pendant. Looking at the Flesh-Golem, the Priest asked incredulously. ¡°Cole? Is that you?¡± Grunting in pain, the Flesh-Golem answered. ¡°Morri? What in the Infinite Hells is going on!¡± Confused, Iron-Teeth looked back at the Flesh-Golem and blinked in surprise. With the haze of battle fading, he realized the ¡°Flesh-Golem'''' was breathing and bleeding. He wasn¡¯t Undead but the single most scarred person Iron-Teeth had ever seen. This Cole fellow looked like he¡¯d been sewn together from scraps. Pulling himself up to his feet, using his halberd as a walking stick Cole looked over the Guards. Confusion and worry in the scarred man¡¯s eyes were replaced by anger. ¡°What have you done to her, Morri?¡± he hissed. Confused by the giant¡¯s words, Iron-Teeth looked at the girl on the bed. While he much preferred a stout Dwarven gal to any long-boned human lass, Iron-Teeth had to admit she was perhaps one of the most beautiful creatures he¡¯d ever seen. Looking past his initial assessment, he saw the thrashing woman was unnaturally pale and covered in dark runes. The same type of runes the Lantern¡¯s smoke had made. Things clicked into place, and Iron-Teeth pointed his krazkrak at the thing on the bed. ¡°IT''S HER! She¡¯s the Undead!¡± Cole hobbled between Iron-Teeth¡¯s outstretched weapon and the creature in his bed. Glaring at the Guard-Captain then at the Priest, he said. ¡°Again, I ask what you are doing here Morri?¡± Morri approached the creature, still holding his amulet high, its light shining down on the she-thing. The monster started to spasm and thrash harder as the light got closer. Lightning quick, Cole grabbed the amulet and shut his fingers around it. Blocking out the light. Morri hardly noticed, too busy looking at the fangs present in the girl¡¯s mouth. ¡°What are you doing with a Vampire?¡± Morri hissed. The old priest jabbed an accusatory finger at Cole. Grimacing, an expression that stretched his many scars, Cole looked at the now very nervous guards in the room. Shuffling over, he wrapped up the Vampire in the blanket to preserve her modesty, before answering. ¡°It¡¯s a complicated story. One I¡¯ll be happy to tell in the privacy of the Temple and once whatever binding you cast is undone.¡± Iron-Teeth growled. ¡°Bugger that! I have nine innocents dead and a bloody Vampire loose in my District.¡± Cole looked to the irate Dwarf, and understanding dawned on the scarred man¡¯s face. ¡°The murders? You are here about the murders?¡± ¡°YES!¡± spat Iron-Teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t know what connection you have with Morri. And I don¡¯t care, I¡¯m bringing you and the Vampire in.¡± Cole leaned against one of the bed posts and let out a breath. ¡°I can¡¯t do that, Guard, but I can tell you we had nothing to do with these crimes.¡± before Iron-Teeth could snarl something in response Cole continued. ¡°We just arrived in the city. We¡¯ve been on a barge for the last two weeks and on the roads of the Southern Marches for the two months before that.¡± Sliding down a little onto the bed, Cole added. ¡°You can check with the Stream Skipper¡¯s crew if you don¡¯t believe me.¡± Just then, Iron-Teeth realized the scarred man was bleeding badly. He¡¯d taken a dozen spear hits and half a dozen other ugly strikes. Morri went over to Cole and put a hand on the worst of the wounds. Murmuring a spell, Morri¡¯s hand glowed, and wherever it went, pink skin covered Cole¡¯s wounds. ¡°These will probably scar, but I don¡¯t think that will bother you much,¡± the Priest remarked Cole snorted in laughter, weak laughter. ¡°No, it won¡¯t, but I¡¯ll be okay. Undo whatever spell you cast on Natalie.¡± Morri shrugged. ¡°I can¡¯t without harming her. But it will run its course in twenty-four hours.¡± Cole seemed to accept that as Morri continued the magical healing. ¡°The knee will need someone better than me to fix it. But I should be able to make it usable.¡± Iron-Teeth came over to the Priest and Scarred-Man and asked. ¡°Who is he, Morri? How do you know him?¡± Bizarrely the old priest looked to Cole for permission before answering. Upon getting a nod, he looked to Iron-Teeth and answered. ¡°This is Cole of Atredia, Paladin of Master Time.¡± Iron-Teeth and every other (conscious) guard in the room took an involuntary step back at that. Few people inspired more awe or fear than a Paladin. The true Knights of the Gods, they were harbingers of Doom. Only appearing when the Gods themselves needed to intervene. Scratching at his beard, Iron-Teeth sheepishly remarked. ¡°Sorry about the knee Sir Paladin.¡± pausing for a second, he then added. ¡°And the foot as well.¡± Standing up, Cole brushed off Murri. ¡°Make sure none of these Guards are badly wounded. I¡¯ll be okay.¡± turning to Iron-Teeth he said. ¡°Call me Cole, no need for titles. What can I call you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m Guard-Captain Arkaz Iron-Teeth. Captain of the Thirteenth District Guard and currently no step closer to finding my killer. While also getting myself neck deep in shit involving a Paladin and Vampire.¡± he answered The Paladin actually smiled at that and offered his hand to Iron-Teeth. Before they could shake hands the clatter of footsteps pulled everyone''s attention to the door. Where a confused City-Warden Alia Cat-Eyes, had arrived. A small crossbow crooked under one arm, a dagger in her other hand. Alia looked around the room and asked. ¡°What the Hells is going on?¡± Iron-Teeth grunted. ¡°A false lead and a whole mess of trouble. Hey! Didn¡¯t I tell you to stay out back and watch for trouble?¡± Cat-Eyes shrugged. ¡°You were taking too long; we were getting nervous. So I elected to come and find out what was happening.¡± After a second, the City-Warden sniffed the air and asked. ¡°Why does this room smell like sex?¡± All eyes went to Cole and then the twitching Vampire. A blush came along the pale-skinned Paladin¡¯s face, and he muttered to Morri. ¡°Maybe it''s a good thing you can¡¯t wake her.¡±
A dressed Cole wrapped Natale up in a blanket, grabbed both of their packs, and started down the stairs to the inn lobby, Trailed by two dozen guards in various shapes of injury. While Cole had been focused on Captain Iron-Teeth, he¡¯d also managed to get glancing blows on most of the other Guards who¡¯d piled into the room. Morri had managed to patch them up, but more than a few were nursing tender spots. The Orcblooded guard had a nob the size of an egg on his head while Lieutenant Darvy was stuck carrying two of his teeth. Auntie Alissa and the remaining patrons gawked at the strange procession as they passed by. Cole stopped, went over to the Innkeeper, and put some bronze coins on the bar. ¡°For the blanket, I assume you can bill the City over the damages to the room?¡± Both Cole and Alissa looked at Iron-Teeth, who grumbled in confirmation. The annoyance the Dwarf showed made Cole feel a little better. While he knew intellectually, the Guard Captain had just been doing his job. Getting hit in the toes with a bloody hammer was enough to sour even Cole¡¯s attitude some. The streets were empty and dark. Heavy cloud cover and the season had robbed the city of any natural light. The glow of windows and street lamps the only source of illumination. No one except the strange procession was on the streets either. Alissa was right, it seemed, people weren¡¯t willing to brave them with a killer on the loose. As they approached the Temple, Guards broke off from their awkward parade. Returning to posts across the district, seeking further medical treatment, or just going home for the night. Leaving Cole, the unconscious Natalie, Morri, a Priestess named Mina, Iron-Teeth, and a Werefolk woman apparently named Cat-Eyes. The odd group entered the Temple through a side door, Cole taking time to check on Natalie to make sure the Temple wasn¡¯t harming her. She was still twitching occasionally, but other than that, she seemed reasonably fine. Morri took them down cold, clean hallways illuminated by pale Glowstones until they reached a spare chamber with a bed and desk. The old Priest sat behind the desk and gestured for Cole to set the Vampire on the bed and for everyone to sit in the chairs scattered about the room. Gently, Cole set Natalie down, glad to see her eyes weren¡¯t rolled back anymore. Sitting on the bed next to her, Cole looked to see everyone in the room looking at him. Morri looked annoyed, Iron-Teeth frustrated, Mina confused, and Cat-Eyes bored. Sighing, Morri glared at Cole. ¡°So do you care to tell me why you, a Paladin of our God, is not only traveling with the enemy but sleeping with it?¡± ¡°Her,¡± Cole corrected. ¡°And as I said, it''s complicated,¡± Iron-Teeth grunted. ¡°Not if it''s any different from how Dwarfs do it. A little in and out and boom, a new generation of younglings born in fourteen months.¡± Cole glared at the prickly Guard-Captain. ¡°I mean no offense, but the information related to this is sensitive. I¡¯d prefer to only share it with my fellows of the Temple.¡± Iron-Teeth massaged his patched ribs and bit back. ¡°If you are going to be staying in Weinstadt, you are my problem. You smell like trouble, Paladin. I need to know exactly what type.¡± Morri shrugged and ran his fingers through his receding gray hair. ¡°The Captain has a point. You brought a Vampire into his district without informing the Temple or the City. Whatever is going on, it''s best if we¡¯re all on the same page.¡± Grimacing, Cole looked back to Natalie. He could trust Morri; in fact, he¡¯d been the Senior Priest he intended to meet upon arriving in the city. They¡¯d met when Cole first came to Vindabon nine years ago. Morri being Cole¡¯s chief connection to the wider Temple organization. If Morri vouched for this Iron-Teeth that should be enough, but Cole still disliked the idea of sharing everything that had happened with a stranger. Especially one that had smashed his bloody toes. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll share what I can,¡± Cole said. ¡°About three months ago, I was in the Blood Duchies. Trying to pick off Undead where I could and looking for information about a certain Vampire. In the process, I was Called to a small town in Zaubervold. Something bad was brewing there, and I got involved.¡± Nodding back at Natalie, Cole continued. ¡°She helped me, and I-¡± Iron-Teeth interrupted Cole, ¡°Wait-wait-wait? A Vampire helped you? A Paladin of Master Time?¡± Finding himself increasingly annoyed with the Captain, Cole explained. ¡°She hadn¡¯t been turned yet. Which I would have explained if you let me. But yes, she was a local human who helped me. See, one of the local ¡®Nobles¡¯ had gone rogue and was amassing an army of dangerous Undead. I started hunting them, and Natalie¡¯s knowledge of the area proved crucial. So when the rogue Vampire got wind of me, he attacked us both. Natalie was infected, and I was captured.¡± Cole had told Morri many things, but his immortal nature wasn¡¯t one of them. So he skirted over some details. ¡°My hunt got us both caught up in the local power struggle. This rogue Vampire was trying to supplant his Sire and steal a powerful¡­ artifact. The artifact was somewhat bound to the Sire and his bloodline, and it needed a new host. I couldn¡¯t let it fall into the usurper''s hands, and the Sire was dying. So a third option was required. Natalie inherited the artifact, and we killed the Usurper and most of the local Vampires.¡± Stunned silence filled the room at the matter-a-fact way Cole described cutting his way through a dozen Vampires. Cole continued, not noticing the shock. ¡°If she were to die, the artifact would¡­well, it would cause problems. Having her host its power while being in my custody was the best option available. Master Time seems to agree. So we left the Blood Duchies to come here. The goal was to hide her in Vindabon from any pursuing Vampires and try to gather information about the artifact.¡± Morri clicked his tongue in disapproval. ¡°You should have come to the Temple straight away and avoided this whole mess!¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°We planned to make contact after settling in at the Final Flagon. Both Natalie and I were concerned about how the Temple might react, so we agreed I¡¯d come here by myself before bringing her.¡± The Catblood Werefolk woman snickered. ¡°Settling in? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?¡± The Priestess Mina playfully slapped Cat-Eyes¡¯s side and gave Cole an apologetic look. Iron-Teeth spoke then. ¡°I have some questions. Like, for one, what possessed you to try and smuggle a bloody Vampire into the city. Especially one hunted by the Arch-Leech''s minions?¡± A little confused, Cole said. ¡°Precedent. She wouldn¡¯t be the first Vampire to seek asylum here.¡± Iron-Teeth''s granite-gray eyes bulged in anger. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious! There aren¡¯t any Vampires in Vindabon, not until you brought your pet one!¡± Cole looked at Morri and raised a tattered eyebrow. The Senior Priest cleared his throat, and Iron-Teeth looked his way. A stunned Mina spoke. ¡°Elder Morri, you can¡¯t be serious?¡± Morri absently started playing with his hourglass amulet as he spoke. ¡°The Paladin is correct. It''s something of an open secret in certain circles. Vindabon is home to a small population of Greater Undead who, by some means or another, have proven their value and loyalty to the city.¡± Iron-Teeth snarled at the old Priest. ¡°You¡¯ve been hiding this from us this entire time! Why did you bother with the bloody Lamp ritual if we could just round up the Monsters already in the city? We¡¯ve been scouring the city for Undead, and you have a list of them!¡± Giving Iron-Teeth a warning look, Morri explained. ¡°We servants of Master Time are not exactly pleased with this arrangement, but we abide by it,¡± Cole spoke up then. ¡°We do more than that, actually. The Temples of Master Time and Sister Sun are tasked with keeping the ¡®Refugees¡¯ in line. I find it doubtful any of them are behind your killings. They have too much to lose and are watched too closely.¡± Grunting in acknowledgment, Iron-Teeth remarked. ¡°I¡¯d still like to take a look at these ¡®Refugees.¡¯ It''s the only lead we¡¯ve gotten from this whole useless night.¡± Clearing his throat, Morri interrupted Iron-Teeth''s worries. ¡°Actually, that might not be strictly true.¡± The Senior Priest gestured to Cole. ¡°One of the premier Rest-Bringers on the continent is here. If anyone can help you track down the killer, it will be him.¡± Iron-Teeth started to object, while Cole just shut his eyes in acceptance. He knew what was about to happen. The pieces were falling into place. Morri cut off Iron-Teeth. ¡°The Prince¡¯s Court and the other Temples would not react well to the knowledge one of our Paladins smuggled a Vampire into the city. While they might act directly against Cole, they would certainly move to have the Vampire executed or entombed.¡± ¡°However, the presence and support of a Paladin in the city, especially one who has done the city a service in stopping these killings, would be enough for this Natalie woman to be accepted as another Refugee.¡± Letting out a sigh, Cole murmured an old saying favored by the devout and the paranoid. Categories he both belonged to. ¡°Coincidence is the God¡¯s domain.¡± Morri smiled. ¡°Exactly, I don¡¯t think it''s mere happenstance that all of this has occurred. Master Time has taken an interest in helping us here in Vindabon. His Paladin is here to aid you, Captain Iron-Teeth, and with him are the Tenth Temple¡¯s resources.¡± Getting up from the small bed, Cole rolled his shoulders and knelt before Iron-Teeth. Any annoyance at the Guard-Captain vanished behind the mantle of duty. Intense ice-blue eyes met the Dwarfs, and the Paladin of Death spoke. ¡°Guard-Captain Arkaz Iron-Teeth, will you accept my aid in this endeavor?¡± Looking into those cold hard eyes, Iron-Teeth felt a tiny flicker of fear. Some long-buried instinct telling him he was in the presence of something great and terrible. The scarred warrior bent on one knee before him was bound and armed with terrible purpose. To fight and die as a God demanded against every manner of horror that threatened the World. That idea frightened Iron-Teeth more than any Flesh-Golem or Vampire could. Jerking his head in a nod, Iron-Teeth accepted with an old Dwarven saying. ¡°Aye, I¡¯ll add your Steel to my Armory.¡± Book II: Chapter 9: Dreams and Mysteries

Chapter 9: Dreams and Mysteries

¡°Daru the Red, fourth of the Alukah, marched to battle. His cloak was made of souls, his armor made of bone. A thousand score Wights at his back. But he faced brave Acklion and bold Ocari on the fields of Golgido. Eyes alight with holy wrath, and lances tipped with starlight. The Seraphblood Champions brought fire and doom to Daru and his kin¡±- The Book of Miracles, Lamentations 14:10
Coughing and spluttering, Natalie dragged herself out of a blood-stained river. Naked, shaky, and disoriented, she collapsed onto the riverbank. Staring up at the impossibly bright constellations above her, she let her fingers play with the red lilies surrounding her. Natalie was back in her internal world, and she didn¡¯t know how she¡¯d gotten there. Sitting up, Natalie looked to the river bank and found the Angler standing there. A large net draped over one shoulder. Groaning slightly, Natalie got to her feet and looked down at herself. You were supposed to bare your soul to a God, but she didn¡¯t think that meant nudity was required. Shutting her eyes, Natalie imagined her favorite dress and felt its fabric enfold her. This was her own bloody dream; she had some control over it. Walking over to the Angler, Natalie let out a pained sigh. ¡°We have to stop meeting like this.¡± The Angler chuckled. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t wish that Ms. Striga; most mortals seem to prefer dreams to the other way they meet me.¡± Accepting that, Natalie looked at the large net the Angler was repairing. It was a new addition to the persona Master Time wore when meeting with her. ¡°What''s with the net?¡± The Angler looked down at the pile of woven rope as if he was only just noticing it. ¡°Nothing good, Natalie, nothing good at all.¡± Dropping the net onto the ground next to him, he faced Natalie and spoke. ¡°I need to apologize to you.¡± Confused and more than a little worried, Natalie crossed her arms and asked. ¡°For manipulating my life and undeath to help Cole and the ¡®greater good¡¯ or something else?¡± Giving her a sad smile, the Angler shrugged. ¡°Yes, and yes. What is the last thing you remember?¡± Memories came flooding back, and Natalie¡¯s knees nearly buckled. As pleasure, and heady lust came with the memories. She¡¯d been in bed with Cole; they¡¯d just been about to¡­ well, ¡®have fun¡¯ when she felt a bitter cold hit her, and everything went black. Eyes wide with fury and cheeks crimson, Natalie sputtered. ¡°Wh-What did you do?!¡± Holding up his hands in a placating gesture, the Angler explained. ¡°My followers in Vindabon invoked my power to track and bind the most powerful unmarked Undead in the city. They did this in the hunt for a murderer and caught you by accident. The binding is wearing off, and you should be conscious soon, but I felt the need to apologize for the discomfort.¡± Slightly relieved that she didn¡¯t have an actual God preventing her and Cole from making love, Natalie asked. ¡°This murderer? It¡¯s related to that alley Cole was sniffing around earlier?¡± The Angler nodded. ¡°My hands are tied in how much help I can give. The Oath of the Final Gates keeps me and my kin from directly intervening. But I can point Cole in the right direction through¡­ various means.¡± Sighing, Natalie grimaced. ¡°Meaning me.¡± The God nodded. ¡°Meaning you.¡± Glaring at the cosmic avatar of Death and Entropy, Natalie snapped. ¡°I¡¯m not a tool for you to use.¡± The Angler let out a sad little laugh. ¡°Oh Natalie, you and every other thing in your world are far more to me than a tool. You are also far less. I will be here when everything you¡¯ve ever known is less than dust. But I still choose to help where I can.¡± Chewing on that, Natalie asked, ¡°So the Temple magically tracked me and found Cole. Cole being Cole, will find himself helping the Guards. What about me? Do I have any more role to play in this other than being Cole¡¯s motivation?¡± Shrugging, the Angler looked down at the net. ¡°You will be in one of my largest Temples with a lot of spare time. A place with millennia of records, holy texts, and more are stored. There are things buried in the Temple archive you might find very interesting.¡± Rolling her eyes, Natalie asked. ¡°Are you intentionally being obtuse?¡± A snort of laughter escaped the Angler. ¡°You are quite brazen for one speaking to a God, Natalie. But yes, I must be¡­ rather opaque in this matter. The Gates must be balanced.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°Surely telling me where to look and what I¡¯m looking for isn¡¯t a violation of some cosmic order?¡± The amused expression of the God faded away. ¡°Three hundred and ninety-two years and forty-two days ago, the Lector of Woes, a Fell God, pointed one of its cultists in the direction of a certain magical text with as much detail as I¡¯m using. That cultist found part of the text and used it to kill an entire city. Forty-nine thousand six hundred and two lives lost just from a few words to the wrong person.¡± Looking up at the distant shimmering stars, The Angler continued. ¡°Imagine what the Cultist could have done if he¡¯d been told exactly how to find the text and use it. I¡¯m using the imbalance the Lector created to help you. Don¡¯t ask me to swing the pendulum in the opposite direction Natalie. A debt would be incurred, and you¡¯d shudder to imagine what sort of things might collect on that debt.¡± Strange fog started to boil up from the river and cover the field of lilies. The dream was ending. Reaching down, the Angler gripped the net and held it up. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you with this final thought, Natalie. Wonder why this mask would appear with a net instead of a pole.¡± As the fog started to envelop Natalie, she understood. The Angler was the form a long-dead culture thought Death took. Viewing death as him fishing for souls. A fisherman catches fish one at a time with a pole. He catches dozens or hundreds with a net.¡±
Natalie bolted upright with a gasp of pointless breath. A nervous scream filled her ears, and Natalie briefly wondered if it was her own. Drinking in her surroundings, she quickly realized it was not. Natalie was in a cell of some kind. A small stone room with dim lighting. Filled with a small bed she currently laid on. A desk in one corner and a number of chairs scattered about. In one of those chairs was a panicked-looking woman with short blond hair and bags under her eyes. The woman was scrabbling for an hourglass medallion, her chest heaving from the effort of screaming. Holding up the medallion the woman¡¯s eyes were wide in shock. ¡°How are you awake? The binding should hold for another ten hours?¡± Trying to sort through her memories, Natalie asked in an unnaturally dry voice. ¡°W-where am I?¡± Recovering herself somewhat, the woman said. ¡°You are in the custody of the Tenth Temple of Vindabon. Under the watch and ward of Master Time and his clerics.¡± Confirming what she suspected, Natalie asked the next important question. ¡°Where¡¯s Cole?¡± The Priestess (Natalie assumed) looked to the chamber''s door. ¡°He¡¯s with Senior Priest Morri and the Anchorite discussing¡­ uh, discussing you.¡± Looking down, Natalie realized she was clad in a loose oversized tunic. The thing was massively baggy on her. It lacked any smell, but Natalie knew who it belonged to; Cole had probably not even tried to get her into a dress while unconscious. Smiling at that, she looked to the Priestess. ¡°So what can I call you?¡± The Priestess narrowed her eyes and seemed to consider her options before answering. ¡°Mina, I am Priestess Mina Vrock¡± Getting up from the bed, Natalie held out a hand. ¡°I¡¯m Natalie.¡± Mina didn¡¯t respond automatically; keeping her talisman close, she carefully took Natalie¡¯s hand. Half expecting the Vampire to attack her. Rolling her eyes, Natalie let out an exasperated sigh. ¡°I¡¯m not going to bite Mina. I¡¯m a Vampire, not some wild animal.¡± A cool expression covered Mina¡¯s face. ¡°I am very much aware.¡± a hint of venom in the words told Natalie Mina would prefer a wild animal¡¯s company. Sitting on the bed, Natalie wrapped herself up in a blanket. If she was to be stuck here with a paranoid Priestess, she might as well get comfortable. Mina watched this and, after a moment, said. ¡°You are a Vampire¡± Burrowing into the covers, thin as they were, Natalie gave Mina a droll stare. ¡°We¡¯ve established that.¡± Chewing on her lip, Mina asked. ¡°Then why are you using the blanket? Surely you aren¡¯t cold?¡± Shrugging, sending a sheet fluttering, Natalie said. ¡°It''s comfortable. I¡¯ve spent too long on the road, and if I¡¯m going to be stuck here, I might as well get cozy.¡± A little put off by the very human answer, Mina asked. ¡°The binding I cast, it should have held for hours more. How did you break free?¡± Grunting in annoyance, Natalie thought back to the cold pain and her interrupted fun with Cole. ¡°Oh, so I have you to thank for that?¡± Mina froze for a second but quickly recovered. ¡°We were hunting a Monster; we just caught the wrong one.¡± Sighing, Natalie wrapped the blankets tighter. ¡°And now you have Cole to help find the right one.¡± Frowning, Mina replied. ¡°Yes, how did you know that?¡± Flopping against the wall, feeling the cold stone even through the blankets, Natalie chuckled to herself. ¡°Your Master told me.¡± Befuddled, Mina asked. ¡°Priest Morri? But how? You¡¯ve been bound all night?¡± Amused at the Priestess¡¯s confusion, Natalie chuckled. ¡°Not your superior, I mean your Master. He talks to me sometimes in my dreams.¡± All color drained from Mina¡¯s face, and she scooted her chair back a little. Surprise turned to anger and incredulity. ¡°Master Time would never speak to a Vampire! You are lying!¡± Enjoying getting a rise out of Mina, Natalie cocked an eyebrow. ¡°A Vampire would never normally travel with a Paladin. This entire situation isn''t normal.¡± Mina was about to object when the room¡¯s door opened. A weary-looking Cole came in first. Behind him was an older man with a thick mustache and beard. The Priest Morri, Natalie guessed. The old Priest kept cold hard eyes on Natalie. Cole by contrast brightened in surprised joy on seeing Natalie. In three long strides, Cole reached Natalie and took her up in his arms. An undignified squeak escaped Natalie as Cole practically crushed her in an embrace. Letting go, Cole looked into her eyes and seemed visibly relieved. ¡°You awoke early. I¡¯m sorry if I knew I¡¯d never have left your bedside,¡± he apologized before loosening his hug and asking ¡°How are you?¡± Shrugging, Natalie gave a weak smile. ¡°Decent. The magic they used wasn¡¯t fun, but the Angler was in my dreams. He seems to think your help in solving the Murders will be crucial.¡± Morri visibly twitched at the mention of ¡®The Angler,¡¯ something Natalie caught out of the corner of her eye. Cole made a pensive noise in his throat and considered Natalie¡¯s words. ¡°Is that so? I thought as much. You seem to be up to date on matters; did Master Time have anything else to say?¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes flicked to the two priests, and Cole got her meaning. ¡°They are trustworthy. I¡¯ve known Morri for close to a decade, and Mina is one of his former acolytes.¡± Willing to take Cole¡¯s word, Natalie said. ¡°Something about these killings is going to lead to a lot of deaths. I don¡¯t know what, but that was what he implied.¡± Cole shut his eyes for a moment as he digested that information. ¡°Tell us everything¡± So Natalie did, with Cole occasionally interrupting to ask for details while Morri and Mina sat in silence. Morri seemed pensive while Mina toed the line between stunned and horrified. When she finished, Natalie asked. ¡°Alright, your turn. What¡¯s going on? Also, what''s an Anchorite?¡± Cole seemed momentarily uncomfortable with the question. He knew Natalie wasn¡¯t going to like the answers. ¡°We¡¯ve reached an agreement with the other Temples and the City Court. You are to be sequestered in the Tenth Temple until your worth and word can be obtained. Their words, not mine.¡± Scratching at one of his scars, Cole continued. ¡°The Temples aren¡¯t pleased with this arrangement, but they are willing to trust me for now. The City is interested in having me help with the Murders, and some of the acting leadership like the idea of a Paladin calling their city home. Hopefully, we can make this work.¡± Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Natalie asked. ¡°What do you mean by ¡®my worth and my word¡± Morri spoke then. ¡°We need to regularly give us some of your blood and make an oath to aid the city of Vindabon to the best of your abilities.¡± Cole looked surprised by the older Priest¡¯s words. ¡°Hold on, the Watcher Ritual just needs a vial of her blood to work.¡± Morri gave Cole a hard look. ¡°She is perhaps one of the most dangerous beings on the continent. We need to learn everything we can from her. Not just to protect the city but to discover everything we can about the first Vampires. Her blood could help us cripple the curse of Vampirism¡± Expression hardening, Cole retorted. ¡°She¡¯s a person, not a resource. I brought her here to keep her safe. I will honor that pledge Morri; you know I will.¡± The cold intensity of the Paladin¡¯s words made the old Priest recoil somewhat. Glancing at Natalie, he regained some of his resolve. ¡°In any other situation, I¡¯d agree with you, Cole. But she¡¯s not simply some woman who was infected by accident. The power inside of her is not something the Temple or even the entire City is equipped to handle. We let the other Refugees stay because you and the other Rest-Bringers can keep them in line. No such guarantee exists for your Vampire. If she lets us study her to craft one, it will do much to ease tensions.¡± Sinking down into the covers, Natalie let out a sigh. ¡°So, to stay in the city, I need to let you poke and prod me? With the explicit goal of finding out how to kill or capture me?¡± Morri nodded. ¡°That puts it succinctly.¡± stepping towards her, the Priest continued. ¡°. Natalie, do you mind if I call you Natalie?¡± Nodding in tacit consent, Natalie let the Priest speak. ¡°You were raised in the Blood Duchies. You know the threat of Vampires better than perhaps anyone here but Cole. Your protector insists the Curse hasn¡¯t corrupted or altered you. That your mind is not warped beyond recognition. But he is also obviously biased. We cannot take his word as law. Actions must speak in the Paladin¡¯s place.¡± For a few long seconds, Natalie didn¡¯t move. Her body was unnaturally still as she thought over the Priest¡¯s words. When she found her answer, Natalie slipped out from under the blankets and stepped close to the Senior Priest. ¡°I¡¯ll give you more than my blood. I¡¯ll go along with whatever needs to be done with one condition.¡± Raising a bushy eyebrow, Morri remarked. ¡°You aren¡¯t exactly in the position to make demands, Natalie. But I am listening.¡± Meeting the Priest¡¯s eyes, living brown to cursed red, Natalie smiled, making sure her fangs were on display. ¡°You can¡¯t risk killing me, and if Mina¡¯s binding wore off early, you don¡¯t have many guarantees any stronger spell you might cast wouldn¡¯t eventually break. So instead of making me an enemy. How about you agree to work with the Vampire who is receiving visions from your God and is very much willing to cooperate?¡± Morri blinked first, a disadvantage of the living. ¡°Lay out your terms then. But don''t be so arrogant, Vampire. You are young and untested. Cole is the only reason I¡¯ve not driven a stake through your heart, bound you in silver chains, and dumped you into the ocean.¡± Natalie¡¯s confidence cracked a little bit. She saw the same cold strength in Morri she associated with Cole but tempered with none of the affection for her. Still, she kept up the appearance of self-assurance. ¡°Trust needs to flow both ways. I need to be informed of everything and anything you discover. I know less about my power than you probably do. Any discovery might help me keep control easier.¡± Chewing on that idea, Morri was about to answer when Natalie held up a hand. ¡°One last thing, I¡¯d like total access to the Temple archives. I need to know more about the Curse and its origin.¡± Glaring at her, Morri snapped. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious? The deepest sections of the library aren¡¯t for outsiders. Let alone one like yourself. That¡¯s out of the question.¡± Returning his glare, Natalie snapped. ¡°Did you listen to anything I told you? Master Time said there''s something valuable in the archive. I need to find it.¡± Morri ground his teeth together in annoyance. ¡°I¡¯m not deaf yet, Vampire, we will comb the archives for anything relevant. You need not be present.¡± calming slightly, the Priest adopted a conciliatory tone. ¡°But I can agree to share our findings with you. Anything we learn from you or the archives related to the Alukah, I will share.¡± Hesitating, Natalie made her choice. It wasn¡¯t everything she wanted, but that was the point of compromises, right? ¡°Fine, I accept.¡± The Priest and Vampire shook hands, and only then did they notice Mina was plastered against the far wall, her eyes wide in fright. ¡°Alukah?¡± she whispered. Gently, Morri went over to his student and peeled her off the wall. ¡°Deep breaths, child. Let us give the Paladin and the Alukah some privacy.¡± Mina started to babble. ¡°Alukah? That-that can¡¯t be?¡± Morri took her by the shoulder, and the two Priests left the chamber. A worried Cole went over to Natalie. ¡°That might not have been the best idea, Love,¡± he whispered. Confused, Natalie looked up at his scar-etched face. ¡°Why? You think Morri won¡¯t keep his word?¡± Shaking his head in the negative, Cole looked to the door. ¡°No, he will, and so will the Temple. That¡¯s not what concerns me.¡± ¡°Then what does?¡± Natalie asked. Cole chose his words carefully. ¡°Knowledge is power, valuable knowledge especially. I worry any secrets they might uncover won¡¯t stay within the Temple.¡± ¡°You make a good point¡­ perhaps I was foolish?¡± Natalie asked. Taking her in his arms and guiding them both towards the bed. A sad chuckle escaped Cole¡¯s lips. ¡°It might not have been the best choice, but I fail to see an alternative. Sometimes a bad choice is the only one available. We can only take it and live with the consequences.¡± Snuggling into Cole¡¯s side as they sat on the bed, Natalie let out an exhausted huff. ¡°How are you so bloody wise sometimes?¡± Snorting in amusement, the Paladin just hugged her close. ¡°When you are on the road for months at a time without a beautiful and clever woman to keep you distracted, you have lots of time to think.¡± Reaching up to trace his face, Natalie smiled. ¡°Flattery will get you everywhere with me, Sir Cole. Would you like to continue where we left off?¡± The stoic Paladin, slayer of monsters and horrors, audibly gulped. ¡°I¡¯d love to, but I¡¯m utterly exhausted. I¡¯ve not slept at all and spent nearly all night pleading with crotchety old Priests.¡± pausing for a second, Cole looked away from Natalie, a slight blush on his cheeks. ¡°Let me sleep, and I¡¯ll gladly resume our fun. Till then¡­ I wouldn¡¯t mind resting in your arms. If you don¡¯t mind, that is.¡± If her heart still beat, it would have skipped one at those words. Arms slithering around him, Natalie pounced on Cole. Knocked onto his back, he let out a surprised ¡®Ooof¡¯ and found smiling red eyes looking into his. After kissing him for a few wonderful seconds, Natalie said. ¡°Gladly.¡± Soon the weary Knight found sleep as Natalie nestled into him. As his breathing slowed, Natalie let out her own pointless breath. Cole trusted her; something about that made her heart melt. Even after everything, the silly, wonderful man got embarrassed asking for a little comfort from her. It almost danced the line between frustrating and endearing. Cole would oscillate from being bizarrely unsure of himself to unflappably confident. While the nervous Cole could be cute, Natalie wanted to draw the confident one out. Listening to his heartbeat, Natalie looked around the dim cell they occupied. She much preferred the Inn room. Maybe they¡¯d let them stay there instead? This place doesn''t even have any windows, and she couldn¡¯t tell the time. No sooner had she thought that than a sudden terrible way of exhaustion hit her. Dawn had come. Looking at Cole, Natalie wrapped her hand in her own and let the torpor take her. She was safe and loved. The past few months had done much to enforce the value of those things. So she would bloody well enjoy them.
For the second time, Natalie found herself in the Lily Field of her soul. Thankfully this time, she wasn¡¯t naked, nor did she need to haul herself from the river. Instead, she was seated in a familiar wrought iron chair. A small table in front of her and a furious Isabelle sitting across it. Bloody red eyes were narrowed in anger as the half-dead Vampress glared at Natalie. Returning the glare with an innocent smile, Natalie asked. ¡°So contacting Cole really took that much out of you?¡± Isabelle said nothing, just continuing to stare at Natalie. Sighing in annoyance, Natalie leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, propping her head up on her hands. ¡°Did you enter my dreams just to glare at me, or is there anything more to this?¡± Words smooth and cold as steel broke Isabelle¡¯s silence. ¡°You slept with him.¡± Shrugging, Natalie remarked. ¡°Kind of, we were sort of interrupted.¡± Natalie could see the older Vampire''s hands flexing with contained rage as they gripped the chair. Isabelle had forced her way into Natalie¡¯s dream, and Natalie was having none of this. ¡°He¡¯s moving on,¡± Natalie said with a shrug. ¡° Try and scrounge up what little bit of compassion you have left and accept that.¡± Imaginary metal snapped, and Isabelle bolted up from her chair, its armrests still in her fingers. Leaning away from the furious phantom, Natalie could watch lunatic-anger and cold intellect war behind Isabelle¡¯s eyes. Tense and preparing to leave the dream if the anger won, Natalie was surprised to see a third contender arise and beat the original two. Guilt and grief. Emotions Natalie recognized all too well. A strange noise came from Isabelle as she slowly sat back down in the chair. As the noise repeated, Natalie recognized it. The dry sobs of a Vampire trying to cry. Covering her face, Isabelle shook in silent grief. Leaving Natalie stunned and uncertain. After maybe a minute, Isabelle recovered herself and looked at Natalie. No flushed skin or watery eyes marked her grief, another small price paid for Vampirism. Recovering herself, Isabelle let out a shuddering useless breath. ¡°I know, I jagging know. He should move on and have a life with you. I¡¯m just a shadow who can¡¯t let go of him. But I¡¯m still here!¡± The last sentence had an almost pleading tone to it that shocked Natalie. Events had more than cracked Isabelle¡¯s cool veneer; they¡¯d shattered it into dust. Leaving Natalie completely uncertain of what to do. She was torn between wanting to apologize and just running away. Before Natalie could do either, Isabelle seemed to find herself. ¡°Cole¡­ he has a kind heart. More so than even he knows. Maybe¡­ it has room for both of us in it?¡± shrugging, Isabelle let out a weak laugh. ¡°Listen to me, squabbling with you over a man like a stupid village girl.¡± As a former ¡®stupid village girl Natalie took some offense to that statement. But she let it roll off her like raindrops. Instead, she could perhaps take this opportunity to change the dynamic between them. Natalie had thought of Isabelle as an enemy, and she bet the feeling was reciprocated. But maybe that didn¡¯t have to be the case. Isabelle had shown weakness to Natalie. A true Monster would seize on that. So Natalie did the opposite. ¡°He still loves you,¡± she whispered. Isabelle¡¯s face snapped up in surprise at Natalie¡¯s words. ¡°I think he feels guilty for our relationship. Which I guess makes sense. You might be dead, but you aren¡¯t completely gone. Maybe it was wrong of us to fall in love, but that doesn¡¯t change the fact we have.¡± Getting up from the chair, feeling the damp, warm soil of the lily field beneath her bare feet, Natalie approached Isabelle. ¡°It also doesn¡¯t change the fact you love him. So¡­so maybe we can agree to share him?¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Sudden embarrassment flared through Natalie. This whole thing felt like some saucy bard¡¯s song, not a serious possibility. Still, she¡¯d long past any threshold of normality. Perhaps the idea of some form of¡­ mutual affection was possible. Maybe even something between her and Isabelle¡­? Shaking her head at that idea, Natalie rapidly retreated from those thoughts before her eros made a tricky situation even more complicated. Isabelle reached out and took Natalie¡¯s hand then. Startling the jittery younger Vampire from her thoughts. ¡°Perhaps. But I need a body before we start thinking along those lines. Which is why I¡¯ve brought you here, Natalie.¡± Standing up, Isabelle adopted some of her old confidence. ¡°It¡¯s time for you to continue your training.¡± Glad for the change of topic and the implied truce between them, Natalie nodded. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± Isabelle actually smiled. ¡°We are going to jump a few steps into something more complicated. Your performance with the two familiars was¡­ competent. I question the names, but I¡¯ve heard worse. But that is neither here nor there. My goal with previous lessons was to simply keep you alive. Now I have a more specific goal.¡± Cocking an eyebrow, Natalie asked. ¡°And what would that be?¡± A glint of avarice shone in Isabelle¡¯s eyes. ¡°The temple archive. I¡¯m going to help you break into them.¡± Returning to her chair, Isabelle tapped her fingers on the metal table. ¡°I¡¯ve caught enough of what is happening to know getting into those archives is key to understanding the true power of the Alukah.¡± Interested but apprehensive, Natalie asked. ¡°The Priests will tell me anything they find. Is breaking in necessary?¡± Isabelle scoffed. ¡°Do you think they will actually share their secrets with you? Even if they do, chances are the dottering dogmatic fools won¡¯t know what information is valuable.¡± Smiling with all the warmth of a hungry wolf, Isabelle continued. ¡°But I do. With my knowledge, you will be able to sift through the records and find the important information.¡± Frowning, Natalie rejoined Isabelle at the table. ¡°That seems risky. If they caught me, any chance of the Temple trusting me would disappear.¡± Isabelle shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s assuming they¡¯d ever trust you to begin with. You are a Vampire, Natalie, don¡¯t forget that fact. The Temple certainly won¡¯t.¡± Natalie was torn. She¡¯d received literal divine assistance telling her to seek out the Archive. But doing so would endanger her tenuous position in Vindabon. Mulling this over, she asked. ¡°Is there any reason Master Time can¡¯t just order the Priests to let me into the Archive?¡± Isabelle visibly flinched at mention of Master Time but recovered quickly. ¡°I suppose it''s a matter of Balance. The Tenth God tends to be less proactive than its fellows. It fears opening a crack in the Gates, letting the Opposition influence things. Or maybe that God already has sent a message, and it''s been misinterpreted or redirected.¡± Shrugging, Isabelle continued. ¡°The matters of Gods are complicated and curious things. Those beings dance on the knife-edge between omnipotence and uselessness. Wondering at their actions and motivations will drive you mad. The Anchorite my darling mentioned is plenty evidence of that.¡± Making a mental note to ask Cole again about this ¡®Anchorite¡¯ and not let him change the subject again. Natalie made her choice. ¡°Why don¡¯t you teach me whatever you were going to teach me, and we keep our options open? The Temple might surprise you or disappoint me. Either way, I¡¯ll have more tools to survive and honor our deal.¡± Isabelle seemed to accept that. Offering her hand to Natalie, she said. ¡°A¡­ pragmatic choice fitting the current spirit of compromise.¡± The two Vampires shook hands, and Natalie felt something had really changed between them. Isabelle had cracked and opened up to her. A shocking turn of events that left Natalie more than a little off-kilter. Settling back into her chair, Isabelle asked. ¡°Before we begin the lesson, one question.¡± Natalie raised her eyebrows in unspoken assent, which Isabelle took. ¡°How was he?¡± Natalie suddenly had the urge to dig a hole in the lily field and hide. Instead, she forced herself to keep a straight face. ¡°Good, very good.¡± Isabelle¡¯s lips quivered for a split second. Her face undecided between smiling or frowning. ¡°Well then, let us start the lesson. Cats, Bats, Rats, or Owls, what do you prefer?¡± A little confused and off-put by the rapidly shifting conversation, Natalie cautiously replied. ¡°Cat?¡±
:: Two Days Later :: Despite Natalie¡¯s best arguments, the Temple refused to let her and Cole return to the Final Flagon. But they had moved them from the small cell to an unused apartment in the Temple set aside for visiting officials and dignitaries. Which Cole technically counted as. The Paladin slept much of his first night and second day in Vindabon away. His unnatural body healed from its injuries during that time. Leaving a bored Natalie alone. She¡¯d been scared to practice what Isabelle had taught her inside the Temple, fearing exposure. So she¡¯d been reduced to wandering the Temples halls and scaring the Acolytes and Priests she encountered. Word of the ¡°refugee Vampire¡± brought to the Temple by a mysterious Paladin had spread through the Tenth Temple like any good gossip. Sending packs of youthful Acolytes fleeing whenever Natalie got anywhere close. Leaving Natalie little entertainment but constantly walking through the labyrinthian halls of the Temple. The Castle-sized complex was an odd mix of painfully dull and disturbingly beautiful. Natalie would traverse what felt like kilometers of cold stone hallways only to stumble into some shrine, tomb, or similar. Each decorated with breathtaking artistry, almost always depicting morbid topics. Natalie had never considered all the ways a skull could be used in murals, tapestries, carvings, and statuary. The followers of Master Time had a set style they ascribed to, and it seemed to glory in what others would find unsettling. Which did seem fitting for worshipers of Death, Time, and Cold. Eventually, after enough scared Acolytes complained, an annoyed Morri decided Natalie needed a chaperon. Mina drew the short straw. The young Priestess had been overtaxing herself helping the Guards. So with Cole to replace her, Mina found herself in the unenviable position of keeping Natalie company. Which pretty much manifested as the two women sitting in the same room, Natalie trying and failing to make small talk. It was in this awkward situation Cole found himself as he prepared to meet with the Wienstadt Guards. ¡°Okay, then what is your favorite Color?¡± Natalie asked, almost pleading with Mina. The Priestess shrugged. ¡°Gray?¡± Scoffing, Natalie waived her arms in exasperation. ¡°Gray! No one¡¯s favorite color is Gray! If you are going to stonewall me, then at least be more creative!¡± Letting out an exhausted huff, Natalie uncoiled herself from the plush chair she¡¯d been occupying and wrapped her arms around Cole. ¡°Love, please don¡¯t leave me alone with this Golem!¡± she begged. Smiling beside himself, he gave her a quick kiss. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Nat. Is there anything I can do for you?¡± Pouting slightly, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Besides freeing me? Maybe grab something to keep me sane from the market. A book or even a block of wood? I¡¯ll pay you back when you return.¡± Cole disentangled himself from Natalie¡¯s comforting form and said. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind. Love you, Natalie.¡± As Cole left, he heard Natalie return the sentiment and direct something else at Mina. ¡°I love you too, Cole. Thank yo-Hey! Don¡¯t look so mortified.¡± Chuckling under his breath, Cole left the Temple and headed towards the nearby market square. He had a little time before he was expected, so grabbing her something nice seemed like a good idea. Romantic gifts weren¡¯t the only reason Cole visited the market. He needed to resupply and reequip. The entire disastrous Glockmire affair and the incident with the Werewolves had forced Cole to reconsider his general strategy. He couldn¡¯t afford to be so blaise with his life anymore. A decade on the road fighting lesser Undead and rogue Vampires had made him sloppy and unmotivated. He¡¯d become a shadow of the Homunculus Knight and never really grown into a proper Paladin. That stopped now. His first two stops, at the apothecary and alchemist, filled his pack with a number of interesting tinctures and substances. He then grabbed three books from the local scrivener. A romance novella, a history of Vindabon, and a text on woodworking. Hopefully, Natalie would find some comfort in one of the three. After that, Cole counted his remaining coin and approached the sole Smith in the square. Under a small pavilion, a short woman with an interesting mix of curves and muscle sat among racks of weapons and armor. Dirty blond hair streamed out from under a leather cap, and her bare arms were exposed to the cold weather. A curious fashion choice explained by the intricate tattoo marking her left upper arm. It was a Dwarven Guild badge. Marking the Smith as a member and listing her accolades. Cole guessed a bit of winter wind was worth the advertisement. Getting up from her chair, the smith looked over Cole as he approached. Spitting a glob of pipeherb onto the ground, she remarked. ¡°Oh, you are a big fucker aren¡¯t you. Well, I think I¡¯ve got something your size.¡± Holding out her calloused hand to Cole, she introduced herself. ¡°I¡¯m Emma of Stonebone. Triple marked smith of Hakon Hold.¡± Stonebone, that was the Gate town of Hakon Hold. The non-dwarven settlement that grew up around the Hold¡¯s entrance. Emma probably had some Dwergaz blood in her, or at least enough of their attitude, it didn¡¯t matter. Shaking her hand, the Paladin said. ¡°Cole of Atredia. I¡¯m looking for something light but durable.¡± Emma let go of Cole¡¯s hand but reached up to feel his bicep experimentally. ¡°You certain? A big fellow like you has enough meat to wear proper steel.¡± A little surprised by her touch, Cole shrugged. ¡°I travel too much for anything heavier than leather to be practical.¡± Grabbing a measuring rope and a piece of charcoal, Emma got to work. ¡°Aye? What are you, a Mercenary? Shouldn¡¯t you be down south with the Prince and the Noble whelps?¡± Shaking his head but realizing Emma couldn¡¯t see, her eyes and hands busy marking something on her bare fore-arm. Cole explained. ¡°I¡¯m a Rest-Bringer, just leaving the south, actually.¡± Cole saw little reason to spread his true title around the city and found the lesser title of Rest-Bringer more appropriate to his abilities honestly. Emma just nodded. ¡°A Rest-Bringer, hm? I think I might have just the thing.¡± Motioning for him to wait, Emma went deeper into the pavilion and rattled about with various bits of equipment. ¡°I¡¯ve equipped one or two of your kind in the past few weeks.¡± she remarked, barely audible over the market¡¯s murmur and the clatter of moving metal. ¡°They all wanted Plate, Scale, and other heavier types. But they were traveling with the Army, so I guess they could have someone carry it for them.¡± Returning to Cole, Emma found an empty table and set down an eclectic mix of equipment. Two open fingered gauntlets of strong steel. An armored doublet and pants made from leather and metal. Two steel reinforced boots and a strange sash-like thing of leather covered in pouches and pockets. Pointing at each item individually, Emma listed them off. ¡°Albrich-style gauntlets made from Hakon Steel with leather underlay. Protect your forearms from biting Ghouls while keeping your hands free. Ciryonian Jack and Pants, strong enough to stop claws and fangs from most creatures. Light enough, you can run from what it won¡¯t stop. Standard lace-up hobnailed boots with a bit of reinforcement courtesy of yours truly. And lastly, an interesting bit of leather work from Lusitania. They call it a Bandolier, drape it over your shoulder, and have an extra belt. Seems useful to me.¡± Picking up and feeling the equipment, Cole was impressed. It was light but felt sturdy. ¡°I¡¯ll take it. How much will it cost?¡± Emma smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll give it to you cheap if you promise to be a repeat customer. In my experience, Rest-Bringers are rough on their gear. Musty tombs and rotting bodies turn even the best equipment into junk.¡± Lips quirked in amusement, Cole bought the gear. His coin purse was significantly lighter but not completely emptied. Emma packed up the equipment and gave Cole some tips on maintaining it. Leaving the pavilion, Cole looked to the fountain and noted the Fiddler wasn¡¯t present. With his errands completed, Cole set out for the Guards. The Thirteenth District Guard-tower was easy to find. Its plain, unadorned bulk sat near the district center. A giant column of gray stone upholding order, like a lesser column might hold up a roof. Entering the Guard-Tower, Cole found himself in a large room filled with people milling about. It was an eclectic mix. Puffed-up Nobles, ratty beggars, and everything in between competing for cramped space. The smell of stale sweat mixed with old leather and dried sick; filling the cold space with a nauseating sense of exhaustion and worry. Somewhere hidden by the crowd, a voice called out. ¡°ALRIGHT! WHO''S NEXT?!¡± The throng of people surged forward slightly, and Cole followed behind them. Slowly but surely, he pressed his way through the crowd. Using his intimidating appearance and sheer size to part the mass of people. Eventually, finding the crowd¡¯s focus. A trio of guards sitting at desks behind a wall of bars. The exhausted-looking guards were listening to a never-ending stream of people coming up to the bars and ranting various complaints and suggestions. The middle guard was currently listening to a well-dressed Nobleman flanked by his own Footmen. Wiry thin with a prominent Adam''s apple. The Noble waived a trembling hand at the listening guard as he spoke. ¡°Resources of House Louon are at your disposal! Just say it, and my Men will gladly start patrolling the streets looking for any Mutts!¡± A few nearby people murmured in agreement as the Noble continued. ¡°This has gone on too long! Those rabid brutes have made the streets unsafe; let''s drive them out into the stinking wilds where they belong!¡± Shutting his eyes in momentary weariness, Cole pushed forward. He was tempted to tell these people the truth about the killings. That it was an Undead, not a Werefolk. The fact Captain Iron-Teeth hadn¡¯t shared that fact stopped him. The Dwarf probably had his reasons, and Cole would respect them till he knew them. Still, he could put a stop to this high-born twit and his rabble-rousing. Shouldering past the Noble¡¯s footman and stepping past the ranting Aristocrat Cole reached the bars. The Noble stopped mid-tirade to sputter his surprise and outrage at Cole¡¯s action. ¡°You there! What do you think you are doing!¡± Not bothering to turn away from the Guard¡¯s desk, Cole answered. ¡°Not wasting the City Guard¡¯s time.¡± nodding to the suddenly nervous-looking Guard, he continued. ¡°Captain Iron-Teeth should be expecting me.¡± The Guard jumped up from his chair and nodded vigorously. His hands moved to salute while his head ducked in a bow. Uncertain but clearly aware of Cole¡¯s identity, the Guard stopped his fumbled show of deference and went to a door in the wall of bars. Unbolting and swinging it open, the Guard ushered Cole deeper into the tower. All while the Noble squawked and protested this turn of events. Guiding Cole to a staircase, they went to the third floor and passed down a long hallway to a small office. Barely decorated and built for a Dwarf. Even without an occupant, Cole could guess the office¡¯s owner. The Guard gestured to a standard-sized chair. ¡°Wait here; I¡¯ll go find the Captain.¡± It didn¡¯t take long for Iron-Teeth to appear. Bags large enough to hold a month''s worth of exhaustion hung under the Dwarf''s eyes while his beard was greasy and matted. Cole suddenly wondered if Iron-Teeth had slept at all since their last encounter. Seeing Cole, the Guard-Captain gave a grunt of acknowledgment before sharing his bleak news. ¡°We found another body; follow me.¡± Without a word between them, the Paladin and Guard-Captain left the Tower and slipped down side streets. Finding themselves in a small shrine hidden away in an alley. A quartet of nervous-looking Guards blocked the alley¡¯s entrance, and the shrine itself was watched over by Cat-Eyes and a bandaged Darvy. Hidden between great buildings and unmarked on any common map, the Shrine was a small but cared-for thing. A crude but recognizable likeness of Saint Marin sitting in a wooden shack decorated with simple offerings and talismans. Aside from the brutalized corpse splayed out across the altar, it could be any Begger Shrine. Dried blood covered the cobblestones, and the smell of cold death mixed with refuse in the alley. Softly, Cole reached the body, the nervous Guards and Officers letting him pass. Maybe twenty five in age, the Victim was a woman with a flat nose and brown hair. Bloody lips were split in an incongruous smile while glassy eyes stared vacantly at the Shrine¡¯s tarpaulin roof. The Victim''s chest was a mess of gore, and she leaned against the Shrine altar like it was a makeshift chair. Gripping onto his medallion, Cole called on his power. Unnaturally pale blue eyes turned silver as holy light coursed through him. Looking into the victim¡¯s eyes, he caught glimpses of his last moments. It was a confused jumble of thoughts and soporific sensations. Broken only by the muted pain of something sharp at work. Blinking away the sensation, Cole asked the watching Iron-Teeth. ¡°She was drugged? Were all of them?¡± Nodding, Iron-Teeth elaborated. ¡°Aye, everyone Mina could examine was not right when they died. I¡¯ve shaken the local Dens and Dealers with little result. Did you find anything else?¡± Cole got into his haunches and looked at the body. ¡°No, whatever was used made my Corpse Sight near useless.¡± Cat-Eyes scoffed then. ¡°Mina could have told us that? Aren¡¯t you supposed to be a Paladin? Shouldn¡¯t you have found more?¡± Ignoring the prickly Catblooded woman, Cole mused on his vision. Her death barely hurt, yet she was also conscious.¡± Iron-Teeth grunted. ¡°Yes, all the previous ones Mina examined were awake but not aware of the pain when they died.¡± Standing up and looking over the body more closely, Cole remarked. ¡°It''s odd. Drugging the victim, so they don¡¯t feel any pain almost seems merciful. Yet if that was the goal, why not knock them out? That would be easier than keeping the victim in this sort of stupor, right?¡± Darvy made a noise of confirmation from beneath his bandaged mouth. Seeing the injured guard, Cole winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the teeth.¡± Darvy simply shrugged, pointed at Iron-Teeth, and made a noise half-way between a laugh and groan. Cat-Eyes sighed in annoyance. ¡°Before they fixed his jaw and put in the new teeth, he said matching the Captain would be ¡®fun.¡¯ His word, not mine¡± Scratching at his chin, Cole nodded to the corpse. ¡°Having the victim awake for their death must have been important. Why, though? If the goal was cruelty, why drug them? If the goal was mercy, why let them be awake? It''s a strange middle ground that makes little sense.¡± Stroking his ill-kept beard in thought, Iron-Teeth asked. ¡°Magic or madness seems the only reason I can think of. Is there some kind of Undead that does this? Anything you¡¯ve encountered, Paladin?¡± Shaking his head in the negative, Cole asked. ¡°I need more details before I can say. How many dead, and is there anything linking them?¡± Cole bent down and, with a gloved hand, prodded the torn-open victim as Iron-Teeth listed off the details. ¡°This will be our tenth victim. Each killed the same way. Drugged, and their heart ripped out with bare teeth. Each murder has been at a shrine, grave, or similar. We found the first victims about a month ago but only realized there was a pattern by the fourth, nearly a week later. They all were fairly young humans. In their twenties and thirties. Each with a legitimate reason to be out at night and near where we found them.¡± Frowning, Cole ran his finger along the victim¡¯s chest cavity. A sharp blade had been used to open the chest, and then teeth were used to pull the heart free. Pointlessly messy and gruesome. While there were Undead who favored eating their victims'' hearts, Cole had a hard time seeing any of them being responsible. It was time to take a closer look. Shutting his eyes, Cole took a deep breath and drew upon his soul''s connection to the divine. Whenever Cole used his Paladin abilities, he caught glimpses of the Aether. A side effect of using the tiny piece of divinity enmeshed in his soul. Now that he was using those abilities more, Cole was starting to think of new ways to use them. If he could peek into the Aether by accident, why not do it on purpose? Cole opened his eyes and saw the Shrine as a spirit might. The residue of a violent death clung to the corpse like filth. While the sickly-sweet taint of a drugged mind muddied the Aether¡¯s waters. Creating a murky mix of thoughts and feelings. Sifting through this, Cole hunted for the telltale signs of Dark Magic. But try as he might, no hint of Necromancy or Undeath stained the Shrine. Yet it wasn¡¯t as if the Aether had been scrubbed clean. The Shrine was coated in faith and desperation like so many layers of paint. While the city''s larger mix of emotions and actions pressed down on the small alley like some tidal current. Even in that tumultuous environment, the touch of Darkness should have been clear. Deciding to try a different approach, Cole looked for more mundane traces. Magic left marks in the Aether, but so did emotion. Pushing through the cloying cloud of drugged-death, Cole hunted for anything abnormal. To his surprise, it didn¡¯t take long. Small traces of something strange hid within the Aetheric mess the murder made. Flickers of carnal joy, obsessive devotion, and white-hot rage. The contradictory but commingling emotions were sickening in their intensity. Pulling back, Cole let his Aetheric Sight end. Sucking in lungfuls of air he swore still tasted of sickly-sweet murder, Cole fell to his knees. The experience had been more than he expected, but for a first real attempt, it had worked remarkably well. Regaining his composure, Cole got up to see the nervous-looking guards staring at him. Iron-Teeth cautiously asked. ¡°What did you do?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°Tried something new. I think it might have paid off.¡± Cat-Eyes growled. ¡°Trying something new? You shuffled around the alley like a drunk while your eyes lit up.¡± looking at Darvy, she asked. ¡°Are we sure this guy is a Paladin? Shouldn¡¯t he be more¡­ impressive?¡± Darvy just gave her a confused look and made a noncommittal grunt. Cole ignored the City Warden, uncertain of what he¡¯d done to annoy her. He hadn¡¯t even injured her; why was she so eager to cut him with words? Gesturing at the body, Cole said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find a trace of Undeath.¡± Cat-Eyes looked like she was about to say something, but Iron-Teeth cut her off with a glare, and Cole continued. ¡°But I caught bits of strange emotions. Powerful, twisted feelings clinging to this place.¡± Iron-Teeth made a noise of understanding. ¡°You think they belonged to the Killer?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°Yes, but that''s part of what¡¯s so odd. Undeath tends to mute or simplify emotions. Vampires are the only breed of Higher Undead who retain anything like the complexity I¡¯m seeing. And I find it doubtful the killer is a Vampire. There are no fang marks, and they¡¯d have set off the Wards just as much as Natalie.¡± A slightly more receptive Cat-Eyes came over towards the body, wrinkling her nose at the smell she asked. ¡°So what does that mean?¡± Cole looked at the beatific face of Saint Marin, splattered with frozen blood. ¡°It means either this is some kind of Undead I¡¯ve never encountered or even heard of. Or the killer is a living being.¡± As that idea settled in everyone¡¯s mind, Cole looked to Iron-Teeth. ¡°Why did you think the killer was undead in the first place? Morri told me about the bite marks. Was there anything else?¡± Darvy and Iron-Teeth looked at each other, their eyes widening in dawning horror. Iron-Teeth snarled. ¡°Jag me! Mina saw the bite marks, and she assumed it was Undead. We were doubtful at first since the killings happened on hallowed ground. But Mina said some Undead can bypass those protections.¡± Frowning in sudden concern, Iron-Teeth asked. ¡°We¡¯ve been operating under that assumption for more than a week. Are you saying Mina was wrong?¡± Cat-Eyes stiffened at that. ¡°What else eats raw human flesh? Even Pale Orcs cook their victims first!¡± Collecting his thoughts and organizing them into a proper arrangement. Cole spoke. ¡°It''s an easy assumption to make. Priestess Mina is young, barely ordained but trained by a retired Rest-Bringer. She saw what her training taught her to see. I wouldn¡¯t blame her for making a good guess with the given information.¡± ¡°And City-Warden?¡± he continued, a sad note to his voice. ¡°The answers to your question are as varied as they are horrible.¡±Cat-Eyes blanched at that, her tanned skin losing a few shades of bronze at the implications. Cole barely noticed, he just kept processing everything he¡¯d learned. ¡°The wards caught Natalie but nothing else. Those wards are specifically designed to catch Undead. If it was possible to bypass the wards enough to blatantly kill people for months, then the City would have long fallen to the Blood Duchies. The Refugees are magically marked and can¡¯t spill innocent blood without alerting the entire Tenth Temple. It seems almost impossible for this to be an Undead.¡± Grinding his replacement teeth together so hard they almost produced sparks, the Guard Captain asked. ¡°So we have nothing? All this effort for jagging nothing?¡± Shrugging, Cole gestured at the body. ¡°No, we eliminated possibilities. It''s progress, we can focus on other options now.¡± Frowning, Cat-Eyes asked. ¡°You still want to help us? But if this doesn¡¯t involve Undead, you have no jurisdiction?¡± Cole smiled weakly. ¡°These people had their Time cut short by something twisted. Living or undead, the killer cannot go free. Also, I swore an oath to Captain Iron-Teeth and others besides. I¡¯ll lend my skills to this investigation as long as you will have me.¡± Iron-Teeth¡¯s face tightened in a grimace. He didn¡¯t particularly like the Paladin, but saw no reason not to accept his help. ¡°Fine, we¡¯ll put you to use, Sir Paladin. Do you have any suggestions?¡± Looking at the desecrated shrine, Cole asked. ¡°The use of holy places strikes me as important. Perhaps there is a pattern there. Would you mind sharing the details of each location?¡± Iron-Teeth quickly rattled off all ten locations, the victims, and their professions from memory. His people''s knack for memorization turned to grim use. Cole listened intently. Marking the locations in his mental map of Vindabon. Each murder had happened somewhere secluded but sacred. Family tombs, shrines to minor Saints, that sort of place. The seventh murder, the one at the Vindabon cemetery, was the only one at a prominent location, but that seemed to be an abnormality. As Iron-Teeth finished his grim list, Cole noted an absence. ¡°What about the murder near the docks?¡± he asked. Thinking back to the alley he¡¯d visited upon first arriving in Vindabon. Master Time¡¯s influence had practically dragged him there, and he¡¯d sensed the pall of violent death upon it. But Iron-Teeth hadn¡¯t listed the location. The Guard-Captain looked at Cole with confusion. ¡°What murder? None of the killings have been close to Doxwerva?¡± The eastern part of the Canal went through multiple districts of Vindabon. With the Twelfth District, Doxwerva, taking up much of the port. The alley had been right near the border of the Twelfth and Thirteenth districts, and Cole wondered if the Doxwerva Guards had kept information from their Weinstadt counterparts. ¡°Strange, I sensed something¡­ unpleasant there when I first arrived.¡± Cole mused out loud. Privately wondering what other reason could Master Time have directed him there if it didn¡¯t connect to the murders. Darvy then made a loud exclamation and started waving his hands. Once all eyes were on him, he fumbled through his belt and pulled out a notepad, and frantically scribbled something onto it. Cat-Eyes grabbed the pad then and read Darvy¡¯s note. ¡°Apparently, there¡¯s a recently discovered under-building near where the Paladin is describing. The Lieutenant has assigned people to guard the entrance and keep it clear of riff-raff.¡± Confused, Cole asked. ¡°Under-building?¡± Iron-Teeth looked at Cole as if he was daft. ¡°An Under-Building. You¡¯ve never heard of them?¡± At Cole¡¯s confirmation, the Guard Captain explained. ¡°Vindabon is an old city. It survived the Bloody Centuries, but not without difficulty. Some of the magic used to attack and defend the city was vicious. Whole sections of the city were flooded, crushed, burned, and worse. The old Vindabonites didn¡¯t have the time to properly rebuild, so they often just built right on top of ruins. Some of those ruins are still somewhat usable; we call them Under-Buildings.¡± Cat-Eyes piped up then. ¡°They¡¯re usually not much more than a partially caved-in cellar or something, but smugglers, thieves, and other Rats make good use of them. We try to document and seal them off to keep the city safe.¡± Darvy grabbed his note-pad back from Cat-Eyes and scribbled something more. Annoyed to act as translator, Cat-Eyes took the pad back and sighed. She gave the lieutenant a look but still read the message. ¡°Darvy wonders if the Under-Building connects into the warrens.¡± Shrugging, Darvy pantomimed a bunch of tunnels crisscrossing each other in a mess of underground chambers. Cat-Eyes swatted at the Lieutenant with his own notepad. ¡°Horse shit, the Warrens aren¡¯t nearly that complicated.¡± Darvy gestured wildly at the surrounding city, pointed downwards, and grunted. Cat-Eyes snapped back. ¡°I¡¯ve helped map them, you idiot! Sure they connect into the new and old sewers, but they aren¡¯t some sprawling catacomb. Like you and every other gullible fool seem to believe.¡± Feeling a little confused, Cole asked. ¡°Warrens? Does the city have a catacomb system?¡± Darvy shook his head in confirmation while Cat-Eyes interjected. ¡°No, not really. Some of the Underbuildings are interconnected by some tunnels, but it''s not like the Necropolis of Parilux or the Eternal City. The Warrens and Under-Buildings are just ruins criminals and beggars sometimes use, not a burial place.¡± A tunnel system under the city. The idea sent shivers up Cole¡¯s spine. He had years of experience navigating caverns and the like. But that didn¡¯t mean he didn''t hate every second below the surface. To be crushed under stone and buried alive¡­ Few fates seemed worse to an Immortal. Still, he couldn¡¯t let fear consume him; Master Time had pointed him toward this Under-Building for a reason. Darvy and Cat-Eyes started to squabble about the nature and size of the Warrens, so Cole returned to the body. Hoping to do one final check in case he missed something. Iron-Teeth watched him, the Dwarf half-lost in worried thought. Taking a moment, Cole shut the victim¡¯s eyes and started to pray. The victim¡¯s soul wasn¡¯t trapped in their body; dying on hallowed ground had released them. Still, this empty, desecrated husk deserved something to note its life. Cole had been fully committed to investigating the murder when he first arrived. Shutting away that hunter side of himself, he looked at the victim as a person, not as a possible clue. Thin with a face unnaturally aged by stress, she looked like someone who¡¯d lived a hard life. Still, it had been her life, not something to be stolen in such a bizarre and terrible fashion. Looking at the grisly wound where the woman¡¯s chest should be, Cole could understand why the people of Vindabon had been so quick to assume a Monster had been behind this. A cursed Werecreature or an Undead horror. The idea something unnatural and warped was behind these murders could be as comforting as it was terrifying. Years as a Paladin had taught Cole the ugly truth of the world. There are Monsters, truly terrible things born of dark magic and fell curses. But any evil of Demonic or Necromantic origin could be matched by mortalkind if given the opportunity. More than once, Cole had been called to towns and villages supposedly plagued by some Undead. Only to learn petty hatred and cruel stupidity were the cause of whatever deaths the town had experienced. Looking at the dead woman propped against the shrine, Cole had a sense the same thing was happening in Vindabon. Only on a much larger scale. The killer had intentionally or accidentally bought themselves a pair of scapegoats in the form of the Werefolk and Undead. Distracting and delaying the Guards as the city¡¯s people grew more and more restless. In those towns beset by fictional undead, Cole had seen more than one angry mob. In Vindabon, a metropolis of more than a million citizens, mob violence could cascade into bloodshed comparable to entire wars. Natalie had seen the Angler prepare his net, and Cole could now guess to why. Grimacing, Cole looked at the murder site. Ten people, six women and four men brutally killed at holy sites, and still no good answers as to why or who was responsible. That thought stuck in Cole¡¯s head, something about it itching at him. Six women and four men. Ten victims, each killed one after another. Six women and four men. Each murdered at a shrine or similar. Six women and four men¡­ Bolting upright, Cole whirled to face Iron-Teeth. ¡°Captain, what was the order of the victims?¡± he asked, a sudden intensity to his voice that pulled all eyes onto him. Iron-Teeth listed the victims in order. Woman, man, woman, man, woman, man, woman, man, woman¡­woman. A clear pattern for eight victims, only broken for the last two. Except, what if the pattern wasn¡¯t broken? This murder had happened in a Beggar Shrine, somewhere far off the beaten path. Only discovered hours later by chance. What if there was another victim? Their body left somewhere hard to access or among people unlikely to report it. Turning to Cat-Eyes, Cole asked. ¡°Are there any religious sites in the Warrens? A shrine to an obscure Saint? Some sunken or broken temple? Anything like that?¡± Confused, the City Warden answered. ¡°No, not to my knowledge. Why?¡± Comprehension dawned on Iron-Teeth¡¯s face as he understood Cole¡¯s line of thought. ¡°You think we have missed a victim? A body down in the Warrens.¡± Nodding, Cole let out a deep breath. If the pattern held true and Cat-Eyes was correct, they had another problem. A hidden shrine down in the Warrens was not something worshippers of the Pantheon would build. But it was something followers of a Darker God might. Running a finger along his axe, Cole said. ¡°Yes, and I think Vindabon might have a Cult problem.¡± Book II: Chapter 10: Hellspawn

Chapter 10: Hellspawn

¡°Demons, Hellkyn, Beyonders, Soulshit, don matter what ya call ¡®em. They made of pain and wanna share it. Pity any blighter in der path. But tat not the worst part. Worse part of ¡®em is you know someone crazy, stupid, or evil set the thing loose in the world. Demons be born from our sins and brought ¡®ere by more sin. Prolly for no gooda reason than some coin or more inches on a cock. Jag em and the stupid jagging cults who call em.¡± - words of (self-taught) Exorcist Fergus of Fallstone.
Cole and the Guards waited in the alley until a Mortuary coach could arrive and take the body. Alia Cat-Eyes found time to make a few derisive comments on Cole¡¯s inability to magically preserve the victim like Priestess Mina apparently could. The Paladin paid them little mind. Cole had enough on his mind discussing his findings with Iron-Teeth. ¡°I¡¯m going to investigate the Under-Building and see what''s down there. Will you and your subordinates help?¡± Cole asked. Iron-Teeth ground his metal replacements together as he contemplated the options. ¡°Aye, let me get word to the Court, and I¡¯ll grab some of my subordinates with any tunnel fighting experience.¡± Frowning, Cole asked, ¡°You think this will come to steel that quickly?¡± Grunting, Iron-Teeth shrugged. ¡°Normally, no, but you seem to be a magnet for trouble. I¡¯d rather have my boys and girls bored and over-equipped than dead.¡± Cole almost smiled at that. ¡°It¡¯s part of being a Paladin. The Gods send us where we are needed, and where we are needed is rarely pleasant.¡± They followed behind the Mortuary Coach, returning to the Guard Tower. As its unadorned bulk came into sight, Cole remembered the Noble and his words. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you told people we don¡¯t think the killer is Werefolk?¡± A flicker of something that might have been anger crossed the hardy dwarf Captain¡¯s face. ¡°I can¡¯t. The City would rather keep people ignorant than be wrong. The policy is to never share information on something like this till it''s resolved. Normally I agree¡­ but every night, I have another incident. I had a leatherworker on Krute street with some Wolfblood whose windows were all smashed in. We¡¯ve had to break up four different bar brawls. Each started because someone took exception to some visiting Werefolk drinking with them. And just this Freeday I had a Werefolk laborer beaten bloody and left for dead not a hundred meters from the Guard Tower.¡± Frowning at that worrying news, Cole gained more respect for the overworked Guard-Captain. As the Mortuary Coach pulled away, heading for the Temple. Cole followed Iron-Teeth into the crowded waiting room. While the members of the crowd had mostly changed, its size hadn¡¯t diminished. Apparently, word of the newest murder had somehow reached the gaggle of petitioners and complainers. Their shouts and mutters had reached new unpleasant heights. Someone recognized Iron-Teeth, and soon the entire crowd was facing Cole and the Guards. A hundred different questions came from as many throats. Some sane and reasonable, but most were not. ¡°Did you catch the Mutt responsible?¡± ¡°Is it my Daughter?! Oh God, please tell me it''s not my daughter!¡± ¡°Who¡¯d you bribe to get this job, you jagging Dwarf?¡± ¡°I know who the killer is! It''s Jormy on Vilgar Street! He smells like a wet dog and stole my laundry!¡± ¡°The Dark Moon Cult of the Mutts is to blame! They are taking our young folks¡¯ hearts as offerings to the Lord of Gore!¡± Despite his small stature, Iron-Teeth had no problem pushing through the crowd. A boulder rolling through a forest, cleaving through taller trees as if they weren¡¯t there. Quiet rage and brutish resolve cowed even the most obsessed citizens. As the City Watch members and Cole passed through the crowd and reached the Guard Desks, a curious sound echoed over even the crowd''s murmur. ¡°Pitoo¡± A glob of phlegm splattered onto Cat-Eye¡¯s left foot. No one moved as a hundred sets of eyes went to the City-Warden and to a red-faced man who¡¯d spat at her. Shaking with rage, the man pointed at Alia. ¡°Dis is why they haven¡¯t caught the monster who killed my son! One of dem is in the Guard! Dey been corrupted by a sneaking catblood!¡± Shutting his eyes, Cole let out a slow even breath as an incredibly tense silence fell over the chamber. The mourning father and an expressionless Cat-Eyes stared each other down. Mind-warping grief and righteous outrage sparking off each other. Looking at the angry citizen, Cole saw the blotchy face and twitchy temperament of someone not entirely there. Loss had taken much of this man¡¯s sense. He¡¯d become a burning match ready to ignite the entire city. Cole looked to Iron-Teeth, whose own expression was set in a stony glare. The Captain¡¯s fingers rested on his weapon¡¯s hilt, every muscle in his body taut with tension. Iron-Teeth had his hands tied in what he could do to resolve this matter. Cole was not so easily trammeled. Taking another deep breath, Cole called upon the spark of divinity enmeshed with his soul. Calling on the Cold of Entropy was taxing and dangerous. A little mundane cold wouldn¡¯t be too hard. Exhaling a small stream of icy vapor, Cole felt the temperature in the chamber drop drastically. Icy Fog plumed out from Cole, the end of his cloak dripping with frost as the bitter chill billowed out from him. The pressure of all those eyes fell upon Cole as he pulled back his hood and showed his brutalized face to the nascent mob. Like a single creature, the crowd moved away from him, seeing his shredded face and piercing eyes. Unsheathing his axe, Cole spun it in both hands, the weapon transforming into a mighty halberd as he did. Slamming the butt of the weapon onto the cold stone and sending a wave of mist out from him, Cole swept his gaze across the simmering mob. ¡°I am Paladin Cole, servant of Master Time. Honor and Steel sworn Rest-Bringer. Tasked with protecting the living and the dead. Hear my words now and know the weight carried by them!¡± Spinning slowly so his iron-hard expression was visible to all, Cole held up his halberd. ¡°You all have been poisoned. Sacred grief has curdled into hate and fear. You seek to shed blood and dishonor your fallen loved ones through this foolishness.¡± Once he made one full rotation, Cole let his eyes fall upon the red-faced man. A grieving father consumed by his worst instincts. Meeting the man¡¯s eyes, Cole could literally see the man wilt under the intensity of the Paladin¡¯s stare. He deserved compassion; a parent should never bury a child. But he also deserved a rebuke; lashing out like he had was foolish and dangerous. In a cold clear voice, Cole continued his pronouncement. ¡°I¡¯ve come to Vindabon to help end these Murders. Innocent people have had their lives stolen by a Monster loose in this city. Despite what you have heard, no evidence points to the Werefolk. I know you are afraid; it is natural to be in the face of such cruelty. But I ask you to not let that fear overwhelm you. Just tonight, we have made key discoveries in hunting this Monster. Know the City Watch has not been idle, and neither have the Gods. A debt of stolen time will be settled soon. That is my oath.¡± The chill Cole summoned started to fade, and he shrunk his halberd back to axe size. He¡¯d need to blood it again soon, but his increased practice with the enchantment was paying off. The cowed mob parted for him and the Guards. Cole and the others left the waiting room and quickly ascended the stairs. Entering a meeting room with chalkboards covering the walls and reams of paper crowding the main desk. On one chalkboard, a crude map of Weinstadt was drawn. A number of red Xs marked places Cole guessed were murder sites. This must be the proverbial war room for the 13th District Watch. Flatly, Iron-Teeth asked. ¡°What the Slag was that?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°You aren¡¯t allowed to tell them what we¡¯ve uncovered. I am under no compulsion.¡± Clenching his jaw, the Guard Captain growled. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I should thank you or punch you, Paladin.¡± Taking off his cloak and setting his pack down, Cole sighed. ¡°Believe me, I¡¯d rather have kept my identity secret. But I¡¯ve seen enough angry mobs to see a spark point. A grieving father mad enough to attack a City Guard? Nothing good would have come from ignoring it or the Watch interfering.¡± Iron-Teeth sneered: ¡°Are you now some expert on mob violence? Your actions could easily make things worse.¡± In response, Cole pulled up his tunic slightly to reveal a long scar running from the right side of his stomach to his back. ¡°Pitchfork.¡± Next, he parted his hair to show a trio of marks on his scalp, ¡°thrown rocks.¡± Then he rolled up a sleeve and pointed to a burn covering his elbow. ¡°Torch¡± ¡°I¡¯m no expert in mob violence. I just have plenty of experience with it.¡± Cole remarked in an atypically deadpan tone. Darvy tried to whistle, a hard thing to do with a bandaged mouth. Creating a strange slobbering noise that dissolved into a groan. Alia Cat-Eyes just looked at the Captain and shrugged. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the dumbest thing to do. Better to try and fail to smother that fire than let it blaze out of control.¡± Cole exchanged a nod with the City Warden. Perhaps coming to her defense diluted the venom she seemed to reserve for him. Iron-Teeth seemed unconvinced but wasn¡¯t willing to push the matter. Sitting down at the large table, Iron-teeth grabbed a blank scrap of paper and started writing something on it. It didn¡¯t take him long, and he folded it up and handed it to Darvy. ¡°Take this to the Tenth Temple. I want them to be kept informed of things. Hopefully, with our Paladin here helping, they¡¯ll still be willing to aid us even if the killer isn¡¯t Undead.¡± Darvy nodded and took the note. Cole rifled through his pack and found the three books for Natalie. ¡°Lieutenant, if it''s not too much hassle, would you mind taking these to the Temple as well.¡± Darvy took each volume and gave Cole a curious look. A little embarrassed, Cole looked away. ¡°They are for Natalie, a gift.¡± An amused snort escaped the Lieutenant, but he took the books all the same and left. Iron-Teeth pointed to Cat-Eyes then. ¡°Grab Fargo and see if Temir is up for some fun. Then get equipped for our Warren dive.¡± The City Warden nodded and went to work. Iron-Teeth then looked at Cole with deadly serious eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what''s down there. It could be nothing. It could be the Adversary and the Knights of Apollyon, for all I know. So before we go, I need to know you will do everything in your power to keep my boys and girls safe. They¡¯ll die to protect one another. Can I expect the same from you?¡± Cole had to suppress a smile. Oh, if the Captain only knew. ¡°Of course.¡± Nodding, Iron-Teeth jabbed a stubby finger toward the door. ¡°Washroom third door to the left. Make any preparations you need.¡± Cole grabbed his pack and left the Captain. In the small washroom, he got to work. The bandolier, as Emma the Smith had called it, fit some of the powders and potions he¡¯d bought well enough. While the armor slipped on surprisingly easily. The leather jack needed a little adjustment on his shoulders, but it still fit him well enough. While the pants seemed perfect. Flexing in the light armor, Cole was impressed with how well the Smith had guessed his proportions. Feeling the armor, Cole was surprised at how comforting its weight was. The strips of metal mixed with the tough leather was something he could get used to. The armored boots fit decently enough. Cole just needed to pad the heels a little. While the gauntlets slipped on like¡­ well, a glove. Before he fastened them in place, Cole took the gauntlets off and set up one of his new tricks. Strips of alchemically treated leather covered his hands. Binding his amulet to his left palm and his spark-stone to the right. Leaving enough of each exposed to bloody them if need be, Cole pulled the gauntlets on. Divine ice in one hand, magical fire in the other. Leaving the washroom, Cole followed the sound of voices into an armory of sorts. Cat-Eyes, Iron-Teeth, a large Orcblood Cole vaguely remembered, and an unusually tall dwarf greeted him. The Orcblood paused, putting on the chainmail he¡¯d been messing with, and went over to Cole. Grinning, the Orc slapped Cole on the shoulder. ¡°It¡¯ll be good to fight by your side, Paladin! If you hit these hellscum half as hard as you hit me, then we¡¯ll be good as grass!¡± Glancing at the still visible knob of swollen flesh on the Orcbloods forehead, Cole realized who he was talking to. ¡°Ah¡­ Sorry about the¡­ low blow.¡± The Orcblood just laughed. ¡°Ha! You hit me like a falling boulder. No hard feelings. I saw your woman. I¡¯d have agreed to wrestle a Troll if she asked.¡± holding out a hand, the gregarious Orcblood introduced himself. ¡°I¡¯m Temir. Fiver Guard and Watch division Crier.¡± The tall Dwarf bowed to Cole. ¡°Forgive Temir¡¯s manners. I¡¯m Tenner Guard Fargo. It''s my honor to serve with you, Sir Paladin.¡± Cat-Eyes holstered a small Crossbow and snorted. ¡°Stop brown-nosing, Fargo. He¡¯s more a priest than a noble.¡± Iron-Teeth strapped a buckler to his arm and said. ¡°Cat-Eyes has patrolled the warrens before. As have I and Fargo. Temir was a miner before he signed up. I assume you know how to tunnel fight Paladin?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°What type of environment should I expect? Water? Bad Air? Unstable tunnels?¡± Cat-Eyes made a chuffing noise, not unlike a feline coughing up a clot of fur. It took Cole a moment to recognize it as laughter. ¡°Yes, yes, yes, and probably more. The city tries to collapse most of the tunnels so any existing ones are probably dangerous and maybe trapped.¡± at Cole¡¯s raised eyebrow, she shrugged. ¡°The Rats don¡¯t take kindly to people messing up their smuggling routes. The workers hired to break the tunnel get double pay for a reason.¡± Temir hefted a war-pick, testing its weight. ¡°Hey, Captain, are we gonna get extra for this?¡± Iron-Teeth slapped on a helmet with a chain veil designed to cover his large beard. ¡°If we find anything useful, I can put in a request. If we don''t, the quill-pushers will ignore anything I say.¡± Soon they were all equipped and ready. Iron-Teeth had his Krazkrak and a buckler. Cat-eyes managed to tuck half a dozen daggers into her leathers while also carrying a small crossbow and quiver of bolts. Temir seemed comfortable with his war-pick and a backup sling. Fargo had the heaviest gear, a large shield, and a short spear. Cole had his magic and his axe. They set off, returning downstairs to find a slightly dispersed crowd. Cole took that as a good sign. Even more so when some of the onlookers whispered faint words of encouragement and prayers for their success. Once outside the Guard Tower, they loaded up into a horse-drawn wagon. Iron-Teeth apparently didn¡¯t like the message a squad of heavily armed guards in the middle of the day sent. So a little subtlety was required. Leaning back against the canvas covering of the wagon, Cole stretched his muscles. It had been a while since he¡¯d had a proper fight. Which still might not happen today, but Cole somehow doubted it. Too much was pushing for this endeavor. Fate or whatever else you wanted to call it was at work here. Looking at Cole¡¯s axe, Iron-Teeth asked. ¡°That¡¯s Dwarven steel. What Hold?¡± Cole unsheathed the weapon. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t actually know. It was a gift from a friend.¡± Cole had found the axe in the armory of Thoas Citadel several lives ago. Pavlos, the Castle Manei Wraith, had said it suited him. Iron-Teeth held out a hand then. ¡°May I see it?¡± Shrugging, Cole held the haft out to the Dwarf. Iron-Teeth looked it over, a frown deepening with every flick of his dark eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t recognize the make. The enchantment is a strange one as well. It¡¯s like someone took a modified shifter enchantment and tweaked it with something else.¡± As the Captain handed it back, Cole was a little impressed. ¡°You are a Rune Smith?¡± Iron-Teeth scoffed. ¡°My Grandmother was; she taught me some basics, but I never had a knack for it.¡± Looking at his trusty weapon, Cole mused. Maybe when he had time, he could get a proper Rune Smith to look at it. But as the wagon came to a stop, he doubted spare time was a resource he¡¯d have much of. The five-man squad filed out of the wagon, and instantly Iron-Teeth¡¯s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. They were at the alley Cole had visited earlier, but no guard stood watch. ¡°I thought Darvy said Yakobson¡¯s shift wasn¡¯t over yet,¡± murmured Iron-Teeth. Gripping his strange dwarven weapon, the Captain led them into the alley, looking for signs of the missing guard. They found none. Sniffing the air, Cat-Eyes remarked. ¡°He only left recently. Maybe Darvy sent him home since we were coming?¡± Grunting, Iron-Teeth said, ¡°Maybe, but something has my beard itching.¡± Leading the group, Iron-Teeth found the entrance to the Under Building. It was a tan tarp covering part of a brick wall making up one of the alley¡¯s sides. Iron-Teeth pulled the tarp free, exposing a surprisingly large fissure. Running from maybe waist-high on the wall down to the intersection between cobblestone and brick before ending maybe half a meter into the alley. It looked like someone had taken a giant knife and rammed it into the meeting point of the wall and floor. Iron-Teeth grabbed a lantern from his belt and lit its wick. Oil-fed flames magnified and focused by glass shone a light down into the entrance. Squinting, Cole looked into the crack and saw a dusty basement, not unlike any other you¡¯d find in the city. Iron-Teeth carefully entered the crack, using the small step ladder someone had left at its mouth for that reason. Once he was certain the floor wasn¡¯t about to collapse, Iron-Teeth gestured for the rest to follow. Once inside the Under-Building, Cole was forced to reassess his initial impression. Strange columns typical of the Old Empire held up the building above them. While a muddy morass of filth and dust covered the floor in a thick carpet. Forced to hunch down slightly, Cole guessed the room was supposed to be taller. Centuries of caked muck washing into the Under-Building had added to the floor and taken from the chamber''s head-room. With his Krazkrak, Iron-Teeth gestured to one wall where a half-buried arch stuck up through the filth floor. The remnants of a doorway. Cole and the rest of the party ducked under the arch and moved to the next room. As he did, Cole reached up to the arch to steady himself. His hand came away wet and warm. Looking at his hand, Cole expected fresh blood to cover his digits. Nothing more than some dust and grime coated them. Confused, he looked to where he touched. It had been on the other side of the arch, above the lip, not somewhere easy to see. Squinting, Cole saw a small strange glyph carved into the old stone. Cole recognized the glyph. Cursing, Cole got his axe ready and called to his fellow explorers. ¡°Someone¡¯s down here, and they know we are here.¡± Pointing to the glyph, Cole hissed. ¡°Motion tracking spell, anchored to the archway.¡± Cat-Eyes came over and squinted at the mark. ¡° Fire-in-Iron! How did you catch that?¡± Looking at his hand, the phantom sensation of warm blood was still at the edges of his perception. Cole remarked. ¡°Paladin trick.¡± looking at Iron-Teeth, he asked. ¡°Should we get reinforcements? The element of surprise is gone?¡± Cole could see the hesitation and worry on the Dwarf¡¯s face. It didn¡¯t take Iron-Teeth long to make his decision. ¡°Whoever or whatever is down there, if we give them time they might get their own reinforcements or clear out. We push forward but keep a clean route back if we need to retreat.¡± Nodding, Cole reached into his bandolier and grabbed four vials of paste, and handed them to the Guards. ¡°Ground up Glowcap with some additives. We can use it to mark our way.¡± Taking the fifth vial, Cole dabbed some of the paste on his finger and smeared the arch they¡¯d come through. A few seconds later, the mark he¡¯d made started to glow with pale-green phosphorescence. The Guards nodded appreciatively. Iron-Teeth grunted. ¡°Putting the chalk, I brought to shame.¡± The group kept going, ducking into different chambers of the Under-Building. Cole tried to decipher the original purpose of the structure but had little luck. Some doorways were caved in, or entire rooms were buried in the acrecia of ages. Leaving them with one clear path, one they tried to make even clearer with glowpaste and lantern light. Hunched over, Cole became increasingly certain that Smith Emma had made a good call in trying to keep him as a repeat customer. The floor was slanting down slightly and turning into an urban bog of cold mud. Every step was accompanied by a wet sucking sound as the floor tried to hold them captive. Fargo and Cat-Eyes both occasionally had to stop and gag at the smell. More than a thousand years of mildew, mold, and more had filled these chambers. Cole barely noticed. A decade spent in tombs and among rotting corpses had inured him to even the worst smells. What was bothering him was the amount of noise his party was making. The constant splashing and sucking of their steps combined with the clatter of metal completely stripped any subtly from their approach. The sensor glyph almost seemed like overkill. Finally, they reached what seemed to be the end of the Under-Building. A smashed-apart wall led down a long narrow tunnel. Maybe twenty meters in length, the long stretch was gouged from the rock. A natural fissure widened by flowing water and crude tools. Ankle-deep stagnant water pooled in the tunnel, the runoff of the Under-Building sluicing into the fissure. Poking his head into the tunnel, Iron-Teeth glanced around. A crack echoed down the tunnel from its shadowed end, and something ricocheted off Iron-Teeth¡¯s helm. The Captain pulled back and roared, ¡°AMBUSH!¡± From down the tunnel, voices answered him with screamed curses and half a dozen more projectiles. The party crowded away from the entrance as the barrage missed them. Glancing down to the muddy floor where he¡¯d heard an impact, Cole saw a crude crossbow quarrel sticking into the muck. More curses and shouts echoed down the hallway, and Cole guessed one of the ambushers had fired early out of nerves or bad equipment. Saving Iron Teeth¡¯s life. Rolling his shoulders, Cole rasped to his companions. ¡°I¡¯ll go first. The less time we give them to reload, the better. Give me fifteen seconds once I pass into the fog; if I don¡¯t give the all-clear, get reinforcements.¡± A confused Temir asked. ¡°What fog?¡± In response, Cole nicked his thumb, blooded his spark-stone, and stepped into the tunnel. Casually as if he was skipping a stone, he tossed a ball of fire down the hallway. It struck the water covering the tunnel floor. Steam boiled up, and Cole channeled cold into his axe and swung it in a great downward arc. Sending a wave of frigid air out from him. The mix of heat and cold in the tight tunnel conjured up a wall of fog. Confused shouts and screams echoed down the hallway. Even with the echoing confines and muffling fog, it was enough to tell Cole where his enemy was. Axe in hand, Cole surged down the hallway, repeating his trick to thicken and extend the fog bank. Faster than even he thought possible, he exploded out from the other end of the fog and into a small room filled with seven terrified-looking Arbalists. Two dropped their weapons and ran. Two more charged him with crude cudgels. The rest just stared at him in surprise. Cole didn¡¯t bother to dodge the first cudgel-wielders, instead blocking the club with his axe. Dwarven steel met chipped wood. The steel won, cleaving through the cudgel with ease. Gently or as gently as he could, Cole kicked the first attacker. The (former) cudgel-wielder went skidding along the ground, creating a wake in the ankle-deep water as he went. The second attacker hesitated but still tried to hit Cole. The Paladin caught this strike on his new gauntlet. Hakon-steel rang like a bell, but the strike did little other than tickle his wrist. Cole was about to counter-attack and break the clash when a spear slammed through his second attacker''s back and right into Cole¡¯s chest. It clanked uselessly against the metal plate sewn into his leather jack. The betrayed cudgelman looked at Cole with confused eyes as he died. He toppled forward, Cole backing away as the spear retreated through the dying man. The spear-wielder, a rat-faced man with bleary-red eyes, hissed in annoyance at his failed ambush. Backpedaling from Cole, Rat-face hissed. ¡°Who the jag are you? You aren¡¯t one of the Watch?¡± Stoney-faced, Cole asked. ¡°You killed your comrade¡­ Just to get a cheap blow at me?¡± Rat-Face didn¡¯t answer, just repeating his question. ¡°I SAID! Who the jag are you?!¡± Sighing, Cole whispered more to himself than Rat-face. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t know anything important.¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Rat-Face barely got out the word ¡°What?¡± before Cole¡¯s axe found the side of his skull. The opportunistic bastard died fast, his brains spilling out into the filthy water. Four of the attackers had fled, two had died. Leaving one of their own behind. The one Cole had kicked. Lying back up in the cold water, the ambusher tried to suck in breaths. Desperately hoping to reclaim some of the wind Cole knocked out of him. Taking the time to inspect the first attacker, Cole saw he was a boy. No older than sixteen, by the look of it. Greasy hair, a lovely collection of boils and pox scars combined with dirty rags to show a rough life. The boy looked up at Cole; his eyes were bloodshot and bulging. Pink-flecked spittle foamed at the edge of his mouth as he tried to speak. ¡°M-m-monster!¡± A muscle twitched in Cole¡¯s jaw; it had been a while since someone called him that to his face. Looking over at the teenager, Cole asked. ¡°What are you doing down here, boy?¡± Eyes darting wildly, the boy said nothing. Before he could get any ideas, Cole put an armored boot on the boy¡¯s chest. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you, but I will if I need to,¡± he said. Turning back to the dissipating fog, Cole called. ¡°All clear, I have a prisoner.¡± Splashing, sucking footsteps echoed down the tunnel, and the Guards appeared. They looked over the scene, and Temir let out a low whistle. Looking at the pinned ambusher, Temir chuckled. ¡°Yeah, I know how that feels.¡± The boy went rigid, staring at the Guards, new fear in his eyes. Cat-Eyes joined Cole and frowned at his prisoner. ¡°Just a kid? Couldn¡¯t grab anyone important?¡± Cole gestured to the corpses and the far wall of the chamber, where a half-collapsed doorway sat. ¡°They barely hesitated to run, and one even stabbed his own comrade to get me. I don¡¯t think any of them were real leadership material.¡± Iron-Teeth had gone over to the remains of Rat-Face and swore. ¡°Slag me, is that Ivo?¡± Temir joined him and rolled the corpse onto its back. ¡°Bit hard to tell, but yeah, I think it is? Thought he died months ago?¡± For Cole¡¯s benefit, Iron-Teeth elaborated. ¡°Ivo here was a Gutter Runner for the Three-Knives, a local gang. Had a falling out with his boss maybe four months ago, and no one had seen him since. Thought he was dead, hoped to use his corpse to nail the boss.¡± Looking at the prisoner, Cole asked. ¡°Would you be willing to shed light on this?¡± the prisoner spat at him. A fat glob of mucus arced up and fell into the water nearby, failing to reach Cole. ¡°Guess not. Could you at least tell me your name?¡± More silence and a second failed attempt to spit on Cole. Sighing, the Paladin put a little pressure on the boy¡¯s ribs. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make a message. ¡°If you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll be forced to call you Spitlicker in lieu of a name.¡± Spitlicker grimaced and rasped, ¡°Dill, my name is Dill.¡± Cole eased off the pressure. ¡°Dill, my friends and I are here looking for a shrine. Would you guide us to it?¡± Dill spat another glob, this one almost hitting Cole¡¯s knee but instead splattering onto his own rags. Cole had expected as much; he¡¯d asked the question to get a reaction. Having called up the cold, he could see flickers of strong emotion dance through the air. On the word shrine, squirts of fear and surprise escaped Dill and told Cole all he needed to know. Gesturing at the prisoner with his frosted axe, Cole said. ¡°There is a shrine down here; Dill knows about it, probably where it is.¡± Eyes wide, Dill squeaked ¡°The fuck! I dinna say anyting!¡± Reaching down, Cole gripped Dill by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him up. Ignoring his shrill protests, Cole asked. ¡°Head deeper?¡± Iron-Teeth rubbed the new dent on his helm. ¡°Yeah, but Fargo, you go first. Keep that shield up for future attacks. Paladin, you watch the prisoner and support Fargo. I¡¯ll stay in the middle with the light. Temir and Alia watch our rear.¡± After Cole freed the souls of the two dead ambushers, they got in formation and trudged down the next tunnel. Cole half-dragging Dill behind him as they did. Using Dill¡¯s protests and painfully clear body language to navigate the tunnels, they headed deeper. The Warrens seemed to be a strange mix of buried buildings, man-made tunnels, and caves produced by geological upheaval. As they passed through an unnaturally smooth cave of wet basalt, Cole had a newfound respect for the old Vindabonians. The destructive power thrown at their city all those centuries ago had created features you¡¯d expect near a dormant volcano, not below a large metropolis. The path they took seemed to be heading gradually downwards while arcing in on itself. Creating a large uneven spiral into the earth. As they went deeper, the darkness of the caves seemed to grow thicker. The lantern¡¯s light not reaching as far or as clearly. While strange sounds echoed in the deeps. The clatter of falling stone or scratch of claws against stone. Faint, barely detectable things at the edge of awareness. It had the guards twitchy; occasionally, one of them would whirl at a sound or stop to listen at something no one else could hear. Something was clearly wrong in these tunnels. Gripping onto Dill¡¯s collar, Cole whispered. ¡°How did you get involved in this mess?¡± Dill narrowed his blood-shot eyes but didn¡¯t respond. Sighing, Cole said. ¡°How old are you? Fifteen, sixteen? I¡¯ve seen older people turn away from dark paths. I¡¯d be happy to help you do the same.¡± Sneering at Cole, showing surprisingly bad teeth for someone his age, Dill hissed. ¡°I don¡¯t want your help Monster. You and the rest of this whole fucking city can drown in shit.¡± Just then, in the flickering light of Iron-Teeth¡¯s lantern, Cole saw two things in Dill. First was the maddened gleam of fanaticism in his eyes. A sick yellow gleam Cole had seen before in the broke and the foolish. But that was secondary to the wriggling *something* moving under the left side of Dill¡¯s face. Fast as he could, Cole slammed Dill against the nearby tunnel wall, sending a shower of dust and stagnant water onto them both. Cole channeled his power into his amulet and smashed it and his palm into Dill¡¯s left cheek. Dill screamed as a worm-like shape big around as Cole¡¯s thumb pressed against the skin as the silver light of Divinity cooked it. The startled Guards turned to Cole just in time to see Dill¡¯s face bulge and flex as the worm-thing tried to break free. With a sound like ripping leather Dill¡¯s skin split as the worm pushed into the open air. Waxy and pale, the worm¡¯s head was bulbous and dripping with blood. To Cole¡¯s utter horror, the worm¡¯s face was that of a human infant, bloated and sickly, weeping some horrid fluid from compound eyes. Cole gripped the worm and pulled; unnatural flesh burned and broiled under his silver-flame grip. Thrashing and spitting, the worm screamed. A noise like a baby''s wail crossbred with a rat¡¯s squeal. Its cry was met with a horrified shout from Temir and sputtering curses from Iron-Teeth. Cole paid none of the sounds any attention as he yanked. Centimeter by torturous centimeter, the worm came free from Dill. The boy¡¯s eyes had rolled back into his head, and he shook in a seizure. Easily a meter long, the thrashing, screaming worm-thing died in Cole¡¯s grip. Silver fire licked along its body, and Cole met its dying scream with a furious roar of his own. The blue-white light of Master Time grew into an inferno as the worm became greasy ash. Dropping the shriveled, burned corpse into the watery muck at his feet, Cole spun around, casting the silver light across the tunnel. Slithering tendrils of shadow retreated from the light exposing the unnatural dark for what it was. Clouds of inky spores hung in the air. Swallowing up the light and mimicking natural darkness. The spores recoiled from the light, slithering through the air in half-formed cloud-limbs. Holding his light high, Cole looked at Dill, the boy was still twitching, and brown fluid dripped from his mouth and nose. Other shapes wriggled within him. An ugly death had Dill in its clutches. Gripping his axe, Cole whispered a prayer and begged forgiveness. With one clean stroke, he drove his weapon into the boy¡¯s brain. Ending his suffering. Holding up his spark-stone, Cole shot a spray of flame onto the fresh corpse. Sheathing his axe, Cole held out both hands. Red fire and silver light bathing Dill¡¯s body. Soon nothing but a smoldering mess of bones and ash remained. Smoke wafted through the tunnel, and a chorus of wet coughs escaped the Guards. A wide-eyed Temir stared at Dill¡¯s body and then at the retreating tendrils of shadow-spores. Fear, deep and primal, filled the Orcbloods eyes. ¡°Moons of the Homeland! What was that?!!¡± Holding the silver light up, Cole answered. ¡°Hellspawn, life contaminated by a Demon¡¯s presence.¡± Looking down the tunnel, Cole felt a shiver make its way up his spine. The yawning dark of the carved rock looked like the gullet of some ancient horror. If Hellspawn were loose in the Warrens, then the situation was much worse than he¡¯d thought. As the slithering black of the shadow-spores danced at the edge of his light, Cole felt his stomach drop. They¡¯d been breathing those spores for maybe an hour or more. Calmly, coldly, Cole asked. ¡°Do you love your home?¡± The confused and scared Guards seemed nonplussed by the question. Unsheathing his axe, Cole continued speaking. ¡°Normally, I¡¯d ask you all to return to the surface and gather reinforcements. But I can¡¯t risk that. We¡¯ve all been exposed to the spores. As long as the Demon lives, our very breath will be poisonous.¡± Iron-Teeth gripped his weapon tight. ¡°What are you saying, Paladin?¡± Glancing over the guards, Cole elaborated. ¡°Without magical support and with your current equipment. Facing a Demon and its Cult is incredibly dangerous. Retreating would be the wisest course. But we cannot. The shadow-spores in these tunnels are a form of Hellspawn. Mundane mold turned into something dreadful by the Demon. As long as the Demon lives, we cannot risk spreading the spores to the surface. Once it is destroyed, the spores will start to wither and die. Basic alchemy and even mundane healing will be enough to cure us then. Till then, none of us can retreat.¡± Dull horror spread through the Guards as they started to understand. A horrified Iron-Teeth said. ¡°This is a suicide mission.¡± Fixing him with that cold iron stare of his, Cole corrected the Dwarf. ¡°It might be. Much will depend on the Demon''s strength and the size of its cult. I will do all in my power to ensure you survive. But I cannot offer any guarantees. So let me ask you again. Do you love your Home? Are you willing to fight and die so others might live?¡± The Guards exchanged looks with each other. A sort of morbid solidarity formed between them. Cole could almost see the resolution forming in each of them. Retreat meant certain death by Cole¡¯s axe or the spore¡¯s contagion. Pushing forward offered a slim possibility of life. The exact circumstances needed for the most insane acts of bravery. Without another word, they set off. Cole and Iron-Teeth lighting their way with natural and divine flame. The tense silence born of reaffirmed duty cracked when they reached another junction. The tunnel split in two. Both clotted veins beneath the earth. Both going in different directions. Without Dill¡¯s leaking emotions to guide them, they had to rely on different tactics. Cat-Eyes peered down one of the tunnels and hissed, ¡°It smells¡­ wrong.¡± Cole stepped behind her and asked. ¡°Like an empty smell? Something there you can sense but is somehow missing?¡± A little surprised, she looked at Cole and nodded. ¡°How did you-¡± The sound of scraping stone echoed down the tunnel in question. A long low shriek of metal on rock reverberated through the cavern. Grabbing Cat-Eyes and pushing her back, Cole stepped into the tunnel. Holding up his amulet, he stoked it''s light and sent silver beams down the tunnel. Milky diseased eyes reflected the light. Each belonged to an emaciated humanoid figure. Clad in loose rags and carrying scavenged weapons, a dozen cultists filled the tunnel. Calling out to them, Cole bellowed. ¡°A darkness has taken this place; each of you is infected. Lay down your weapons, and let us help you.¡± A reedy, scratching voice answered. ¡°See! The Gods abandoned us. Treating us like vermin. Now they send an exterminator!¡± Frowning, Cole replied. ¡°The Gods have not abandoned you. They send one of their agents to help those who need it. Clearly, you are all in ill health. Please let me help you.¡± A rattling laugh filled the tunnel, and one of the Cultists stepped forward. Covered in old bandages and armed with a shovel, the speaker identified himself. ¡°I know the help your kind provides. You bring fire-and-iron to the innocent. Robbing us of what little succor we can find in this cursed world!¡± Muffled, warped voices murmured in agreement. The speaker gestured his shovel at his followers. ¡°Each and every one of us was born in this city and abandoned by it. We were outcasts, dredges, the people you call scum! Driven into Warrens because no one else would take us! Well, we found a new home and a new faith down here! We won¡¯t let you take that away from us!¡± A chorus of weak cheers answered that last pronouncement, and Cole decided to prod for more information. ¡°This new faith, who do you follow? Who has earned your devotion? How have they done this?¡± The speaker waddled forward, his bare feet dragging through the filthy water coating the tunnel floor. ¡°The Buried Knight, our protector, and savior! He¡¯s given us a home, a place safe from those who cast us out! Fed us and kept us when no one else would. Made us a family! Made us his children!¡± A gob of spit sailed from the speaker''s mouth as he ranted, hitting the water near Cole. In the pale light of his amulet, he swore he saw the gobbet slither away. Living in these tunnels would do all manner of terrible things to a body. Couple the usual diseases and parasites with the mutative effect of Demons, and the result would be all manner of horrors. Cole seriously doubted if any of these people could be saved. Still, he had to try. ¡°What does this ¡®Buried Knight¡¯ wish of you in return?¡± the Paladin asked, hoping to extract any more information about the Demon. The Speaker sneered, his face splitting into a wide rictus showing blackened teeth and pale gums. ¡°All he wants is for others to join us. We collect the outcast and downtrodden in his name. Bringing them into the fold, joining our family!¡± Family is a potent offer to those with nothing or close to it. Cole could feel the Guards growing tense behind him, matching the twitchy energy of the cultists. Things would escalate any second, but till then, Cole needed to keep gathering information. Knowledge is power, and that power might provide a crucial edge in preventing disaster. Gesturing at the cultists, Cole asked, ¡°All of you feel betrayed by the city? Why? Why do you see no other option than living in these dark caves and breathing in its poison?¡± Jaundiced eyes bulging with sudden anger, the speaker shook his shovel and yelled. ¡°My flock were once criminals, beggars, runaways, and worse! Until I found them and brought them to the Buried Knight. Down here, we aren¡¯t poisoned. We are immersed in his blessing. We drink from his essence and are never hungry. Our flesh strengthens, and our faith only grows! My flock needs no other option, for they have all they could ever need in the Buried Knight¡¯s embrace!¡± Smashing his shovel against the tunnel wall, the Speaker, or Sheperd as he seemed to think of himself, continued his rant. ¡°We are happy down here! Happy away from the treachery and deceit of the surface! And we will not let you take that happiness from us!¡± Splashing footsteps came from behind the Guards, and Cole gritted his teeth in annoyance. The clang of the shovel on stone, it had been a signal. Screaming madly, the cultists charged down the tunnel while a second group burst from the intersection behind the Guards. A pincer maneuver aided by the tight confines. Growling, Iron-Teeth snapped out commands. ¡°Temir, Fargo guard the rear. Cat-Eyes, pick off who you can. Paladin, with me.¡± Unsheathing his Axe, Cole let out a sad sigh. He didn¡¯t want to kill these people. But he saw no other option. He couldn¡¯t fight sloppily and try to spare the Cultists. Doing that would put Iron-Teeth and his subordinates at risk. Even if he could somehow disarm or dismantle the attackers, they were probably already dead. It would take the best magical healers to help someone as infested as they seemed to be, and even then, success would be uncertain. These cultists were the walking dead, just not the type Cole was used to. The first cultist, a mad-eyed woman with greasy, patchy hair and a series of lesions, came at Cole. She was coming low, a crude spear made from a broom and kitchen knife aimed at Cole¡¯s gut. With a prayer on his lips, Cole brought his axe down and split her skull. Poor food and hard living had thinned her bones, and the killing blow was near instantaneous. Or at least that¡¯s what Cole told himself. Besides Cole, Iron-Teeth forced a Cultist back with his buckler while his Krazkrak found the Cultist''s knee. As the Cultist tumbled to the ground, a crossbow bolt went through his neck. Cat-Eye¡¯s freeing Iron-teeth to shove forward and bash his buckler into the gut of another Cultist. Cole helped finish this one off. The pair of Guard-Captain and Paladin worked in a surprising concert. Cole¡¯s height and reach let him sweep over Iron-Teeth¡¯s head while the stout dwarf broke anything trying to get past Cole¡¯s guard. Cultist after cultist fell to the group''s blades. Weak and armed with little more than scrap, they proved no real threat. By the seventh or eighth kill, Cole found himself pleading with his enemies to surrender or at least run. ¡°Please don¡¯t make me do this! You can¡¯t stop me, so why try? Run and live another day. Please, I don''t want to kill you.¡± They didn¡¯t answer with anything other than howls and shrieks. The shapes of worms and worse crawled and danced beneath the Cultist¡¯s skin. Raised into some unnatural fury by Cole¡¯s light. Wherever his silver beacon shone, it drove the Cultists mad. The things inside of them reacting to a God¡¯s power and trying desperately to escape. Heart heavy with guilt, Cole dared not snuff the light. Fearing what the shadow-spores, or worse, might do without the blue-white light to hold them at bay. The Cultists saw Cole as a source of pain. Whatever warped shape their minds had taken seemed set on removing that source of pain. But try as they might, the Cultists were little more than summer rain hoping to melt a mountain. They might succeed in an eon, but Cole wouldn¡¯t give them that chance. With axe, flame, and holy light, he butchered the Cultists. They died quickly, the few strikes making past his guard unable to penetrate his armor. By the time the last ruined body tumbled to the cavern floor, Cole felt nauseous. This hadn¡¯t been a fight. It had been a massacre, one he¡¯d perpetrated. Pulling his attention from the morass of bodies at his feet, Cole checked on the rest of the squad. Temir and Fargo had made short work of the flankers. Using a similar strategy as Cole and Iron-Teeth to cleave through the dozen or so attackers. Fargo was busy cleaning gore off his short-spear while Temir was trying to bandage up the few cuts he¡¯d gotten in the fight. Trying to distract himself, Cole went over to Temir and laid a hand on a bad gash. With a whispered word, Cole channeled silver light into the wound. The bleeding stopped as fresh pink skin stretched over the cut. A wave of light-headedness hit Cole then. At his insistence, Morri had taught Cole some of the most basic bits of magical healing. Decrying the idea of a Paladin unable to use this most basic use of holy power. So Cole had taken the opportunity to learn a simple skin-mend and to better summon Holy Light. Stumbling back, Cole nearly tripped over a corpse. Temir stretched his forearm and looked at the new skin, and gave Cole a thumbs-up. The pull of the motion tore the new skin slightly. A few drops of fresh blood dripped from the barely healed wound. It seemed Cole had much to learn about healing magic if he wanted to do it properly. Recovering slightly, Cole got to work freeing the souls of each killed cultist. This use of his power came much easier. Flowing from his soul, clear and free. Where the healing magic had been stunted and uneven. Grimly, Cole knew he¡¯d have plenty of time to practice on himself later. Nearby, Cat-Eyes helped Temir finish bandaging himself up before asking. ¡°This is serious stuff, isn¡¯t it? A real demonic cult right here in Vindabon.¡± Finishing a prayer, Cole nodded. ¡°Yes, yes, it is.'''' Going back to his morbid work, Cole noticed something about the bodies. The Shepherd, the speaker for the cultists, was not among them. The leader of this sad lot had left them to die. A spike of rage flared in Cole¡¯s heart. The hypocritical bastard had condemned his followers. Fleeing for his life while those who trusted him died. The guilt and self-loathing coating Cole¡¯s mind boiled away as wrath burned bright. ¡°Their leader left them, probably fleeing deeper into the tunnels. This isn¡¯t over by far.¡± snarled Cole. Moving over to one of the fallen Cultists, Cole shut his eyes. They needed information, he couldn¡¯t risk leading the Guards to their death or letting this Demon run rampant. So to add to an already terrible situation, Cole decided on a distasteful option. Grabbing the corpse, Cole pulled up his power. What he was about to attempt was borderline heretical in the eyes of the Temple. Whispering an incantation in Saint¡¯s Speech, Cole started to free the trapped soul before him. But halfway through the ritual, Cole stopped, catching the soul right on the precipice of freedom. Bits of soul-stuff leaked into the Aether, streams of memory and emotion visible to Cole. Reaching out with his amulet, Cole touched a vaporous mass of thoughts and feelings. Snippets of memories played in Cole¡¯s mind like scenes from a disjointed opera. Proving the ugly truth known by the Priest of Master Time and Necromancers alike. The dead could talk if you knew how to ask. *The rumble of hunger. The quiver of frightened hands. The roar of a mother¡¯s rage* *Fear and Triumph mixed together as a stolen prize was secreted under baggy clothes* *Shadows and damp darkness. Safe from the world and among fellow rejects* *Promises of food and family. Found deeper in the Warrens. Deeper we must go* *Sickness? What Sickness? Why are people hurting? What did they find down there?* *Something is down here with us. Itching at the corners of our mind. Does it love us?* *Taken into the heart, brought before the Ancient. They say it loves us? Why does its love hurt?* *Family is everything. Happiness comes from the Family. Never leave the Family* *Family is everything. Happiness comes from the Family. Never leave the Family* *Family is everything. Happiness comes from¡­ Where am I? Who am I?* Gasping in pain, Cole quickly completed the ritual. Freeing the discordant soul and trying to shake its memories from him. Touching a raw soul was an ugly experience. Rattling Cole¡¯s mind with alien memories and possibly damaging the soul in question. Cole wouldn¡¯t have even attempted this if the circumstances were mildly different. A lesser threat or a less contaminated soul would have had Cole balk at the idea. But desperate times called for desperate measures. A strange murmuring sound came to Cole through his fog, and it took him a moment to realize it was Cat-Eyes calling his name. Blinking away his nausea, Cole looked up at her. ¡°What did you just do?¡± she asked, a hint of worry mixed in with her choler. ¡°You¡¯ve just been staring at that body for like five minutes?¡± Sorting through the memories and his own shredded thoughts, Cole found his words. ¡°I was talking with the dead.¡± swallowing back some bile, Cole pointed at the bodies. ¡°These cultists¡­ they are poor, homeless, those who fell through the city''s cracks. They found something below the city, or maybe it found them. Either way, it¡¯s twisted their minds.¡± Just then, one of the corpses near Cole started to twitch. A stunned Fargo pointed at it with his spear and asked:. ¡°Is he alive?¡± Cole shone his silver light on the body and revealed the truth. Things slithered and crawled beneath the surface. Trying to break free from their now-deceased host. Setting his jaw, Cole spat a gout of flame at the corpse. Whistling shrieks like a baby''s cry came up from the body. Muffled by the dead meat and soon cut short by searing heat. Looking at the other bodies, some of them also starting to twitch, Cole bared his teeth in frustration. They didn¡¯t have time to properly cremate all the corpses. The Shepard knew they were coming, and so would the Demon. Gesturing down the tunnel, Cole said: ¡°We need to keep moving. Try not to touch the bodies. They need to be cleansed but destroying the Demon has precedence.¡± The group headed down the tunnel. All of them were shaken by what had happened. Despite the extenuating circumstances, they¡¯d just butchered nearly thirty people. Not soldiers or monsters. But homeless and unwanted dregs caught in a Demons grip. Victims of society''s failings and then a Hellkyn¡¯s hunger. Sad lives cut short by people who were supposed to protect them. Iron-Teeth was holding up best. He¡¯d been a soldier before joining the guard, seeing more bloodshed and senseless death than most people could imagine. Seeing his disturbed and disjointed colleagues, Iron-Teeth tried to provide some support to the others. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die. Neither do any of you. We gave those people every chance we could to back down, but they didn¡¯t. We could either let them kill us and keep doing whatever slagged-up shit they are up to. Or we could do the right thing and survive to fix this whole situation.¡± Looking at the Paladin, Iron-Teeth asked. ¡°You say their minds were twisted? These Cultists have been tainted, right? Could we have done anything to help them?¡± Cole thought back to the strange memories he¡¯d felt. The nervous mind of a beggar drowned beneath an obsessive overpowering will. Everything that person had been was crushed under the weight of an alien compulsion forced onto them. Shaking his head to rid himself of the dreadful cloying adoration the soul had felt. Cole answered honestly. ¡°No, probably not. Once a mind has been that warped, very little can be salvaged. Maybe with a decade of aid and magical healing, they could resemble normalcy. But that''s not accounting for the parasites. Their body and mind were falling apart. We¡­we just accelerated matters by a few months at the most.¡± Temir looked at his poorly patching skin, and his face paled. ¡°Uh¡­ is the same thing going to happen to us? Are we going to become like those poor bastards?¡± After a moment of thought, Cole answered. ¡°Not unless we fail. Mind-warping magic that intense needs time to work properly. While a decent healer should be able to remove anything that''s gotten into us this early.¡± With that small comfort in mind, they reached the end of the tunnel. It narrowed into a tight crack in the rock, barely large enough for a man to squeeze through. Iron-Teeth went first, his wide if short frame squeezing through with some effort. Cat-Eyes slithered through next, unbothered by the tight space. Fargo passed his shield through the crack before preparing to pass through. Before he could, a loud wet noise echoed down the tunnel they¡¯d passed through. It was met by another noise, then another. Strange popping noises like a water skin bursting. Shining his light down the tunnel, Cole¡¯s eyes widened as he saw the source. The parasites had broken free. Escaping their old hosts and now looking for warm meat. A wriggling carpet of cursed worms and other malformed creatures surged along the tunnel floor. Sliding through the water and muck, covered in rotten blood, they came in a wave of hissing, popping shrieks. Holding up his amulet, Cole roared, ¡°MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!¡± and dredged up more of his power. Flooding the tunnel with a tide of silver light, Cole felt icy vapor stream off his body as the light became blinding. The Hellspawns'' cries became pained warbling things. Their unnatural flesh burning in the holy radiance. Panting, Cole let the light settle back into its original brightness. Blinking away spots of brightness, Cole smiled upon seeing the Hellspawn were gone. Crumpled bodies dissolving into ash and offal covered the tunnel floor. Turning away from the mess Cole hissed at Fargo and Temir to get moving. Fargo took no more prodding and slipped through the crack, scraping his armor on the tight stone. Temir tried to follow after, his large bulk proving difficult to maneuver. A series of rattling calls pulled Cole¡¯s attention back to the tunnel. Shapes were moving in the mass of Hellspawn bodies. Not all of them had burned. Cursing, Cole tried to help push Temir through the gap with one hand while warding off the remaining Hellspawn. Covered in muck and gore, five or so things started pushing closer to Cole. They ignored the light, prowling closer like cautious wolves inspecting a potential kill. Each the size of a small dog, the Hellspawn reminded Cole of a centipede. Long tubular shapes covered in filth, supported by dozens, maybe hundreds of tiny rat legs. Their heads were vaguely insectoid, with eight beady eyes like that of a dead fish decorating a chitinous maw. Slithering through the shallow water, they cautiously moved closer as Cole summoned up another blast of light. The Hellspawn hissed and shied away from the light but did not die. Realization hit Cole then; the muck that covered the Hellspawn protected them. Just as Temir finally made it through the crack, one of the Hellspawn charged at Cole. Snaking along the tunnel floor on its rodent limbs, maw snapping in eager hunger; It went for Cole¡¯s leg. Cursing, the Paladin tried to kick the approaching Hellspawn. It easily dodged his blow and slithered around his leg, jaws snapping as it raced up his limb. Slightly panicked, Cole grabbed the Hellspawn with his amulet holding hand. On instinct, Cole pushed his power into the amulet and his hand. Instantly he lost all feeling in the hand as unnatural cold swallowed the Hellspawn. Twisted and mutated as it was, the Hellspawn had no defense against the Cold of Entropy. In a time measured in heartbeats, the Hellspawn froze to death. Its blackened icy-encrusted body shattered and flopped off Cole like so much icy rope. Wincing in pain, glanced at his hand. The reddish marks of frostbite covered his exposed skin. Using the Cold without any planning had been stupid. Arms suddenly gripped Cole¡¯s back, and he almost spun to attack them. But Cat-Eye¡¯s hissed voice stopped him. ¡°Keep them back; we will get you through the crack.¡± Cole obliged, sending gouts of fire and light at the Hellspawn as Cat-Eyes, Temir, Fargo, and Iron-Teeth dragged him through the crack. Not for the first time, Cole was thankful for his new armor. Having its leather and metal dragged across rough stone instead of his skin was a small blessing. Larger than even Temir, getting through the cleft in the rock was proving difficult for Cole. Cat-Eyes kept up a never-ending stream of yowling curses as she tried to get him unstuck. While he wanted to help, Cole knew he had bigger dragons to slay. The remaining Hellspawn had recovered from the death of one of their own and become bolder. Diving into the muck and stagnant water to avoid Cole¡¯s flame and refresh their coating. Neither light nor fire was doing much to keep them back. Slowly, tortuously, Cole moved through the crevice as the Hellspawn crept closer. Their hissing jaws snapped in unnatural hunger. Cole had died in many, many ways. Infested by Hellborn parasites was not one he wanted to add to the list. Finally, after a tortuous eternity, Cole slid free from the crevice, and the Hellspawn pounced. Their primitive minds realized prey was fleeing. Screeching, they tried to slither through the crack, but Cole met them with a stream of fire. Caught between cold stone, the Hellspawn shrieked and popped as they died. Panting, Cole looked to his spark-stone and the gash he¡¯d opened up on that hand to power his flame. One hand was numb and useless, the other bloody and scabbed. Things could be worse, but it could also be a lot better. Turning to the nervous-looking Guards, Cole asked Cat-Eyes. ¡°That smell, can you still smell it?¡± Cat-eyes wrinkled her nose in disgust. ¡°The absent one? Yeah, I can still smell it; why?¡± Summoning up his silver light and trying to force feeling back into his left hand, Cole gestured toward the unexplored cave awaiting them. ¡°It''s the Demon you are smelling. Your body can smell it, but your mind can¡¯t interpret the information. That empty smell is the mind trying to fill in the blanks.¡± A shudder went down Cat-Eyes, and she looked mildly nauseous at the idea. Cole knew how she felt; while the Demon was too far away for him to smell, he knew the unnatural odor of Hellkyn. Unsettling was a poor description of the experience, especially if you knew the source. ¡°If we follow the smell, it should take us to the Demon. Are you up to that, Cat-Eyes?¡± Cole asked. The City Warden looked into the pitch black awaiting them and swallowed. ¡°If you can kill it, I can lead us to it.¡± Amulet held high, Cole stepped away from the ash-covered crevice. With ice-touched fingers, he gripped his sheathed axe and let out a sigh. ¡°I can kill it, and if we¡¯re lucky, I can ensure it stays dead.¡± The Guards looked at each other, confusion writ upon all four faces. Still, they followed Cole and his silver light. The band of five headed into the belly of the beast. Steel at the ready, forlorn hope in their hearts. Book II: Chapter 11: Demon

Chapter 11: Demon

¡°Someone once asked me how I could callously kill those taken in by a Demon. Saying they were misled or manipulated. That they deserved a second chance. I just laughed and said what I always say when I hear such idiotic questions. ¡®Simple, I remember how my daughter died.¡¯ My little girl never got a choice, and neither did anyone else in Mygdonia. Our Dux sold us, condemning a thousand-score souls to save himself. Once the Hells get their hooks into you, there are no second chances. Only a question of how much suffering a person will unleash before someone like me kills them¡± - Maedion of Thrax, Sole survivor of Mygdonia and one of the first Inquisitors.
The group followed the absent smell, trusting Cat-Eye¡¯s nose to guide them. Cole had managed to get his fingers moving, the feeling wasn¡¯t totally back in his left hand, but it was a start. Idly Cole wondered if investing in enchanted gloves to protect against the cold would be a good idea. He could do without getting frostbite every time he used his most powerful ability. Of course, better control over the Cold of Entropy would yield similar results. While he was certainly more adaptable with his power than he had been. Cole still lacked the fine control he needed to truly call himself a Paladin. Around him, the Guards were physically alright but clearly shaken. Hellspawn were more than a little above their steel-price. Still, they had passed through two more caves without incident. The muck and stagnant water of the earlier tunnels giving way to coarse rock. These new caves were jagged hollows in the earth. Not carved by water or hands like previous ones but forged from tremendous destruction. Whatever battles Vindabon had fought in the Bloody Centuries had cracked and shattered the bedrock below the city. Leaving a bizarre and sprawling network of tunnels. As the group slipped through one chamber; whose floor was composed of cracked basalt, Alia Cat-Eyes made a noise of defeat. ¡°I owe Darvy a drink,¡± she said while smearing glowpaste onto a tunnel entrance. ¡°The Warrens are hells of a lot bigger than I thought.¡± Iron-Teeth grunted in agreement. ¡°We are deeper than any of the tunnels I¡¯ve patrolled. The city will need to send entire survey teams down here when we¡¯re done.¡± Frowning, Cole absorbed this information. Were the Vindabon patrols just that poor, or was more going on? Had these cultists found a new section of the Warrens? Sucking in a breath, Cole shivered. They were close enough he could smell the Demon. It¡¯s hollow odor, a wisp of something unnatural at the edge of his senses. Cole¡¯s teeth were clenched and his muscles tense at the sensation. The memories he¡¯d gathered seemed to say the Warren-Dwellers had found the Demon instead of summoning it, which made sense. Something like a Demonic summoning would have set off all manner of wards and watch-spells in Vindabon. Still, that left the question of the Demon''s origin. Maybe if it predated the city''s modern defenses it would have gone undetected? Or perhaps Cole was giving the Ten Temples a little too much credit. No spell was perfect; could the magic simply fail to account for things deep below the surface? As the group carefully moved down an angular crack in the rock, Cole continued to mull over the possibilities. The most obvious answer was this Demon was a survivor of the Bloody Centuries. Buried down here all that time until someone or something woke it up. Of course, other more¡­ exotic possibilities filled Cole¡¯s nervous mind. Down here in the dark with hundreds of tons of stone pressing in from all sides had the Paladin a little jittery. His mind conjuring up disturbing knowledge. Cole had heard stories of continent-spanning cave systems beneath the surface. The ancient home of the Dwarfs. An entire world hidden away and only accessible through ancient caves that stretched on for kilometers. A realm the Dwarfs called the Depths and spoke of with both awe and fear. Could the Demon be a resident of that hidden world? Only now clawing its way up through tons of rock looking for new prey? Called to Vindabon from its chthonic origin by the desire for new victims. An ancient terror now so close to the surface it could taste it. Something Cole would now need to face. Shaking his head vigorously, Cole pushed those thoughts away. He always tended to catastrophize when underground. Old fears feeding his imagination and making a stressful situation all that much worse. Looking around the tight stoney confines, Cole couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. Here he was hunting a literal Demon and looking for ways to make the situation MORE disturbing. Temir gave Cole an odd look. ¡°Something funny?¡± Cole shrugged and stepped over a fissure in the ground. ¡°I hate being underground. Scares me worse than almost anything. Yet I constantly find myself in tombs, caverns, and worse. The irony is thick enough to cut.¡± Oddly, Temir laughed as well. ¡°I get that. My Pops is a miner out west near Valstem. I did two years in the below before deciding I needed to get out. Hoped to find my fortune in Vindabon. Didn¡¯t find it, but managed to get a good job and some decent friends.¡± The Orcblood punctuated his remark by clapping Fargo on the shoulder. ¡°Even if some of them have an arm''s length of iron up their backside.¡± Fargo responded by making a rude gesture, a hard thing to do while holding a spear. Just then, a clatter of stone pulled the group''s attention to the darkness around them. Instantly weapons went up, and nervous looks were shared. Cole and Iron-Teeth shone their lights in the direction of the noise. Not far behind them was a rat. Not an unusual sight in the Warrens, except this one was the size of a large dog. A number of open sores covered its patchy pelt, and its eyes had the same milky look of the cultists. Opening its mouth, the rat started to speak. A high-pitched voice like a little girl echoed out from its maw. ¡°Why do you want to hurt my family?¡± Cole looked at Iron-teeth, and the Dwarf just gestured for Cole to take the lead. Slowly stepping forward, Cole asked. ¡°Your family?¡± The rat cocked its head to the side and spoke again. Its mouth didn¡¯t move, just opening to let the words fall out. ¡°We are happy down here. My family is safe and together. Why do you want to hurt my family?¡± Slowly, Cole pulled up his Aether Sight to get a peak at this ¡°rats¡± nature. Carefully like he was pouring water from a troublesome glass, Cole let a few drops of his power bloom. He¡¯d hoped to not go as deep as he had with the newest murder victim, just get a sense of this new threat. Instantly a wave of fetid miasma assaulted Cole. The smell of a rotten soul entangled with something unnatural. The rat appeared like a blob of oily tar. Roughly shaped like a rodent but bereft of all the nervous, jittery emotions seen in animals. In its place was naught but hunger and a sickening parody of love. Instead of a tail, the ¡°rat¡± had a leaking string of thoughts. Snaking away into the dark, leading back to some terrible source. Cole had seen enough. In one lightning-quick motion, he leapt at the ¡°rat,¡± his axe swinging for its head. The thing didn¡¯t even move, simply letting him lop off its skull. As the severed head tumbled down the slight rocky incline, its body started to spasm and thrash. It literally fell apart as it died. Bits of skin and muscle sloughing off. Turning into crusty black ooze as it collapsed. Until nothing but a misshapen skeleton covered in supernatural tar remained. At first, Cole was confused by the skeleton. Years of fighting Rattlers and tramping through tombs had given him a good understanding of bones. He¡¯d expected engorged rat bones, not what lay in a pile at his feet. While warped and bent, they didn¡¯t look anything like a rat. In fact, they almost looked like¡­ Whirling, Cole found the ¡°rat¡¯s¡± head. Rolling it with his foot so the face was looking at him. Cole prepared to strike again. The same small voice came from the disembodied head again. ¡°Why do you hate my family? We¡¯ve done nothing wrong; just leave us be!¡± Ignoring the words, Cole split the head in twain. False flesh melted away, revealing a child''s splintered but still recognizable skull. Squeezing his weapon so tight his numb fingers hurt. Cole felt new wrath rise in him. The Demon needed to die. It needed to burn, and Cole would happily strike the match. The Guards looked at the shattered skull, and Temir suddenly started to throw up. Fargo and Cat-Eyes rushed to his side and tried to comfort the large man. Bleary-eyed, Temir looked at the bones and then at Cole. ¡°Did¡­did you just kill a kid?¡± Picking up half of the skull, Cole whispered a prayer and let the silver light burn the demon¡¯s ichor from the skull. ¡°No, that child was long dead. I just ended the abuse of her remains.¡± Internally Cole decided to not elaborate on what he suspected had happened. No soul was attached to the bones, and he doubted the Demon would let such a commodity go free. Death had been the least of the poor child''s suffering. Crushing the bone and letting the powdered remains fall to the ground, Cole took in a deep breath. He could see/smell the ¡°rats¡± tail/trail slipping around and down the tunnel before them. The immaterial remnant was fast fading, but it told Cole enough. They were close, and the Demon knew they were coming. ¡°We need to keep moving; that was an attempt to distract us.¡± the Paladin said. With his right hand, Cole fumbled with his bandolier and pulled out a small vial. Removing the stopper, he downed its contents in one. Wincing slightly, Cole felt the concoction burn his throat. Putting away the vial, Cole felt the drug work its way through his system. A slight warmth expanded out from his gut and into his limbs. The stimulant mix he¡¯d taken was a nasty thing. The Alchemist had frantically stressed to Cole it would shred his liver and kidneys if used in the dose requested. Mixing multiple mundane and magical ingredients, the drug, colloquially known as ¡°Caps Last Stand,¡± would make Cole stronger, faster, more alert, deaden his pain and minimize blood loss. It would even last for three hours or so. A potent tool for a resurrecting immortal. Moving past the rat-child¡¯s remains, the group found their next path. One wall of the chamber had shattered, revealing an unnaturally dark interior. Holding up his Silver light, Cole grimaced as the ¡°darkness¡± slithered away. Revealing a strange chamber of curious make. Hidden in clouds of shadow-spores were strange boney arches and mottled stone. Pushing forward, driving back the thick spores, Cole glanced around the new cave. The walls and floor had a distinctly organic feel. Somehow reminding Cole both of an insect hive and a hollowed-out gourd. Carefully, Cole reached out to the oily black wall and touched it. He expected the damp moistness of living or once-living matter but instead was greeted by cold stone. Odd bumps and ridges defined the wall, and Cole thought about a merchant he¡¯d encountered once. The man had been selling bizarre rocks that looked like this cavern. He¡¯d called the stone ¡°Coral,¡± saying it was the ocean''s bones. Where coral was brightly hued or sickly white, these walls were pitch black. Drinking in light as much as the shadow-spores filling the chamber. Willing the light to shine brighter, Cole entered the chamber, the Guards watching his flanks. Stepping over the nobby, uneven floor, Cole pushed deeper. Every stride seemed to intensify the darkness, the shadow-spores thick enough to see unaided. The hellspawn mold crowded away from Cole but couldn¡¯t fully escape his power. Every second or so, a faint hiss would become audible as a tendril or cloud of shadow-spore was pushed too close to Cole and ignited. Raining small plumes of ash around the group. Temir looked back the way they came and was disturbed to see the darkness had swallowed it completely. ¡°Uh, do we know where we are going?¡± he asked in a whisper. Afraid to catch the attention of anything lurking in the shadow-spores. Cat-Eyes nodded. ¡°Aye, the smell is strong, even here. You all should be able to sniff it out pretty soon. Even with your shoddy noses.¡± There was an air of false bravado in Alia¡¯s words, the stress clearly effecting her. Cole could commiserate with Cat-Eyes. The Demon¡¯s stink was gnawing on his nerves. Some deep-set instinct Isabelle had managed to copy into his flesh on edge from the odor. Telling him something bad was nearby. Something that filled the air and Aether with its presence. He couldn¡¯t imagine how it must feel with the bestial senses Alia possessed. Slowly, carefully they crept through the chamber. Blind to everything not within the six meters or so Cole could illuminate. After maybe fifteen minutes, Fargo let out a pained curse and stumbled forward. Temir quickly grabbed him and looked to see what had tripped Fargo. A startled shout erupted from Temir as he pointed at the ground. Fargo had stumbled over a foot. Or at least something that looked like a foot. Bringing his light closer, Cole let it shine on the obstacle. A crumpled body lay sprawled on the floor. Deathly thin, the body was partially submerged in the black coral. Leaning down, Cole inspected the corpse. Only for its single uncovered eye to open. Milky white and sunken, the eye still somehow focused on Cole. Cracked dry lips parted, and the soon-to-be-corpse whispered a single rattling word. ¡°Family.¡± Stepping back, Cole looked over to other bumps and shapes in the chamber. They weren¡¯t random, but bits of bodies coated entirely in black coral. Some were human, and most were not. Rats, insects, and other vermin had ossified into an unnatural mass. Each lured here and consumed as the person Fargo tripped over was being. Clenching his jaw, Cole brought his axe down on the trapped Cultist¡¯s spine. ¡°Find peace in the next life.¡± Cat-Eyes shivered at the sight of the emaciated Cultist. So withered and starved she couldn¡¯t even tell the gender. ¡°What¡¯s this about families? Why do they keep talking about families?¡± Cole gently shut the Cultist¡¯s exposed eye and turned to her. ¡°Demons are born of suffering. They feed on it and are molded by it. Each Demon is ¡®themed,¡¯ if you will, after a different type of pain. This Demon is probably born of some pain related to family. Losing it, never having it, or something else entirely.¡± Whispering a prayer, Cole put a hand on the withered corpse and tried to free the soul within. Clumps of gray-green soul-stuff puffed out of the corpse in an uncertain stream. Normally a freed soul was like a cloud of silver smoke, billowing free into the Aether and fading into the Beyond. The Cultist in the Black Coral was being eaten mind, body, and soul. Their soul, a shredded sickly thing, matching their desiccated body. Cole hadn¡¯t just euthanized the cultist; he''d cut the Demon¡¯s meal short. Creeping through the dark, they found two more Cultists in similar shape. Giving them the mercy of steel, Cole felt disgust and hate bubble in his soul. Family is such a simple but powerful desire. Warped into a lure for easy prey. An utter perversion that Cole would not let stand. The Demon would die permanently. To that end, Cole started crafting a weapon. You could destroy a Demon, shred its essence, and cast it back into the Hells. But eventually, the Demon would reform, congealing back into existence, perhaps in a new configuration but still ¡°alive¡± if such a term could even be applicable in the first place. To truly kill a Demon, you needed to destroy and negate it. The ¡°easiest¡± way to do this was to hit the Demon with its bane. Concentrated and focused emotions opposite the Demon¡¯s nature. This Demon was related to Family or at least some toxic version of it. From what he¡¯d seen, Cole guessed the pain of an abusive or utterly enmeshed family had spawned this Demon. The emotions of a healthy, happy family would be its bane. Looking to the Guards, Cole started to prepare his weapon with little tact. ¡°Which of you has the best home life?¡± All four of them looked at Cole like he was crazy, then, after a moment, they pointed at Fargo. Confused, the tall(ish) Dwarf asked, ¡°Me? Why me?¡± Temir shrugged. ¡°You are married with two kids and another on the way. The only time you ever actually open up is to gush about your whelps.¡± Alia added. ¡°Yeah, and the Captain¡¯s married to his job. I can¡¯t seem to keep a girlfriend for more than a month. And Temir has slept with half the eligible women in the fucking district.¡± Smiling despite himself, Cole spoke gently. ¡°Do you love your family?¡± Fargo almost looked insulted by the question, ¡°Of course I do!¡± Nodding, Cole asked, ¡°Do they love you back?¡± Fargo actually laughed. ¡°I hope so. They let me stay in the house at least.¡± Cole gripped onto Fargo then, leaning down, so his eyes met the slit in the Dwarf¡¯s helmet. The silver light of Cole¡¯s amulet washed over them both as the Paladin spoke. ¡°I need you to think about your family, the emotions you feel for them. Your love, your affection, I need you to imagine your kids grown up and happy. Think about them being the best versions of themselves. Imagine the pride and joy you feel for them.¡± Confused, Fargo started to ask, ¡°Wha-?¡± Cole shook him slightly. ¡°Can you do that for me?¡± Uncertain but unwilling to question a Holy Knight, Fargo shut his eyes and focused. An unconscious smile split Fargo¡¯s face. As his mind escaped the horrid moldy lair, and returned to his family. Returning the smile, Cole pulled up his Aether sight and looked at Fargo. Streams of blue-green bubbles danced around the City Watchman. Each bubble holding flickers of happy memories, floating on a breeze born of laughter. Exactly what Cole needed. ¡°Good,¡± he said. ¡°You can stop now, but keep those memories close. When we face the Demon, I¡¯ll need you to bring them up at my signal.¡± Fargo looked confused, so Cole elaborated. ¡°I can use your emotions to hurt the Demon. Much like fire, sunlight and silver can destroy Vampires, those thoughts and feelings can kill the Demon.¡± Swallowing nervously, Fargo nodded. Cole clapped him on the shoulder and kept moving. That should be enough for what Cole had planned. In the previous Demons he¡¯d faced, Cole could either banish them or provide the needed emotions. But Cole¡¯s origin as a vat-grown abomination made his family-themed emotions either warped or utterly absent. While he¡¯d found companionship with Natalie, the emotions that relationship produced would be better used against a Succubus than this ¡®Buried Knight.¡¯ It took the group another hour or so of slow-moving to make it through the black coral caverns. They found and euthanized three more Cultists in the process. Each a ruined shell with a mutilated soul. The Demon¡¯s stink was potent enough for the entire group to now smell. The false-odor put them all on edge as they approached the heart of its lair. A heart now seemingly unreachable. The trail led to a solid wall of mottled black coral. Slightly concave and covered in a scale-like pattern, the wall lacked any seam or obvious portal. After maybe five minutes of prodding and poking, Cole decided brute force was necessary. Trading weapons with Temir, Cole swung the war pick with all his might. A crunch and wet splat reverberated around them as Cole punched a hole in the wall. Pulling the pick back, Cole held his light up. Sizzling smoke started to pour from the hole. Whatever he¡¯d exposed reacted to the silver light. As Cole prepared to widen the hole, the wall twitched. Bits of black coral fell away as the wall pulled back. A great moan echoed through the cave, and unnatural wind sucked into the newly opened cavern. Disturbed shadow-spores burned on the edge of the light as Cole held up his amulet to illuminate the newest chamber. The first thing Cole noticed was the bodies. Fifteen or so people sprawled out on the floor, each sallow-skinned and painfully thin. More cultists. These looked (relatively) healthier than the ones stuck in the earlier chamber. They shifted and pulled themselves up from the cavern floor like so many restless sleepers. Black gunk covered their mouths, and signs of disease riddled their bodies. Cole could see inflamed skin bulge and warp as the things inside the Cultists reacted to his light. Beyond the Cultists, another sight dominated the chamber. A massive humanoid corpse lay sprawled against the far wall. The chamber was maybe ten meters across, and the corpse was easily four meters tall. At first, Cole thought it might be an Ogre or similar consumed by the black coral, but that idea died quickly. Six-limbed and covered in dark chitin-like armor, the corpse was fused with the wall. Wing-like waves of growth stretched from its back and covered the cavern walls. Blinking in surprise, Cole realized he had it wrong again. The corpse wasn¡¯t attached to the walls. The walls had grown from it. Its vaguely insectoid wings stretched out into a protective shell Cole had disturbed. Numerous wounds covered the hulking corpse. Rents in its carapace that sucked in air and expelled flecks of the black tar. A fluid Cole knew to be a corrupted ectoplasm. Of all the wounds, none could compare to the massive bolt impaling the corpse. A tree-trunk-sized shaft of ancient wood stuck from the corpse. Cole could taste a gentle warmth coming from the giant spear. Powerful blessings had been laid on it. A power perhaps yet rekindled. They had found the Buried Knight or its husk, at least. Holding up his amulet, Cole willed it to brighten, shedding light over the Cultists and their false-god. Faint witch-light stirred in the Demon¡¯s empty sockets. One of its legs twitched, sending a shower of black coral flying. But no other movements came from it. Cole had once heard that even Dead Gods could Dream. Perhaps a crippeled Demon could still spread suffering? Out from between the Demon¡¯s legs, a new figure arose. Covered in the same Hellichor the Demon leaked was the Shepard. Wild jaundiced eyes blinked away the black muck, and a boney finger stretched out towards Cole. ¡°They come! They come to destroy our family! Stop them!¡± As one the Cultists charged forward. Unarmed and unarmored, they came in a tide of grasping hands and gnashing teeth. Reclaiming his weapon from Temir, Cole rattled off a benediction and plea for forgiveness. ¡°Master Time, protect our allotment. Master Time, forgive me for cutting theirs short.¡± The group met the charge. Their weapons flashing in the twin lights of Cole¡¯s amulet and Iron-Teeth¡¯s lantern. Cultists screamed and wailed as they died. Lacking even the meager weapons their predecessors had, they proved a bigger moral threat than physical. Soon the uneven chamber floor ran thick with clotted pus-filled blood. As Cole cleaved through another Cultist, he set his eyes on the Shepherd. The Cult Leader was on his knees, a rasping stream of alien words issuing from his mouth as his hands clutched at the black coral ground. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Cole pushed closer to the Shepherd and made a startling discovery. The Hellichor covering the Cult Leader wasn¡¯t coming from the Buried Knight. It was leaking from the Shepherd. From his eyes, mouth, ears, and nose. A never-ending stream of corrupted false-matter. Blackened, rotten teeth showed as the Shepherd smiled. Even through the screams and crashes of battle, Cole heard his words. ¡°I hear you, my God. I know what you wish of me. We are family. You share your soul; let me share my flesh.¡± Realization struck Cole, and he barreled through Cultists. Trying to reach the Shepherd in time. Yelling to the Guards, Cole said: ¡°It''s trying to possess the Leader! Keep the Cultists off of me!¡± Stalwart Iron-Teeth smashed another Cultist¡¯s head and followed after Cole. ¡°Hi-Ho! Breaking skulls I go!¡± he bellowed, falling back to the old Dwarven battle-chant as he killed. No matter the people, soldiers always found bleak levity in the face of death. Squeezing his axe tight, glad feeling had finally returned to his fingers. Cole started dredging up more of his power. The Dragon¡¯s share he¡¯d been saving for this moment. Channeling the divine energy into his amulet and then into his Axe, Cole willed silver flames into existence. Blue-white sparks flared from his weapon, the same power he¡¯d used when fighting Petar of Glockmire returned. Of all his powers, this was the only one Cole had failed to practice over the past few months. No matter how he tried, the soul flames he¡¯d called up then hadn¡¯t returned. Cole guessed they would only come to him when he was fulfilling his duty. A guess proven correct as they faced down the Cult Leader. Hellichor swirled along the Shepherd¡¯s body, covering his arm and congealing into a mantis-like blade. Black-coral shaped and sharpened by unholy will met dwarven steel coated in divine fire. A keening note echoed out from the impact. Cole could only watch as the Shepherd twitched and convulsed even as he swung his ¡°weapon.¡± Flesh ruptured and bones twisted as the Shepherd started to transform. Chitinous plates of black coral formed into a half-finished suit of armor while his other arm was encased in a second mantis blade. A second pair of stunted arms pulled free from the Shepherd¡¯s chest. His formerly sickly-yellow eyes hollowed out into solid black pits. Pools of hellichor gleaming with alien malice. Screaming in fury, Cole launched a gout of fire at the possessed Shepherd and swung his axe for its face. Stumbling back from the fire, the Shepherd caught the blow on his chin, and it splintered its jawbone. Blue-white sparks started to dance on the torn flesh, burning it away. Hissing in pain, the Shepherd-Demon gripped its jaw and pulled. With a wet splat, ripped off its own jaw. As the burning bit of bone and meat sailed away, Cole could see a fresh set of mandibles replace it. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Demons, like most Spirits, lacked true bodies. Requiring a container to manifest outside the Beyond. Stolen mortal flesh was the preferred medium, but it often proved lacking for stronger Demons. Their spiritual mass leaked from the body, eventually bursting like an overstuffed sack. Stronger bodies, natural or crafted, could be used to circumvent this. Cole had heard of Archdemons taking the bodies of Giants, Dragons, and War-Masters for their own. Walking the physical world and bringing devastation until banished from the stolen body. Until now, the Buried Knight had refused to possess its followers, even to escape its ruined form. This told Cole it was too powerful for a sickly Cultist to hold for long. But not long was relative; it might take hours or days depending on the Demon and host. Cole couldn¡¯t play a game of attrition. He needed to end this quickly. Dodging a scything blow, Cole lept for the Buried Knight¡¯s original body. His Aether-sense could see the steady flow of curdled power moving from the Buried Knight to the Shepherd. A flow he now meant to disrupt. Swapping his axe to his right hand, Cole scrambled up the crippled Demon and onto the massive spear, impaling it. The Shepherd lept after him, unnaturally strong legs launching it towards Cole. Cole caught it with a brutal swing of his axe, catching it mid-jump and knocking the Shepherd back. Soaked in holy power, the Axe cleaved through the Shepherd¡¯s armor and stuck hard into its chest. Rapidly healing Hellichor armor sealed around the impeded axe and pulled it from Cole¡¯s grip. Cursing wildly, Cole could only watch as the Shepherd fell to the ground, his weapon stuck in its torso. Refusing to waste another second, Cole brought his amulet down on the giant spear and forced his power into it. The effect was instantaneous. Hundreds of runes carved into the shaft came alight with power, and a deep hum echoed through the chamber. All faces, Cultist and Guard alike, looked up to Cole. The glowing runes spread down the shaft and into the Buried Knight¡¯s chest. A brilliant golden glow started to erupt from the hole. The warm light of a nice summer day flavored with a woman¡¯s laughter. Priests of Sister Sun had made this weapon. Mentally thanking those long-gone Warrior-Worshippers and their Goddess, Cole poured even more of himself into the spear. A wet squealing rip echoed from inside the Buried Knight as an idea tore apart. The giant Demon¡¯s corpse started to crack, its body collapsing as the sun¡¯s rays sliced it apart. A yellow flash erupted as the Buried Knight¡¯s first body died. Riding the falling spear to the ground, Cole stepped away from the destroyed husk. A furious shriek greeted him as the Shepherd lunged toward him. Cole barely ducked under the Demon¡¯s lunge. Whirling to face him the Shepherd¡¯s mandibles hissed and clicked. Producing an uneven, broken speech. ¡°I am Gaol-Gru-Mapa! Atriarch of the Unwanted! Know me, and know I will accept you into my family!¡± Cole answered: ¡°Fuck you¡± Gaol-Gru-Mapa slithered forward, swiping out with a mantis blade. ¡°I will still forgive you. Even after you ruined much. Join me and I will love you!¡± Cole answered: ¡°Fuck you!¡± As the Paladin dodged another blow, the Demon continued. ¡°I offer you, Family! Love! Acceptance! Just surrender and join us!¡± Cole answered: ¡°FUCK YOU¡± Lunging forward, Cole pulled a handful of silver powder from his bandolier. Frantically he sprayed the Demon with the shining substance. Cracking screams escaped the Demon¡¯s maw as the silver burned its skin. Tackling the Demon, Cole gripped his stuck axe and pulled it free. He didn¡¯t get his weapon back for free. A line of fiery pain erupted across Cole¡¯s back. The Demon had landed a clean blow. Sturdy as Emma¡¯s armor was, it couldn¡¯t match a Demon¡¯s malice. Gasping in pain, Cole rolled away from the Demon and brought his axe up in a guard. Shouting over the din of battle, Cole bellowed, ¡°FARGO! NOW!¡± Fargo pulled his spear out of a dead Cultist and looked to Cole. As Temir and Iron-Teeth moved in to Guard him, Fargo shut his eyes and concentrated. To Cole¡¯s utter relief, the Aether bloomed with the memories of family. Storms of blue-green bubbles erupted out from Fargo. Spitting a gout of fire at the Demon, Cole ran towards Fargo. The screaming Demon right on his heels. Focusing on the blood dripping down his back, Cole rasped one of the first spells he¡¯d ever learned. ¡°Blood begets blood. Iron begets iron. A piece of my life for the power to bring death.¡± His weapon extended into a Halberd, and Cole poured his power into it. Blue sparks erupted from its head as unnatural hoarfrost coated it. To the shock and horror of the Guards, Cole swung his Halberd at Fargo. Temir tried to jump in the way but was too slow. The halberd¡¯s head flew over Fargo¡¯s startled head, passing through the bubbling memories only Cole could see. The Cold of Entropy was not simple ice magic, it could freeze ideas and concepts just as easily as it could blood and flesh. So as the enchanted halberd touched Fargo¡¯s swirling emotions, they froze to it. Coating the weapon in the congealed stuff of love and family. Much like an assassin might dip their dagger in poison. Cole had lathered his halberd with the Demon¡¯s bane. Spinning around, Cole brought the enchanted halberd to bear. Gaol-Gru-Mapa, in its new body, lept for Cole. Mandibles open, yellow bile splattering from its maw. As Cole¡¯s halberd, glowing blue-green with borrowed emotions, came close. The Paladin could see fear erupt on the Demon¡¯s mutated face. Frantically the Demon tried to block the coming strike but unused to its new body, it was too slow.. Faster than he¡¯d ever moved before, Cole struck. A Paladin¡¯s Halberd cleaved through possessed flesh while a Family Man¡¯s love shredded infernal malice. An explosion of white eye-searing light erupted as the blow landed. A bubbling shriek erupted from the Demon as it died. Bisected shoulder to opposite hip the two halves tumbled to the ground. The withered remains of the Shepherd and Gaol-Gru-Mapa both splattered to the ground. For good measure, Cole brought his halberd down again, splitting the Cult Leader¡¯s skull. Silver-blue flames spread from where Cole cut, consuming the body and Hellichor all. The wrath of Master Time¡¯s chosen Knight purging the Demon from reality. Slamming the butt of his halberd onto the Black-Coral floor, Cole felt words pour from his lips. Words not quite his own. Words belonging to the mantle of Paladin. ¡°Demon! Defiler! Spawn of the Dark! You who feasted on the innocent! Break upon your banes and be beaten by all that is good! Die as all things must! Doomed in certainty and perpetuity¡± As the words finished echoing off the chamber walls, Cole looked back at the stunned Guards. Surrounded by the slaughtered cultists and the ashes of Demons, a heavy silence fell. Only broken by Cat-Eye¡¯s ¡°Fire-and-Iron¡­ You really are a Paladin, aren¡¯t you?¡± Cole almost laughed but couldn¡¯t bring himself to. Shrinking and sheathing his halberd, he got to work on the Cultists. Freeing their damaged souls with quick prayers and magic fire. Fargo rubbed his head and looked around at the carnage. ¡°Is it over? Is the Demon really dead?¡± Nodding, Cole shut the eyes of another victim. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sorry for surprising you like that. I originally intended to weaken the Demon and let you strike the killing blow. But things got messy, and I was forced to improvise.¡± Still rubbing his helmet, Fargo asked, ¡°I¡­I saw you do something. Your halberd, it touched me, not my body, but me. I felt it touch those memories you said to think about. How did you do that?¡± Cole could only shrug. ¡°Hope and a prayer.¡± Iron-Teeth passed by the Paladin and approached the tree-sized spear. Lying amid a pile of ash, its runes still glowed faintly golden. Leaning down to touch the shaft, Iron-Teeth let out a low whistle. ¡°Slag and Soot, I think this is one of Saint Arka¡¯s Arrows¡± The various Guards all made different motions of reverence. Cole just asked, ¡°A what?¡± Iron-Teeth didn¡¯t take his eyes off the giant arrow; something like awe in the Dwarf¡¯s eyes. ¡°Saint Arka, she¡¯s the patron Saint of Vindabon. She was the City¡¯s Champion back during the Volgo incursion. One of the greatest Archers ever, a Bow-Paragon and War-Priestess of Sister Sun. They say she killed seven Archdemons during the Ninth Siege with arrows blessed by the Goddess¡¯s touch.¡± Looking at the massive ¡®arrow,¡¯ Cole asked, ¡°Was Saint Arka a Giant by chance?¡± Iron-Teeth scoffed at his remark. ¡°No, she was human. Her arrows just changed size to match her foe.¡± glancing at the colossal shaft, Iron-Teeth added, ¡°Or at least that''s the story I heard¡± Cat-Eye¡¯s eyed the Arrow. ¡°If that¡¯s really one of the Saint¡¯s Arrows¡­ Does that mean the Demon was from the Volgo Incursion? It¡¯s been down here since the Bloody Centuries?¡± Looking at the pile of ash that had once been the Buried Knight, Cole mused on this. ¡°The Demon survived her attack and was sealed down here. Maybe it buried itself to escape the Saint? No matter how it happened, why did it wake up now?¡± Reaching down, Cole touched the arrow and started to say, ¡°Maybe the magic in the arrow started to weak-Wha!¡± At his touch, the tree-sized arrow started to shrink. Squeezing in on itself with a groaning sound. In a matter of seconds, the mammoth arrow was replaced by a normal-sized shaft. Gingerly, Cole picked up the arrow. As he did, a warm breeze tickled his neck, and a faint feminine laugh echoed on the edge of his hearing. Looking at the rose-gold coated arrowhead tipping the shaft, Cole said, ¡°It seems the legends were true.¡± No sooner had the words come from his mouth than the arrow rolled out of Cole¡¯s hand and shot forward. It flew with lightning speed and smashed into the chamber wall. Leaving a trail of golden motes behind it. The arrow struck where the Buried Knight had laid. Near the place, the Shepherd had come from. Glancing at the Guards, Cole unsheathed his axe and cautiously approached the spot. The arrow was half-buried in half-formed Black Coral. A wet clay-like substance that was rapidly hardening. Reaching out tentatively, Cole tried to pull the arrow free. It didn¡¯t budge. Its flared head caught on something. Eyes widening in realization, Cole swung his axe against the wall. Moldy and moist black coral fell away, revealing a new room. Grabbing the arrow from the collapsing muck, Cole entered the exposed chamber. Much smaller than the Knight¡¯s tomb, its cramped interior was covered in strange glyphs and patterns. Layers of Black Coral had been used like plaster to make the occult shapes. Looking at them made Cole¡¯s head hurt slightly. Quickly, Cole started lashing out with his axe, cutting up the sigils. Hoping to disrupt whatever magic was at work. A shrine to the Dark could easily hold many horrors. So distracted by the glyphs, Cole didn¡¯t even notice the main focus of the chamber. An uneven pile of mud-like black coral. Shaped like a half-melted candle, the pile had the horrified attention of the Guards. For good reason, people, or the remains of people, stuck out of the black coral Butte. Maybe five or so half-mummified bodies hung out of Butte like the tattered wicks of some malformed candle. The freshest of them was wearing a guard uniform. Iron-Teeth yelled, ¡°Yakobson!¡± and charged forward. They had found the Guard assigned to watch the Under-Building entrance. Before Iron-Teeth could try and free his subordinates'' remains, Cole grabbed the Guard Captain. A furious Iron-Teeth whirled on Cole. ¡°What!¡± Eyeing the corpse Butte, Cole said, ¡°He can¡¯t be dead more than a few hours. But he looks utterly desiccated. Something¡¯s not right.¡± Reaching to his back, Cole dabbed the long gash the Demon had given him. Being able to use that injury to alter his halberd had been a real breakthrough for Cole. He¡¯d always needed to actually bleed on the halberd before to change its shape. Just as he had much to learn about being a Paladin, blood magic held more secrets even he could unlock. Fingers covered in fresh blood, Cole flicked some droplets onto the pillar of bodies. Instantly the blood died and dried. Leaving brown circles on the black coral. Frowning, Cole looked to the chamber floor, where knotted roots of coral led to the wall and the Buried Knight¡¯s resting place. ¡°It was feeding on them.¡± looking out into the previous room and the dead cultists, realization struck Cole. ¡°The Demon, it drained its followers slowly. Getting as much use out of them as possible. While devouring these unfortunate souls in the pillar without delay.¡± But the Demon was dead. Cole had felt it die. Was this just a leftover piece of its magic? Something that would decay and die like the Hellspawn infesting the tunnels? Holding up his Amulet, Cole knew he wasn¡¯t about to take the chance this ¡®drinker pillar¡¯ would survive. Shutting his eyes, Cole shoved much of his remaining power into the Amulet. Calling up the silver fire and cloaking his hand in it. Cole thrust his arm forward. Grabbing the pillar and letting the flames spread. No Demonic power protected the oily muck; its corruption burned like tinder. Silver fire spread fast as thought and consumed the pillar in seconds. Leaving only a pile of withered corpses and blessed ash. Panting, Cole stumbled forward slightly. His vision swam, and his body felt hollow like some organ had been scooped out. There wouldn¡¯t be any more divine fire or cold from him for a while. Trying to reclaim his breath, Cole gestured to Yakobson¡¯s body. ¡°It should be safe.¡± Iron-Teeth went over to his dead subordinate and shut his withered eyes. Clenching his jaw, Iron-Teeth asked, ¡°His soul¡­ is it¡­?¡± Cole winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Iron-Teeth flinched like he¡¯d be struck. Temir looked nauseous, Cat-Eyes disturbed, and Fargo was on the edge of tears. Voice cracking like old stone, the Dwarf Captain asked, ¡°What¡­ what will I tell his wife?¡± The certainty and security the Pantheon provided were rarely double-edged. Death held few mysteries. Everyone knew about the cycle of reincarnation and purification the Gods oversaw. How a soul would live a thousand lives and experience countless worlds. Until it became so pure, it was Anointed and entered the High Holies. Or was so utterly corrupt it was damned to the Infinite Hells. That beautiful infinite was now denied to Yakobson. All that made him shredded and consumed by a spiritual cyst once known as Gaol-Gru-Mapa. This is why Demons are feared above all monsters except perhaps the Sidhe. They did not simply kill. They destroyed you so thoroughly that not even the Gods could save you. Perhaps if Cole had been faster, this fate could have been prevented? Maybe if he had reset himself instead of waiting to heal, Yakobson would be alive? Or at least capable of reincarnation? Squeezing his hands so hard it hurt, Cole tried to push away the guilt. Swallowing uselessly, Cole broke one of his personal taboos. ¡°Tell her he died a hero. Say his soul was lost saving the city from a Demon your patron Saint sealed away. He can only live on in memory now, let''s make sure that memory never fades.¡± A silent agreement flowed between the five. Instead of being grabbed and pulled into the darkness. To be slaughtered and consumed like so much meat. Yakobson had joined their expedition and died protecting his home. A good story to make the bitter facts easier to swallow. The Guards took their fallen comrade aside and laid him in gentle repose. A clean cloth covering his face. Shoving down his guilt, Cole got to work examining the other corpses. Yakobson had died from a spear to the chest. Of the five other bodies, two were also spear victims. One had taken a crossbow bolt to the skull, and another had been bashed to death by something heavy. Leaving a single outlier, whose chest had been ripped open. The missing victim. Withered as he was, details of the victim were hard to tell. Cole guessed he was similar to the others. A young adult, drugged and vivisected. The victim¡¯s clothes were of poor make, little more than rags. Considering the victim hadn¡¯t been put with the other drained cultists, Cole assumed he wasn¡¯t a cult member. Perhaps another warren dweller caught by them? Most of the bodies seemed to match that description, their tattered clothes and damaged flesh speaking to such a life. Leaning down, Cole started checking the body. His morbid questing was rewarded when his fingers found something hard and cold in a hidden pocket of the victims shirt. Pulling it out, Cole was stunned to find a large gold coin. About the size of Cole¡¯s large palm, the solid piece of precious metal was slightly warped. One side held a large symbol of some kind, while the other was completely smooth. The coin was slightly oval in shape, and the metal¡¯s thickness tapered off at the edges. Like someone had tried to flatten the hunk of gold. While it matched no currency Cole recognized, its sheer size spoke to its value. How on earth had this warren-dweller gotten it? Turning back to the Guards, Cole held out the coin. ¡°I found this on the body. Do any of you recognize it?¡± Temir swore in surprise. ¡°Moons! That¡¯s a lot of gold.¡± Iron-Teeth took it and held it up to his lantern light. ¡°Strange, I don¡¯t know the badge¡­ but the other side, how smooth it is. I recognize that.¡± eye¡¯s widening, Iron-teeth bared his teeth in a grim approximation of a smile. ¡°Yes, Elza Farman, the fifth victim. She had two small silver pieces like this.¡± A knowing look passed between Cole and Iron-Teeth. They had found something. Small and maybe inconsequential, but it was still something. Laying out the bodies to give them some dignity, Cole and the Guards got to work checking the rest of the chamber. Taking time to deface any sigil or mark on the walls. Cole had no idea if the glyphs had any magical potency and had no desire to find out. Eventually, Cat-Eye¡¯s made a breakthrough, literally. Running one of her knives along the wall, she found another patch of the unset black coral. The black gunk caught on her blade. At a nod from Cole, Temir used his war pick to tear open the patch. Revealing another entrance. Cole held up his amulet and shed light into the ragged hole Temir had carved. To the Paladin¡¯s surprise, the light shone far. The shadow spores, already starting to settle. Without the Demons'' power to buoy their mutant existence, the Hellspawn were dying off. Small clouds of shadow spore still hung in places, but the tunnel floor was covered in a fine carpet of greasy mildew. Aside from that, this new tunnel seemed unblemished by Demonic influence. No black coral covered its walls, and it seemed to be carved from stone. Something that inspired a whole other set of questions. Looking back at the bodies, Cole grimaced. ¡°Taking the remains back will be difficult. We might be able to carry Yakobson with us.¡± Iron-Teeth shook his helmed head. ¡°No need; I¡¯ll stay with him until you all return. It''s the least I can do for these poor souls.¡± shutting his eyes, the Captain let out a labored breath. ¡°I was supposed to protect these people. I failed them in life. I won¡¯t in death.¡± Fargo and Temir exchanged glances. The big Orcblood speaking for both of them, ¡°We¡¯ll stay with the Captain. Just to make sure there aren¡¯t any stragglers or surviving Hellspawn.¡± after a pause, Temir added. ¡°Don¡¯t take too long; it''s damned creepy down here.¡± Part of Cole wanted to argue he should be the one to stay. But seeing the three men¡¯s expressions, he knew it was pointless to argue. They wanted to stand vigil over the fallen, not out of some practical reason but for honor¡¯s sake. Both the dead¡¯s and their own. Shrugging, Cole fished out a few vials from his bandolier. ¡°The one with the gray cap is silver mixed with a few other common banes. Throw it at anything big and nasty. The green one burns really bright; dump it into the lantern if you need more light. The two red are combat drugs; only take them if you have no other option. I¡¯ll want them back when this is over.¡± Looking at the red-capped vials, Fargo asked. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the stuff you took? Is it dangerous?¡± Pausing for a second to pick his words, Cole nodded. ¡°Yes, it won¡¯t kill you when it wears off; just make you wish it had. Just keep it for an emergency.¡± Turning to Cat-Eyes, Cole asked, ¡°Should we retrace our steps or try this new tunnel?¡± The Werefolk woman didn¡¯t respond for a second, just sniffing the new passage. ¡°The air smells fresher this way, and I smell something else¡­ I can¡¯t quite make it out.¡± Absently, Cole asked, ¡°Is it tea?¡± Cat-Eyes gave him a strange look and shook her head in the negative. Shrugging, Cole muttered, ¡°Nevermind. So should we try it out?¡± Cat-Eyes nodded, and after making some final checks with the rest of the group, Cole and the City Warden left. The Demon¡¯s feeding shrine connected to the tunnel wall, giving the pair two directions to travel. Following Cat-Eyes¡¯ nose, they took the right path. Running a hand along the wall, Cole was increasingly certain skilled diggers had excavated the tunnel. With just Cole¡¯s light to guide them, the new tunnel took on a sterile, cold look. The scrapes of excavation highlighted in the silver light. After maybe five minutes of creeping through the man-made tunnel, Cat-Eyes coughed awkwardly. ¡°I owe you an apology, Paladin. I¡¯ve been haranguing you pretty hard, and that¡¯s been shit of me to do¡± Glancing at the sheepish Werewoman, Cole nodded. ¡°I accept. This has been a difficult situation. It makes sense it would wear on you.¡± Cat-Eyes shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not just that. We¡¯ve been busting bones trying to figure this out for weeks. Trying our best and getting nowhere. Then you just kinda fall out of the sky and offer to fix everything. It just didn¡¯t smell right, especially considering how we found you. So I¡¯ve let you have my worst and hoped to push the truth to the front. Except, you really are what you say. An actual, Gods-chosen Paladin.¡± Scratching her nose, the City Warden looked away. ¡°So.. uh¡­ Thank you for helping us, and again, sorry about trying to word-flay you at every chance Paladin.¡± Lips quirked in a smile, Cole offered her his hand. ¡°Just call me Cole.¡± She took it, and they exchanged grips before continuing along the way. The tunnel started to curve upward and slightly to the left. Frowning, Cole asked: ¡°Do you know these tunnels? They don¡¯t seem to be natural.¡± Taking a moment to run her fingers along the tunnel wall, Alia just shrugged. ¡°No, these are definitely not part of the normal guard patrols. Do you think the Cultists dug them?¡± Shaking his head, Cole said, ¡°Doubtful, they would have neither the time nor resources for something this big. Let''s keep moving and see what we can find.¡± They moved in silence for another fifteen minutes or so. The tunnel branched multiple times, but Cat-Eye¡¯s kept following her nose. Soon there were no traces of shadow spores or anything else malign. Cat-Eyes stopped at one intersection and looked genuinely confused. ¡°I know what the smell is.¡± Sniffing the air again, ¡°Wine, fruity good stuff. I thought I was imagining it at first, but there''s no mistaking it.¡± Surprised, Cole glanced down the tunnel. ¡°Could a wine cellar be connected to these tunnels?¡± ¡°No,¡± answered Alia. ¡°Not unless someone has spilled a bunch of their prize vintage. I¡­ I think someone is drinking down here?¡± Getting their weapons ready, the pair crept forward. Soon Cole could smell the wine as well. The scent was strong enough to overpower even the musty, dusty tunnel odor. Next came strange sounds, murmurs, and cries echoing down the tunnel. Coming to a junction, they realized the sounds and smells were not far. Maybe a dozen meters down the new junction. Crouching down, Cole whispered, ¡°I¡¯ll go in first. Cover my back.¡± The City Warden nodded, and they lept into action. Exploding out from around the corner, Cole charged the source with a furious roar. A roar answered by a panicked shriek. Flooding the tunnel with light, Cole was shocked to find a mess of discarded clothes, empty wine bottles, and two very startled youths. Maybe eighteen at the oldest, they were lovers caught in a very¡­ intimate position. Panicked, they tried to disentangle from each other and flee. Lowering his axe, Cole shouted. ¡°What in the Fixed Stars are you doing down here?¡± Realizing they weren¡¯t being attacked, the lovers slowed their escape and looked at Cole. The man, or boy really, was blond with wispy facial hair and a slightly too-long chin. The girl was teetering between gangly pubescence and womanhood, her long red hair covering a freckled face. Grabbing a dueling dagger from among the discarded clothes, the boy brandished it at Cole. ¡°I could ask you the same thing! What do you want, yeoman!¡± Cat-Eyes then decided to appear. Looking over the saucy tableau, she muttered, ¡°At this rate, people are going to think I¡¯m a peeper.¡± approaching the lovers, she answered for Cole. ¡°I¡¯m a City Warden patrolling the Warrens, looking for criminals and the corrupt. Would you, two, fall into either category?¡± The boy lost a few shades of color at that, and the girl quickly started to gather up her clothes. ¡°We¡­ we were just trying to get some privacy. No rules against that.¡± Tossing the girl a petticoat near her foot, Cat-Eyes raised an eyebrow. ¡°There are rules against trespassing or indecency. Which I think you both are in violation of.¡± Waving his hands frantically, including his ornate dagger, the boy said, ¡°Wait, wait, wait! This is the Undercroft; we''re not trespassing!¡± Cat-Eyes and Cole exchanged looks. Asking the obvious questions, Cole said, ¡°Undercroft?¡± The boy started to speak, but the girl cut him off. ¡°Jaerd be quiet! This isn¡¯t any business of the city watch.¡± That seriously annoyed Cat-Eyes, and she stepped forward, teeth bared. Cole stopped her with a gentle hand. The clothes the couple had finished collecting were all of fine quality and posh purpose. The type of stuff worn by nobility. While relatively meritocratic compared to most places on the continent, Vindabon still had a large and powerful collection of aristocrats. Old bloodlines tracing back centuries; and only marginally less unpleasant than their vampire equivalents in the Blood Duchies. Holding up his amulet, Cole decided if civil authority would fail, religious authority would not. ¡°I am an agent of the Tenth Temple. These tunnels are subject to investigation and possible cleansing. I suggest the two of you help us. For your own sake and the city¡¯s as well.¡± The lovers flinched, and Cole could see the boy start to waiver. The girl was apparently made of stronger stuff. Sneering up at Cole even as she shrugged into her dress, she snapped: ¡°That¡¯s not true! You are just trying to scare us into spilling our guts!¡± Taking out a deep breath, Cole held out his axe. Small flecks of black and brown covered the steel. ¡°You see those stains? It''s blood and worse. I¡¯ve killed twenty four people today. Only two of them probably deserved it. The rest were infected by an evil lurking in these tunnels. I have neither the time nor energy to spare your feelings. So if you care about this city or yourself at all, tell me what I need to know.¡± The girl just stared at the gory axe for a long moment before swallowing nervously. Whatever reasons she had for secrecy melted away in the face of the ugly truth before her. ¡°The Undercroft is what we call the tunnels running beneath the first and second districts. We use them for clandestine meetings and the like.¡± Regaining some of her iron, the noble girl snapped. ¡°We¡¯ve been using them for centuries. The Families maintain and expand them, and the city doesn¡¯t bother us about them. No City Watch, no common folk, just for the Select and our help.¡± Sheathing his axe, Cole let out an exhausted breath. Two steps forward, one back. This whole mess was proving to be shockingly complicated. Gesturing at the tunnel, Cole asked, ¡°Do any of these Undercroft tunnels lead close to the Temples?¡± The couple glanced at each other, and the girl replied. ¡°Yes, one comes close to the Temples of Sister Sun and Brother Moon.¡± Nodding, Cole said, ¡°Please guide us there.¡± Cutting off the indignant squawk coming from both noblings, Cole growled. ¡°I have dozens of bodies to bury and multiple possible infections to deal with. I suggest you guide us for your own safety. If you¡¯ve been spending time down here, you might be infected as well.¡± That seemed to cow the lovers. After finishing collecting their belongings, they set off with Cole and Cat-Eyes behind them. As they left the scene of the rendezvous, Cole noted the noblings had left behind their empty bottles and some scraps of torn clothing. While the boy, Jaerd, was slightly unsteady on his feet, the girl was moving without complaint. An impressive feat considering the five empty wine bottles they¡¯d left in their wake. ¡°What are your names,¡± asked Cole. he was getting sick of lacking a proper identity for either. Seemingly deciding further resistance was futile, the girl answered without protest. ¡°I¡¯m Delia Von Hursput, and he¡¯s Jaerd DeMello.¡± Cat-Eyes let out a low whistle at that; she apparently recognized the family names. Cole didn¡¯t care enough to ask for details. The combat drug he¡¯d taken was starting to wear off. The sting of his injuries, minor as they were, was returning. While his energy was flagging violently. He¡¯d need to rest soon, preferably back with Natalie. It took maybe an hour or less to reach the Temple of Sister Sun. Cole marked their path with Glowpaste, much to the noblings annoyance. They seemed personally affronted by his desecration of their secret pathways. Again, Cole couldn¡¯t care less. Getting the rest of the Guards and the bodies out took priority over anything as paltry as noble secrets. A large ornate sun symbol marked a gate leading forward. Delia let her hand on the gate lock and it unlocked with a humming click. Passing through the gate, they took another turn, and Delia pressed on the tunnel wall. Revealing a moving panel. The odd quartet passed out of the Undercroft and into a storage room of some kind. Passing between shelves and crates, they reached a door that swung open before any of them touched it. A startled yelp escaped the bookish young Priest on the other side of the door. Frantically trying not to drop the pile of bandages he held, the Priest looked at the strangers in the storage room. ¡°Lady Delia, now is not a good time!¡± the Priest squeaked. Cole loomed behind the Noble and ratcheted the Priests'' shock up a few notches. Holding up his amulet Cole said. ¡°I am a Paladin of Master Time. I need to speak with the High Priests as soon as possible.¡± The noblings and Priest all looked at Cole with undisguised shock. Gently but firmly Cole insisted, ¡°Now, please. Lives are at stack.¡± The Priest let out a nervous laugh. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the truth! The elder Priesthood is busy, but I¡¯ll try my best.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Cole asked, ¡°Busy with what?¡± Setting the bandages down, the Priest grimaced. ¡°Trying to stop a Riot. We¡¯ve got a few thousand angry citizens trying to leave the city and head for the Werefolk camp.¡± Shutting his eyes and taking another dose of the combat drug. Hoping to kick the backlash down the road. Cole let out a single exhausted oath. ¡°Fuck¡± Book II: Chapter 12: Riot

Chapter 12: Riot

¡°Atop the highest tower, Saint Arka stood strong. Mighty in spell and steel. She brought her Bow to bear. Sacred Arrows flew, and with them came fire and purity. Demons broke on the city walls, cut down by its defenders. While the Unholy Lords of the Dark Host faced the Saint and her Wroth. By her hand did the Archdemon Rakroka the Goreborn die. Its flesh of iron and blood of flowing fire pierced by a shaft of Sunlight '''' - From the Don Chronicle, dated roughly 619, Fourth Epoch.
The definition of Paradise is something cultures and philosophers have disagreed over for eons. An argument Natalie Striga had finally solved, for Paradise is a bathtub. Laying in the warm soapy waters, she felt rejuvenated. Months of gritty travel sloughed off of her, and the caress of soap and suds was practically divine. Letting out a pleased hum, Natalie leaned back into the bath, letting her long black hair coil in the water. Staring up at the bathroom ceiling, the Vampire let herself float slightly in the sudsy tub. She was buoyant while projecting false-life but otherwise sunk like so much dead weight without it. An interesting phenomenon she¡¯d enjoyed experimenting with. Floating just so her face and the swell of her breasts stuck out of the water, Natalie exhaled and let the false-life drop. Sinking below the warm water and staring up at the sudsy shimmering surface, Natalie wondered if she could walk on the bottom of the ocean like this. A muted noise, distorted by the water, pulled her from the odd reverie, and she surfaced. Glaring over at the noise¡¯s source, Natalie remarked. ¡°I¡¯m not in much danger of drowning, dear Nanny. Can I please just bathe in peace?¡± The Priestess, Mina, gave Natalie a cold look. ¡°I was ordered to not let you out of my sight while the Paladin is away. Believe me, I have as much desire to be here as you do.¡± Slipping forward, so she partially leaned out of the tub, Natalie raised a damp eyebrow. Sitting as she was, Natalie knew she was striking a seductive pose. The image of some nymph eager to lure people to their death. Mina blushed and looked away. Amused by this reaction, Natalie let herself fall back into the water. After hours of trying to strike up some sort of dialogue with Mina and utterly failing. Natalie had defaulted to just trying to get some sort of response out of the Priestess. Taking a breath and drinking in the smell of lilies, Natalie sighed. The soap she was using was one of the last things Barnabas had given her. She¡¯d always loved the smell of lilies. The wild mountain flowers grew plentiful around Glockmire in spring. Their drooping, tear-drop flowers a sure sign of life and plenty returning to the Dragon Tail mountains. Now they were a bittersweet thing to her. Conjuring up homesickness and visions of her own soul. The red lily field where she¡¯d met a God. As the water started to cool, Natalie got out of the tub. Driving Mina to cover her eyes and look away. ¡°A little warning, please!¡± the priestess hissed. Finding the towel she¡¯d prepared, Natalie let out a snort. ¡°If you are going to invade my privacy, then don¡¯t complain about the consequences.¡± Drying herself off, Natalie watched the Priestess squirm. As amusing as that was, Natalie was starting to feel a little bad for Mina. Having a glorified Nanny wasn¡¯t much more fun than being a glorified Nanny. Perhaps she could try one more time to become friends? Wrapping her long hair in a second towel, Natalie plopped down next to Mina. Sitting on the salon bench occupying one corner of the bathroom. Eyes still shut, Mina made an angry noise and fumbled with her amulet. Rolling her eyes and leaning back against the cold stone of the bathroom wall, Natalie chided the Priestess. ¡°How many times do I have to say I¡¯m not going to hurt you!¡± Mina still gripped her amulet and said nothing. Getting up from the bench, Natalie started to pace. Clad in only a towel for her hair, she crossed the bathroom repeatedly. Her wet feet slapping on the floor. ¡°If we are going to be stuck together, how about we try and make this bearable? We don¡¯t have to be friends, but can you at least talk with me?¡± Crossing her arms in front of herself, Mina let out an exhausted huff. ¡°What do you want to talk about?¡± Natalie almost slipped in a pool of spilled bathwater. She was so surprised. All words suddenly left the young Vampire. She¡¯d been so busy trying to reach this point she¡¯d not even considered what came next. Lips flapping like a beached fish, Natalie tried to think of a topic. The first thing that came to mind was Mina¡¯s occupation. ¡°Why¡¯d you become a Priestess?¡± The way Mina bristled told Natalie that had been the wrong question to ask. Swallowing her embarrassment, Mina fixed Natalie with a bitter glare. Careful to keep her eyes fixed on Natalie¡¯s red ones, Mina hissed an answer. ¡°To protect people from things like you.¡± Hate was in Mina¡¯s gray-green eyes. Pure, righteous hate. Things finally clicked into place like a key in a lock. Swallowing dryly, Natalie nodded in understanding. ¡°You lost someone, didn¡¯t you? To a Vampire?¡± Bolting up from her seat on the bench, Mina stormed out of the bathroom. ¡°Put some clothes on. Not all of us are exhibitionists like you.¡± Sighing, Natalie finished drying herself off and put on a freshly laundered dress and undergarments. As much as she loathed being stuck in the Tenth Temple, Natalie had to admit returning to the comforts of civilization was wonderful. Properly cleaned clothes felt like Seraph kisses on her skin. Even their time with the Shohgard pack had left little time for proper washing. Now cleansed, body and clothes, Natalie felt infinitely better. A joy dampened by Mina¡¯s bitterness and Cole¡¯s absence. As she left the bathroom and entered the diplomatic suite''s main chamber, Natalie wondered what the Paladin was up to. Hopefully, nothing too terribly dangerous. Just then, a knock sounded at the suite¡¯s door. Pushing her still-damp hair back, Natalie answered the door. She found an incredibly nervous-looking Acolyte holding a package. Trembling in his gray robes, the Acolyte¡¯s eyes widened at seeing Natalie. Without a word, he shoved the package into Natalie¡¯s arms and scurried back. Mina arrived then, face contorted in anger. ¡°Don¡¯t go answering the door, Vampire!¡± she snapped. Looking at the package and the Acolyte preparing to run, Mina asked, ¡°Zam? What is this?¡± Zam clutched his hourglass amulet as he spoke with a slight stutter. ¡°F-from the G-Guards. The p-p-pa-Paladin sent word and this to his prisoner.¡± Ignoring her official ¡®designation,¡¯ Natalie unwrapped the package and found a trio of books and a note. ¡®Natalie. I¡¯m joining the guards in an expedition into the tunnels below the city. I don¡¯t know when I¡¯ll be back. Love you lots and enjoy the books, my treat. - Cole¡¯ Smiling despite herself, Natalie looked at the Acolyte. ¡°Thank you for delivering this!¡± Natalie forced herself not to wince at the look of fright on Zam¡¯s face. Her smiles, once a winning feature, now inspired abject terror. As the Acolyte scampered away, Natalie let out a pointless breath and shut the door. Looking over the books, the Vampire read their titles. ¡®Guild Primer on Eastern Guyenne Wood Working.¡¯ ¡®Passionate Dawn¡¯ and ¡®The History of Vindabon and its surrounding region.¡¯ Perhaps not what Natalie would pick but still a welcome gift. Setting the romance novel and woodworking book down, Natalie took the Chronicle and sat on the couch opposite Mina. Flipping through the pages, Natalie asked, ¡°Who did you lose to Vampires?¡± After a long moment, Mina stopped grinding her teeth and answered. ¡°Everyone. I¡¯m a Marcher from a tiny village in the south. The Leeches used to raid us for blood, souls, and corpses.¡± Getting the full ugly picture, Natalie winced. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. How¡¯d you survive?¡± Shrugging, Mina shut her eyes and seemed to flinch away from a memory. ¡°I hid in the cellar. Doused myself in garlic powder and stayed like that for three days. Until Morri and the other Restbringers found me. I¡¯ve been with the Temple ever since.¡± Keeping her nervous fingers busy with the book, Natalie said: ¡°I lost my family and home too.¡± Mina didn¡¯t respond, her face only showing the barest flicker of surprise. So Natalie kept going, hoping to make a bridge between them. ¡°My Mom first, then my Dad. Both were killed by Vampires. I had to leave my Hometown after I was infected. I couldn¡¯t put them at risk. So I left with Cole and came here instead.¡± Holding up a single pale hand, Natalie looked at her wrist; and the shriveled black veins under the skin. ¡°I¡¯m a monster. I know that, Mina. I just¡­ I just want to be a nice one. The power in me, it''s evil. But maybe it doesn¡¯t have to be used for evil?¡± Finally breaking her silence, Mina scoffed at that. ¡°An apple seed doesn''t grow into a pear tree.¡± Shrugging, Natalie responded. ¡°True, but maybe the apple tree will be a Gildcrisp, not a Crabapple.¡± Mina didn¡¯t seem to have an answer to that and just hung back in her chair. Snuggling up into the couch, Natalie started looking at the history book Cole had supplied. Much of it seemed to be copied from older texts. Being a stew of ancient lore, historical analysis, and anything else the author could cram into the pages. Natalie guessed the book was more meant for academics than casual readers. Still, it was better than staring at the wall or Mina¡¯s brooding face. Pulling a strand of errant hair back, Natalie perused a section on the pre-Imperial origin of Vindabon. How the city was founded by an early tribal confederation in the late Second Epoch. Eventually, growing into a major trade hub protected by a Dragon. Only to be conquered by the Sidhe during the Third Epoch. Then becoming the regional capital under the Old Empire and surviving its fall. With Vindabon becoming one of the founding states of the Holy League and its eastern economic heart. Pushing more stray hair away from her face, Natalie made an annoyed sound. Looking over to the nearby dresser, Natalie noted her hair clip. Running her fingers through her long black hair, Natalie made a decision. ¡°Hey, Mina, can I ask a favor?¡± Gray-green eyes snapped open, and Mina looked at Natalie, tension clear in the Priestesses shoulders. Getting up from her spot, Natalie gestured at the hair clip. ¡°Could you help me put my hair up?¡± Confused, Mina went over to the clip. Plucking it from the dresser she looked at it quizzically. ¡°This is silver?¡± Nodding, Natalie started pulling her hair back into a bun. ¡°It burns my skin. Can you help me?¡± Holding it up to the glowstone light, Mina unfolded the hidden blade and raised an eyebrow. ¡°Interesting weapon. Why not replace it with something, not silver?¡± Seeing the clip always brought a surge of emotions to Natalie. Intense and contradictory flashes that made her chest throb. The warmth of her mother¡¯s hugs and the coldness of her death at Petar¡¯s hands. ¡°My mom gave it to me. Cole normally helps me with it.¡± Clicking her tongue, Mina went back to Natalie. ¡°No sudden movements, Natalie.¡± As she felt the familiar weight of the clip settle into place, Natalie remarked: ¡°I think that''s the first time you¡¯ve used my name.¡± Mina made a non-committal grunt. ¡°Maybe you have a point. Maybe I should give you the benefit of the doubt.¡± Beaming, Natalie turned to look at the retreating Mina. ¡°Thank you, you don''t know how much that means to me.¡± Mina went back to her chair and idly fingered her amulet. ¡°I¡¯ll give you some rope. It¡¯s up to you to make a noose or not.¡± Smiling despite herself at the morbid metaphor, Natalie shrugged. ¡°I can¡¯t expect much more than that. Just allow me to earn your hate on my own merit.¡± Something almost like a smile flashed on Mina¡¯s face for an eyeblink. Gesturing to the book she held and the others sitting nearby, Natalie offered: ¡°If you wanna read any of them feel free.¡± Mina glanced at the torrid romance novel, and her nose wrinkled. ¡°The Paladin really got this for you?¡± Slightly confused, Natalie asked, ¡°Is it really that bad?¡± An airy snort escaped Mina. ¡°Very much so. It''s the type of shameless erotica no good scrivener will even think of copying. So, of course, copies of it have been floating all around the city.¡± Picking up the woodworking text and sitting down on the opposite end of the couch Natalie was on. Mina let out an annoyed sigh. ¡°A woodworking manual? Really? That¡¯s almost violently masculine. Seems to me Sir Cole missed two shots out of three.¡± Clearing her throat, Natalie contested that remark. ¡°Ahem! Some of us like woodworking.¡± Eyebrows raised, Mina looked to the book and back at Natalie. ¡°You carve? Really?¡± Like any good artist challenged, Natalie moved to prove herself. Getting up from her seat, she went to her pack and pulled out the amulet she¡¯d carved. Holding it by its dire-boar leather cord, Natalie gingerly showed it to Mina. Gently taking the amulet, Mina looked genuinely impressed. ¡°An Hourglass? Invested with faith? You made this?¡± Nodding, Natalie smiled. ¡°It''s yew from my hometown. I¡¯ve got to be careful with it, but I hope to eventually use it like a restraint.¡± A confused Mina looked at the amulet and then at Natalie. Sighing, Natalie readied herself. Gritting her teeth, she snatched the amulet from Mina. Fingers gripping the cold yew. Instantly her hand went numb. She could still move the digits, unlike when Cole¡¯s amulet touched her. But it still was an uncomfortable experience. With shaky, uncertain fingers, Natalie put the amulet around her neck. It felt like someone had yoked her to a boulder. Putting her arms out to steady herself, Natalie let out a long pained hiss. A mixture of light-headedness, numbing cold, and crushing exhaustion hit her. Uncertainly, she flopped onto the couch. After a few painful moments, Natalie pulled herself upright and leaned back against the soft fabric of the seat. Baring her teeth in a silent effort, Natalie grabbed onto the necklace¡¯s cord and pulled it free. Feeling her body return to normal, Natalie dropped the amulet onto the couch next to her. As her limbs stopped shaking, she gestured to the medallion. ¡°The idea is if I start to lose control, I can put it on and be slightly more dangerous than a drunken kitten.¡± That actually pulled a chuckle from Mina. ¡°Clever, did the Paladin bless the amulet for you?¡± Shaking her head, Natalie smiled. ¡°Nope, all me. Master Time has plans for me. I dunno if they are good plans, but they exist.¡± Mina went silent at that, and Natalie was afraid her semi-blasphemous statement had undone all the progress she¡¯d made. To the young Vampire¡¯s surprise, Mina asked, ¡°What''s it like to talk with him?¡± No rage or zeal was in those words, just genuine curiosity. Looking at the amulet lying on the couch between them, Mina elaborated. ¡°When I pray, I get this sense¡­ This cold but beautiful power. Sometimes I get flashes of emotions or suggestions. But¡­ I¡¯ve never communed with him. Never actually speaking to an aspect or avatar like you have.¡± Natalie tried to put her experiences into words. Something that proved surprisingly difficult. ¡°A shepherd I once knew told me a story. About one time during spring, he and his flock got lost. We had a bad storm and worse fog that covered the whole valley for a week. He took his flock through a pass, trying to get up and through the mountain gap. But because of the fog he didn¡¯t know exactly where he was going. So he kept climbing and climbing.¡± Shutting her eyes, remembering the story she¡¯d heard a dozen times, Natalie continued. ¡°Well, eventually, he found a strange lump of rock, and beyond it, the path seemed to start sloping down. Confused and uncertain of where he was, the Shepherd camped on the lump.¡± ¡°The next morning, the fog cleared, and he realized why he hadn¡¯t found the mountain pass. He¡¯d accidentally climbed an entire mountain next to the pass. That lump of rock was the peak. He just couldn¡¯t see it.¡± Looking at Mina, Natalie got to her point. ¡°I talked with the lump of rock. Because I couldn¡¯t see or even comprehend the mountain.¡± Grimacing slightly, Natalie thought of her meetings with the Angler. ¡°As for personality. The aspect I met is kind but also sort of condescending. Which I guess makes sense if you are a God. I think he wants what''s best for us; he just views us as¡­ limited.¡± Digesting that, Mina said. ¡°Thank you.¡± then, a beat later. ¡°You sound like Morri. That could have been one of his sermons.¡± Snorting in amusement, Natalie rolled her eyes. ¡°No, I sound like Cole, who probably sounds like Morri.¡± After that, they fell into idle chatter about a dozen different topics. None particularly complex or world-rending in depth. Which suited Natalie perfectly. Cole wasn¡¯t one for small talk, and Natalie had started to miss it. She craved the inane mix of gossip and stories that most people talked about. A quirk Natalie attributed to growing up in an Inn and Tavern. By the fifth or sixth hour, since the message from Cole, Natalie was starting to get antsy. It was getting late, and she hadn¡¯t heard anything more from him. Rationally she knew some sort of mysterious subterranean expedition was bound to take time. But that didn¡¯t stop Natalie from worrying. Mina sat nearby, flipping through Passionate Dawn, trying to hold in laughter at the romance book''s dialogue. Getting up from her spot, Natalie started to nervously pace. One of the few expressions of stress her undead body could do without complaint. Looking up from the book, Mina remarked. ¡°I told you, the Warrens are complicated. It will take time to do whatever they are doing.¡± Clicking her fangs together, Natalie groaned. ¡°I know, but I still worry. What if they got lost or stuck?¡± Setting the crass novel down, Mina gave Natalie a serious look. ¡°I¡¯ve worked with Captain Iron-Teeth and Warden Cat-Eyes for years. They are good, capable people. With a Paladin¡¯s help, I don¡¯t think anything less than a Demon or Dragon will stop them.¡± Grimacing, Natalie remarked. ¡°Knowing Cole¡¯s luck, I honestly wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they ran into both.¡± Scoffing, Mina brushed away the concern. ¡°This city is safe. I know life is dangerous in the Blood Duchies, but it''s different here. Not every shadow hides some monster or threat.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Natalie reminded Mina: ¡°You are literally talking to a Vampire. And the City Guards are currently hunting some monster that¡¯s ripping people¡¯s hearts out.¡± Frowning, Mina looked back at her book. ¡°Good point. But still, have some faith; things will work out.¡± Thinking of her last meeting with Master Time and her general experience with divinely ordained fate. Natalie found little comfort in Mina¡¯s words. Still, how much the Priestess had mellowed was something of a blessing. If Natalie could still make friends with a trauma-touched Priestess of Death himself. Then there was some hope in Natalie¡¯s once-lauded charisma, even post-death. All it had taken was some shared pain and being locked in the same room for twelve hours. A stray thought popped through Natalie¡¯s mind then. ¡°Hey, don¡¯t you need to eat?¡± Mina looked a little sheepish. ¡°I could, but I can¡¯t exactly leave you on your own.¡± The trained instincts of a Barmaid burned bright behind Natalie¡¯s red eyes. Moving over to Mina with inhuman speed, she grabbed the Priestess by the arm and hauled her up. Mina let out a surprised noise and reached for her amulet. Rolling her eyes, Natalie pointed an accusatory finger at Mina. ¡°No one is allowed to go hungry on my account. My father would never forgive me. So let''s get you some food.¡± Mina looked like she was about to protest, so Natalie picked up her amulet. ¡°I¡¯ll keep my leash on me and be a good little Vampire. Now let¡¯s get you fed!¡± Wrapping her face in a scarf and pushing false life through her veins, Natalie beckoned to Mina. Uncertain but goaded by hunger, the Priestess opened the door and guided the Vampire from the suite. It didn¡¯t take them long to find the Temple''s dining hall. A long rectangular room filled with tables and benches. With quick access to the kitchens on one side. Natalie¡¯s eyes were pulled up to the intricate fresco covering the dining hall¡¯s ceiling. It depicted a great feast attended by hundreds of figures, each labeled with small gilded words. Seeing Natalie¡¯s eyes, Mina nodded at the fresco. ¡°The Feast of the Favored. The great and good of the Temples are memorialized in it.¡± Mina spared little time heading towards the kitchen. Mina¡¯s no longer suppressed hunger, pulling the Priestess to the delicious smells. Natalie just followed, noting the lack of people in the dining hall. Only a few tired-looking Priests and temple laborers sat at the tables. Something Natalie was grateful for; she had no desire to stir up a panic. Thankfully none of the few diners had noticed her, and keeping close to Mina, Natalie hoped to keep it that way. Soon Mina had a plate filled with roasted vegetables, warm bread, and a bowl of broth. Finding a seat, Mina started to dig in while Natalie watched. After a few minutes of wolfing down her portion, Mina looked up at Natalie. An odd expression on the Priestess¡¯s face. ¡°Why are you staring at me like that?¡± she asked. Letting out a fitful sigh, Natalie propped her head up on one elbow. ¡°I miss food. So please just let me watch you eat. It''s the closest thing I have anymore.¡± A little disturbed but unwilling to press the issue, Mina returned to her meal. Emptying her plate in impressive time, Mina looked back towards the kitchen. Clearly debating between going for more or letting her stomach settle. Before a decision could be made, the far doors of the dining hall slammed open with a bang. A skinny priest with wild hair and panicked eyes burst in. Waving his arms, he shouted to anyone who could listen. ¡°We need everyone with healing miracles or medical knowledge to go to the grand clinic now!¡± A confused murmur went up from the few occupied tables, and the Priest elaborated. ¡°Something bad is happening over in Salmotown. The third temple is overwhelmed and is sending out a general call for any help they can get.¡± Confusion gave way to training as the Priests got to their feet and hurried to the door. A torn Mina got to her feet and looked at Natalie. The Priestess¡¯s internal conflict was plain to see. Which duty did she commit to? Guard the undead or heal the living? Holding up her amulet, Natalie got up from the table. ¡°I¡¯ll stay close to you. With this, I¡¯ll be able to keep control if there is blood.¡± Mina frowned; the idea of Natalie stalking around a triage center clearly not something she liked. As understandable as that was, Natalie was having none of it. ¡°If someone dies because you were busy watching me instead of helping. I don¡¯t think either of us could live with that.¡± Swallowing that bitter herb, Mina set out, Natalie hot on her heels. In her earlier exploration of the Temple, Natalie had found the Grand Clinic. The large medical ward located in the Tenth Temple. Apparently each of the Temples had a different Clinic specializing in different forms of healing. Naturally, the servants of Master Time provided hospice care for the people of Vindabon. Still, the Clinic was a center of healing, alchemical, magical, or mundane. It had sections free from the dying and could readily help the wounded. Mina entered a large central chamber that branched out into the different parts of the clinic. At the chamber''s center was a statue of Master Time in his aspect of Soother of Suffering. A large number of wheeled cotts had been set up in this atrium. Ready to transport the injured or ill. Across the chamber from where Mina and Natalie had entered, was a large set of doors that swung open the same time they arrived. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. An unconscious, bloody man in a Guard uniform was hauled into the Clinic by two of his fellows. Each supporting their comrade under a shoulder. The two conscious guards had a collection of cuts and scrapes as well. The smell of fresh blood hit Natalie, and she quickly gripped her amulet. Letting its baleful cold numb her Hunger. Making its gnawing whispers manageable. An older woman with long silver hair tied back in a neat plait bustled over to the guards and, with the help of a few acolytes, got the unconscious man to a cott. The other two guards turned to leave, but the older Priest cleared her throat with enough authority to make an Elector Prince think twice. ¡°Where do you think you are going? The Guard wiped a smear of blood off his forehead, something Natalie tried not to notice. And pointed out the doors. ¡°There''s a gorey-guts riot brewing! We are needed out there!¡± The lead Priestess clicked her tongue and pulled the Guard towards one of the cotts with surprising strength. ¡°If you pass out at the wrong time or make a simple mistake because of blood loss, you¡¯ll be a danger to your fellows. Now tell us what''s happening.¡± Realizing arguing with the Priestess was more dangerous than the riot, the Guard acquiesced. ¡°About an hour ago, we got word that a bunch of people was assembling in Salmon Square. Bunch of locals, all angry about something. Don¡¯t know for certain, but I¡¯d guess the Werefolk murders. I heard a lotta talk about Mutts and their rituals.¡± Shaking his head, barely noticing the Priest trying to bandage his head, the Guard kept talking. ¡°All those people were angry, stirred up like nothing I¡¯ve seen. Not even the Wine Tax Riot was this bad. At first, they were just demanding the Werefolk be banned from the city. But it didn¡¯t stay that mild for long. Last I was there the mob was trying to go for the Woad Gate. I think the mad bastards are gonna attack the Werefolk camp.¡± More people started being brought into the Clinic then. A few more guards but mainly citizens. Each battered and worn, carried by friends or their own power. With every arrival new news filtered through the Clinic. Even reaching Natalie in her hiding spot in one far corner of the clinic. A full-blown riot was underway in the Sixteenth District. Salmotown¡¯s guards were completely overwhelmed, and no official reinforcements were coming from other districts. Their Watch Captains getting orders to hold back in case things got worse. A nonsensical command more than a few squads had refused to listen to. Including the near eternity of the Weinstadt Watch. Iron-Teeth was still missing beneath the city, and his Lieutenant was apparently playing dumb about any orders to stand back. Every minute they¡¯d get new updates. None of them good. Armed footmen had joined the Rioters and broken through the Guards¡¯ position. The mob had swollen into a veritable army and was making its way closer and closer to the Woad Gate. A mixture of stunned horror and confused shock filled the Clinic. This level of civil violence hadn¡¯t been seen in close to a century. Vindabon was on fire. Rage and fear providing plenty of kindling for whatever spark set this calamity into motion. Somehow in all the tumult, Natalie had gone unnoticed. Her unnaturally still form in a shadowed alcove attracting little attention. A fact that quickly put Natalie in a unique position. Two of the Senior Priests, the Old woman, apparently named Hedwig, and a similarly aged man named Bertram, were engaged in fierce discussion not far from where Natalie hid. Senses supernaturally sharp; she could make out the conversation perfectly. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to send anyone!¡± hissed Bertram. ¡°We need everyone we can to heal the injured and prepare for the inevitable casualties!¡± Priestess Hedwig practically snarled at that. ¡°Inevitable casualties? Are you even listening to yourself, Bert? We have a duty to help the Werefolk. They are just as much our responsibility as anyone in this city.¡± Scrunching up his wrinkled face, Bertram said. ¡°No, they are not. We are the Temple of Vindabon. Our duties lie with its people first.¡± as Hedwig started to swell with rage, Bertram held out a placating hand. ¡°I don¡¯t like it either. But we need to make the right decision. Sending anyone to warn the Werefolk would be incredibly foolish. We risk them getting torn apart by the mob! Besides, they will never make it in time! I¡¯m not about to send one of our subordinates on a pointless death-quest.¡± The anger seemed to fade from Hedwig, replaced by worry and the first flickers of guilt. ¡°We can¡¯t just sit here, Bertram!¡± The old Priest''s face showed his own discomfort for a split second. ¡°We aren¡¯t. We will heal anyone we can. And¡­ and we will put to rest those who die.¡± The rest of the conversation faded away as Natalie felt her mind close in on their earlier words. Someone needed to warn the Werefolk. Someone fast enough to make it across the city before the mob. Someone the Werefolk would believe. Someone who could sneak out of Vindabon and into the camp without issue. Shutting her eyes, Natalie took a useless breath. She¡¯d wanted to use her powers for good. Well, here was a bloody perfect opportunity. Slipping out of her alcove, Natalie found Mina bandaging up a freshly stitched cut on a dazed-looking Vindabonite. Gripping her amulet and doing her best to ignore the smell of fresh blood, Natalie pulled Mina aside. The Priestess jumped at the sudden contact and whirled on Natalie. Seeing the frantic look in the Vampire¡¯s eyes, Mina reached for her own amulet. Leaning in so only Mina could hear her, Natalie whispered. ¡°Where is the Werefolk Camp?¡± Glancing around the clinic, Mina hissed back. ¡°Maybe three kilometers down the Blue Pine Road. Just out of the Woad Gate. Why?¡± Licking her fangs and trying to push down the jittery energy gripping her, Natalie explained. ¡°I need to warn them. Maybe they can evacuate or fortify before the mob reaches them.¡± Shaking her head, Mina glared at Natalie. ¡°Absolutely not! You are already pushing things just by being here with me. I¡¯m not about to let you run off!¡± Giving the Priestess a cool look, Natalie said: ¡°Mina, I¡¯m not asking for permission. I¡¯m keeping you and the Temple informed.¡± Mina started to pull up her amulet, and Natalie quickly gripped her wrist. Her cold, undead strength stopped the Priestess. ¡°Exposing me won¡¯t do any good. Do you want all these Priests busy attacking me or helping these people?¡± Glancing back to the injured woman she¡¯d just treated, Mina frowned. ¡°Will you even have time to reach them? If you¡¯re caught, not even the Paladin can save you. Even if you aren''t, I''ll be forced to tell the Senior Priests. I don¡¯t know how they will react, but it won¡¯t be good.¡± Swallowing uselessly, Natalie took an equally pointless breath. Mina was right. There was no guarantee of success. Just a whole score of ways this could go horribly, horribly wrong. Almost all ending in a terrible fate for Natalie. But the idea of Ametza, Jaks, Jokin, and the rest of the Shohgard pack dying was equally abhorrent. Despite their bloody first meeting, the Shohgards had been kind to Natalie. Learning to look past her nature and calling her a friend. Slim as it was, Natalie had the chance to help or even save them. If she stuck her head in the loam and let that opportunity pass, then Natalie was truly the Monster the Temple feared she was. Nodding in understanding, Natalie gave Mina a weak smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if this causes you problems. Wish me luck, Mina¡± Without another word, Natalie slipped from the Grand Clinic. Another faceless shadow unnoticed by healers and healed alike. Letting out a sigh and feeling a knot of worry grow in her gut, Mina shook her head. Turning to the next patient, she whispered. ¡°Gods smile on your endeavor, Natalie.¡±
Leaving the Temple wasn¡¯t hard. So many people were bustling about that Natalie went practically unnoticed. Stepping into the cold city night, she tucked her amulet away. Now that she was away from the clinic, it would do nothing but hamper her. As she left the Temple entrance, Natalie realized she had forgotten to ask for directions. She knew to head for the Woad Gate but didn¡¯t know where that was. Briefly, she considered going back into the Temple and asking for directions. Unnatural instincts chafed at that idea and instead, she simply sucked in a breath of night air. Without the Sun or anything Sacred to trammel her, Natalie¡¯s senses were sharpened to a razor edge. The faint smell of fresh blood reached her. Mixed in with sweat, liquor, and rage. Natalie the person, would have needed to ask for directions. Natalie the Vampire had no such weakness. Sprinting forward with unnatural speed, Natalie followed her nose. Weeks of hunting with the Shohgard Pack and feeding on Cole had given her an ample supply of blood. Blood she was now happily putting to good use. Natalie became a black blur, a living shadow fleeing the Temple and pursuing her prey. Reaching a cluster of buildings blocking her way, Natalie didn¡¯t bother to find a way around. Leaping up, she gripped the masonry of the four-story building. Climbing the structure fast as a Cat. Unnatural skill guided Natalie between handholds and propelled her up the building. Reaching the top, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but smile. After so much time cooped up in Wagons, Barges, and Temples, she could finally move like her body demanded. Natalie was a Vampire, a Queen of the Night. Finally, using her power for something good. Once on the rooftop, she went to its peak and stared over the edge. Looking down, she realized exactly how high she was. Strangely she felt neither vertigo nor fear. Instead, a mad idea came to her. The streets here were narrow, and the distance between buildings was small. Looking behind her to the sloped roof, Natalie thought about how it¡¯d make a perfect ramp. Glancing out across the city and smelling the distant scent of Blood, Natalie decided to do something stupid. Retreating back the way she came, Natalie felt a nervous giggle escape her lips. Quickly running up the sloped roof, Natalie pushed stolen blood into her legs. Shingles cracked under her explosive steps as she reached the peak of the roof and leaped forward. Sailing half a dozen meters through the air and onto the next building over. Slamming into the roof and falling to her knees, Natalie let out a pained grunt. Getting up, she looked back at the gulf she¡¯d spanned. The absurdity of what she¡¯d done only then struck. A manic smile split her lips, and Natalie looked to the next jump. Repeating her earlier feat, she leaped across. Managing to stay on her feet this time but sliding a little on the snow-slicked tile. Looking out across the hundreds of buildings surrounding her, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but laugh. Most of the time, being a Vampire was a miserable experience. Yet now, as she jumped between buildings. Her limbs empowered with blood and guided by inhuman reflexes. Natalie found herself enjoying unlife. With every leap, her body adapted to the feat. Her aim improving, and her balance becoming more certain. Soon she didn¡¯t even need to stop between roofs. Dancing between them in great leaps. No longer needing to just focus on her jumps, Natalie could actually look out across the city. The night was clear, and the heavens shone with countless stars and a shining crescent moon. Idly she picked out a few constellations she knew. The Wyvern, the Songbird, the Five Foxes, and Zol¡¯s Lance. Of course, they weren¡¯t the only noteworthy sights from this vantage. A stream of fire flowed down one of Vindabon¡¯s main roads. It roared like a storm and destroyed anything that got in its way. Any who didn¡¯t flee from it was devoured. Those who resisted were broken by its bulk. Thousands of people marched towards the Woad Gate. Carrying torches and lanterns aloft in a dancing river of flame. The smell of fresh blood, cheap liquor, and acrid smoke clogged the air. Competing for space with the sounds of screams, shouts, and an ugly chant. Carried between a thousand mouths was the Mob¡¯s ethos. ¡°DRIVE THEM OUT! DRIVE THEM OUT! DRIVE THEM OUT! DRIVE THEM OUT!¡± Natalie watched in stunned horror as Guards were crushed under the Mob¡¯s bulk while rioters split off the main stream in violent tributaries. Sacking storefronts and smashing anything unprotected. The sheer senseless violence of the thing was just as startling as the size. The population of Glockmire, a few times over, marched below her. Thousands of people people united in a single wretched goal. Glancing down the road the Mob traveled, Natalie felt a jolt of panic. There wasn¡¯t much space between the front of the Mob and the Woad Gate. She needed to hurry. Taking great bounding strides, Natalie pushed forward towards the Gate. Painted bright blue, the Gate wasn¡¯t a hulking thing like the Wine Gate. But it was still large enough for multiple wagons to pass simultaneously. Not much of a bottleneck. Gritting her fangs, Natalie redoubled her efforts. Running along roofs and leaping between them in a strange dance. Closer to the Woad Gate, Natalie could see its heavy portcullis was shut. Letting out a relieved sigh, Natalie looked back at the slowly approaching Mob. They surely wouldn¡¯t be able to pass through it? Right? Glancing back to the Gate, Natalie grimaced. She¡¯d gone this far; turning back on an assumption was stupid. Better to get a warning to the Werefolk and have it be unneeded than not at all. Of course, her newfound freedom was playing a part in Natalie¡¯s decision. It didn¡¯t take much of an excuse for her to keep going. Looking up at the massive walls of Vindabon, Natalie found herself with a new challenge. How is Mother Earth¡¯s name was she supposed to get over them? Shrugging to herself, she kept going. A little of Cole¡¯s belief that things would work out had apparently rubbed off on her. As she kept going, the buildings descended in size, turning into warehouses and similar. Running from roof to roof, she started to examine the Wall. The monolithic structure was carved from some pink stone and extended up easily two hundred meters. Towers bulged from the wall¡¯s joints. Natalie vaguely considered trying to break into one but decided against it. She had no guarantee of easy entrance or that they wouldn¡¯t be garrisoned. Leaping down from the final building and approaching the gate. She stuck to the shadows, relying on her dark clothes and enhanced senses to keep her hidden. Closer now, Natalie looked up at the Gate. The wall above it was decorated with what Natalie had initially assumed was mosaic or paint. House-sized depictions of forest life prancing along the man-made cliff face. Now she could see they were carvings. Or, more accurately, for Natalie¡¯s purpose, handholds. A very jittery group of Guards stood in front of the Gate. Keeping to the shadows, Natalie went around them. Slipping up next to the left tower flanking the Gate. She was thankful the Guards had their attention fully set on the wall of rioters creeping toward them. Instead of Natalie¡¯s clumsy (by Vampire standards) attempt at stealth. Reaching the base of the gate, Natalie channeled blood into her legs and lept. Muscles exploded with power, and she was launched straight up like an arrow in flight. Biting her tongue and suppressing a scream, Natalie flew up and frantically reached out for the top of the Gate. Her fingers barely caught it, and only some quick enhancements to her hands kept her anchored. Pulling herself up, Natalie got to work. She¡¯d always liked to climb trees and the Silly Goat''s brick walls when she was little. Focusing on those fond memories, Natalie pretended that was all she was doing. Not scaling a castle-sized wall while trying to outrun an angry mob. As she climbed, Natalie hummed absently to herself. A tuneless note that kept her mind off the ever-growing distance between herself and the ground. Reaching out for one narrow groove, her fingers slipped, and Natalie felt a stab of pain as her fingernail tore on the cold stone. Yelping, she lurched back and suddenly found her balance precarious. Frantically trying to hold onto the wall, she tried to grip the slick stone. Teetering on her makeshift ledge, Natalie fought for leverage. A battle she was quickly losing. Leaning backward, Natalie shot out a hand, desperate to not fall. The crunch of stone greeted her ears, and she found her balance again. Confused, Natalie looked at her hands and saw her fingernails had been replaced by three-centimeter-long claws. Black talons now digging into the stone. As she watched, the claws retracted. Slithering back under her nail beds like some water snake hiding under a rock. The sight brought back unwanted memories of the Vampress Lorena and her attack on Natalie all those months ago. Shaking away the recollection, Natalie kept going. Blood claws were a tool like any other, one she could use to save lives. (and perhaps deface some monuments in the process.) Continuing her climb, Natalie summoned up her talons and used them to punch handholds into the wall when needed. As the top of the wall came into sight, Natalie spared a glance behind her. A poor choice as the staggering height of the wall became clear. The city stretched out behind Natalie, a sea of stone, wood, and dancing lights. People were reduced to scuttling ants, and the Mob looked like a flow of molten steel in a mold. As the full context of the sight hit Natalie, she felt a lance of fear go through her. Looking back to the wall, Natalie swallowed pointlessly. ¡°Just a little more,¡± she whispered to herself. Scrambling up the last bit of the wall carving and cutting new handholds the rest of the way. Natalie pulled herself up over the Merlons and onto the battlements. Smiling with nervous tension, she let herself rest. More for her mind than her body. Her momentary reprieve was broken by an odd clanking groan echoing through the night. Confused, she looked around for the source. Realizing it was coming from beneath her. Wide-eyed, she leaned over the wall¡¯s Parapet and looked down. The Mob was closer than ever, and the Guards had abandoned the Gate. No¡­ they hadn¡¯t abandoned it. They were now opening it! The noise was the gate being opened. Panic flooded Natalie. Why was the gate being opened? That made no sense? What in the Seraph Songs was going on? Realizing she needed to hurry, Natalie ran to the other side of the battlements and looked for a way down. To her mute horror, she realized there wasn¡¯t one. No carving decorated the external wall. It was smooth pink stone, a sheer drop down. Grimacing, Natalie reached out and prepared to start carving handholds. A spark of pain lanced through her hand as she touched the wall. Pulling her hand back, she saw her claws had been shattered, and the tips of her fingers burned. Wincing as her body healed the injury, Natalie reached out towards the wall again. Slowly this time. A faint tingling started at the tip of her outstretched finger. Pulling back, Natalie cursed. ¡°Jag me.¡± The wall''s exterior was magically protected. She couldn¡¯t pull the same stunt as before. Looking around, Natalie cursed as he heard the Gate finish opening. Its portcullis finally ratcheted up into the Wall. She was out of time and needed to act quickly. Looking out towards her destination, Natalie could see there wasn¡¯t a gate-town clustering on this part of the wall. It was a straight drop and a little distance to the Avar Woods. The old forest that bordered the western part of Vindabon. Perhaps she could jump and try to land among the trees? Their branches breaking her fall? Peering out, Natalie realized how utterly stupid that idea was. She couldn¡¯t afford to be turned into a wet stain on the ground. Or Gods forbid, go into a blood frenzy from overtaxing her healing ability. Natalie needed another option. Flexing her fingers, Natalie had an idea. One only marginally less stupid than her previous one. Holding her hands out in front of her. Natalie focused on them, willing her black blood into her fingers. As she did, she summoned up an image in her mind. Of a Bat and its leather wings. Keeping that idea in mind, Natalie started going through the mental exercises Isabelle had taught her. With a wet popping noise, her fingers started to stretch. Growing into spears of bone with sails of skin stretched between them. Grunting in discomfort, Natalie held her arms out to either side of her. Feeling their muscles bulge and her skin thicken in places. She hadn¡¯t ever used this ability outside of Dreams, and it felt fantastically unnatural. Where taking the form of a Cat had felt like slipping into a new set of clothes. This was more akin to stretching and tearing existing fabric. Wings spread, Natalie prepared for her leap of faith. Looking over the edge, she was suddenly struck by how utterly foolish this was. Utter panic and crippling doubt struck then, and she stepped away from the edge. Her wings slumped down, tips flopping uselessly on the battlement stone. Who was she kidding? She was a village girl intoxicated with a curse''s power. Thinking she could suddenly stop wanting to eat people and be a hero? Leaving the Temple had already destroyed any chance she had of gaining their trust. Now she was going to commit an elaborate form of suicide and achieve nothing. All her choices had led to this moment, and none of them seemed very good in hindsight. Just then, a flicker of cold came over her. Pulsing out from her pocket like an icy wave. Reaching down, she brushed her hand against the pocket. Her wrist caught the cold wood of her amulet. Words then entered her mind. Words Cole had spoken on their first day in Vindabon. ¡°Sometimes a bad choice is the only one available. We can only take it and live with the consequences.¡± Clenching her jaw, feeling her fangs press against her lips. Natalie knew what she had to do. Stepping away from the edge, Natalie suddenly ran forwards. Wings flared stolen blood pumping through her legs. Moving fast enough her logical self couldn¡¯t keep up, Natalie lept. She exploded into the night sky, her wings catching the wind like great sails. Eyes wide with fright and hope, Natalie looked out ahead of her. She was soaring, gliding through the air like an oversized bat. A low but growing pain spread in her chest. Her arms were stretched by the air. Grunting with discomfort, Natalie tried to adjust her wings. A ripping noise filled her ears, louder than even the rushing wind. Natalie screamed in pain as one of her arms pulled itself out of the socket. Her chest muscles snapped like over-taught strings. Natalie¡¯s destroyed arm flopped uselessly as she started to fall. Her other caught the air and sent her spiraling downwards like a whirling maple seed. Screaming like someone who was falling to their death, Natalie tried uselessly to regain control. As the world spun around her in a shadowy smear, Natalie caught glimpses of the distant ground becoming less distant. Shutting her eyes. Natalie forced her blood into bones and muscles. A frantic last-ditch attempt to minimize the incoming damage. Opening her eyes, Natalie caught a sight of the cold ground coming up to meet her. Mouth wide open from screaming, she let out one final curse before gravity extracted its price. ¡°FUCK!¡± CRUNCH
:: A Dream :: ¡°A Cat?¡± asked Natalie. ¡°You want me to turn into a Cat?¡± Nodding, Isabelle made an elaborate flourish with her right hand. Muscles popped, and skin was subsumed by black fur. In place of a hand, she now had a leonine paw, complete with razor-sharp claws. ¡°Shapeshifting is one of the most useful arts available to us. We can take on the forms of different animals or alter our body with their traits. As an Alukah, you should be able to use this ability relatively easily.¡± Looking at Isabelle¡¯s paw, Natalie asked, ¡°How does it work?¡± Letting her hand return to normal, Isabelle explained. ¡°There are two types. Partial transformations like I did just now, and Full transformations like I¡¯ll be teaching you. While Partials are typically more useful in combat, Fulls have more utility. Like turning into a feline and slipping into the Temple archive unnoticed, for example.¡± Rolling her eyes at Isabelle¡¯s comment, Natalie chose to ignore it. Isabelle hadn¡¯t stopped pushing on this front. Still, the power she promised to teach was tempting. Being able to change shapes seemed utterly fantastical. An ability coveted by the greatest Shamans and Magi. Not something a Barmaid from Glockmire could ever hope to do. But then again, she wasn¡¯t a Barmaid anymore. Natalie was a Vampire, and a powerful one at that. Her concept of what was possible needed to change drastically. Continuing her lecture, Isabelle said. ¡°Where other Spellweavers need to spend years studying animals and complex rituals. We can cheat. Vampires are creatures of the night. Beings of blood and shadow. We have a kinship with similar beasts. Anything that hunts or stalks the Night we can turn into. Our only limit is our understanding of them.¡± Cocking her head to the side, Natalie asked: ¡°Understanding?¡± Nodding, Isabelle elaborated. ¡°All Magic is based on intent and emotion. If you want to successfully transform into an Animal, you need to understand them on a deep level. Mortal Mages must spend time and effort learning how an Animal lives and thinks. We do not. Our instincts and other abilities let us find commonality with almost any Nocturnal Hunter.¡± Licking her fangs, Isabelle gestured at Natalie. ¡°You chose Cat because you had one as a pet, correct? My recollections of the waking world are¡­ muddy at best.¡± ¡°Yes, why?¡± Natalie answered. Smiling, Isabelle answered. ¡°You spent time around a Cat. Understanding how it''s strange little mind works. Couple that with your new nature, and turning into one will be easy. You probably won¡¯t even need to supplement your Understanding.¡± Supplement her understanding? Something in those words made Natalie feel slightly uncomfortable. Not for any rational reason. It just smelled of Isabelle¡¯s more¡­ euphemistic language. ¡°The soul Hollow you consume when drinking an animal to death can be used to better understand them. Most Vampires don¡¯t even understand the process behind it. Just thinking you need to drink a beast to death to take its shape. Not even wondering about the magic behind it. Ungrateful fools, little better than the Sheep.¡± Ignoring the disturbing implications of Isabelle¡¯s words, Natalie asked. ¡°Wait? Does that mean I could turn into a Dog or Squirrel?¡± Isabelle shook her head no. ¡°You¡¯ve used those Hollows to power your familiars. Even if you hadn''t, they lack the right temperament. Squirrels are prey, while Dogs are too tame. A Rat or Cat would be better.¡± Frowning, Natalie said, ¡°I¡¯m not going to drink a Cat to death.¡± Shrugging, Isabelle didn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°Suit yourself. Just remember to not pass up opportunities to gather more Hollows. They have uses beyond making Familiars. Shapeshifting the least of them. Hopefully, your experiences with Cats will be enough for this lesson.¡± Accepting that, Natalie asked. ¡°How well do I have to understand an Animal to transform into it?¡± Isabelle got very still for a second. ¡°It depends on the animal and yourself. The more you innately relate to the animal, the easier it is. Of course, partial transformations are more difficult and require extensive knowledge of the body''s systems to work. But I assume you know that now. Considering you just fell to your demise.¡±
Natalie¡¯s eyes snapped open, and she let out a pitiful gurgle. Black blood bubbled in her throat, and everything hurt. Pulled from her warped recollection, Natalie tried to understand what had happened. Trying to move her limbs, she found them unresponsive. Only answering her call with incredible pain. Blinking her eyes, she tried to figure out where she was. She couldn¡¯t move her neck, only stared up at the bare forest canopy above her. A familiar voice reached her ringing ears. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you lived.¡± Isabelle¡¯s face swam into being. The older Vampire floated in the air like some Wraith, looking down at Natalie. ¡°Being knocked out is no easy feat for us. It requires truly traumatic brain damage to do that. But considering most of your skull is splattered on that tree behind you¡­¡± Moaning, Natalie tried to speak. But she couldn¡¯t form any words. Shushing her, Isabelle looked the younger Vampire over. ¡°Your lungs will need to reinflate before you can even think about speaking. So just listen for now.¡± Natalie made a wet groan in response, and Isabelle kept speaking. ¡°I don¡¯t have much time, so listen carefully. Your body is trying to heal itself, but it''s doing it in a greedy, inefficient way. You may very well frenzy from Hunger by the time you are fully healed.¡± A more panicked noise escaped Natalie as her eyes widened in fear. Isabelle made a soothing gesture. ¡°I can help you. But you will need to trust me.¡± That made Natalie even more frightened. Isabelle could apparently see her fright and tried to explain in better detail. ¡°I need to possess you. I can guide your healing, so it doesn¡¯t consume all your blood. But I need your consent to do so. Even as weak as you are now, trying to possess you without your acceptance would be dangerous for me.¡± A series of wet snapping pops reached Natalie¡¯s ears, and new pain erupted. Not even able to scream, Natalie felt utterly trapped. She wanted to cry, but her face refused to move. Grimacing, Isabelle spoke faster. ¡°You need to decide quickly. I can¡¯t project myself like this for much longer. Please just let me help you. If you die or go insane, then I have no chance of gaining a body.¡± Feeling her hunger start to grow, Natalie shut her eyes and whimpered. A pathetic noise, more a grinding of torn flesh than anything else. Opening her eyes again, Natalie slowly blinked twice. Isabelle saw the gesture and leaned forward. Her immaterial form floating into Natalie. Instantly she felt a strange dampness spreading over her body. Like she was being immersed in slightly oily water. Natalie wanted to shiver, but her ruined body and undead nature prevented her. As the sensation got worse, Natalie felt slightly sick, like something was squeezing into her. Every instinct said to push back and fight this invasion. Isabelle¡¯s uncharacteristically gentle voice echoed in the back of Natalie¡¯s mind. ¡°Just relax. It will be over soon.¡± Forcing down her instincts, Natalie let the possession continue. The oily damp sensation reached a new height, and Natalie felt like she was about to burst apart from the inside. Before her self-control could finally break down, Natalie was yanked backwards. Not in space but in her own mind. Pulled from the tiller of her existence and forced to watch another take up the place. From her strange internal vantage, Natalie could only observe as her body started to change. Sensation returned in gradual waves as nerves reconnected and bones knitted. A distant slurping sound reached her, and she felt her torso reform through this bizarre proxy existence. Natalie¡¯s body sucked in a breath and started whispering words in an alien tongue. All while Natalie just watched this happen. More bones and muscles popped back into position and Natalie¡¯s body pulled itself to its feet. Her head swiveled around, observing the location. She¡¯d managed to crash right at the edge of the forest. Plummeting down from the wall and hitting right next to the tree line. Natalie felt a wave of something resembling vertigo as her own eyes moved on their own accord. Scanning the ground around them. Ash and flakes of some gray substance covered a solid three meters around the body. Natalie¡¯s voice spoke then. ¡°Red Night! How did you even survive this? Bits of you are scattered all over!¡± The ashy smear¡¯s identity became apparent then. It was the¡­ splatter Natalie had left. The gray flakes, bits of bone, and the ash dissolved flesh. Turning away from the scene, Natalie¡¯s body started walking deeper into the forest. Slightly dragging one leg behind itself. A new height of panic reached Natalie. Why hadn¡¯t Isabelle given back control? Just then, she realized she couldn¡¯t speak or do anything at all. She was a prisoner in her own body. Natalie¡¯s mouth clicked its tongue and spoke. ¡°Calm down. I¡¯m just getting us something to eat before I return control. Without a fresh meal, you might frenzy the moment I retreat.¡± Only slightly consoled by that, Natalie was forced to watch as her arms raised up and more alien words escaped her lips. Her hands flicked between complicated gestures, and a glowing red sigil appeared in the air. The sigil shrunk and consolidated, turning into a small crimson sphere. Another word escaped Natalie¡¯s mouth, and the bolt shot out into the forest. It whistled through the trees, and after a few moments, a squeal came from the wood. A tottering shape stumbled towards Natalie¡¯s body. It was a Deer, uncertain on its hooves, moving forward like it was being dragged. The red sigil summoned earlier was branded onto the Deer¡¯s neck. Tugging it towards Natalie¡¯s body like a leashed dog. Flexing its fingers, Natalie¡¯s body met the Deer and sunk its fangs into the animal''s neck. Slurping down its lifeblood. A pleased hum escaped the body''s lips as it said. ¡°Oh, I have missed that.¡± Then with a snap, Natalie was back in control. Nearly collapsing onto the Deer¡¯s corpse. Blinking her eyes, Natalie felt her body finish healing. A whole slew of emotions warred inside Natalie. The pain, desperation, and loss of control had worn heavily on her. To have it be over was enough to make her head spin. Part of Natalie wanted to just curl up somewhere soft and sleep for a year. A voice whispering at the back of her mind pushed her past that desire. ¡°You are welcome, Natalie. Now get moving. You have lives to save, don¡¯t you?¡± Gritting her fangs, Natalie forced words from her mouth. ¡°Thank you.¡± A throaty chuckle filled Natalie¡¯s mind, fading to nothingness as Isabelle¡¯s connection dissipated. Reclaiming her balance, Natalie moved towards the nearby road. Looking behind her, she saw the first of the Mob reaching the gate. She needed to hurry. Forcing some of the stolen deer blood into her legs, Natalie set off. Book II: Chapter 13: Beast Blood

Chapter 13: Beast Blood

¡°~Bear, oh Bear, you have no care! Bear, oh Bear, no fair! Bear, oh Bear, on a dare! Bear, oh Bear, into your lair! Bear, oh Bear, I start to despair! Bear, oh Bear, I should beware~¡± - A traditional Springtime Song from the Schwarock Wood.
Natalie ran through the dark forest. Her body finished its last repairs as she moved. Looking at herself, Natalie was thankful her clothes had survived the fall relatively intact. Despite being utterly coated in ash, her dress was still covering all the important bits. She¡¯d lost her shoes somewhere but didn¡¯t bother to find them. The sensation of cold ground on her bare feet was somehow pleasing despite everything. Sparing a glance behind her, Natalie was relieved to see the distant mob was shrinking. That many people couldn¡¯t move fast. By contrast, she could outrun a panicked Hare even while conserving blood. The Deer, Isabelle had caught was a good meal but Natalie wasn¡¯t about to risk running straight into the Werefolk camp and frenzying. So she just kept moving, sucking down useless lungfuls of air. Hoping to catch a whiff of Werefolk as she ran. She didn¡¯t have to wait long. Soon a faint smell of animal musk and wood smoke reached Natalie. Redoubling her efforts, she shot through the undergrowth, heading towards the smells. Soon the sight of a flickering campfire came into focus. Five or so figures hunched around it. Each of them smelled of beast. Smiling despite herself, Natalie erupted into the clearing. Startling the five Werefolk sitting around the fire. The largest of the five sprang to his feet, a large hawthorn cudgel in hand. Natalie¡¯s eyes went wide upon seeing the Werefolk standing before her. Tall as Cole and twice as broad. The Man had a long silver-brown beard hanging down to his prodigious belly. Slightly balding but covered in thick body hair the man wore simple rugged clothes. His deep-set eyes were amber in color. Natalie met them while he readied his cudgel with the type of practiced ease only seen in Warriors. ¡°Hold their lass! What are you doing here?¡± he boomed in a voice like a warhorn. Holding her hands up in a placating gesture, Natalie answered. ¡°I¡¯ve come from Vindabon. The city has gone crazy. An angry mob is coming to attack the Moonmoot!¡± Startled by her words, the other four Werefolk got to their feet. One, a long-faced woman with tightly braided hair, sniffed the air. Eyes widening, the woman reached for the sword at her belt and yelled. ¡°She¡¯s dead! That thing is Undead!¡± Natalie leaped back as the tree-trunk-sized cudgel came for her head. Waving her arms frantically, she yelled. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this! Please send word to the Shohgard Pack; tell them Natalie is here!¡± The big Werefolk swung his cudgel again, and Natalie leaped up into a nearby tree. Landing in the crook between two wide branches and yelling down at the Werefolk. ¡°Listen to me, Dammit! I didn¡¯t try and ambush you, I ran into your camp like an idiot! I¡¯m trying to help!¡± That got the Cudgel-wielder to pause. Leaning on his weapon like a walking stick the big Werefolk grunted: ¡°You say you know the Shohgards? What''s the name of their Swordmaster?¡± Grinning, Natalie answered: ¡°Bruto! Has a mustache, former Hussar, says ¡®you ken¡¯ a lot.¡± The huge Werefolk returned her grin, his teeth a row of yellow behind his bushy mustache. ¡°Ha! Alright, you have my attention Leech.¡± turning to one of the other Werefolk, he pointed somewhere deeper in the forest. ¡°Go get the Shohgards; tell em a Leech named Natalie is here.¡± The ordered Werefolk hesitated, and the big one roared, ¡°NOW! If she ain¡¯t lying, we don¡¯t have time ta waste.¡± Setting his cudgel down, the big Werefolk grumbled: ¡°Alright, Natalie, come down from that tree and talk with Ol¡¯Guorpa¡± Glancing around the small clearing, Natalie decided she had no better options. Hopping down, she approached Guorpa. Plopping down next to the tree with the grace of a falling boulder, Guorpa asked, ¡°Let''s assume you ain''t lying, tell me about this Mob.¡± Relieved someone was listening, Natalie explained the situation. Telling Guorpa how thousands of angry people were heading toward the Werefolk camp. Each and every one of them with violent intent. Guorpa listened with an almost disinterested air. With one hulking arm, he reached out to something sitting by the firepit. As he picked it up, Natalie realized it was a small barrel. Pulling it close, Guorpa bit the barrel¡¯s cork and spat it out. A thick smell of honey and liquor escaped the cask. Without hesitation, Guorpa held the barrel up to his lips and drank. All while, Natalie shared as many details as she could remember. Setting the barrel down, Guorpa let out a thunderous belch and got to his feet. Gesturing to Natalie, he said, ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough. I believe you, but gimme reason not to, and I¡¯ll rip yur head off.¡± Picking up his cudgel, Guorpa set out, the other three Werefolk and Natalie following behind him. Idly, Natalie noticed the Werefolk had formed a loose diamond around her. Boxing her in like quarry. It didn¡¯t bother her as much as it probably should. Somehow the oncoming tide of angry Vindabonites seemed a bigger threat. Soon the forest gave way to a wall of wagons. Stretching far in either direction, Natalie was surprised by their number and diversity. Each was a work of art in itself. Vivid paints and intricate carvings were visible to Natalie¡¯s eyes. They walked around the edge of the wagon wall, reaching a gap in the barrier. Revealing a sprawling meadow filled with campfires, pavilions, and hundreds of people. All centered around a huge standing stone. Easily ten meters tall, the pillar of white stone was pockmarked and covered in swirling sigils. The stone seemed to glow in the pale moonlight. An alabaster monument at the heart of everything. Entering the Werefolk camp, Natalie heard her name called. ¡°NATALIE!¡± Jokin, the younger of the Werewolf twins, came running out of the camp. Wild-eyed, he looked at Natalie and up at Guorpa. ¡°Natalie! What in the Moon''s Milk are you doing here?¡± Guorpa answered for her. ¡°Ah, so you do know this little Vampire? Guess I don¡¯t have to rip her head off.¡± smiling at his own crude humor he gestured back towards the city. ¡°She came to warn us Vindabon is coming for our pelts.¡± A number of other Werefolk were gathered round by then. Confused whispers and worried glances were exchanged between them. Gesturing to the standing stone, Guorpa bellowed. ¡°Gather everyone! Some soft-skins want to spill our blood. Dunno how much time we have, so let''s put it to good use!¡± Natalie was carried along by the crowd of Werefolk, Jokin falling in beside her. The nervous-looking Werewolf muttered. ¡°We said you should visit, but this isn¡¯t exactly what we meant¡­¡± Snorting in weak laughter, Natalie nodded. ¡°I agree.¡± Soon hundreds of Werefolk were clustered around the Standing Stone. A collection of older Werefolk, all in heavily ornamented dress, stood closest to the Stone. Among them, Natalie saw Kistine. The old Shaman sharing whispers with a weary-looking old man with a beard so long he looked in danger of tripping on it. A frying-pan-sized hand smacked against Natalie¡¯s back, sending her stumbling forward. Guorpa pointed at the elder Werefolks. ¡°On ya go then, little Vampire. Tell the Shamans what you told me.¡± As she approached, Natalie tried not to notice the dirty looks and fell whispers brought on by her identity. Ametza stepped forward from her fellow Shamans. Her bangles jangled as she took Natalie¡¯s hand. Raising both their hands up, the old Werewoman proclaimed. ¡°This woman is the companion of a Paladin and friend to the Shohgard Pack. I will vouch for her beneath the Moon¡¯s light!¡± That only doubled the whispers and murmurs. Old and well-practiced distrust clear behind amber eyes. Clearing her throat, Natalie ignored the heavy gazes of the Shamans and tried to explain what was happening. ¡°There have been recent murders in Vindabon. I¡¯m sure you all have heard about them. Someone has been ripping the hearts out of people, and people are blaming a Werewolf.¡± That got loud mutters from the crowd, forcing Natalie to start shouting. ¡°The Guards don''t think it''s a Werewolf, but that doesn''t seem to matter to the thousands of people headed this way! Blood has already been shed, and they passed through the Woad Gate. I don¡¯t know how long we have, but I hope it''s enough to evacuate.¡± The mutters grew louder, escalating to shouts and even some roars. They were cut off by a loud crack. The sound of solid wood against stone. Hundreds of eyes turned to the Standing Stone and upon the man standing atop it. The sight caused a series of hisses and gasps to escape the crowd. Clad in a shaggy cloak of feathers was a squat old man with light brown skin, a silver beard, and hawkish features. Leaping down from his perch, the old man landed right next to Natalie and spoke. ¡°The Van-pier speak truth. I come to warn the kin.¡± His voice had an odd throaty accent, and Natalie guessed Western wasn¡¯t his native tongue. The Circle of Shamans eyed the newcomer with a mixture of emotions, even more, diverse than what they¡¯d given Natalie. One Shaman, a middle-aged woman with a dozen bone necklaces snapped. ¡°Tiar, please refrain from clambering over the Moonshard like a Pup exploring a new Wagon.¡± Scoffing, Tiar twirled his staff between his hands. ¡°Daline, you ask me not to fulfill my nature. I do not say ¡®don¡¯t chase your tail¡¯, so offer me same.¡± A deep bubbling growl escaped a number of Werefolk and Natalie felt a jolt of fear go through her. Her time with the Shohgard pack had done much to nullify her fear of Werewolves, but traces of it remained. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Kistine gestured to her fellow Shamans. ¡°Despite Natalie¡¯s nature and Tiar¡¯s attitude, they are both trustworthy.¡± pointing at a wrinkled old man with eyebrows so large they fused above his nose Kistine asked. ¡°Dorian, we need more information. Can your Shadows help?¡± Shaman Dorian nodded, sending his bushy brows wobbling. ¡°Aye, I can.¡± Shuffling over to one of the nearby fires, Dorian looked down at his stretched-out shadow dancing in the firelight. Jabbing his staff down into the snow, he dragged it across the ground while muttering strange words. He cut a line between his feet and his shadow, and his Shadow detached itself. Natalie¡¯s eyes went wide as she saw the shadow slither away from Dorian, slipping along the ground and away from its owner. Turning to Guorpa then, Kistine asked, ¡°Will you be our First Fang in this, Honeydrinker?¡± The huge Werefolk grunted, and emptied a tankard of something he¡¯d somehow found. Picking up his cudgel, Guorpa bellowed, ¡°FULLBLOODS WITH ME!¡± and started trotting towards the camp entrance. Soon other Shamans started giving commands, and the various Packs shot into motion. Wagons were packed, and Beasts of Burden were harnessed. Spears, axes, and more were distributed. Natalie watched as a pair of nervous-looking oxen pulled a cart toward the camp entrance. While she couldn¡¯t see what was in the cart, Natalie caught the glint of metal. Dorian, the shadow-binder, grunted then. ¡°They both speak the truth. Thousands of softskins are coming. They will reach the camp in ten minutes or less.¡± Another Shaman asked, ¡°Do you think we can win?¡± Dorian shut his eyes and hummed. ¡°Yes. I see little in the way of true steel and almost no silver. I don¡¯t know what the weaklings are thinking.¡± Natalie stepped forward then and asked, ¡°Wait? You aren¡¯t going to evacuate?¡± Kistine scoffed at that, ¡°We will move the young and the weak away from the camp, but we aren¡¯t running.¡± Eyes wide, Natalie yelled: ¡°They will kill you all! Didn¡¯t you hear what I said! Thousands of people are coming! THOUSANDS!¡± Kistine idly played with some of her bangles. ¡°If we run we admit guilt and show weakness. We¡¯d have nowhere to run if we did that.¡± Pulling one of her Bangles off and tossing it into the air, where it hung motionless. Kistine added. ¡°Besides, I don¡¯t think this will come to blood.¡± Kistine started walking around the standing stone then. Tossing another Bangle into the air every few steps. Soon the standing stone was surrounded by a floating circle of enchanted rings. With a gesture and a word, Kistine set the Bangles spinning. The Standing Stone started to glow brighter and silver fog started to cover the Bangles. As Natalie watched, the fog condensed into shapes. Each becoming a figure made of shining mist. Dove, Elk, Hawk, Wolf, Fox, and Fish. All Spirits bound to Kistine. The Dove and Hawk flew down and settled on her shoulders. While the rest bounded, swam, and slipped away in different directions. Other Shamans started their preparations as well. Natalie saw more Spirits materialize and other esoteric spells be cast. Distant trees groaned as their branches came to life, ready to grip and bind anyone who came too close. Spheres of fire bubbled out of the campfires and shed light across the campsite. Wagons without drivers or pullers creaked into more convenient places. Prepared tubs of water glowed and churned, ready for whatever purpose the Shamans had for them. A gentle hand on Natalie¡¯s shoulder caused her to spin and see Bruto and Ametza standing behind her. Bruto, the old Hussar, frowned. ¡°You can¡¯t stay here. You ken?¡± To Natalie¡¯s utter surprise, Ametza, the young Werewolf, came up and hugged her. ¡°Thank you for coming, but Bruto¡¯s right. If they know there''s a Vampire here, that¡¯ll only make things worse.¡± Bruto nodded. ¡°Hopefully, the Mob can be scared off; and this doesn''t have to come to blood. But something in my bones says otherwise. This isn¡¯t your fight nor your place to be.¡± Slightly incensed by that, Natalie broke the hug with Ametza. ¡°Not my fight? I broke out of Temple custody to warn you. I¡¯m involved in this mess!¡± Bruto¡¯s mustache twitched in an almost smile. ¡°Another reason for you to return to the city quickly.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie gestured in the direction of Vindabon. ¡°Even if I wanted to, I couldn''t get past the mob!¡± Someone nearby coughed. The trio looked to see the old Werefolk, apparently named Tiar standing nearby. ¡°I can help. Need to find out what happening in City. Take the Van-pier with me.¡± Nodding, Bruto said, ¡°Take her, Tiar. Just remember she¡¯s a friend to my Pack, and after tonight she¡¯ll be a friend to every Clan here.¡± Natalie frowned. ¡°Do I have to keep repeating myself? There is a bloody ten-thousand-strong horde of goat-botherers on their way here! We can¡¯t get back into the City!¡± Tiar clicked his tongue. ¡°This one has fire in her soul. But not much in her head, I see.¡± Glaring at Tiar, Natalie found herself wondering how he would taste. Shaking the thought from her head, Natalie let her fingers go to her amulet. It had somehow survived her impact unscathed and safely hidden in a pocket. Glancing back up at the group, she blinked. Tiar was in the process of taking off his cloak and undertunic. The old Werefolk, no Werebeast, rolled his knobby shoulders, and his body started to change. His arms stretched and bristled with dark nubs that quickly grew into feathers. While his mouth stretched and warped to make way for a cruel beak. Tiar grew in bulk, his hands and legs becoming covered in yellow scales. Fingers and toes turning into dagger-sized talons. While his body swelled to twice Natalie¡¯s size. Golden eyes flashed and plumage ruffled as Tiar the Werehawk spread his wings and let out a screech. Mouth open, Tier spoke, his voice more like a crow''s caw than anything human. ¡°It is rare thing for me to share the skies with a guest. But you amuse me, Van-pier. Let us soar above the rabble and my furry kindred.¡± Natalie blanched. The idea of flying had no appeal, especially after her recent ordeal. But before she could voice her disagreement, Tier flapped his mighty wings and exploded toward her. Flinching, Natalie didn¡¯t see his talons grip her shoulder. Or the second beat of his wings that sent them both hurtling into the sky. She did, however, see the ground rapidly shrinking away below her. Bruto and Ametza looking up as Tiar carried Natalie away. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. A mix of a squeal and a curse escaped Natalie as she looked down at the forest canopy. The tops of trees slipped past her in a dizzying rush. Tier cawed down to her. ¡°Stop struggling, Van-pier! I am no crow, won¡¯t drop you!¡± Realizing she¡¯d been twisting and thrashing, Natalie calmed herself and swallowed pointlessly. Tier had her in a reverse grip, facing away from the direction he flew. Leaving her clueless about what was coming but giving her a good view of where they¡¯d been. From this perspective, she could see the Werefolk camp was larger than she¡¯d thought. Other standing stones stuck out of the forest. Each surrounded by Wagons and campfires. None matched the main camp in size, but it became clear at least a thousand Werefolk in total were here. Just then, an ear-splitting roar erupted from somewhere below them. Natalie looked down to see hulking shapes pushing through the bare forest. The roar was answered by a chorus of howls and snarls. The Werebeasts were ready for battle. Twisting her head, Natalie looked to see their foe. For a split second, Natalie thought the forest was on fire. A tide of flickering flames danced between green pine and pale wood. The mob had come. Something whistled through the air, and Natalie felt herself be lurched sideways as Tiar banked left. Spitting curses in some foreign tongue, the Werehawk dodged between thrown stones and other projectiles. They weren¡¯t high above the forest canopy and were well within striking distance. Confused, Natalie looked up at Tiar, about to ask why they weren¡¯t just flying higher. Her answer came in the smell of fresh blood. An arrow stuck into the Warhawks chest, dribbling bright crimson down onto the Vampire. Frantically, Natalie reached for her amulet and wrapped her fingers around its cold weight. Her rising hunger was stifled just in time for something fast to strike Tiar. A croaking gurgle escaped Tiar, and he went limp. Panicked, Natalie screamed as they fell. Her legs catching on the tops of trees. Fabric tore as her dress snagged on a pine, and she was ripped from Tiar¡¯s talons. Cursing violently, Natalie tumbled through the air. Her hands grasped for anything they could. Branches snapped, and a thin pine bough smashed into Natalie¡¯s face. Shutting her eyes, Natalie extended her blood-claws and swiped out towards the offending tree. The claws sunk into sap-thick wood, and Natalie arrested her fall. Blinking away pine needles and bits of ash, Natalie looked around her. She was high up in a pine tree, clinging to its trunk like a startled cat. In the distance, she could see something huge smash through the nearby canopy and hit the ground with a horrific crunch. Shimmying down the tree with as much dexterity as she could muster, Natalie reached the ground and sprinted for Tiar. She found him in a heap of feathers and broken flesh. Still in his Werehawk form but clearly unconscious, Tiar lay still on the forest floor. Natalie didn¡¯t need to check if he lived. The sound of his heartbeat and the smell of fresh blood confirmed that easily enough. Sniffing the air, Natalie found herself licking her lips. The smell was intoxicating, a heady aroma that stirred the Hunger from its fitful slumber. Forcing herself not to inhale, Natalie reached for her amulet. Her eyes widened in horror upon realizing she couldn¡¯t find it. Rifling through her torn dress, Natalie realized she must have dropped it in the crash. Frantically looking around, she looked for the small lump of carved yew. Instead of the amulet, her heightened senses caught the crunch of snow and raucous voices. Peering between the trees, Natalie caught sight of a small group approaching her and Tiar. Five in number, they each were armed with crude weapons. Spears, clubs, and a hand axe. All held torches, shedding bright crackling light through the forest. One of the strangers, the one holding the hand axe, gestured towards Tiar. ¡°It fell this way!¡± Natalie was confused; couldn¡¯t they see Tiar and her? Neither was hiding, and the group wasn¡¯t that far away. Understanding blossomed a second later. She¡¯d forgotten how enhanced her senses were. These basic humans were practically blind and deaf compared to her. Looking around for a better hiding spot. Natalie quickly climbed the nearest tree. Her claws and dexterity carried her an easy five meters up the trunk and onto a solid branch. Thankful to be slightly away from the smell of blood, Natalie watched the approaching group. Clad in cheap but warm clothes, the newcomers each had a rough look about them. Nothing overt but enough for Natalie¡¯s intuition and instincts to pick up. The leader¡¯s nose had been clearly broken multiple times. While one of the others had a strange shake to his movement. Something Natalie had only seen once before in a Caravan Guard Barnabas had said was a Dreamsap addict. These weren¡¯t the cream of Vindabon nor professional killers. They were.. what was the word Barnabas had used once? Thugs, they were thugs. Natalie watched as the Thugs stumbled through the snow and towards Tiar. Glancing down, she realized she¡¯d made tracks right toward her current hiding spot. Cursing under her breath, Natalie knew she couldn¡¯t stay here for long. She¡¯d need to flee these men and the larger mob. But she also couldn¡¯t leave Tiar. As obnoxious as the Werehawk was, she wasn¡¯t going to let these Thugs hurt him. One of the pursuers pointed towards Tiar¡¯s crumpled form. ¡°There! Over by that tree!¡± The Thugs rushed forwards but faltered slightly as Tiar came into view. Downed as he was, Tiar was still a massive Werebeast. A thing of dark feathers, unnatural muscle, and sharp talons. ¡°Bugger me! What Hell spat that thing out?!¡± remarked the Thug with the twitch. The leader, Broke-Nose, gestured for his fellows to be quiet. Braver than the others, or perhaps just more stupid, he crept towards Tiar. Gently, he poked Tiar¡¯s wing with his hand-axe. The Werehawk twitched slightly, and Broke-Nose lept back. When no retaliation came, he kicked Tiar¡¯s wing. Earning no response aside from a faint croak Natalie doubted they could even hear. Smiling back at his fellows, Broke-Nose said, ¡°We got a live one. Some sorta Bird Monster. Ya think it''s worth anything?¡± Another Thug, this one with a thick brow and absent chin, glanced around nervously. ¡°Maybe? But shouldn¡¯t we get back with the others? Boss said to stick with the crowd.¡± Broke-Nose waved a dismissive hand at Thick-Brow. ¡°Bah! We aint gonna make anyting of this. The rest of the crew are sacking half the bloody shops in ta sixteenth. Just cause we drew the short lot dont mean we can make some coin.¡± Stomping down on one of Tiar¡¯s wings, Broke-Nose eyed the Warhawks plumage. ¡°Bit too big to carry round. Need to cut off some valuable bits. I bet tese feathers will sell good!¡± Broke-Nose raised up his hatchet, ready and a shout echoed through the forest. ¡°STOP!¡± It took Natalie a moment to realize the shout had come from her own throat. As the thugs glanced up at her hiding place, she cursed. So much for hiding and staying subtle. Sliding down the tree, Natalie moved closer to the Thugs. ¡°Leave him alone!¡± Surprised, the group looked at Natalie and back at Tiar. Broke-Nose smiled. ¡°Move a-long miss, don¡¯t go sticking yur pretty nose in places it dont belong.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie spat: ¡°Jag off! I¡¯m not going to let you hurt him.¡± Natalie saw a ripple of fear spread between the five criminals as they saw her fangs. Thick-Brow cursed. ¡°Donkeyballs! She¡¯s a Mutt!¡± Internally Natalie almost smiled at that. In the poor light, they must have mistaken her for a different type of monstrous. The Dream-Sap Addict pointed his spear at Natalie. ¡°Why not leave the big one and just take her? I know some people who¡¯d pay lots for¡­ exotic merchandise.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t know if she wanted to roll her eyes or tear the Addict¡¯s throat out. Part of her couldn¡¯t believe such vulgar and terrible people really existed. Back in Glockmire, she¡¯d half-thought Barnbas¡¯s stories about Flesh-peddlers were just that, stories. How could people treat each other with such cruelty? That had to be the domain of Monsters? Not the actions of mere mortal men? Well, the ugly hunger she saw in the Thugs eyes told Natalie all she needed to know. The idea of killing these five and cleaning the world of their filth suddenly had great appeal. Shaking the bloodlust from her head, Natalie grimaced. How had Cole handled situations like this? Even if he was absent, she could still follow his example. ¡°Leave me and the Werehawk alone. Go back to Vindabon and forget you saw either of us. We can both go our merry ways, and this doesn¡¯t have to get ugly.¡± The hunger in the Thug¡¯s eyes curdled into anger. Which Natalie reflected was exactly what had happened when Cole had tried something similar. Perhaps she¡¯d not picked the best example. Broke-Nose gestured at Natalie with his hatchet and spat: ¡°Nuff of this, lets grab her.¡± A strange mixture of terror and elation filled Natalie. Part of her had hoped for this. The part that frightened her to the marrow. Talons of blood dripped down Natalie¡¯s fingers, and she met the first Thug with a wide slash. He squealed in pain as her claws ripped a quartet of red lines down his chest. As fresh crimson sprayed onto the snow, Natalie¡¯s Hunger roared in pleasure. Pulling against her mind like a starving dog on a chain. Forcing herself to step back, Natalie hissed: ¡°Get back! Don¡¯t make me hurt you!¡± One of the Thugs in the back, this one with a long nose and hairless scalp, screeched. ¡°YOU BITCH!¡± and tossed his spear at Natalie. It struck home, slamming into Natalie¡¯s shoulder and sending her sprawling backwards. Useless breath knocked from her, Natalie screamed. The spear burned in her flesh, its cold tip searing like a red-hot poker. With twitchy fingers, she gripped the spear haft and pulled it free. Her black blood boiled and sizzled as the spear fell to the ground. Looking at the weapon, Natalie felt her stomach drop. The speartip was Silver. Looking up, she caught sight of a boot coming down on her gut. A pained gasp escaped her as the blow crushed dead flesh. Broke-Nose leered down at her. ¡°Not so fucking cocky now, are ya?¡± He raised his hatchet up, and Natalie the Human felt fear rush through her. Natalie the Vampire, felt naught but hate and Hunger. The edges of Natalie¡¯s vision went red, and she reached up with her working arm, tearing her claws through Broke-Nose''s kneecap. He screeched and fell. Natalie reversed their position. Straddling him while her fangs sought his throat. The stink of blood was utterly intoxicating. Mouth wide in a predatory leer, Natalie lunged for Broke-Nose. The image of Cole¡¯s broken body in an oubliette flashed behind her eyes. Pulling herself back from the kill, Natalie hissed in frustration. Broke-Nose just wailed and pointed at Natalie, his babbling lips trying to form the word Natalie knew all too well. She wasn¡¯t about to let him finish it. Black claws slashed across his throat and emptied his life onto the ground. Forcing herself to turn from the wasted bloodmeal, Natalie turned to the next Thug. This was the one who¡¯d thrown his spear. His eyes were wise in terror as the Vampire bounded towards him. Rapidly burning through her blood supply, Natalie forced herself not to bite his throat. Settling for opening his neck like Broke-Nose. A red haze filled her vision, and Natalie felt herself dance in and out of control. She couldn¡¯t stop the violence; her body was moving on its own now. But she could aim it to a degree. Next, the Sap-Addict gurgeled as claws plunged between his ribs, and blood flooded his lungs. Pulling herself free, Natalie slacked the Hunger a little by cleaning her talons. Licking her black claws clean as she shot toward the fourth thug. Idly she noted how the Sap-Addict¡¯s blood had a sweet taste to it. Reminding her vaguely of spun sugar. Humming in pleasure, she skulked towards her fourth kill. Despite a few frantic swings of his torch he died as quickly as the others. Claws slitting him neck to groin. Leaving only Thick-Brows alive. The last Thug was on the ground, pants soaked with urine, briney tears flowing free. He blubbered and begged. A sweet melody to a Vampire. Mouth wide in cruel mirth, Natalie felt a shiver of pleasure go through her at Thick-Brows predicament. This sack of blood and meat had wanted to bind her, sell her, use her like livestock. HER! A Vampire! The Alukah reborn! Now he was in his proper place, a wretched pile of organs at her feet. The Hunger laughed, and it''s bubbling humor escaped Natalie¡¯s lips. The red haze became a thick miasma obscuring all but Thick-Brow and his imminent death. Fell whispers sang in Natalie¡¯s ear. How she deserved a reward for helping the Werefolk. She¡¯d been a good little Vampire, hadn¡¯t she? What harm would it be to end this waste of flesh and taste his death? Surely Cole would understand that? Thinking of Cole sent a red warmth through Natalie. Oh, she wanted him, to taste him, to screw him, to make him hers. Human love filtered through a Vampire¡¯s mind became something bloody and vile. Obsession crossbred with Lust and raised on a diet of Cruelty. Giggling slightly, Natalie slinked down towards Thick-Brow. Yes, Cole would understand. And even if he didn¡¯t? Well, she¡¯d make him wouldn¡¯t she? Mouth wide, fangs long and sharp and knives, the Vampire prepared to feed. Thick-Brow fumbled with something in his hand and spat the word Broke-Nose had tried to say earlier. ¡°VAMPIRE!¡± Mouth still spread in that inhuman grin, Natalie rasped. ¡°Yes,¡± and shot forward. A blast of something cold and terrible knocked her back. Hissing in fury, Natalie looked up to see what had interrupted her. Eyes widening in sudden shock, Natalie looked at her amulet. Clutched in Thick-Brows shaking hands. Bitter cold washed away the red haze, and Natalie stepped back, confusion and horror replacing the Hunger. Thick-Brows thrust the amulet forward, a nervous smile spreading on his face. ¡°S-Stay Back!¡± Distantly, Natalie glanced back in the direction the Thugs had come from. When Tiar had lost control and spun through the skies, he must have circled before crashing. Natalie losing her amulet, and Thick-Brows finding it. With shaky fingers, Natalie reached forward. Snatching the amulet from the Thug and holding it close. Its icy radiance soaked her bones, and she felt the Hunger wither under a God¡¯s cold embrace. Fully in control of her faculties, Natalie looked up at Thick-Brows. Voice weak with hunger and shame, she said, ¡°Run and don¡¯t look back.¡± Thick-Brows asked, ¡°Wha?¡± Natalie screamed, ¡°RUN!¡± sending Thick-Brows crawling backwards in fright. Regaining some composure, Natalie hissed. ¡°Say anything about this to anyone, and I¡¯ll hunt you down. I have your scent; you saw what I did to the others. Don¡¯t make me kill you.¡± Thick-Brows didn¡¯t need much more convincing. Pulling himself up, he ran through the forest. Leaving Natalie surrounded by corpses, the thick smell of blood, and her own guilt. Looking back to Tiar, Natalie went to the downed Werehawk. He was still breathing, if barely. Amulet in hand, Natalie could ignore the smell of his blood and checked his injuries. He had two arrows sticking in him. Still a little unsteady after the fight, Natalie ripped them free. Tiar let out a gasp and a grunt, and more blood poured free. Looking down at the arrows, Natalie examined their tips. They were silver. Dropping them quickly, Natalie went back to Broke-Nose¡¯s corpse and pulled off his jacket. Aided by her claws, she started tearing it into strips. Returning to Tiar, she tried her best to bandage his wounds. It was a mildly pointless effort, but she still tried. Every now and then, the smell of blood would hit Natalie hard, and she would need to take a step back and focus on her amulet. But she still managed to wrap up Tiar¡¯s torso and get him situated a little. Looking around at the dead Thugs, Natalie winced. Her memory of the fight was hazy at best. Flashes of violence and alien emotions pounded in her skull. Slightly sickened by her recollection, Natalie had to admit perhaps the Temple had a point. The person she¡¯d been while in the Hunger¡¯s thrall was¡­ horrible. The Amulet had helped banish the Monster, but Natalie had to wonder if it hadn¡¯t¡­ would she have stayed like that? A ground-shaking roar pulled Natalie from her worries. Looking in the direction of the noise, Natalie realized she needed to know what was going on with the Werefolk. Stealing a few more blood-soaked jackets and covering Tiar with them, Natalie set about getting a better vantage point. Scrabbling up a nearby tall maple, Natalie peered out over the forest and tried to find the Mob. It didn¡¯t take her long. Fire and smoke poured out of a nearby copse as a wave of people rushed towards the Werefolk camp. Eyes wide, Natalie watched as a massive rock face exploded out of the smoking glade and into the mob. Blinking, she realized it wasn¡¯t a boulder or similar; the ¡®rockface¡¯ was covered in fur. A Bear larger than a Werefolk Wagon slammed into a crowd of people. Screams and wails filled the night as the Bear roared. Its table-sized paws turned people into paste as it rampaged. Barreling through the crowd like they were knee-deep grass, the Bear shook its head and bellowed. Legs and arms covered in gore, body stuck with spears, the Bear was reddish-brown with streaks of silver going through its pelt. The same colors as Guorpa Honeydrinker¡¯s beard. The Werebear smashed through another group of people, trampling them beneath its paws while a score of hulking Werewolves followed in its trail. Some were hybrids like the Shohgard Pack had been, and others took the shape of giant Wolves. All of them had blood-soaked maws and wild eyes. The Hybrids carried oversized axes and swords, cutting through people like a farmer through wheat. The fully transformed just used their mouths and weight to kill. Frantic screams and the smell of violent Death reached Natalie. Dawning horror bloomed in Natalie¡¯s mind. The mob of ten thousand Vindabonites had seemed an unstoppable horror to her. A tide of wrath and flesh unstoppable by anything. But she¡¯d forgotten the target of that Mob¡¯s wrath. And judging by the carnage below her, so had the Mob. Natalie had feared a massacre, a pogrom against the Werefolk like one out of the history books. She¡¯d never even considered the old roles would be reversed. These weren¡¯t solitary outcast Werefolk, easy pickings for a town''s wrath. This was a small army of Werebeasts supported by a circle of Shamans and fueled by righteous fury. As she watched, Natalie could see the riot¡¯s momentum break. Fear spread like wyrmfire, and the surging mass of people headed towards the Camp started to reverse. Slowly at first, inertia resisting the push of fear. Then as Guorpa sent another score of people, or the remains of people, flying high into the air, the dam broke. Screams and wails filled the air, competing against the roars and snarls of beasts. Natalie watched as people were trampled beneath the feet of their fellows. As thousands turned and ran like one singular creature. She wanted to look away, to not see any more of the death and devastation. But she was paralyzed by the sheer overwhelming brutality of the display. Utterly mesmerizing in its intensity. Clutching her amulet, Natalie watched as hundreds died. Snarling Wolves, Bears, and even a few Lions tearing through them. While occasionally, a Werebeast fell under the weight of numbers. Dragged down by scores of spears. Or a lucky shot with a bow. As she watched, Natalie realized there was a strange pattern to the carnage. While most of the rioters ran without any thought other than survival. Others moved oddly. Groups of five or ten enmeshed in the crowd, taking their time to strike out at Werebeasts who strayed too close. Something about this entire situation seemed wrong. On the surface, all the pieces made sense, but as she looked closer, Natalie could see cracks in the design. Things that didn¡¯t quite fit, abnormalities that itched at her mind like coarse fabric. Sitting atop her perch, Natalie knew in her soul some unseen hand was at work here. Some malice pushing things to this dreadful conclusion. She just didn¡¯t know the source or the purpose. Looking down at her amulet, Natalie whispered a plea and a prayer. ¡°You were repairing your Net. You knew this would happen, didn¡¯t you? All this death and horror, you could see it, couldn¡¯t you, Master Time?¡± she tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice as she continued. ¡°I tried, I really did try to fix things. To help people. But I failed. I wasn¡¯t enough, and now people are dying because of that. So¡­ so could you please help me. I know you aren¡¯t supposed to, but if anything is worth messing with this balance of yours. I think thousands of lives are.¡± Nothing happened; Natalie just sat there, shoulders slumped. Heart heavy with defeat. The urge to chuck her amulet out towards the carnage came, but she resisted it. She wasn¡¯t going to let herself lose control and add to this disaster. Looking down at the amulet and feeling the cold numbness spreading from it, Natalie let out a useless breath. ¡°Please, help me,¡± A voice cool and crisp like winter¡¯s first snow whispered to her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Natalie. I cannot.¡± Before Natalie could say anything, the voice of a God continued. ¡°But my kin can.¡± Blinding golden light exploded out from near Vindabon. A gilded Sunrise bright enough to make Natalie flinch back and nearly topple out of the tree. As one, twenty-four thousand eyes turned to the light. Beast, Folk, and Man all mesmerized by the Holy Light before them. Hidden in that light, at its very center, was a ragged man with tattered armor and scarred skin. Holding aloft an arrow plucked from a forgotten tomb. Paladin Cole had brought the Dawn. Book II: Chapter 14: Blinding Light

Chapter 14: Blinding Light

¡°Omniscience is a myth. No one can know everything, not even the Gods. A truth they work hard to hide. There are¡­ blindspots in the Divine¡¯s purview. Places in Time and Space muddled to the Pantheon''s sight. In these creases, the objective morality enforced by the Gods falls apart. Here a mortal may do the unspeakable and not worry for their soul. Confident the Gods cannot know the truth of what happened. Gods, who, in their mercy, refuse to render judgment on the unknown. A loophole those clever and privileged enough to understand this Blindspot exploit gleefully.¡± - Collected words of Amal the Apostate.
Rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes and praying for the combat drug to kick back in, Cole followed the spindly Priest, apparently named Luka. While Alia and the two Nobles tagged along behind them. The Nobles, Delia, and Jaerd had tried to slip away unsuccessfully. Only earning the watchful focus of the City Warden for their efforts. Tired and burned out by his efforts, Cole tried to ground himself by focusing on the Fourth Temple''s interior. Unlike the Tenth Temple''s narrow halls of dark stone, the center of Sister Sun¡¯s worship was a bright and airy place. Cream-colored stone, warm woods, mixed with lots of gilded inlays. While an ornate mix of mirrors, windows, and glowstones kept the wide halls bright and gleaming. A welcome respite after the dark of the Tunnels. Rubbing a little of the exhaustion from his eyes, Cole asked the Priest Luka: ¡°A riot? What¡¯s happening?¡± Luka glanced up at the towering Paladin and audibly swallowed. ¡°We don¡¯t really know. But from what I hear, one of the Werefolk nomads took¡­ liberties with a Tavern worker. Some locals took objection to that and started gathering in Salmon Square to demand the Werefolk be banned from the city. Stuff escalated quickly from that.¡± Growling an oath, Cole cracked his neck and traced his axe and the recovered arrow. A deep cold tug in his gut told him Saint Arka¡¯s Arrow had another role to play in all of this. The Gods often built the future like one of those Concordian puzzle-paintings. Slipping seemingly random pieces into place and making a piece of art. Cole just hoped this particular piece was a pleasant one. Coming up from the Temples sublevels, they passed clinic wards filled with the injured. Frantic Priests scurried between bedsides while more and more wounded piled into the Temple. Moving past the Riots effects, they reached a large set of oaken doors emblazoned with a whirling Sun disk. The inner Fane of the Temple. Where the High Priests and other ranking Holy Folk did their work. Luka scurried up to the door and turned to Cole. ¡°Let me go and see if the Radiants can grant your audience.¡± Cole raised a tattered eyebrow at that. While every God had a unique title for their Supreme Priests, their Hierophants, they were rarely used outside Ceremony or Festival. But that wasn¡¯t the main thing that bothered him. Radiants or similar Supreme Priests are gifted with incredible magical power. The type of power that could end this whole mess with relative ease. Cole had once seen a Hierophant of Master Time freeze an entire Lake solid with a word. Trapping the army of Draugr currently climbing out of said lake in ice. So why weren¡¯t these Radiants helping heal people or quell the Riot? Looking at Alia Cat-Eyes, Cole gestured vaguely. ¡°Get yourself, and the Nobles treated for any contamination. Hopefully, this won¡¯t take long. Ignoring Luka¡¯s protests, Cole pushed open the Sun disk door and entered the Temple Fane. The chamber was circular in shape. With a conical roof going up to a brilliant Glowstone cut so its light made dappled patterns upon the floor. Murals of gold and silver danced along the walls and at the center was an altar of amber shaped like a sunburst. Around the altar were four figures in bright robes in the middle of a fierce argument. ¡°WE JUST CAN¡¯T SIT HERE! IT¡¯S A-¡± bellowed one of the Radiants, ending just as they noticed Cole¡¯s entrance. Luka scurried in after the Paladin and caught the yelling Hierophant¡¯s attention. ¡°Priest Luka, you intrude on a cloistered meeting. I assume you have a good reason.¡± Before Luka could answer, Cole raised up his amulet. ¡°Radiants of Vindabon. I am Paladin Cole of Master Time. I come with crucial information and a plea for assistance.¡± One of the Hierophants stepped forward. A tall, androgynous figure Cole recognized. Priest Robyn, an Eclipse Dancer, and the Priest who¡¯d represented Sister Sun at the meeting to discuss Cole¡¯s arrival. Slim and beautiful, it was impossible to tell Robyn¡¯s gender. Which Cole guessed was part of being a Dancer. The Eclipse Dancers were a sacred order of Priests belonging to both Sister Sun and Brother Moon who oversaw rituals of transfiguration. Healing those whose souls and flesh did not match. Many Dancers used these rites to alter themselves to be neither fully masculine nor feminine. Reflecting their duties and the divine relationship the Eclipse represented. Raising a single narrow eyebrow, Robyn intoned: ¡°Paladin Cole, if you come with word of the Riot, know we are more than aware.¡± Shaking his head, Cole scoffed. ¡°Believe me, Hierophant, I wish I was. Instead, I come to report the discovery, and death of a Demon beneath your city streets.¡± Shock spread between the Radiants in a ripple of bright fabric. Cole rubbed his lengthening hair and elaborated. ¡°In my efforts to solve the recent Murders, I discovered an ancient Demon nesting beneath Vindabon. It had recently awakened from hibernation and started gathering a Cult around itself. With the help of the Weinstadt Guards, I dealt with both Demon and cult. But to properly cleanse the tunnels and any lingering corruption, I¡¯ll need your help.¡± One of the Priests, this one an old woman with the look of beauty aged to grace, snapped at Cole. ¡°A Demon? We would have detected it. The Wards of the City would know if anything like that infested our home. The darkness leaking from it would easily register.¡± Sighing slightly, Cole went up to the altar and dropped the arrow onto the polished amber. Ancient wood and metal clattered against rose-gold sap. The argumentative Priestess started to say something, but her words died as the Arrow started to glow. Softly at first, like the faint light of the summer evening through lush leaves. But growing into a brilliance matching the Glowstone above them. With uncertain fingers, Radiant Robyn reached out toward the relic. The arrow rolled away just as their digits were about to trace its shining shaft. Repelled like a pellet of iron facing magnetite. The arrow skidded along the amber altar and returned close to where Cole stood. Understanding the message, Cole snatched up the artifact and gestured to the Hierophants like a Teacher and their pointer. ¡°Saint Arka sealed away this Demon. I found this relic impaling it¡¯s body and keeping the Demon trapped. Your Wards could not detect an abnormality because there was none to detect. That Demon had been down there since before old King Carolus forged his crown.¡± Nodding slowly, Robyn said, ¡°The Eighth Arrow has returned to us. Mayhaps the Goddess might grant us a boon in wake of all this tragedy.¡± Setting the arrow back down, Cole¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Why have you not all intervened in this Riot? Surely ending this mess is within your power.¡± The Priest, who had been yelling when Cole entered, gestured at the Paladin. ¡°See! The Rest-Bringer speaks the truth! We should leave and bring the Light to this darkest night!¡± The fourth Priest, this on an old woman so withered she looked almost ossified, rasped. ¡°While the Caul wraps around Vindabon, we cannot intervene. To do so would invite disaster. You know this, Deitri.¡± Deitri scoffed and ran fingers through silver-blond hair. ¡°Disaster is already upon us, Eldest Diana! We should not let this¡­ phenomena nor the city''s orders govern us!¡± Diana brought her cane down on the floor with a harsh crack. Only then did Cole realize her eyes had been shut this entire time. Opening them, she showed spheres of glowing amber in place of flesh. This Priestess Diana was well on her way to becoming an Anchorite if she did not meet Master Time first. ¡°Deitri, your zeal to do good is commendable. Exactly what one of our station should aspire to in any other situation. But this is not a normal situation. A Caul smothers the City, birthed from all that emotion and confusion. Blinding the Gods sight and keeping us trammeled.¡± Rubbing his eyes and willing his exhaustion to wait a few more hours, Cole asked. ¡°A Caul ? Even if the Gods cannot see the Riot accurately, that shouldn¡¯t stop you from acting.¡± Eldest Diana clicked her tongue and gave Cole a look he assumed she spared for especially thick Acolytes. ¡°You clearly weren¡¯t a Priest before you took up the Mantle were you? The power a Priest uses is not their own; it is a God¡¯s power, only channeled through their worshippers. Your gifts are enmeshed into your soul, giving you more agency and responsibility than a Priest. Without the Gods¡¯ direct oversight, we risk error and backlash. If you make a mistake, it will mar your soul. If we do, Sister Sun will pay for our transgression.¡± Diana¡¯s words conjured up stories of Fallen Priests and Divine Taboo. Those who perverted a God''s power and caused untold calamity. A perversion in part responsible for the Bloody Centuries. Misuse of Miracles had forced the Gods into a state of inaction. They were so busy trying to restore order in their own domains and prevent infernal contamination they couldn¡¯t aid the World as it burned. A mark of shame still carried by Deity and Priest alike even all this time later. Glancing at Deitri, Diana continued speaking. ¡°But even if we cannot help quell this riot, we can still aid you, Paladin. Deitri I am tasking you with cleansing the Warrens. Bring the Dawn to those festering depths and help the Paladin in any way you can. But be careful; our hands are unsteady as long as the Caul exists.¡± Picking up the Arrow, grabbing all four Hierophant¡¯s attention. Cole asked. ¡°So the rest of you intend to stay here while people suffer and die? Surely using a fraction of your invested power in targeted ways is possible? At least join your subordinates in healing the wounded!¡± Diana fixed Cole with a stare hard as frozen sunlight. ¡°We are not idle, Paladin. We and our fellows across the city work to break this Caul . Cleaning the Beyond of spiritual film and ending this madness. Besides, our students are more than capable. If the situation escalates and the City gives us the command, we will use our investment like you say. Until then, we have other duties.¡± Shrugging and trying to ignore his head''s throb, Cole set the arrow down and spoke to Deitri. ¡°There are some Guards still down in the Warrens with a large number of bodies that need to be recovered. The tunnels are infested with Hellspawn, but they should be dying off relatively quickly without the Demon to support them.¡± pausing and looking at his hands Cole continued, ¡°I suspect parasitic Hellspawn have gotten into me and the others. We will need to be cleansed.¡± Eldest Diana answered before Deitri could. ¡°You show no signs of taint, Paladin. Your Mantle or¡­ something else protects you.`` The Priestess left something unsaid in her words, and Cole swallowed nervously. Anchorites or Priests close to being Anchorites could see into the Beyond. The old Priestess had clearly seen something odd about his soul. One as aged and experienced as her had doubtlessly known Paladins before, stripping him of that excuse. Turning to leave before more questions could be asked. Cole was interrupted by the sound of rattling wood and the clink of something falling. All eyes in the Fane turned to see the Arrow of Saint Arka. It had slipped along the Amber Altar and followed after Cole. Priest Robyn reached down and picked up the Arrow. The moment it was in their grip, it shot forward. Cole barely caught the projectile with calloused hands. Looking at their fingers and to Cole, the Eclipse Dancer said. ¡°The Eighth Arrow has business yet with you, Sir Paladin. Please return it to us when that business is done.¡±
Alia tried to join Radiant Deitri in rescuing Iron-Teeth and the others but was denied. Instead forced to join the wounded from the Riot and receive treatment alongside the Nobles. Not protected like Cole was, Cat-Eyes needed to be cleansed magically. Any infection or mutation purged by the Temple¡¯s miracle. Even without Cat-Eyes, the second expedition into the Warrens was well staffed. Dietri the fiery Hierophant had assembled a group of Priests, Battle Clerics, and trusted volunteers to start the cleansing operation. The news of a Demon and its historic pedigree was enough to force the Temple out of its strange stasis. Those uncertain about Eldest Diana¡¯s orders quickly poured themselves into Deitri¡¯s work. Something Cole suspected the canny old Priestess had planned. Cole watched as the quickly assembled force prepared to brave the Warrens. He and Cat-Eyes had given them as much instruction as possible, but Cole still felt it was lacking. Cole would much prefer to join them, but the steady tug of his soul and the arrow tucked to his chest told him his purpose was elsewhere. Radiant Dietri looked back at Cole, a frown on his creased face. ¡°Are you certain you won¡¯t join us, Sir Paladin?¡± Shaking his head, Cole grimaced. ¡°Believe me, I¡¯d rather join you. But I have other duties to attend to. Just follow the Glowpaste and watch for the Black Coral.¡± Nodding, Dietri set out, a score of steel-sworn Priests at his back. Unwilling to waste any more time, Cole left the Temple of Sister Sun. Pushing past the crowd of petitioners and panicked people, Cole followed the cloud of smoke and the sound of screams. The Fourth Temple hadn¡¯t been too terribly close to the heart of the chaos, but signs of strife and shock were still obvious. Most blatant was the stream of citizens moving in a limping trickle toward the Temple. In that melancholy mass, Cole saw every manner of person. All fleeing towards the safety of the nearest Temple. Driven from homes or businesses by the storm of wrath, Cole now followed. The combat drug had finally returned to full potency, and Cole could run through the streets of Vindabon unburdened by exhaustion. Even lacking his cloak, Cole was an intimidating sight and he had no problem passing by pedestrians. All but the most stunned or belligerent moving out of his way. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. It didn¡¯t take Cole long to reach the Woad Way. The main road that led from its namesake gate to Salmon Square. Coming out from a side street, Cole felt like he¡¯d stepped from Vindabon into some sacked city from the history texts. Cooling blood pooled on the cobblestones. Contesting with lumps of debris and piles of refuse littered throughout the main thoroughfare. Debris, washed up there by the tide of a city''s rage. Cole¡¯s boots cracked and crunched with every step. Shattered glass from hundreds of windows coating the ground. While a dozen fires burned just where Cole could see. Some were born of the refuse piles, others had entire buildings as kindling. Cole passed a burning home, every instinct told him to join the small bucket brigade working to douse the fire. But the command of two Gods hung heavy about his soul. He might do some good helping put out an errant spark. Or he could help douse this entire inferno. It itched at Cole¡¯s soul, and he paused momentarily. Looking down at his hands, he thought about what he was. Sure he could spend hours helping ferry water to the fire like a mundane mortal. But he wasn¡¯t a mundane mortal. He had power, not enough to shake the world, but enough to make a difference. He needed to stop thinking in terms of normalcy. A normal person would need to choose between the burning house or the burning city. He didn¡¯t. Stepping towards the flaming building, Cole saw heads swivel to face him. He saw fear and uncertainty in the dozen or so people hauling water. Clad in armor and covered in scars, Cole knew he must make an intimidating sight. Answering their worries with gentle words, he said ¡°I¡¯m here to help.¡± That eased some of the tension, just for them to return in force. As Cole stepped past the bucket brigade and moved toward the flames. Voices behind him called out, confused and worried. Cole ignored them, his mind focusing on the complicated magic he was about to perform. He¡¯d never tried a blood magic spell this complicated and had no clue if it would work. All he had was hope and a prayer. The two things Cole found himself increasingly relying on. Ignoring the panicked shouts behind him, Cole cut his hand and thrust it into the flames. Arcane words bubbled from his lips as fire and blood mixed. ¡°Red fire, red fire! My call is dire! Leap from this pyre and into my palm! I will send you higher, so listen to this Psalm!¡± Flames licked at his blood like an inquisitive hound, and orange tongues turned blood-red. Red flames spread, converting its kindred into more of itself. Soon the entire blaze was the color of Cole¡¯s ichor and was pulling away from the structure. Leaking down the building and surrounding him. Pulled from the available fuel and dancing around Cole like frolicking spirits. With his other trembling hand, Cole channeled the flames. Sending them up and away from the building in a great column of scarlet flames. The inferno danced in the empty sky for a few seconds before fading away, denied any fuel. Panting, Cole went over to one of the stunned bucket carriers and grabbed his pail from him. Without ceremony, Cole held the bucket to his lips and let its cold draught pour into his mouth and over him. He¡¯d managed to avoid being burned, but his momentary cradle of fire had dried him out like a smoked fish. Gasping in relief, not even caring how the cold water chilled his flesh, Cole handed the pail back to the stunned carrier. Seeing the fire was completely extinguished, Cole nodded to himself and continued on his way. At least he could still rely on his blood magic if he had to. Alone on the Woad Way, Cole let himself brood on Eldest Diana¡¯s words and the existence of a Caul over Vindabon. He¡¯d never witnessed or been under one before and had no clue how it would effect his powers. When facing the Demon, he¡¯d been untrammeled, but that was no guarantee. During a Caul , the Gods feared the misuse of their power. Fearing their Priests might accidentally or Fixed-Stars-Forbid, intentionally harm an innocent. Cole suspected the Pantheon might not be so cautious when dealing with Hellkyn. There was very little moral gray when Demons were involved. ¡®Burn it all and let the Gods sort it out¡¯ was a legitimate stance in those cases. Stopping a Riot, by contrast, was not nearly as clean-cut. Normally Cole would conjure up some Cold or another minor display of power to test this, but he doubted his soul could handle it. Fighting a Demon had not been an easy feat for a relatively weak Paladin like himself. Cole had maybe one more true miracle left in him. An effort that would probably kill him, expending his soul like in the fight with Petar the Feeder. While Cole was confident, he could survive such an act. He would risk exposing his immortality or experience side effects. Useful as his new strength was, Cole was not eager to roll that set of dice again and see what happened. A nearby crash and wail pulled Cole from his worries. Glass from a storefront exploded out onto the cobblestones, and two figures stumbled out of the building. One was carrying a large case with both hands, and the other had a crude club held up. Both were young men, twenty five at the latest. But neither showed much sign of cleaning or grooming. Cole caught sight of jaundiced energy in the eyes of the club-wielder. The sick mania of a petty monster. It reminded Cole of the Cultists below the City. Unwelcome memories of broken flesh and screaming corruption came forth. Till Cole forced them back into the recesses of his mind with an effort. The two thieves ran towards Cole, and he saw a third figure stumbling out of the shop window behind them. A middle-aged man with an ugly gash above one eye, clad in soiled night clothes and holding a limp arm. Howling to the night, the older man screamed. ¡°Give it back! Give it back you Bastards!¡¯ Slowing slightly, Cole let out a sigh. Reaching down to a nearby pile of debris, Cole fished out an arms-length of wood. Giving it an experimental swing or two, he moved to intercept the two criminals. The first, the one with the sick eyes, gave Cole an ugly leer. Letting out a wild whoop, he swung his club down towards Cole¡¯s head. The Paladin cleanly sidestepped and let the thief slam himself into his makeshift weapon. Even without any added force behind it the wooden shaft knocked the Clubber down. Gasping for air, the Clubber looked up at Cole. The Paladin ended the ¡®fight¡¯ without any malice or even much effort, driving his stick down with a light blow. He snapped the length of wood over the Clubber¡¯s ribs. Still unable to make a noise, the Clubber just thrashed in pain. Glancing over his ¡®foe,¡¯ Cole nodded in approval. The Clubber would be sore for the next week, but nothing worse than that. Moving to the box-carrier, Cole looked at the new contender. This one lacked the zeal of the other. Guided more by opportunism than a desire for chaos like his comrade. Box-Carrier had come to a complete stop and didn¡¯t even resist when Cole pulled the stolen loot from his clammy hands. Unwilling to tangle with Cole, Box-Carrier scurried off, leaving the Paladin with the reclaimed treasure. The box was light in Cole¡¯s grip. It couldn¡¯t have held much. Going back to the bleeding store-owner, Cole set the box down in the window display. To his utter surprise, the Store-owner reached out and clasped one of Cole¡¯s arms. Tears bubbled up in the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°Thank you! Thank you! Those damned fools grabbed my daughter''s Wedding Dress! Thought it had to be valuable because I wouldn¡¯t give it over. Oh, thank you so much!¡± Nodding, Cole turned to leave. ¡°Go to the nearest Temple if you can. They are treating the wounded.¡± The Store-Owner nodded. ¡°Thank you again, but I¡¯d rather stay here. Not risk the streets with fools like those two loose on them!¡± Shrugging, Cole returned to his journey. Taking a few minutes to help where he could but never staying anywhere for too long. Tarrying only to scare off a few looters, help move some debris trapping someone, and giving directions to a disoriented gaggle of youths. Soon the Woad Gate came into view. As he approached, Cole glanced at the massive mural covering the wall above the gate. He gave it a second closer glance as he noticed something off about it. Barely visible in the low light was a line going straight up the mural. A thin stretch of what almost looked like pockmarks going from above the Gate to the walls top. Wondering what could have possibly caused that, Cole moved to the Gate. It was open, something else to add to Cole¡¯s list of confusion. He¡¯d expected to find the Rioters near it, not beyond it. The fact they¡¯d passed out of the city sent a chill up Cole¡¯s spine. Surely someone would have shut the gate once they knew what the rioters intended? Glancing back down the road, he¡¯d come and then back out the gate; Cole licked his lips nervously. Eldest Diana had said the city had told the Priests to hold back. Something he¡¯d not paid much attention to till now. But the implications now hung heavy. The Woad Gate had been opened for the mob. Some power in the City had hampered Vindabons own efforts to stop this madness. Who would do such a thing? Pushing towards the Gate, Cole was surprised to see no Guards or stragglers. The City¡¯s exit was left unguarded. Running fingers along the haft of his axe, Cole cursed. ¡°Salt-in-Wounds this isn¡¯t good.¡± Leaving the City without any objections or obstructions, Cole kept running. He hadn¡¯t realized the mob had already left Vindabon. He¡¯d assumed they wouldn¡¯t make it this far. Being turned back by the walls and left to vent their rage on the City until order was restored. Now a more terrible prospect than burning buildings and looted stores swam into being. What¡­ what if the Rioters actually reached the Werefolk? The idea seemed absurd to Cole. He¡¯d dealt with mobs before, and they always went after weak targets. People or places they thought were within their power. By their nature, a Riot or Angry Mob was many people without much power united in a singular violent goal. Using numbers to do what they individually could not. A twisted parliament of sorts, dispensing ¡®punishment¡¯ as the masses saw fit. But the Moonmoot wasn¡¯t a reasonable target for the Mob''s anger. It was a gathering of Bloody Werefolk! Cole had worried the Riot would kill or drive out any Werefolk within Vindabon. Persecuting an internal minority, they viewed as culpable for the murders. Not attacking a clan-alliance of thousands. Especially not one with Magic and Monsters at their disposal. A thunderous roar from the Avar Woods, followed by distant screams, told Cole his fears had been confirmed. Stopping out of sheer surprise, Cole remembered words Isabelle had once shared with him. ¡°Darling, because you are smart enough to know something is a bad idea. Doesn¡¯t mean everyone is. People tend to be stupid, cowardly, and short-sighted creatures. Especially when they let their emotions rule them.¡± Cole had learned to temper the cold pragmatic wisdom Isabelle had imparted in him. But sometimes, her aloof pessimism had its place. As more screams and roars echoed through the forest Cole had to admit perhaps now was such a time. Reaching down to the arrow, Cole felt its warm wood. Pulling it out of his undertunic, Cole looked at the relic. The polished metal of the arrowhead gleamed unnaturally bright. Staring at its gilded edge, Cole felt like he was being pulled toward it. Like some monolithic ocean current was sucking him into that crisp edge of metal. Entranced, he felt its shimmering steel grow warm. Rolling it in his palm, Cole saw the reflected light grow brighter and brighter with each rotation. Until its shine drowned out everything. A whirling mess of experiences burned against Cole¡¯s mind like the afterimage of the Sun clinging to the eyelids. *A wiry woman clad in ornate armor with long amber hair holds a shining bow aloft. She mutters a prayer and nocks a familiar arrow.* *The arrow flies free, catching golden sunlight as it spins. Passing over the heads of haggard warriors and striking a nightmare-given-form* *Black tar is split, and infernal flesh sunders as a giant of ossified rot falls into a smoking chasm* *Other arrows fly; these made of drab steel and loosed by blindfolded priests. These land among both Monsters and Mortals. Slaying both, and staining the Priests with blood, colored red and black.* Sucking in a breath of air, Cole blinked away the visions and looked at the arrow in his grip. He¡¯d been shown bits of the past mixed in with metaphor. A Divine Portent clear to him or anyone else skilled in reading such messages. ¡°You can¡¯t aim your power with the Caul . You need someone who can direct it without doing harm,¡± whispered Cole. ¡°Nothing actually stops you from interfering, just your own fear of hurting yourself and us. You¡­ you need someone trusted implicitly. A Saint¡­ or a Paladin.¡± Thrusting the arrow up into the air, Cole swallowed. ¡°You are trusting me with your life, so I guess I should do the same, Sister Sun.¡± Cole felt a warm breath on the back of his neck. It made him shiver in pleasant recollection as a gentle voice whispered. ¡°You are a good man, Cole of Atredia. Even in the darkest shadows, you kept to your oath. Shine my light, and show those who stray the truth of things.¡± Cole understood then what he needed to do. The truth came to him like words folded in beams of sunlight. Holding the Arrow aloft, he let his soul pour into it. He¡¯d roused the relic¡¯s power once before to help face the Demon. Now he tried something different. The Caul over Vindabon blinded the Pantheon, keeping them from seeing clearly. His soul, flavored with the divine but not truly of the Beyond, could act as a peephole into existence. One the Tenth God had decided to share with the Fourth. Cole was normally the tool of Master Time, an instrument of his will. Today he was a Bow. Drawn back and aimed by Sister Sun, trusting him to guide her power without breaking his word or her purpose. Golden light exploded out of Arrowhead, a second Sun that stung Cole¡¯s eyes even through their lids. Feeling the light shine out, Cole felt his senses travel with it. Everything touched by that illumination he could see or feel. Curious trees wondering if spring had come early. Startled rioters shielding their eyes. Snarling Werebeasts sniffed the air, seeking new prey. And a lonely Vampire at the top of a tree, covering her face to avoid the scalding light. Cole¡¯s mind started to twist and bend under the information. Too much, too quickly, flowed into his brain. Pouring out of it as quickly as it came. Like a wash tub trying to catch a river in its mouth. Clenching his jaw so hard his teeth creaked, Cole felt the arrowhead start to vibrate. A low hum that sent ripples through the divine light surrounding them. The hum grew and grew, becoming clearer and sharper. Transfiguring into a pure note even the greatest Sopranos would struggle to match. That note was not the end of this transformation. It split and schismed into other sounds. A choir of Seraphs mixed with the ringing of mighty bells. Before finally revealing itself in truth. It was a voice. A voice not meant for this part of existence. A voice its owner chose to mutilate and stunt just so the listeners could survive it. But a voice it was. As great and terrible as the Sun itself. *SHAME* *WASTED BLOOD, WASTED LIFE* *SHAME* *TEARS OF GOLD, TEARS OF SILVER* *SHAME* *CHILDREN BORN, CHILDREN CHOSEN, TOGETHER* *SHAME* *ASHAMED, GRIEVING, SORROWFUL* *SHAME!* The words were in every language and none. Cole heard them in Saint-Speech, Western, and Old Imperial at the same time. In all three tongues the meanings were the same. A message to the rioters from the Gods. One as simple as it was direct. Even though the Caul , the Pantheon had seen enough. They would not render judgment, but that did not mean they weren¡¯t ashamed of what they¡¯d seen. Cole felt the light start to dim. His purpose in this affair was fulfilled. As the light of the Fourth Goddess left the arrow, Cole felt part of his soul go with it. He¡¯d used himself all up. Fighting a Demon and now channeling a Goddess¡¯s words. The flame had died, leaving nothing but ash and cinder. As darkness started to overtake him, Cole let out a weary breath and looked to the arrow in his hand. It was also burnt, its wood, charcoal, its head, slag. Muttering to himself, he said. ¡°A pair we make then?¡± and tumbled forward. Just as he hit the ground, he caught sight of a figure running towards him. A bolt of fear went through Cole¡¯s dying heart. If someone saw him die and resurrect¡­ The strife that would unleash would make this night¡¯s tumult seem tame. Eyes glazing over, Cole heard the figure call his name. He knew that voice, didn¡¯t he? Its sweet melody and the Duchy accent was so familiar. He knew who it belonged to. He just couldn¡¯t¡­ place it. As the last embers of his life blew out, Cole shut his eyes and found the name he was looking for. It escaped his lips with a final breath. ¡°Natalie¡± Book II: Chapter 15: Black Cat

Chapter 15: Black Cat

¡°The subject''s left arm was cut with a Thread-Cutter Knife procured from the Aisan Sisterhood on Parcei Isle. Limb ceased all biological function and was spiritually dead as is typical of metaphysical lacerations. The Subject was then euthanized by brainstem severing. Two hours and seven minutes later, the Subject revived. Upon resurrection the spiritually severed limb was healed. (Addendum- Watcher Wraiths noted strange fluctuation in local Aether during Death. Worth further study?) - Personal notes of Isabelle Gens Silva.
The words of a God echoed in Natalie¡¯s mind. Ringing through her like the peal of celestial thunder. Blinking away the after-images of the golden light, Natalie felt like she was going to be sick. The immensity of a God¡¯s voice was enough to rattle all three parts of her being. Mind, body, and soul. While she physically couldn¡¯t be ill, her mind interpreted what had just happened as nausea. Fighting the feeling, she slid down the tree she¡¯d been hiding in. Noticing the grit of ash on her face as she did. Reaching the forest floor, Natalie rubbed her face and winced. Her hands and face were both covered in ash. Smearing her clothes with her soiled hands, Natalie looked to see her skin¡¯s pigmentation change slightly. It lost a little color she¡¯d not even noticed it gained. Looking to where the last afterglow of the Holy Dawn was fading, she understood. ¡°Sunburn, I was sunburned,¡± Natalie muttered. The light had seared her skin, and her body had sloughed off the exposed tissue into ash. Making a noise of disgust, Natalie was glad only her face and hands had been caught in the Light. Still, Natalie knew she¡¯d gotten off lucky.. She shuddered to imagine what would have happened if she¡¯d been closer to the Dawn. Either reduced to ash or in the middle of a Blood-Frenzy. Discarding those hypothetical worries, Natalie found Tiar where she¡¯d left him. His bandages were stained, but he was still breathing. Glancing about, Natalie knew she couldn¡¯t leave him, but doubted her ability to carry the giant Werehawk anywhere far. She briefly pondered making a litter of some kind, but a strange noise stopped that thought. The sound of fluttering wings pulled her attention up and away from Tiar. A Dove made of flowing light and shining fog glided between the nearby trees and headed for them. Natalie let out a breath she hadn¡¯t even realized she was holding. It was one of Madam Kistine¡¯s familiars. The Dove came down and landed on Tiar. Letting out a noise that mixed an avian Coo and the tinkling of small bells. Spreading its wings, the Dove Spirit let feathers that shone like painted glass fall onto Tiar. The Werehawk stirred slightly, and Natalie noticed the smell of fresh blood decreased slightly. He was being healed. Another smell caught her attention then. A familiar odor of musk. Hulking hands rested on Natalie¡¯s shoulder and covered her mouth. Natalie froze deathly still as the hot breath of a Werewolf tickled her head. She wanted to scream or fight back, but the claws and fangs so painfully close stopped her. Before Natalie could do anything the Werewolf spoke. Its voice a deep rumbling thing holding the barest hint of femininity. ¡°What¡­happened?¡± it growled. And Natalie instantly relaxed. It was Ametza, the youngest Fullblood of the Shohgard pack. Whispering, Natalie answered. ¡°Silver arrows, they knocked Tiar down. Then some strays came to finish him off. I stopped them¡­ but things got messy.¡± Natalie could almost feel Ametza¡¯s amber eyes drinking in the four dead thugs. ¡°Clearly¡­¡± The Werewolf slipped away from Natalie, finding Tiar¡¯s prone form. Pulling back the makeshift blankets and bandages wrapping the Werehawk. Ametza sniffed the wounds before reaching up to the Dove Spirit. Running her claws through its immaterial form. The Spirit let out that strange coo and shook its plumage in slight discomfort. Ametza¡¯s fingers were covered in a glowing liquid that shifted colors like soapy water. Carefully the Werewolf dropped the fluid onto Tiar¡¯s wounds. All while humming a low lupine note. Curious, Natalie asked, ¡°What are you doing out here?¡± Finishing her work, Ametza gestured to herself and then the Dove Spirit. ¡°Strong Fullblood¡­ Also¡­ Shaman¡­sort of.¡± Natalie had forgotten that Ametza was training as her mother¡¯s successor. The hotheaded young Werewoman didn¡¯t exactly inspire the image of mystic wisdom like Kistine did. But still, it made sense for Ametza to be out here treating the wounded. Looking over Tiar, the Werewolf made a pleased-sounding rumble and nodded to herself. Then she looked to Natalie and said in that strange half-speech of her kind. ¡°I Need¡­ go back to camp. You need¡­ city¡­Paladin.¡± Looking towards Vindabon, Natalie chewed on that idea. ¡°Will I be able to make it past the Rioters? Actually, what even happened to them? I saw the light, did the Shamans summon that?¡± Ametza chuffed and actually smiled, or at least let her mouth hang open in a lupine approximation. ¡°Paladin happened¡­ felt him. Felt him¡­ burn. You no¡­ know?¡± Eyes widening, Natalie half-shouted. ¡°That was Cole?!! He did that?¡± Shrugging her huge shoulders, Ametza tapped her nose and made a strange gesture with her claws. ¡°Smell but not smell¡­ Power called¡­was¡­God. Called by Cole.¡± Confused and worried, Natalie let out a frustrated hiss. Cole was supposed to be down in the Tunnels, not conjuring up a jagging Sun. What in the Pantheon¡¯s writ had happened? Turning to go, Natalie said: ¡°I need to go to him. Good luck, Ametza.¡± The Werewolf bobbed her head and went to scoop up Tiar¡¯s huge form. The Werehawk made a croaking noise but otherwise didn¡¯t complain. Licking her chops, Ametza growled. ¡°Thank you¡­ Next meet¡­ less¡­ messy.¡± Then she was off, loping into the deep woods, the wings of Tiar dragging behind her like a huge feathery cape. Natalie watched for a few seconds before switching her attention to the four corpses she¡¯d left. The idea of leaving their souls to stew in their rotting flesh appealed to Natalie¡¯s worst instincts. Let them suffer for what they¡¯d done and planned to do. Clutching the amulet hard enough she could feel its rough edges even through the numbing cold, Natalie forced herself to be better than those instincts. Going over to the bodies, she looked at her amulet and then down at the corpses. Could she consecrate them? Even if she could, how would she? Natalie wasn¡¯t a Paladin or Priest. Still, she had to try. With little ceremony, she went to Broke-Nose''s corpse and put the amulet on his forehead. Uncertain of what to do, Natalie whispered, ¡°I release you.¡± Nothing happened. So she tried a few childhood prayers, still nothing. Giving up, she retrieved the amulet and shrugged. Unbidden memories of the Millstead and the Grinning Ghouls came forth then. Natalie knew she couldn¡¯t just leave these bodies to reanimate. Racking her mind for all the strange bits of information Cole had shared during their travels. Natalie came to a morbid conclusion. She couldn¡¯t stop these four men from becoming Ghouls. But she could stop them from becoming dangerous ghouls. Breaking off a nearby tree limb, Natalie swallowed nervously. She couldn¡¯t even believe she was considering this. Taking her improvised cudgel, she bashed in four skulls and smashed eight arms. Sending a spray of gore out with each blow. If the four thugs reanimated as Ghouls, they¡¯d be harmless Ghouls. With that dirty deed done, Natalie dropped her weapon and set out. Sparing a glance back at the gory scene she¡¯d left behind, Natalie felt a note of disquiet go through her. She¡¯d killed four people. In self-defense, sure, but still, they¡¯d been people. People she¡¯d mutilated and left to an unliving nightmare until someone bothered to release them. In the wake of all that, she felt¡­ nothing. Just a cool acknowledgment of events, no guilt or self-loathing. Her only inner turmoil came from the lack of any inner turmoil. Shuddering, Natalie tried to refocus on finding Cole. He was her North Star in these matters, and returning to him had a newfound urgency. If she was truly becoming more monstrous, better to be near her keeper¡­ or executioner. Cursing her own traitorous mind, Natalie banished those thoughts with an effort. Only then, catching the sound of pained moans and confused babbling from nearby. Peering out from between the shadows, Natalie found a small crowd of rioters clustered on a forest path. Maybe fifty in number, they shuffled towards the city with uneven steps. Any weapons, if they¡¯d had any, were long discarded, and the group seemed to be more concerned with staying on the path than anything else. In the pale moonlight, Natalie could tell something was wrong with their skin. All the former rioters had a reddish-pink hew to them. Reminding Natalie of boiled crab she¡¯d seen for sale at the Vindabon docks. They¡¯d been sunburned. Each and every one of them scorched like a laborer in the Summer fields. But that wasn¡¯t the worst of it. A few held onto their fellows and were being guided like¡­ like the blind. Natalie had to stop herself from audibly gasping. Had they really been blinded? Even those not being guided looked unsteady on their feet. Like they couldn¡¯t truly see where they were going. One Rioter tripped over a root and fell to the ground, cursing. Another next to him reached down and grabbed the other¡¯s mouth covering it. With her hearing, Natalie could listen to the hushed words the second Rioter hissed. ¡°Be jagging quiet! The Monsters are all around!¡± The utter terror in those words resonated in Natalie. Her inner predator perked up at the desperation evident in the Rioters. They were easy prey and knew it. A fact that sent a shiver up her spine. Clutching her amulet and shoving down those thoughts, Natalie moved on. She wouldn¡¯t harm these lost souls, but she wouldn¡¯t help them either. Continuing onwards, Natalie passed by other clumps of Rioters, in similar shape. Slowly inching towards the city, but hampered by seared eyes and scorched skin. Every group had the same air of barely bridled terror about them. They¡¯d been routed by the Werebeasts and were now left crippled and alone in the dark forest. An utter nightmare, especially for these people who came motivated out of fear and anger for the Werefolk. As she moved through the forest, Natalie kept expecting to hear more screams or roars. The inevitable meeting of helpless prey and furious predators. But it never came. The smell of drying blood did waft through some sections of the Avar Wood, but Natalie¡¯s sensitive nose never picked up anything fresh. As brutal as the Werebeast counter-attack had been, it ended with the Dawn. Thinking of the massacre she¡¯d seen, Natalie felt a knot of discomfort grow in her gut. While she felt nothing for the Thugs she¡¯d dispatched. The sight of all those people running scared from monsters they couldn¡¯t hope to match had dredged up memories. Memories of the Breach, when a tide of Ghouls entered her hometown and killed hundreds before it was repelled. Natalie knew the Rioters had been asking for it. You don¡¯t get to threaten a Wolf''s pups and come away unscathed. But the sheer carnage had sickened her. It hadn¡¯t been a battle, just monsters tearing through people. Of course, there had been a few prepared Vindabonites who¡¯d fought back. Natalie knew Tiar wouldn¡¯t be the only casualty among the Werebeasts. They¡¯d maybe even suffer some deaths. But Natalie had seen hundreds of Rioters die. Shredded into puddles of gore by gnashing fangs and raking claws. Grimly, she wondered how they would even identify some of the bodies. Maybe the Priests of Master Time had some spell to help with that? It seemed like something they¡¯d know how to do. Reaching the edge of the forest, Natalie was pulled from her thoughts by a prickling warmth. Like the first hints of sunburn, it danced an odd needling pain on her face. Grimacing, Natalie knew she was close to the center of whatever had happened. She¡¯d arrived close to the Woad Gate, on a stretch of road just outside the city walls. Not far from where she¡¯d fallen, actually. But the place looked completely different from her last¡­ ¡®visit.¡¯ The tessellated stone of the Imperial Road was cracked and blackened. While the snow and ice covering the ground was gone, leaving dried earth and scorched grass. Even the walls of Vindabon were effected. A huge stretch of the Pink Stone was bleached, its salmon hue reduced to a faded pastel. And at the center of this seared space was a tattered man. Standing tall, he held up a lance of light. The fading light hurt Natalie¡¯s eyes, forcing her to shy away as the last of the brilliance died. Blinking away spots, she looked at the tattered man again. Already knowing who it would be before her eyes confirmed. Cole¡¯s skin was scorched, a length of burnt wood clutched in one hand, while blood dribbled from both ears. The Paladin rasped something so quiet, not even Natalie could hear. Then he collapsed forward, tumbling down like a shattered statue. Shouting his name, Natalie ran to him: ¡°COLE!¡± Ignoring the prickling ache, Natalie rushed forward, watching as Cole¡¯s eyes found her. A faint smile spread on the Paladin¡¯s cracked lips, and he rasped, ¡°Natalie.¡± Then like a candle guttering in the wind, the light in his eyes faded. Sheer panic filled Natalie as she went to him. Rationally she knew Cole could die and revive. But that only softened the blow of watching her lover die in front of her. Deep-seated fears, both innate and learned, ignited on seeing life leave Cole¡¯s eyes. Reaching his side, Natalie pulled him close. He was warm, very warm. His flesh heated up by whatever power he¡¯d summoned. But his heart was still, and Natalie¡¯s inhuman senses told her Cole¡¯s blood was lifeless. Unbidden memories of the Obuillete came crashing into Natalie, and a dry sob escaped her lips. Forcing her emotions down, she looked at the scorched twig Cole¡¯d been carrying. On closer inspection, it seemed to be an arrow of some kind. One badly burned but still vaguely recognizable. Natalie guessed it was important and probably related to the summoned Dawn. . Wrapping her fingers up in her sleeve, Natalie reached out and grabbed the arrow. She could feel its magical heat through the fabric. Some Undead instinct told Natalie if she¡¯d touched it unprotected, her fingers would have been burned off. Shuddering at the thought, Natalie nestled the arrow in Cole¡¯s¡­armor? She hadn¡¯t noticed he was wearing thick leathers and had steel gauntlets. The leather had been damaged, of course, and drops of some foul-smelling black stuff had dried on the material. Natalie knew Cole had gotten into some sort of mess down in the Warrens. Which, in retrospect, seemed kind of inevitable. The man was a javelin thrown by Master Time at any problem the God needed solved. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Chewing a lip in worry, ignoring the prick of her fangs, Natalie looked to the Woad Gate. Distant figures were moving towards them. A small group of soldiers, by the looks of it. They weren¡¯t wearing the black and yellow of the City Watch. Only cold gray armor, with weapons drawn. Something about the approaching soldiers sent a note of worry through Natalie. Looking back at the forest, she realized the first groups of Rioters were emerging from the treeline. She was trapped between both groups. Glancing down at Cole, Natalie swallowed uselessly. Cole had been very very explicit about not letting his true nature be exposed. She didn¡¯t know who these newcomers were and didn¡¯t want to risk them seeing Cole¡¯s dead body or, worse, his resurrection. Of course, she could maybe lie her way out of the situation. Claim he was badly injured or similar. But upon seeing the leader of the soldiers yell something and point at her with his sword, Natalie decided other, more radical options were needed. Options that would require blood to work. Dead blood isn¡¯t nearly as potent as living ichor, but it did have some power. Especially when the source had only recently died. Cole had given Natalie instructions on what liberties she should take if she found herself in a situation like this. If she needed power to survive or keep his secret, then his blood was available. Against her better judgment, but not her baser instincts, Natalie followed Cole¡¯s will. Sinking her fangs into the dead Paladin and guzzling down his blood. Without a heartbeat to help, the process was disgusting. Requiring Natalie to suck on his wound like a leech instead of lapping up fresh blood. Once a sufficient amount of the lukewarm ichor had entered her, Natalie pulled away. Her face contorted in disgust. Shutting her eyes, trying to ignore the sound of the approaching soldiers, Natalie reached down into herself. To the soul-silk bridge spun between her and Isabelle. ¡°Okay, Isabelle, if you have anything to contribute now would be a good time.¡± A faint voice echoed over the bridge as if from a great distance. ¡°I¡¯m too weak to truly help.¡± Natalie cursed under her breath; she¡¯d half expected this. Isabelle¡¯s possession of her seemed to have taken much from the elder Vampire. But before Natalie could end the connection, Isabelle provided another option. ¡°I have a suggestion. Your transformations are sloppy, and you struggle to change mass. Use that to your advantage.¡± Natalie was about to snap something about how unhelpful that was when the message''s meaning came into focus. Isabelle had helped guide Natalie through the process of turning into a Cat. The younger Vampire making numerous mistakes throughout their dream-lessons. Producing results useless for Isabelle¡¯s goal of sneaking through the Tenth Temple. But not useless for escaping the approaching soldiers. Stretching her mouth open, Natalie pulled on her reserve of blood and started her transformation. She wasn¡¯t altering her flesh like with the ill-fated wings of before, but instead creating a new body. A different process requiring a different approach. Just as Isabelle had instructed her, Natalie pulled up her blood and let it spill from her mouth in a cloud of red-black fog. It billowed out from her in a bank of shadows surrounding both her and Cole. A proper transformation needed to only cover the body with a thin layer of this blood-fog. Not ¡°Vomit up a coal fire.¡± as Isabelle had put it. But the sloppy eruption of fog was perfect to shroud Natalie and Cole in darkness. Distantly she heard yells of confusion from the approaching Soldiers, and their footsteps stopped. Natalie had bought herself some time and some distance. Perfect for what came next. The closest layer of the fog started to stick to Natalie as her flesh dissolved into the darkness. Reforming as she saw fit in the shadowy chrysalis. Instead of trying to tuck her excess mass away like Isabelle had taught her, Natalie let her new body stay true in size. Doing so was easier than Natalie had expected. Not having to shove mass into her Blood Cistern made the transformation smoother. As the red-black fog started to fade, Natalie¡¯s new form came into being at the same size as her normal body. Red feline eyes looked up at the startled Guards as Natalie flexed her new muscles. Feeling her claws dig into the stone below, as her tail swished about. Isabelle had taught Natalie how to turn into a housecat. Natalie had taken that lesson and altered it. Transforming into a giant Feline. The looks of fear on the Soldiers confirmed the truth any Cat owner knows on some level. The only difference between a family Mouser and a Lion is size. Sixty kilos of very large feline hissed at the soldiers. A noise rendered disturbing by the fanged maw it issued from. The Soldiers took a few steps back. Bewildered by the huge black leopard materializing before them in a cloud of darkness. Natalie took the opportunity to reach down and bite onto the collar of Cole¡¯s shirt. With startling speed, she exploded forward. Dragging Cole¡¯s limp form like a Lion might take its kill. Surprise and instinctual fear won out against training and the Soldiers lept out of the way. The fear in their frantic movements brought a deep rumbling purr up through Natalie¡¯s chest. Ignoring the urge to stay and ¡®play with her food,¡¯ the Vampire turned Big Cat shot through the Woad Gate and into Vindabon proper. Heading towards the nearest building, Natalie leaped up. Her new claws caught on wood as feline muscle propelled her upwards. She reached the roof of the building and was soon bounding between rooftops. Her undead strength made her far stronger and faster than a true Leopard. As she soared through the Vindabon night, Natalie wanted to laugh. After everything, getting to taste this freedom again was exhilarating. The only downside to the experience was Cole¡¯s body bouncing along with every leap. Flopping about like so much dead weight. As Natalie stuck a particularly tenuous landing, Cole¡¯s head slammed into icy roof tiles. Wincing internally, she hoped he¡¯d heal from that before resurrecting. Looking out across the rooftops, Natalie found her goal. The distant spire of the Tenth Temple. Soaring between buildings, Natalie sniffed the air. Soaking in the various aromas of the city. Much of it was hidden under a pall of ash and filth. The riot''s effects still clinging to the air. As she moved, Natalie found herself noticing how her senses had changed. Hearing and smell were heightened even past her Vampiric heights while her vision was warped. She seemed to be missing some colors, and distant objects were fuzzy. Natalie had been forced to stop multiple times to ensure she was heading toward the right Temple. On top of all this, her whiskers kept catching on Cole¡¯s body and provided a never-ending source of irritation. Ignoring this, she kept moving. Trying not to let Cole slam into anything else. Soon the Temple square came close, and Natalie felt a flush of elation. Despite everything, she had succeeded. Warning the Werefolk, surviving both her falls, saving Tiar, and now getting Cole to the Temple. Aside from all the death, slaughter, and pain, things had gone relatively okay. Looking down on the Temple square, Natalie realized there was one last obstacle in her way. The Temple plaza was crowded. At least a hundred people waited close to the Temple¡¯s main doors. She couldn¡¯t just jump down there as a Big Cat and enter. Looking around, something difficult to do with her feline Eyes, Natalie didn¡¯t see any balconies or similar roof entrances at the Temple. Even if she could make the jump, she would be stuck on the Temple roof. Setting Cole down, Natalie looked at his dead form. In all the excitement, she¡¯d forgotten he kept his nature secret even from the Temple. Feeling a little stupid, Natalie realized she would need to wait till he resurrected. Looking around the rooftop they occupied, Natalie saw the building''s chimney. It was tall, and whatever fireplace it connected to was large. So its smoke carried high and away by the wind. Nipping onto Cole¡¯s collar again, Natalie dragged him over towards the chimney. Setting him, so his back lay against the warm brick, Natalie curled up around him. Coiling around his body like, any Cat. Looking up at the hazy stars, Natalie blinked slowly and licked her chops. Now came the waiting.
The first thing Cole felt was a pounding headache. He could feel his pulse in the lump forming on his crown. Sucking in a breath, Cole nearly gagged on the second thing he noticed. His nose was filled with a hundred vivid scents. Mind reeling, Cole tried to decipher all the different smells. Disoriented, trying to get his bearings Cole reached up, and his hands found something soft and fluffy. Even more confused, Cole took a moment to realize he was looking into the face of a massive feline. Said massive feline was currently wrapped around him, its head looking at him. Reaching a state beyond confusion, Cole stilled his movements. Taking the moment to notice how odd the Cat was shaped. Cole had dealt with Lions and Leopards in the past, but this creature didn¡¯t look like either. Instead, it looked like any stray you¡¯d find. Only large enough to eat a man. Right on cue, the Cat opened its fanged maw and came closer. Still stunned, Cole braced himself for a second death. Only to experience the sandpaper tongue of a Cat rasp along his face. Blinking away his confusion, Cole watched as the cat pulled away from him. Stretching its muscled body, the giant Cat started to melt. Body dissolving into black blood and red fog, the Black Cat reformed before Cole¡¯s eyes. Turning into a smiling Natalie. Pulling herself up from all fours, Natalie beamed down at Cole. Reaching out she grabbed his hand and pulled Cole to his feet and into an embrace. As she hugged him, Natalie whispered. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe how happy I am to see you awake.¡± Cole was still trying to process all the new smells he was detecting. He barely had the mind left over to comprehend Natalie¡¯s presence. Erudite in his exhaustion, Cole asked. ¡°Natalie? How? What? What happened?¡± Smiling that mischievous smile of hers, Natalie helped Cole sit back down. Making sure to nestle into his side, she started to explain. How she¡¯d decided to help the Werefolk. Her escape from Vindabon, meeting with the Moonmooters, and everything that happened after. Leading up to her finding Cole and getting his body back into the city and away from prying eyes. Cole had to ask her to repeat herself a few times. His mind kept getting pulled from her words by some new smell. Eventually, after explaining the details of her transformation for the third time, Natalie asked, ¡°Are you okay? I¡¯ve never seen you distracted like this.¡± Rubbing his nose, Cole shrugged. ¡°Too many smells. I think the Rioters set fire to a spice merchant''s stock or something. It''s giving me a headache.¡± Natalie looked momentarily sheepish on mention of a headache, but that fell away under greater concern. ¡°Smells? The city¡¯s a little smoky but nothing abnormal.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Cole took a tentative breath. ¡°Yeah, there''s smoke but so much else. I imagine someone¡¯s dumped a few bottles of perfume down in the building below us. I can smell it all the way up here.¡± Glancing down, Natalie sniffed the air. He was right; there was a smell of perfume. A rich, almost sickly floral smell wafting up through some poorly insulated walls. But it took Natalie¡¯s focus to catch it. Tentatively, Natalie said. ¡°Cole, what you are smelling is very faint. Did you use some spell to enhance your senses?¡± The Paladin paused, his eyes widening in sudden understanding. ¡°I died.¡± Natalie nodded, a bitter smile on her face. ¡°Believe me, I noticed.¡± Shaking his head, Cole elaborated. ¡°No, I mean I truly died. I used up my soul to let Sister Sun speak. Just¡­ just like when I fought Petar.¡± A pregnant silence sat between them until Natalie aborted it. ¡°Your strength¡­ you said you got stronger after the last time. Now your sense of smell has changed?¡± Cole lowered his head in ascent and rubbed his nose for what felt like the fiftieth time. Natalie fished out a handkerchief she¡¯d stored in a pocket and handed it to him. Grateful, Cole buried his nose in the strip of cloth and smiled. It smelled of lilies and Natalie. Looking up at her, he said. ¡°You shared your story. I suppose I should share mine.¡± Eager not to dwell on his changing body Cole explained what had happened to him. Speaking of the Demon below Vindabon and his fight with it. Describing the Hellspawn and what he¡¯d been forced to do. Then the fallen guard and his return to the Temple with Cat-Eyes. Meeting the Radiants and taking the Arrow to the Gate. How he¡¯d used his remaining power to let Sister Sun manifest through the Arrow. So she might visit divine punishment even through the Caul . Natalie listened, absorbing this all, watching Cole''s trembling hands as he described the Cultists and their deaths. Seeing guilt and exhaustion war behind his pale eyes. As he finished his tale, Natalie wrapped her arms around him. As stunned as she was to learn an actual fire-in-iron Demon had been sleeping below Vindabon, Cole¡¯s distress took precedence. The surprised Paladin awkwardly returned her hug. Unsure of what exactly to do. Pulling back slightly so she could look him in the eyes, Natalie said. ¡°I know it''s a lot, but don¡¯t blame yourself for what happened to those people.¡± Cole started to object, and Natalie held up a finger. ¡°I can see the guilt already festering in you. Your first instinct is to shoulder the burdens of the world. While I know that''s probably part of being a Paladin. I refuse to let you do so when it''s completely unreasonable.¡± Putting her hands on either side of his scarred face, Natalie made her point. ¡°You faced an actual Demon and the jagging Hellspawn it created. You killed the Monster and saved countless people from it. Don¡¯t focus on those you couldn¡¯t help. I know full well that if you could have helped them, you would have. Instead, think about if you hadn¡¯t been there, the Demon might not have been discovered at all. Or if someone other than you found it, more people would have died fighting it.¡± Cole made a noise in his throat he realized was a sob. Surprised, he rubbed his face and found moisture there. A hitching snort escaped Cole¡¯s as he cried and smiled. Reaching out to touch Natalie¡¯s face, he asked. ¡°How are you so clever, Nat?¡± Natalie chuckled. ¡°When you¡¯re on the road for a long time with no company but a wise and handsome Warrior-Priest, you learn some things.¡± That got a laugh from both of them, and the couple hugged. After a few seconds, Cole got up and stepped over to the roof''s edge. People were clustered near the Temple entrance and in small clumps around the garden. Resisting the urge to use Natalie¡¯s handkerchief to blot out all the new smells, Cole observed the plaza. Grief, shock, and confusion seemed to be the watchwords of the people below. Events had left people unsteady and uncertain. As he watched, a group of newcomers entered the square. Slow and clumsy, they each wore the sunburns of the Goddess¡¯s judgment. Seeing this, Natalie grimaced. ¡°So¡­ Sister Sun blinded all those people?¡± Cole shook his head in the negative. ¡°In a day or less, they will be healed. The Fourth Goddess was careful with her punishment. The Rioters are all marked but not crippled. People don¡¯t usually get sunburns this close to the Winter Solstice. Everyone will know what they¡¯ve done. A reminder to help ensure the fear they felt doesn¡¯t fade into anger or simply fade away. Spending a few hours blinded and helpless at the Werefolks'' mercy must have been an utter nightmare.¡± Accepting that, Natalie asked, ¡°What about the Werefolk? Did Sister Sun do anything to them?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°They were defending themselves. The light drove them back from the Mob and helped end the violence. Even with my aid Sister Sun was unwilling to pass too harsh a judgment on either side of this mess. I think she just wanted to prove a point. The sunburn is a mark of shame. While the blindness in the forest was more than just a punishment. It was a chance for the Werefolk to show mercy. To prove they aren¡¯t Monsters.¡± Listening to his words, Natalie licked her fangs. That was, in part, why she¡¯d done all this. To prove she wasn¡¯t a Monster. Remembering the four men she¡¯d killed, the insane hate of the mob, and the Werebeasts'' brutality. Natalie was forced to wonder if the definition of Monster needed refinement. Glancing up at Cole, Natalie asked. ¡°I fled the Temple¡­what do you think will happen?¡± Shrugging and holding out a hand for her, Cole said: ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I think both our deeds tonight will soften any consequences. Still, I expect things to get worse before they get better.¡± Taking his hand, Natalie found her eyes drawn to the line of dried blood coming from Cole¡¯s ear. Hearing Sister Sun¡¯s words from a distance had been harrowing. She couldn¡¯t imagine what it had been like to be the focus of the manifestation. ¡°Hey, Cole¡­¡± she asked. ¡°Did it hurt to summon the Light?¡± For a brief flicker, a crack in Cole''s resolve showed. A tiny thing almost hidden in the night''s shadow. But Natalie saw it all the same. A look of exhaustion and pain on his tattered face. After a long pause, he answered. ¡°Yes, it did.¡± taking a slow deep breath, he justified his suffering. ¡°But it¡¯s better I make that sacrifice than someone else. It is my duty.¡± A curdle of worry grew in Natalie¡¯s heart. Duty is such a powerful word, and such a dangerous one. It caught in Natalie¡¯s mind, somehow perverse in how Cole emphasized it. To die for a noble cause is considered a good fate. But what if you could die over and over, for a million noble causes? Was it still a good fate? Or did a heroic sacrifice just become a sacrifice¡­ Book II: Chapter 16: The Anchorite

Chapter 16: The Anchorite

¡°Oh, stop your praying! This room is lined with Stargent. The Gods can¡¯t hear you. Hells, no one can, considering the enchantments I placed. So put that tongue of yours to good use and tell me what I want to know!¡± ¡°Why bother screaming? It''s only going to get worse, and there isn¡¯t any help coming. Besides, you still have most of your skin, so stop your weeping.¡± ¡° Ack! Spitting is very rude. You still need your lips and tongue, but what about your nose? Actually, that¡¯s perfect! You won¡¯t even smell your own piss anymore? Oh, you hadn¡¯t noticed you wet yourself? Don¡¯t feel bad. It comes with the business. You even held your bladder longer than your Wife did.¡± - Lavrentiy of Merk, Chief Questioner of Gobavi Tzardom.
Getting down from the rooftop proved to be more of a challenge than Natalie anticipated. While unliving agility let her descend easily, Cole had a bit more difficulty. Looking up at the struggling Paladin, Natalie offered to help for perhaps the fifth time. ¡°I can cut you hand holds.¡± Grunting as he tried to balance his large bulk on a precarious ledge Cole repeated his answer. ¡°Thanks but no thanks. I¡¯m not looking forward to explaining your defacement of the Woad Gate. Let''s not add this building''s masonry to your tally.¡± Sighing, Natalie leaned against the alley wall and watched as Cole struggled to descend to street level. Cole was maybe just a story above the ground now but had run out of convenient handholds. Forced to make do with more tenuous grips. A crunch of stone cut the air, and Natalie flinched as Cole fell. ¡°JAG!¡± the Paladin cursed as he dropped. His fingers caught on a small ledge and barely arrested his fall. Looking down, Cole realized he hadn¡¯t much more to go and simply let himself fall. Hitting the cobblestones with a thunk, he waved his hands like they¡¯d been burned. Going over to him, Natalie saw he¡¯d managed to bang up his fingers pretty bad but still had all of them. Reaching out, she kissed his fingers as he grumbled at the pain. Smiling slightly, Natalie asked. ¡°How could that possibly hurt? I¡¯ve seen you ignore far worse.¡± Cole just shrugged. ¡°Something about the fingers; nothing hurts like them.¡± As the worst of his pain faded, Cole set out from the alley, Natalie right behind. They had no issue pushing through the small throngs of people amassed outside the Temple. Cole¡¯s tattered appearance doing its usual work of clearing a path. The Temple''s front doors were wide open, but a quartet of Priests had it blocked off. Filtering the injured and the needy from the simply scared. Upon Cole¡¯s approach, one of the Priests started to say something. But his words died and revived on seeing the scarred man. ¡°Hey! Sto-... Sir Paladin? Is that you?¡± A murmur escaped the crowd, and hushed whispers spread out from Cole. Another thing the Paladin was getting annoyingly used to. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m here to report to the Temple Elders. Is that a problem?¡± The Priest nodded and started to step aside before remembering something. ¡°Uh. Sir¡­ While you were gone, your prisoner¡­ she escaped.¡± Natalie came up from behind Cole and coughed. ¡°I didn¡¯t really escape. But that doesn¡¯t really matter. I¡¯m here now.¡± The lead Priest made a warding gesture at Natalie but still stepped aside. The duo entered the Temple proper and set out for the Fane of the Tenth Temple. Looking at the cold black stone of the Temple¡¯s innards, Natalie let out a melancholic sigh. She¡¯d enjoyed her taste of freedom and knew it was over. Now returned to the Temple, she could actually dwell on the possible consequences of her actions. Priest Morri¡¯s threat to stake her and dump her in the Ocean suddenly felt all that more unsettling. Any Priest or Temple worker they passed in the halls shied away from the pair. Natalie noticed the guarded looks she¡¯d got. A few Priests even let their hands drift to their waist and whatever weapons they had hidden under their robes. Reminding Natalie exactly how precarious her situation might be. She was a Vampire, an undead abomination born out of betrayal. Cursed by the Pantheon and blessed by Fell Gods so she might stalk the night eternally. Feeding on innocent blood while the person she once was was slowly eroded away by predatory malice. Reaching out to grab Cole¡¯s arm, looking for any comfort his presence might give. Natalie tried to distract herself. ¡°What exactly is the plan?¡± Cole snaked his hand into hers. Seeing the worry on Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°The Hierophants of Sister Sun were cloistered in their Fane working to break the Caul . I assume the Hierophants of Master Time are doing much the same. We will go and meet with them. Explain the situation and hopefully ease any worries they have.¡± They kept walking as Natalie just watched Cole for a little bit. She couldn¡¯t understand how ¡®Happy-Go-Lucky¡¯ he could be in situations like this. Natalie could never tell if he really was just that hopeful or if there was some deeper cunning at work. Realizing her life and liberty were on the line, she decided to test that. ¡°What if they don¡¯t listen to us? What if my existence and escape proves too much?¡± Natalie asked. Trying to keep her tone level and not think about being buried alive or beheaded. Cole squeezed her hand reassuringly. ¡°You had the opportunity to escape the city. Instead, you did exactly what you said you would. Helping the Werefolk and then helping me. Those are loud actions, not so easily dismissed.¡± Seeing she wasn¡¯t totally convinced, Cole added. ¡°Even if they won¡¯t listen to you, they will listen to me. My own actions and the weight behind them will speak loud enough no one will countermand me.¡± With his free hand, Cole played with his amulet. Letting the metal dance between his fingers. ¡°I swore I¡¯d protect you, Nat. That is a duty I won¡¯t fail.¡± Natalie felt both comforted and worried. Cole had a point. He¡¯d killed a literal Demon, recovered a Holy Relic, and stopped a violent Riot in the span of twelve hours. Just one of those would give him some impressive leverage. Leverage she knew he wasn¡¯t eager to use. It went unspoken, but Natalie knew Cole disliked using his status and accomplishments to get his way. A personal rule he only seemed to break if absolutely necessary or if she was involved. Any further discussion was cut short by their arrival. They had reached the Fane. The inner sanctum of the Temple and its locus of power. Natalie had expected an ornate shrine, not the slab of rough-hewn stone before them. Roughly circular in shape, the huge piece of rock capped the hallway they¡¯d entered. Easily the size of a millstone, the rock had crude carvings and red ochre decorating it. Making it look like some forgotten relic from the first Epoch when men were little more than animals. Cole took off his amulet and pressed it into the stone. A spiral of pale-blue light streamed out from the amulet. Worn away marks in the rock given new life by the light. Showing an impossibly intricate nest of runes and pictograms layered on top of each other. Pulling his hand and the amulet back, Cole gripped onto the great stone and heaved. It rolled to the side, slipping into the nearby wall like some great gear on a track. Blinking away her surprise, Natalie looked at the strange ¡®door¡¯ and its place in the wall. Quickly following Cole as he stepped into the chamber beyond. The sound of flowing water and quiet chanting greeted them in the Fane. Barely illuminated by flickering blue ghost-light, the Fane reminded Natalie of caves beneath Glockmire. Living rock had been carved into a circular chamber ringed by a small moat of cold well water. A bridge of stone connected the entrance to the inside of the moat. The far wall was dominated by a small waterfall flowing out of the rock and feeding the moat. Alcoves sat behind the waterfall, each holding a bleached skull. Natalie was tempted to increase her false-life just to shiver at that sight. At the chamber''s center was a great table of gray stone surrounded by five figures in the dark robes of Master Time. All five stopped their chanting and turned to their arrival. Natalie recognized three of them. Morri, the retired Restbringer, and the two elder Priests she¡¯d overheard in the Clinic. Hedwig and Bertram, if Natalie¡¯s memory served correctly. Hierophant Bertram stepped forward, his nostrils flared. ¡°I see you¡¯ve retrieved your Prisoner, Sir Paladin. Would you explain why you¡¯ve brought it into this Holy space?¡± Cole bowed slightly. ¡°Keepers of the Dead, Hierophants of Master Time, Senior Priests of the Temple. I did not capture Natalie; she returned with me willingly after helping the Werefolk and myself.¡± He stressed the word ¡®she¡¯ in such a way that made it clear Natalie wasn¡¯t to be depersoned in his presence. Before Cole¡¯s subtle insistence could become an insult, Morri spoke. ¡°I see Mina was correct then. She believed you¡¯d keep your word and not flee our custody¡­ permanently.¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°I was the only one who could reach the Werefolk in time. I¡¯m cursed, but that doesn¡¯t mean I have to be a curse.¡± That got a shift from some of the Keepers, but none voiced their opinions. Cole pulled the attention back to him by retrieving the Arrow of Saint Arka from his person and holding it up. ¡°We can discuss Natalie later. I want to inform you of all that has transpired.¡± So for the third time, Cole recounted events. Changing his death to simply being knocked unconscious, but otherwise sparing no detail. Natalie chimed in occasionally to add more or correct a detail from her account. But otherwise, let Cole explain things to the Keepers. Who, for their part, simply absorbed everything with a mute horror Natalie was quickly associating with Cole¡¯s ¡®reports.¡¯ When Cole finished, Keeper Hedwig broke the silence. ¡°This¡­ this is all disturbing news Paladin Cole. A Demon beneath our very feet? And these Murders, they might be connected to this Demon?¡± Before Cole could respond, Morri asked Natalie. ¡°You said the Gate opened for the Mob? And there were soldiers among the Rioters?¡± Nodding, Natalie elaborated. ¡°I¡¯m no expert, but it seemed like organized people were part of the Mob, not the whole thing but¡­ hiding in it. They had silver weapons and proper armor. When I returned to the Gate and found Cole, a squad of them were nearby. I didn¡¯t stay to learn more; I just tried to get us out of there.¡± Morri stroked his mustache and contemplated that. ¡°If she speaks the truth, this situation could be much worse than we¡¯d thought. Demons, Werefolk, Ritual Killings, An organized Riot, and a Caul ? Too much too soon.¡± Looking at the Fane¡¯s altar, Cole asked. ¡°Did you manage to disrupt the Caul ?¡± A few glances were given Natalie¡¯s way. Unspoken doubt about her trustworthiness. Before it could become a problem, one of the Keepers answered. ¡°It''s unraveling, but it¡¯ll probably be a few more hours till it''s gone.¡± Looking at the Paladin, the Keeper, a squat older woman with dark skin and braided hair, said, ¡°But I have a theory about its origin.¡± Cole bowed to the woman. ¡°Keeper Nyami.¡± Nyami tapped her wrinkled chin and started to explain. ¡°Large-scale Caul s are born of metaphysical paradoxes and disturbances to the Aether. The Beyond is divided into the Light, the Dark, and the Gray. When those elements mix, things get messy, and a Caul can be the result. Thousands of people fighting to protect their homes by attacking innocents in a misguided example of righteous wrath? That''s a very messy situation, not helped by a Demons obliteration. The Aether was already stirred up, and then a rock was dropped like that? Messy messy business.¡± Cole felt his stomach drop clean through the floor and down to the warrens below. ¡°Are¡­ are you saying the Caul is my fault?¡± The old Priestess shrugged and reached up to Cole¡¯s cheek, pinching it like he was her favorite grandson. Cole was too stunned to react to the alien display of affection. ¡°Oh, deary, don¡¯t whip yourself. You did not know the Demon''s death would add to an already stirred-up Aether. Besides, even if you did, it''s not like you could have spared the Demon. It needed to die as soon as possible. Don¡¯t shoulder blame you haven¡¯t earned. The Caul might have been sparked by you, but the fools Sister Sun burned were the ones who provided the fuel.¡± That did little to soothe the knob of self-recrimination congealing in Cole. Natalie could almost see his angst solidifying around him. The young Vampire wanted to both hug him and violently shake him. The poor man had a veritable complex when it came to guilt. Before she could reach out to do either, Natalie was interrupted by the last Keeper. So quiet Natalie had barely noticed him. Stepping forward into the blue light, Natalie was struck by his appearance. The last Keeper was both beautiful and hideous. His features were delicate and perfect, to the point they seemed doll-like. While his eyes were canted and slightly too large for the face surrounding them. Exotic beauty rendered disturbing by its unnatural perfection. But those features came secondary to his long pointed ears. Under her breath, Natalie whispered the only word that seemed right. ¡°Elf.¡± The last Keeper smiled slightly. Showing perfect teeth slightly too small for his face. ¡°Quarter Elf, actually, but that is neither here nor there.¡± looking at Cole then, he continued. ¡°I¡¯ve sent word to the other Temples and the City Palace. Our fellows in the Fourth Temple confirm your story and want you to know the Guards have been retrieved from the Warrens. They are undergoing cleansing as we speak.¡± Cole pulled himself from his mounting melancholy and bowed to the last Keeper. ¡°Eldest Glynn. It¡¯s rare for you to leave your duties. I thank you for helping us with this.¡± Thin lips quirked in a smile as Eldest Glynn explained. ¡°There are plenty of other Seers in the Temple, and for my other duties, I am not leaving them unattended. In fact, I have been awaiting your arrival.¡± Frowning, Cole asked. ¡°What business does the Keeper of the Anchorite have with me?¡± Eldest Glynn laughed, a noise unnaturally melodic. ¡°Presumptuous Sir Paladin, but understandable. No, you are required at the City Palace. The Court and the Council want to speak with you. I¡¯m here to bring your partner to the Anchorite. They have requested her presence.¡± A tense silence filled the Fane, broken by Keeper Bertram. ¡°You cannot be serious? Letting an Undead, especially one as powerful as¡­her, near the Anchorite?¡± Glynn shrugged. ¡°I am their Keeper, not their master. That title belongs to our God, Bertram. Do not forget that in your zeal.¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. The rebuked Hierophant shrunk back, and Eldest Glynn reached out for Natalie¡¯s hand. ¡°So, will you follow me to the Hermitage?¡± A confused Natalie looked to Cole, who gave Glynn a cool look. ¡°Why does the Anchorite want to speak with Natalie?¡± Glynn shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I doubt it is to bring her harm. Sir Paladin, your¡­protectiveness does you credit. But this is a summons, not a trap. Let me take our¡­guest to the Anchorite while you meet with the Council.¡± Uncertain, Cole looked at Natalie. Overtaxed and paranoid, he didn¡¯t know what to do. Cole was loath to leave Natalie so soon, but keeping the City Council or the Anchorite waiting wasn''t good. ¡°It¡¯s up to you, Nat. Whatever you decide.¡± Finally asking the question she¡¯d been sitting on for days now, Natalie asked: ¡°What even is an Anchorite?¡± Glynn made a strange noise in his throat. Natalie thought it might have been a chuckle. ¡°There is no easy explanation. They are our greatest Priests. Those who prove their faith in the truest way.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Natalie asked, ¡°And that would be?¡± Glynn smiled, an expression both sad and vicious. ¡°Sacrifice.¡± Uncertain and even more confused, Natalie let out a sigh. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll meet the Anchorite. But I¡¯d like some better answers before then.¡± Nodding, Glynn said, ¡°Understandable; follow me and ask your questions.¡± Natalie reached out for Cole¡¯s hand and squeezed it. She could see the worry and exhaustion in his blue eyes. In a gentle tone, Natalie whispered. ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. See you later, love.¡± He returned her squeeze and tentatively released his lover¡¯s hand. Leaving her to follow Glynn. Natalie had expected to go back the way she¡¯d come, instead Glynn went to the waterfall. Natalie watched as he deftly stepped over the moat in a single broad stride and onto the ledge. Cold water splattered on the Quarter-Elf¡¯s shoulders, but he paid it no mind as he touched the skulls in their alcoves. Glynn¡¯s lips moved, and he traced sigils on the skulls in a quick pattern Natalie couldn¡¯t catch. Stone groaned and the shelved wall sunk into the floor. Revealing a new path. Seeing no other option, Natalie moved to leap into the waterfall, but Glynn stopped her with a gesture. With the same hand, he made a gesture, and the water froze. The curtain of liquid turned into a pillar that quickly broke off its source and shattered to the ground. Nodding to himself, Glynn beckoned, and Natalie walked across the frozen moat and into the hidden chamber. No sooner had she than the ice behind her thawed and cracked. The waterfall resumed its steady downpour. Through its curtain, Natalie could see the Keepers and Cole resume their discussion. Turning to Glynn, she said. ¡°Thank you, but I don¡¯t mind getting a little wet. My clothes are already ruined.¡± The Eldest Priest made that strange chirping laugh of his. ¡°Oh, you would have. These waters are blessed. They would have stripped your skin clean from you.¡± Natalie took a large step back from the waterfall and grimaced. ¡°Holy Water? Isn¡¯t that-¡± ¡°Extraordinarily rare? Yes,¡± Glynn interrupted her. ¡°It¡¯s not actually that hard to make, but keeping it Holy is difficult. That isn''t an issue here in the Temple¡¯s heart.¡± The stone door with the skulls ground back into place, and Glynn ignited a ball of blue light in his palm. ¡°You have questions? Ask away, Natalie. I¡¯ll answer what I can.¡± The light started to bob downward, and Natalie realized the tunnel led to a staircase. Quickly moving to keep up with Glynn, she asked her first question. ¡°I thought the Elves had different Gods. Why are you a Priest of Master Time?¡± Glynn laughed. ¡°I suppose you asking that is a good sign.¡± Natalie cocked her head and followed as the stairs came to a landing and down a second flight. Glynn gestured aimlessly. ¡°Young people always ask about my heritage. Their questions are rarely mean-spirited but usually crude. Poking at my past is not something a Vampire would do right away.¡± Natalie wilted slightly. ¡°Uh, sorry, I just have never encountered one of your people before.¡± Glynn shrugged. ¡°I am only a quarter elf. I¡¯m more human than naught. But your apology is accepted. I know no malice is meant in your words.¡± The steps continued down, and Natalie wondered exactly how deep this ¡®hermitage¡¯ was. To her surprise, Glynn still answered her question. ¡°My Grandmother was an Elvish sailor shipwrecked on the coast of Lusitania. My Grandfather was the fisherman who saved her. She rarely talks about her homeland and taught her Son, my father, little. He became a merchant and sailed the Central Sea for years. Settling in Vindabon for a time and having me. I grew up here and joined the Temple when my Mother died. That was in¡­ 1315?¡± Natalie spluttered, ¡°1315? You¡¯ve been a Priest for more than a century?¡± Glynn actually laughed. ¡°I¡¯m still a quarter elf. I¡¯m close to my two hundredth birthday to answer your next question.¡± After maybe four stories of descent from the Fane, they came to another large circular stone door. Stepping up to it, Glynn took his hand, the one holding a ball of blue light, and pressed it into the stone. Runes lit up along the stone, and it rolled open. Turning back to Natalie, Glynn spoke. His voice had lost all the deadpan humor of earlier. ¡°We are here. The Anchorite awaits.¡± Natalie frowned. ¡°You never properly answered me. What IS the Anchorite?¡± Looking into the dark chamber beyond, Glynn wore a hollow look on his face. ¡°We Priests are limited in how much of a God''s power we can channel. We can push those limits through faith, practice, and spiritual growth. But they never fully go away. Neither do situations that require us to go above and beyond our limits. Taking too much of a God into yourself can be damaging. It¡¯s like trying to fit a sea through a copper pipe.¡± Glynn held out his hand, and a dozen spheres of blue light escaped his fingers and fled into the Hermitage. Revealing its contents. The chamber was a stepped basin divided into four layers. Descending down to a bubbling pool with a statue at its center. On the second and third tiers were dozens of statues, each of a naked person sitting and facing the pool. Natalie and Glynn stood on the fourth tier, looking down upon the scene. Pulling out a battered old hourglass amulet, Glynn kissed it and spoke. ¡°Most who go beyond die or are damaged. Their mind, body, or soul splits under the pressure. Sacrificing themselves to create a true Miracle. Others¡­ others are changed. They touch the divine and are altered by it. Reforged and reborn. It is a strange existence they live. Probably closer to yours than my own. Alive yet¡­not. Blessed while utterly cursed.¡± Glynn gestured to the staircase leading down the tiers and towards the central pool. ¡°The Anchorite awaits you, Natalie. They will call me when it is done.¡± Natalie hadn¡¯t even realized Glynn hadn¡¯t stepped into the chamber with her. Turning back, she saw the wheel of stone rolling back into place, trapping her inside the Hermitage. ¡°WAIT! JAG!¡± she yelled, slamming her fists against the door. It didn¡¯t budge, uncaring even of her undead strength. After banging on it for a few seconds, Natalie hissed a few more oaths and turned back to the staircase. Shrugging, she descended it. Looking at the different statues on the lower tiers. Each was sitting in a chair, bench, or on the cold stone. Their countenances were incredibly varied. Old, young, male, and female, all among their numbers. Natalie had never been interested much in stonework; the Glockmire Quarry had soured her on that idea. She still had to admire the craftsmanship. Each statue was exquisitely carved from a gray-black stone similar to polished granite. As she reached the bottom, Natalie examined the central pool. Maybe three or four meters across, it was circular and filled with swirling water. Water bubbled from its center, where another statue sat. This one depicted a wiry man clad in a loose robe for modesty. The eyes were shut, and the statue sat with its legs crossed, water up its belly. Looking at the statue, Natalie wondered why this one was clothed, unlike the others. The answer came when the statue opened its eyes. Spheres of pure darkness looked out at Natalie as the statue turned its head to face her. Its flesh grinding with the movement. Grinding that echoed across the chamber as the other statues moved as well. Natalie leaped back, looking up to see the fifty or so statues staring at her with the same void eyes. More than a little terrified, Natalie looked for an avenue of escape. None appeared, and the central statue opened its mouth with a sound like breaking rock. ¡°I/We are the Anchorite. I/We Welcome/Invite/Warn Natalie Lilian Striga/Alukah/Monster/Nat/Natty/You.¡± The words rang out like a pure note, not in humanoid language but in the true Saint-Speech of the Gods. Part song, part spell, this version of the First Tongue was different from Cole¡¯s halting words. Untrammeled by petty flesh, the statues could speak to Natalie¡¯s soul, and by the Gods did she hear them. Looking around at the statues, Natalie swallowed uselessly, overwhelmed by the spectral choir she tried to respond. ¡°Uh¡­Hi.¡± ¡°Your Soul/Self/Truth is Marked/Cursed/Blessed. We/I/us see/feel/hear this. Ancient/Young Power/Burden is within you. Our Master/Creator/Destroyer asks/commands we/us aid You/Natalie.¡± Trying to process the strange thought/speech of the Anchorite, Natalie asked. ¡°Master Time asked you to help me?¡± ¡°Yes/Correct¡± That was good news, right? At least the room of living statues wasn¡¯t going to kill or rekill her. Fear gave way to curiosity. Natalie stepped a little closer to the central statue and asked: ¡°You are the Anchorite? All of you?¡± ¡°We/us are/once Priests. Soul/Conduits who did wonders/terrors. I/us are/will be broken/transformed by this." The first speaker, the central Anchorite, spoke alone then, its words stunted without the choir in support. ¡°I¡­I¡­I am the youngest, closest to this side of existence. My¡­my¡­my kindred are too¡­too¡­too far gone. Only able to speak¡­speak¡­speak through me. One¡­One¡­One day I will join¡­join¡­join them. When another takes my¡­my¡­my place.¡± Forcing herself to look into its empty eyes, Natalie asked: ¡°What does Master Time have for me?¡± The choir returned in full terrible force. ¡°Impertinent/Brave/Foolish words. He/God/Master warned us/we about You/Natalie. We/I offer words/warning and a boon.¡± As she deciphered the Anchorite Choir¡¯s message, Natalie watched as the Speaker started to move. Flesh and skin of stone cracked and fell away as the Anchorite got up and stepped from its plinth. Water froze under its steps, letting it cross the pool in slow aching paces. Once it reached the edge, it leaned towards Natalie. Its face cracking and falling off like a plaster cast. Revealing a skull made of crystal. In a voice like grating rock, the Anchorite whispered. ¡°Will you take what is offered?¡± Nodding, Natalie started to answer. ¡°Yes, I wi-¡± A hand of stone shot out and gripped the back of her neck, hauling her close. Natalie struggled, but the strength in the grip was obscene. It dragged her close to the Anchorite''s face. Bone jaws opened, and words fell out ¡°Never forget the banality of Evil.¡± Then the Anchorite exhaled, a puff of cold air tickling Natalie¡¯s throat. She felt a stabbing pain as cold seeped into a hidden wound. While her flesh had healed, her soul had not. The Anchorite¡¯s breath clung to where Petar had ripped open her throat. The wound that killed her. Stunned, Natalie stopped fighting and reached up to her throat, to the invisible marks the Anchorite had exposed. Her fingers touched spots of cold where a monster''s fangs had ripped her open. The Anchorite let her go then. Sending Natalie sprawling to the ground. Quickly pulling herself up, she hissed. ¡°I was trying to ask what the boon was! What did you do to me?¡± Slowly, the Anchorite stepped back, crossing the pond and returning to its plinth. Natalie watched in mute shock as new stone grew over its face and other broken parts. She could literally see the layers of muscle and skin congeal over the crystal bones like coats of plaster. Slowly returning the Anchorite to its polished statue form. While its mouth still hung open, and true Saint Speech came forth. ¡°Collared/Bound the Alukah/Annoch and freed You/Natalie.¡± the choir of Anchorites answered. Cracking and groaning, the Anchorite pointed at the water. Looking down, Natalie saw her reflection. Aside from the grime and ash of her adventurers, there was one big difference since the last time she¡¯d seen herself. A strange silver mark covered much of her neck. Centered on her left jugular was a spiraling knot maze. Its core, an ornate hourglass sigil, right where Petar¡¯s fangs had bitten her. Touching the mark, Natalie¡¯s fingers felt unnatural cold. Like they¡¯d brushed steel left in a blizzard, not dead skin. Pulling her digits away, she looked to the Anchorite. ¡°What did you do?¡± ¡°Natalie/Nat/You have a role/purpose/truth. The Ocean/Fabric of Time shows many currents/rivers/possibilities. Master/Creator/Destroyer commanded/asked/begged we/I push/pull you in the right/correct/best direction/path/future.¡± The eyes of the Anchorite shut then, the dark voids sealed behind granite lids. A gesture repeated a few dozen times by its elder siblings. Leaving Natalie alone in the hermitage. The stone door started to rumble, rolling open at some unseen cue. Glynn entered the chamber and looked down at Natalie. A flicker of pique shone in Natalie upon seeing the Keeper. She went to the steps and climbed to meet him. ¡°You could have warned me before locking me in with a bunch of haunted statues!¡± she snapped. Glynn¡¯s pale lips formed a slightly too-perfect line. ¡°They are not haunted. The Anchorites are transformed body, mind, and soul by what they¡¯ve done.¡± Natalie rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to make a rude gesture at the Priest. To his credit, Glynn did bow slightly in apology. ¡°I am sorry for tricking you like that. The Anchorite wished to speak to you alone. I did not know how they or you would react¡­ considering your nature. So I acted rashly and overstepped.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°Weren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯d damage them?¡± Glynn blinked slowly, like an unamused Cat: ¡°No, I was not.¡± Something told Natalie that statement had less to do with trust for her and more to do with the Anchorite¡¯s power. Glancing back at the statues, Natalie wondered what more they could do? The gesture exposed her neck to Glynn, who shot out a hand and gripped Natalie¡¯s. She turned back to see a wide-eyed Glynn staring at her throat. ¡°That stigma¡­the Maze of Moments,¡± he rasped. Natalie broke his grip and touched the mark, its icy power a jolt to her nerves. ¡°The Anchorite gave it to me. What does it mean?¡± Glynn looked at his hand like he hadn¡¯t even noticed he¡¯d grabbed her. ¡°Stigmata are rare things. Signs of protection placed on the worthy. Each contains a Miracle and a Message.¡± Glynn let out that strange melodic laugh of his. ¡°I owe the Paladin an apology. He was right about you, and we were too stubborn to realize.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°A miracle and a message?¡± The Hierophant nodded. ¡°The pattern is the message. The Maze of Moments is rare; I¡¯ve only seen it in ancient texts. If I remember correctly, it has something to do with choices and their complexity.¡± Brushing off his uncertainty, he added. ¡°I¡¯ll check the archives. As for the Miracle¡­ It¡¯s different for each recipient. Only activating under certain conditions. Don¡¯t ask me for more detail. Information on that is incredibly sparse.¡± Digesting this, Natalie thought on the Anchorite''s words. They claimed to collar the Alukah and free her. Was this miracle supposed to do that? Sighing to herself, Natalie wished dawn would come soon. She wanted to rest and be done with this insane night. To that end she looked to Glynn and asked. ¡°Can I return to my quarters now? Or is there anything else?¡± The elfblood Hierophant seemed a little surprised but still nodded. ¡°I suppose even you can become tired. It¡¯s been a long night for us all. Come, come, I¡¯ll escort you to the Fane¡¯s entrance.¡± Glynn did as such, taking Natalie out from the Hermitage, back to the now empty Fane and to the Temple proper. At the huge stone door, the Keeper said. ¡°You bear many heavy burdens Ms. Natalie. I do not envy you. But I wish you the best and will gladly offer my aid if you need it.¡± More than a little surprised by this, Natalie murmured some appreciative noises and left him. Heading back to the diplomat¡¯s apartment, she and Cole shared. Natalie wondered at Glynn¡¯s shift in attitude. Was this ¡®stigma¡¯ really that important? Resisting the urge to touch it, Natalie made her way through dimly lit hallways. Avoiding the few people she heard moving nearby. She didn¡¯t have it in her to deal with more scared people tonight. Reaching the apartment door, Natalie slipped inside. To her disappointment Cole wasn¡¯t back yet from his own meeting. But someone had left a package on the small dining table. Going over to it, Natallie found five books stacked on top of each other. A note in a messy hand atop the stack. ¡°I heard you returned. Thanks for keeping your word. Have some better reading material. - Mina¡± Smiling, Natalie went to the bed and sat down. Looking at her clothes, she grimaced. They were intact, but not much more than that. She was also filthy. The ash of her injuries clung to her in a grimy coat. Forcing herself to get up, Natalie went to the washroom and stripped. She turned on the faucet, letting the cold water fill a wash pail. Without ceremony, she dumped the frigid contents of the bucket over her head. Another perk of undeath she¡¯d discovered was not needing to wait for warm water. Sure it felt better to use hot water, but cold water wasn¡¯t a painful shock to her. Repeating this crude shower thrice, Natalie offered silent thanks to the genius who¡¯d invented indoor plumbing. Drying off, Natalie left her dirty clothes in a messy pile she¡¯d regret later. Returning to the bed, she slipped under the covers and let out a low moan at their softness. No sooner had she than the hammerblow of dawn hit her. As her consciousness faded, Natalie whispered. ¡°Oh, thank the Gods.¡± Book II: Chapter 17: The Council

Chapter 17: The Council

¡°No, no, no! Dragons don¡¯t actually breathe fire! They have innate spells. Magic woven into their very being they can manipulate and use. They aren¡¯t spitting up oil or belching flammable gas. Dragons cast a powerful elemental attack spell molded by the Dragon''s experience and personality. It¡¯s why no two Dragons have the same breath! Sure, most spit flames, but the nature of the fire varies dramatically between them. Now, does anyone else have stupid questions, or can we move on?¡± - Lecture of Professor Orden of Oga. (Tenured) Preceptor of Draconic Studies at Parilux¡¯s Ivory tower.
The City Palace of Vindabon was a veritable treasure chest of a building. As in, its outside was hard and armored while its innards were filled with wealth. Sitting in the City Council¡¯s chambers, Cole was distinctly uncomfortable. The long rectangular room was violently opulent. Rich tapestries and expensive mirrors covered the walls. While the marble floor was so polished, it nearly matched the mirrors. The chamber¡¯s vaulted ceiling went up three stories at least and balconies stuck from the walls like stone scallops. Normally those balconies were reserved for the people of Vindabon who wanted to see their government in action. In the early hours of the morning after the riot, they were blocked off. The Council was in a private session. Its haggard members and their even more so staff finishing off a night''s worth of grim business. The City Court, the higher governing body of nobles, had not convened, leaving the Council to try and make sense of things. Cole, for his part, sat as part of the Temple delegation. Hierophants of all ten temples sat near him in the cloister of chairs set aside for them. The Caul had broken shortly before Dawn, and the Priests had come to inform the City of that small piece of good news. Radiant Robyn had just finished giving their testimony to the Council. The Eclipse Dancer had received the scorched Arrow of Saint Arka from Cole upon his arrival. To his relief, the Radiant Hierophant didn¡¯t hold the relic¡¯s condition against him. Robyn knew full well the powers at play when a God manifests even slightly. Still, they¡¯d been genuinely surprised Cole was up and about, let alone alive. Something Cole hoped and prayed the Dancer wouldn¡¯t dwell on. Morri sat next to Cole and gently rubbed his shoulder against the large Paladin. Seeing he¡¯d caught Cole¡¯s attention, the old Restbringer whispered. ¡°You alright, Cole? I¡¯ve not seen you this twitchy before?¡± Shrugging, Cole bent down to answer. ¡°I don¡¯t like this place. Reminds me too much of old enemies.¡± Frowning, Morri looked around them. Examining the chamber for what Cole was talking about. The metaphorical stone slipped into place as Morri figured out what Cole meant. ¡°The Duchies¡­ ¡° Cole nodded. ¡°Their Nobles like things a bit darker, but the general style is similar enough.¡± A bitter chuckle escaped the Priest. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go repeating that to many. But there''s some truth and some poetry to your words.¡± Grunting in agreement, Cole looked up to the high table of the council. Where the eleven Councilors sat. None except the Chair were of noble blood. Each a respected citizen of Vindabon chosen by the Elector-Prince from the candidates the citizenry selected. While the Holy League tended to be more egalitarian than its neighbors. Vindabons strange government was considered radical. A product of the city''s strong Guilds and Merchant Class. All of the Councillors looked tired. One even wore a bizarre mix of night clothes and symbols of office. The old Banker had been roused and rushed to the Palace without time to dress. The Chairman was the only one with a measure of the usual poise you¡¯d expect from a city official. Clad in a sharp black doublet with oiled silver hair was Graf Isac Louon. The nobleman had lean, almost gaunt features, with a pointed beard and unnatural eyes. They were dull gold like old coins. A strange feature that made Cole wonder about Louon¡¯s ancestry. When the dust and ash of the Bloody Centuries started to settle, all manner of Power was available for the taking. Magics and territories once firmly controlled fell into the hands of whoever could keep them. From that scramble, known as the Crowning Wars. Most Noble Houses of the Holy League came into being. The bedrock of Noble privilege was the various relics and resources taken in those days. Looking at Graf Louon¡¯s eyes, Cole guessed whatever power his family possessed, it ran through blood, not just inheritance. Radiant Robyn finished their deposition then, and it came Cole¡¯s turn. As the Dancer returned to the seated Priests, Graf Louon called for the Paladin. ¡°Cole of Atredia, Paladin of Tenth Temple. Step forward.¡± Trying to hide his nerves, the large Restbringer got up and went to the Podium. Elevated slightly, so it was slightly below the Counselors at their high table. The Podium was like any speaker''s box in a court of law. Stepping into it, Cole noted his height put him at eye-level with the Council. Something they clearly noticed. A few of the Councilors gave him uncomfortable looks. Clearly put off by his appearance. Even disregarding the scars, he was clad in blood and ash-stained armor. With the odors of the warrens and foul death clinging to him Graf Louon wrinkled his slightly-pointed noise at the smell and spoke. ¡°You have been called to give testimony about the events of last night. In particular, the unauthorized expedition into the Warrens and Undercroft. Alongside the Werefolk Riot and the absconsion of a refugee Vampire.¡± Cole¡¯s eyebrow twitched at the Nobleman''s loaded language. Glancing down to the scrivener''s bench in the gap between the high table and Podium, Cole noted the Council recorder was hard at work. A shrewish woman with oversized spectacles sat with a pile of blank parchment and five quills floating eagerly above matching vellum sheets. As Graf Louon spoke, the quills started dancing. Transcribing the Noble''s words onto all five pieces of parchment. Looking up at the council, Cole spoke. ¡°Yes, I am here to inform the city of my successful hunt for a Demon. Along with my efforts to end the attack on the Moonmoot camp.¡± It was the Graf¡¯s turn to raise an eyebrow. Cole paid it little mind. He¡¯d spent a life among Vampires. He knew the truth-twisting-tongues they and all Politicians liked. Playing their game was useless, but acting like a bull Auroch among glassware would keep them both uncertain. One of the other Councillors, a lean woman with tall hair dyed rose-red, asked. ¡°So it''s true? A Demon beneath our city? And you killed it?¡± Cole noticed she held a necklace of amulets in her boney fingers. Letting the ten divine sigils cast in metal slip in and out of her digits. A sign of devolution, or at least fear. ¡°Yes, it had been hibernating since the Volga Incursion. The Saint¡¯s arrow could not destroy it, but was enough to trap it. Something, I don¡¯t know what woke it up. But I do know it was feeding on the City''s Desperate. Trying to grow strong enough to escape.¡± There was silence, only broken by the Scrivener¡¯s scratching. The Councillor with the prayer necklace lifted them to her painted lips and kissed them in quick succession. Her fellows looked equally distrubed. Cole could understand why; the idea of something capable of eating your soul being hidden just beneath your feet all this time was stomach-turning. The questions continued, Cole offering up his account of things. Only cutting out a few details about his nature and Natalie¡¯s. The Council accepted his testimony without issue until he got to the matter of the Gate and the Soldiers. A Councillor with muttonchops so big they obscured his ears made a fierce harrumph and jabbed at Cole. ¡°Nonsense! The Gate was left open! An oversight, not some conspiracy. The Vampire is lying!¡± Cole glanced at the Councillor and asked. ¡°Why? ¡± Jowls and Muttonchops a flutter, the Councillor replied. ¡°What?¡± Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Cole asked: ¡°The Vampire in question has been cooperative and helpful. She was turned against her will and fled the Blood Duchies seeking asylum here in Vindabon. What reason does she have to lie?¡± Puffing himself up like a rooster, Councillor Muttonchops snapped. ¡°It makes no sense for the Guards to open the gate. However, it does make sense for one of Drakovich¡¯s agents to be stirring our pot. Putting ideas in frightened heads and sowing doubt about our venerable institutions.¡± Another Councillor, this one with thick arms and a huge neck, interrupted Muttonchops. ¡°This Vampire¡­ you smuggled it into the city without the Temple''s permission? And it fled the city to the Werefolk camp, correct?¡± Lips tight, Cole corrected. ¡°She, but yes, that is technically correct. But the details are-¡± Cole was cut off by the Councillor with the prayer necklace. ¡°Come now, dear Colleagues, we¡¯ve discussed the refugee before. As far as I¡¯m concerned, her presence in the city is a Temple matter. We have bigger jewels to cut than the Paladin¡¯s prisoner.¡± Unwilling to leave the matter of Natalie on that note, Cole continued: ¡°My arrival with her was poorly timed. We¡¯d hoped to avoid conflict, but our caution instead provoked it. There was no intention to hide her arrival from the city. And as for her actions with the Werefolk, she went to warn them. Using her abilities for good instead of ill.¡± Chairman Louon narrowed his gold eyes at that. ¡°Aid that resulted in the deaths of hundreds. I hear your Temple has been using buckets to collect some of the remains. Fascinating that the Vampire¡¯s ¡®help¡¯ caused a massacre.¡± Both Cole and one of the Councillors went to speak. Trying to be civil, Cole let the heavy-set man with a shiny bald head speak first. ¡°Hold their Isac; that isn¡¯t strictly fair. The Rioters were going to attack the Moonmoot. Those damned fools were going to get themselves killed. I doubt the Vampire did more than decrease the Werefolk¡¯s losses. This was gonna get bloody no matter what. Ironically the Leech probably made it a little less so.¡± Louon glared at the reasonable Councillor and shot a rebuke: ¡°Korgun!¡± Cole mentally noted the Councillor''s name. Figuring if this Korgun was to be an ally, Cole should at least know his name. Snapping at his colleague, Graf Louon said, ¡°These were our people! They might have been out of line, but they were our citizens!¡± Korgun shrugged, sending his ponderous belly wobbling. ¡°Our people and our responsibility. You do realize there will be consequences if we alienate the Werefolk?¡± Muttonchops scoffed. ¡°Oh please, the amount of trade they bring to the city barely matches the cost of flea removal!¡± Councillor Korgun actually picked up a wad of paper and tossed it at Muttonchops. ¡°Don¡¯t be daft, Snythe. The Jarls want any excuse to raid our northern kin. Let¡¯s not go making problems for the entire bloody League, shall we?¡± Silently, Cole decided to just keep calling Snythe, Muttonchops. Muttonchops and Korgun continued arguing. More about the practicality of the situation than any morality. Which Cole had to admit was typical for politicians. As they did, Cole noticed an aid scurry up to Lououn and hand him a sheet of paper. Those strange golden eyes narrowed as the Graf read. Setting down the paper, Graf Louon cut off his colleagues and addressed Cole. ¡°Tell me, Paladin, did you and the Vampire travel through the Bekesvarm region of the Southern Marches?¡± Confused, Cole thought on his trip with Natalie. Trying to map their strange route to his knowledge of the Southern Marches. ¡°I¡­ I believe so. We took back routes, but yes, we did pass through there. Why?¡± Graf Louon crumpled up the paper he held, and to Cole¡¯s surprise, the note burst into flames. Louon barely noticed, just glaring down at the Paladin. ¡°Because we¡¯ve received grim news from the region. An outbreak of Lesser Undead destroyed nearly a dozen Steadings and Villages. A swarm of Ghouls, the local Garrison, barely managed to put down. Would you know anything about this?¡± Eyes wide, mouth agape, Cole¡¯s body language told the Council everything. Dumbfounded, Cole still answered their accusatory glares. ¡°I encountered some Bandits who¡¯d been raiding Steadings in those parts. I dealt with them and the Ghouls produced by their carnage. None of the Ghouls should have escaped me. I don¡¯t know how this happened.¡± A Councillor with gaudy jewelry and a double chin remarked. ¡°Clearly, you missed some. I¡¯m disappointed, Paladin. You¡¯d think someone of your status wouldn¡¯t make such an easy mistake. Especially one that led to the deaths of hundreds.¡± Cole felt his stomach plummet to the ground for the second time that night. His guts ripped right out of him by the weight of guilt. He¡¯d been badly injured dealing with the Shohgards and busy with Natalie. Could he really have missed a Grinner? Letting the infestation spread while he traveled west with the Werefolk? Making a bridge with his fingers and resting his elbows on the high table, Graf Isac Louon said: ¡°We received that report maybe a week ago. It came to my attention when one of my Aids noticed a few interesting details in it.¡± Glaring at Cole, Louon continued. ¡°Some survivors witnessed a strange pair of travelers near the source of the infestation. Describing them as a ¡®Giant of a Man with scars all over him.¡¯ and a ¡®Strange woman all in black who commanded him.¡± Utter confusion stirred the guilt in Cole until his head started to spin. Had someone really seen them? They¡¯d passed a few fellow travelers, but none he could remember in that region. How could he have missed someone close enough to see his scars? Louon paid no mind to Cole¡¯s unsteady bearing and kept talking. ¡°Shortly before the Undead were discovered, the body of a Hippogryph Knight was discovered. He was killed by a Vampire. Would you happen to know anything about this?¡± Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. That brought Cole right back to reality. A Knight? Killed by a Vampire? No, something wasn¡¯t right. The rest of this was plausible, but this element changed things dramatically. Natalie couldn¡¯t be responsible¡­ could she? A traitorous part of Cole¡¯s mind whispered to him about Natalie¡¯s lies. She hadn''t told him about contacting Isabelle. Could she have hidden something else? Cole pushed those thoughts away with the fact Natalie couldn¡¯t have done this without his knowledge. Unless¡­ If Isabelle had helped or manipulated her. Knowingly or unknowingly? Paranoia added to the caustic brew of Cole¡¯s emotions, and he tried to ground himself. A frowning Graf Louon asked: ¡°Well? Do you know anything about this?¡± Swallowing, Cole answered. ¡°I do not.¡± Councillor Jewelry made a concerned noise. ¡°It seems to me your prisoner was up to more than you thought. How did you not notice, Paladin?¡± As Cole tried to find an answer, Graf Louon said the obvious. ¡°The Vampire has gotten into your mind, Paladin.¡± Instant rage boiled in Cole. In a voice cold and hard as arctic granite, he snarled. ¡°Have you ever been exposed to mind-warping magic, Chairman? Have you ever had something try and slither into your mind and make you its thrall?¡± The entire Council seemed taken aback by the sudden outburst, and none stopped Cole. ¡°Because I have! I¡¯ve been tortured, mutilated, had my mind invaded, and my very soul tainted. From first-hand fucking experience, I know what that feels like! So, believe me when I say that is not the case here!¡± Cole barely noticed the entire chamber had cooled drastically. Aids and onlookers were shivering. While frost escaped his mouth with every breath. Surprised, Cole felt his power and how it had reacted to his rage. Pushing his mantle down and ending the accidental release of magic. Cole bowed his head in apology. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for that. It has been a long ugly night.¡± Graf Louon let silence settle for a moment. In which Cole noticed the man¡¯s breath wasn¡¯t frosted. Before breaking it with a casual dismissal of Cole. ¡°I got another report from the City Watch. When they captured you and the Vampire, they found you in bed together. Even if she hasn¡¯t worked any magic on your mind. She¡¯s clearly influencing you through sex and your emotional instability.¡± Cole, for a brief moment, wanted to strangle Iron-Teeth for including that detail in his report. Pushing his anger to a more deserving target, the Nobleman before him. Cole grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. ¡°That is not the-¡± Louon cut him off with a gesture, literally. Cole¡¯s mouth lost any sound, his words died in dead air. Struggling against the spell, Cole heard Louon make his pronouncement. ¡°Motion to dismiss the Vampires'' testimony from the record?¡± The Graf raised his hand, and so did the other Councilors. Nodding, Louon said. ¡°Motion passed. Motion to dismiss this Vampire¡¯s petition for asylum?¡± More hands were raised. ¡°Motion passed. We will leave her fate to the Temple and its judgment.¡± The Councilors bobbed their heads in agreement, and the one with the prayer necklace said. ¡°It''s for the best, Sir Paladin. You wouldn¡¯t be the first hero ensnared by a beautiful Monster.¡± Graf Louon nodded in agreement. ¡°Yes, despite your weakness for the creature, the city of Vindabon thanks you, Sir Paladin. Your actions against the Demon and in ending the Riot have our utmost gratitude. You may go.¡± Cole felt like someone had disemboweled him, poured acid into the open wound, and sewed his guts back together. Had¡­ had he just gotten Natalie killed? Fear and guilt raged within him, and he considered his options. Could they flee? If Vindabon wouldn¡¯t take her, then nowhere in the Holy League would. Maybe they could go North to the Jarls. Travel with a Werefolk pack if the Shohgards vouched for them. Or could they take a ship to the Sultanate? Cole doubted they¡¯d find much acceptance there, but maybe it would be a good place to hide? Maybe, maybe, maybe! No certainty anymore, no safety. A loud cough interrupted Cole¡¯s panicked spiral. He looked back to the group of Priests where Morri had risen. The Council looked to him, and Graf Louon asked. ¡°Yes, Hierophant Morri?¡± Scratching his chin, the old Priest asked. ¡°You are putting the burden of judgment on the Vampire on the Temple?¡± Louon looked to his fellows and nodded. ¡°Yes, the city will not offer her asylum. We leave her to the Temple''s mercy. Do as your God wills, Hierophant.¡± Nodding, Morri walked up towards Cole and the pulpit. Went past him, looked down to the Scrivener''s pit, and grabbed a stack of papers. The Scrivener yelped in surprise but didn¡¯t countermand Morri. Picking up the transcript copy, Morri set it on Louon¡¯s desk. ¡°Well then, sign and stamp this. So we have it all official and can get this over with.¡± Golden eyes narrowed, Louon passed the transcript between the Councillors. Who each added their signature to the front and last page. An aid then put the parchment into an envelope, and Louon sealed it with his signet ring. Taking the transcript from them. Morri nodded. ¡°Please have someone send the report on the Undead Attack to the Temple. I¡¯d like to review it.¡± Louon seemed to hesitate, but Councilmen Korgun spoke for him. ¡°Seems reasonable; I¡¯ll have it sent over to you as soon as possible.¡± Nodding to the corpulent Councillor, Morri went to Cole. Gripping him gently by the elbow, he led the Paladin out of the Council chamber. A confused and scared Cole started to speak, but Morri cut him off. ¡°Not here, too many eyes and ears.¡± They exited the City Palace. Leaving its huge fortified bulk behind them as they set off toward the Tenth Temple. Pale winter dawn shone over dirty streets and frosted refuse. The city had suffered from the Riot. While most of the anger had been directed down Woad Way and towards the Werefolk. Plenty more had spilled into the rest of the city. Opportunists and worse had looted and destroyed whatever they could. Even now, a few buildings still smoked, their ruined husks feeding the last smoldering flames. Once they were close to the Thirteenth District, Morri stopped. Holding up the envelope with the signed transcript, he chuckled. ¡°The Louons are all the same. Overbred, arrogant lie-spawn certain of their control.¡± Confused and losing patience rapidly, Cole growled. ¡°What did you do, Morri?¡± The Priest looked at Cole, a mirthless smile on his face. ¡°Took Ms. Natalie¡¯s fate out of the city''s hands and put it in Master Times. Louon expects us to execute Natalie on principle. He doesn¡¯t know how important that girl is. Or what measures Master Time has taken to keep her safe.¡± Eyes wide, Cole said, ¡°Does¡­ does that mean she¡¯s safe?¡± Morri nodded. ¡°For now. I¡¯ll need to look into this Hippogryph Knight business.¡± Then reaching out, he gripped Cole¡¯s shoulder hard. The Priest''s hands were knotted and strong, especially for someone in his seventh decade. ¡°But if Master Time says she needs to be sealed away or released, I will follow that command. I trust you will do the same?¡± A shameful flicker of uncertainty went through Cole. Would he really be able to? Thinking of his God and his Lover, Cole sucked in a breath. ¡°I will.¡± Morri nodded. ¡°It''s hard, son, but that''s why these choices fall to us. The Gods entrust us with a duty we cannot fail.¡± Cole nodded as well. His moment of hesitation had scared him, but it had let him come to a new conclusion. He had faith. Not just in Master Time but in Natalie. Faith neither would put him in a situation where he¡¯d be forced to make that choice.
Arriving back in the diplomatic quarters he shared with Natalie, Cole chewed on the day and night insane events. The combat drug he¡¯d been using to stay upright had finally burned through his system. Exhaustion and information overload had him ready to sleep for a week. He¡¯d barely been able to digest the news that Natalie''s meeting with the Anchorite had gone well. Keeper Glynn seemed almost¡­ enthusiastic about Natalie now. Something Cole chalked up to his exhausted mind playing tricks on him. The Apartment was dark, its glowstones dimmed with the day, and its curtains were drawn tight. A familiar lump lay underneath the blankets, and Cole let out a relieved breath. After the disastrous meeting with the Council, some part of Cole had feared she¡¯d be gone. Taking off his gauntlets, Cole went over to the bed and pulled the covers down a little to make sure Natalie was really there. A still body and pale face greeted him. His Vampire sleeping the day away. The sight of a sleeping Vampire was always unnerving, even for someone used to it like Cole. For all intents and purposes, Natalie was dead during the day. A fresh corpse, cold and unmoving. Tracing the line of her jaw, Cole shuddered. Vampires were truly disturbing creatures, and yet he¡¯d still fallen for two of them. Leaving Natalie, he went to the washroom and cleaned up. Peeling his filthy armor off and dousing himself in cold water. The shock of the chill kept him awake and moving long enough to put his gear away and find some undergarments. Unlike Natalie, he didn¡¯t like sleeping naked. Drying his annoyingly long hair, Cole headed for the bed. Pausing just before reaching it. Looking at his pack, he remembered another responsibility. Gently he fished Isabelle¡¯s skull out of the bag. Holding up the alabaster bone, he set his forehead against hers. Sighing, Cole felt another twinge of Guilt. After learning Natalie and Isabelle had been conspiring together, he¡¯d not been feeding Isabelle regularly. Fears about her mental state and effect on Natalie had made him negligent. Another failure to add to his list. Moving back towards the bed, Cole lay down and let Isabelle¡¯s fangs sink into him. Ignoring the twinge of pain, Cole let himself collapse into the bed. Looking at Natalie''s still form and the skull suckling on his wrist, Cole almost laughed. Many men probably had fantasies of sharing a bed with two lovers. They just probably didn¡¯t imagine it looked anything like his current predicament. As blood loss combined with his exhaustion, Cole shut his eyes and hoped for sleep. It didn¡¯t refuse his invitation. Dreamless sleep came without complaint but left with a jab of pain. Hissing in sudden discomfort, Cole opened his eyes. Finding Natalie sprawled over him, trying to wrestle Isabelle¡¯s skull from his wrist. Groggy, thirsty, and feeling like his wrist was being ripped apart, Cole tried to say something. Only to be cut off by another jab of pain as Natalie yanked the skull free. With little compunction, Natalie tossed the skull onto the floor, sending it rolling along the wooden panels like some obscene ball. Cursing quietly, Natalie let out an annoyed sigh and snapped at the skull. ¡°You are welcome!¡± Turning to face Cole, she smiled and wrapped her arms around him. Bringing him to her chest. A confused Cole found his face filled with very warm, very soft flesh. Gently and reluctantly, he pulled himself free of her breasts. Blinking up at Natalie, Cole croaked. ¡°What was that about?¡± Tracing his face with one hand, Natalie looked at the skull on the floor. ¡°She told me to dislodge her when I woke up. Apparently, she drained you to death like three times in your sleep but couldn¡¯t force herself to stop.¡± Licking her lips, Natalie looked at Cole''s wrist. ¡°Speaking of, do you mind?¡± Noticing his wound was dripping blood, Cole shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t take much; I¡¯m pretty groggy.¡± Nodding, Natalie slithered over to his wrist and set her lips on his cut wrist. The numbing kiss Isabelle¡¯s skull lacked deadened the pain. As Cole became very aware of the beautiful naked woman lying atop him. His chest and arm were quashed to her breasts, and Natalie¡¯s rear was displayed marvelously from his current position. Surprising himself, Cole let his other hand dance up to Natalie¡¯s hip and squeeze the supple flesh. Natalie made a pleased humming noise into his wrist and licked his wound shut. Taking the encouragement, Cole let his hands slip up her rear and to the small of her back. Enjoying the strong hands, Natalie moved so her hips straddled his own. Wiggling slightly, Natalie giggled at what she felt. ¡°I see you didn¡¯t lose too much blood.¡± Blushing, Cole swallowed nervously. ¡°Yeah¡­ how are you feeling?¡± Licking her lips and taking Cole¡¯s injured arm, Natalie guided his hand to her mouth. Leaving a few kisses on his fingers in a profoundly distracting way. Natalie smiled. ¡°Better now that you are back.¡± Taking his index finger into her mouth for a long moment, Natalie wiggled her eyebrows and then guided the same hand from her mouth to her breast. ¡°So, is my Hero up for some fun?¡± The lusty haze enrapturing Cole faded slightly at her words, and more of his higher thoughts returned. Including his meeting with the Council and Natalie¡¯s fate. That cut clean through his arousal and he pulled his hands from Natalie, gesturing for her to get off him. With a slight pout, she complied. Flopping onto the bed next to him, Natalie asked: ¡°Are you afraid another binding ritual will interrupt us?¡± Cole¡¯s lips twitched in a smile despite himself. ¡°No, and I¡¯d love to make love, but we have bigger concerns.¡± One of Natalie¡¯s hands cupped her breast, and the other slithered over towards the disturbance Cole was making in the blankets. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Cole? These both seem like big issues.¡± Gently taking her wandering hand into his own, Cole met her eyes. ¡°This is serious. My meeting with the City Council went poorly.¡± Losing her flirtatiousness, Natalie frowned. ¡°Okay, how bad?¡± So Cole told her how her testimony had been dismissed, and the City rejected her plea. Leaving Natalie¡¯s fate in the Temple''s hands. As he explained, Cole watched as Natalie¡¯s expression darkened and darkened until he got to the part about Morri and the Temple. To Cole¡¯s utter surprise, a wide fangy smile covered Natalie¡¯s face. Letting out a small laugh, she grabbed Cole¡¯s face and kissed him viciously. Breaking the kiss, Natalie rolled onto her back and laughed louder. Confused, Cole said: ¡°Why in the World¡¯s name are you so enthusiastic? The Temple hasn¡¯t been particularly nice to you, Love?¡± Instead of answering, Natalie took Cole¡¯s hand and brought it to her neck. Even more confused and wondering if Natalie enjoyed¡­ rougher forms of fun, Cole was stunned to feel a lattice of cold power beneath his fingers. Pulling his hand back, he saw a spiraling tattoo of silver lines forming a maze and hourglass. Gasping, Cole whispered. ¡°A Stigma.¡± Tracing her mark with a lazy hand, Natalie smirked. ¡°A gift from the Anchorite. I¡¯m under the Temple''s protection as long as I bear it. Glynn explained some of it this morning, and Isabelle filled me in on the rest.¡± Pausing for a second, Natalie considered. ¡°She couldn¡¯t decipher what miracle was worked into it. That really seemed to annoy her.¡± Trying to sort through this, Cole asked: ¡°I¡¯m still confused as to why you are so excited? Even if the Temple accepts you, the City isn¡¯t.¡± Rolling so she was pressed up against Cole, Natalie chuckled. ¡°See, you¡¯d think that, but from what you''re describing, the City gave up any control over me. Saying I was the Temple''s responsibility. Morri even got them to put it in writing. That means as long as the Temple says I¡¯m in the clear, I am.¡± Frowning, Cole tried to parse her logic. ¡°I¡¯m not certain that¡¯s how it works, Nat?¡± Natalie got up off the bed and went over to a table near the Apartment¡¯s window. Cole couldn¡¯t help but find his eyes drawn to her rear as she walked. Shaking the lust from his head, he asked: ¡°What are you doing?¡± Grabbing a book from the table, Natalie came back to the bed. Touching a glowstone as she did, brightening it enough for Cole to see properly. Sitting next to Cole, Natalie flipped open the book and riffled through its pages. With a triumphant chirp, she found what she¡¯d been looking for. ¡°Aha! ¡®The Temple Song Agreement and its effects on the Charter of Vindabon.¡± Pointing at the text, Natalie quoted. ¡°A key tenant of the Agreement was the placement of Religious Authority below Mundane Authority in judicial matters. As a direct result, the City of Vindabon and its Temples came to the accord that the City Court (or Council) had priority on deciding the fate of Criminals and similar. But if the City forfeits this right in a particular case, it falls to the Temples, who have final say. Once the forfeiture of Judgement has happened, it cannot be revoked without the combined agreement of the Elector-Prince and Twelve Hierophants of the City!¡± Utterly bewildered, Cole asked: ¡°How in the Fixed Stars did you know about that?¡± Smiling, Natalie shut the book. ¡°Someone left me alone with a grumpy Priestess with only a history text, a bad romance novel, and a woodworking guide as entertainment. So I did some reading and learned that little tidbit. It stuck with me since I thought it might prove useful. And hey! It did! I¡¯m safe with the Temple and hopefully free to explore the city!¡± Suddenly, Cole remembered the near ridiculous amount of knowledge Natalie had gathered while tending tables at her Father¡¯s inn. He¡¯d been impressed then but now was truly floored. Natalie clearly had a gift for memorization or simply retaining information. Reaching out, he grabbed either side of Natalie¡¯s head and brought her forehead to his. Infected with her glee, Cole smiled. ¡°That is perhaps one of the most incredible things I¡¯ve ever seen. You are brilliant, Natalie!¡± A coy grin coming over her, Natalie said, ¡°Keep singing my praises, Cole. It will get you everywhere with me.¡± With one mighty weight off his shoulders, Cole gripped Natalie and pulled her beneath him. An excited giggle escaped her lips, and Natalie pressed her hands to Cole¡¯s chest. Enjoying the taught strength, she found there. Red eyes met blue, and Cole rumbled. ¡°So¡­ shall we?¡± Pulling his face in for a kiss, Natalie murmured, ¡°We shall.¡± Book II: Chapter 17.5 A Night Together

Chapter 17.5: A Night Together

Author''s Note: This is just a Sex Scene between Cole and Natalie. Created partially as an experiment in writing that kind of thing and partially because I felt trying to show healthy intimacy in media is important.
The couple kissed for a long moment. Natalie¡¯s soft lips clashed against Cole¡¯s scarred ones. Cole shivered as a warm tongue licked a long faded mark, and quick hands found his undergarments. Even as they kissed, Natalie deftly slipped Cole¡¯s pants down. Her fingers found his member and played with it. A shuddering gasp escaped Cole, and he ended the kiss. Fangs shining in the glowlight, Natalie batted her eyes. ¡°You were such a lovely suitor last time. I figured I should repay the favor.¡± Gently but firmly, she pushed Cole to his back and slipped down towards his hips. Natalie knew how tentative and uncertain Cole could be in these matters. That is, until she ignited his passion. Thankfully Natalie had just the idea of how to stoke his flame. Looking down at his lover, Cole¡¯s moaned as warm wetness encircled his length. He felt himself twitch in pleasure as Natalie¡¯s tongue licked his cock. Swallowing nervously, he started to say, ¡°You don¡¯t have to-¡± Stopping her ministrations, Natalie slithered up to him and put a finger on his lips. ¡°I know. Don¡¯t worry so much Love. I want to make you feel good. So relax and let me have my fun.¡± Accepting that, Cole watched as Natalie slipped back between his legs. Kissing his tip, Natalie slowly took him into her mouth. Eyes wide, Cole could only stare as his length disappeared past Natalie¡¯s lips. Running her tongue along the bottom of his shaft. Natalie was thankful Undeath had stolen her gag reflex. Cole was most definitely proportionate to his height. Once she reached his base, Natalie pulled back with the same slow deliberateness. Taking time to run her tongue along as much of him as she could. Cole¡¯s leg twitched as she did this, and Natalie felt herself smile around his cock. She was taking things slow partially because she knew Cole had some kind of baggage in these matters. Partially because she didn¡¯t want her new fangs to hurt him. She¡¯d had one or two partners she¡¯d given this treatment before, and the lessons learned there had to be altered thanks to her changed teeth. After completing this slow treatment a few more times, Natalie let his length leave her mouth, her hands gently stroking it as she smiled up at Cole. The Paladin had a wonderfully enraptured look on his face. He was so reactive to her touchs. Groaning and twitching in time to her ministrations, it brought warmth to Natalie¡¯s own loins. Knowing she was making him feel good did something to her. A pleased hum escaped Natalie¡¯s lips, and she said, ¡°To tell you the truth Cole I¡¯ve been fantasizing about this. Of all the different ways I could make you come.¡± his member twitched at that, and Natalie laughed. ¡°With my mouth, my hands, my sex¡­ with other parts of me.¡± She used her free hand to clutch her breast. Pinching her hard nipple between two fingers. Enjoying the spark of pleasure that caused, Natalie saw dawning comprehension in Cole¡¯s eyes. Licking her lips, Natalie adored putting on a bit of a show for him. ¡°I know where your eyes wander, Love. Believe me, I notice and do not mind at all.¡± Stopping her hands, Natalie crawled up along Cole¡¯s body. Until her hips rested on his abdomen. Tracing the contours of his muscles, Natalie smiled down at her enchanted lover. Taking one of his hands, she guided it to her breast and let out a pleased noise as he gently squeezed. Smiling as she ground herself against him, enjoying the sparks of pleasure that brought. Natalie said. ¡°It¡¯s fun to be desired by someone you love. To know they want you.¡± Taking Cole¡¯s other hand, she gently slipped it between her thighs. ¡°And Cole, in case you were wondering. I desire you. Wanna see how much?¡± With her guidance, Cole found warm slick flesh. Natalie¡¯s lust practically dripped from her. A breathy moan escaped Natalie as his large calloused fingers touched her sensitive sex. On half-remembered instinct, Cole searched for a certain nub of sensitive flesh. His slickened fingers found their prize, and Natalie arched her back and gasped. Carefully but firmly, Cole started to massage her clit. Enjoying the noises and movements, he could get out of her. As something hard and warm pressed against her ass, Natalie smiled. Looking behind her to see Cole¡¯s cock pulling towards her, she giggled. Reluctantly she pulled Cole¡¯s hand from her sex. Smiling at him, she murmured: ¡°Please, more of that later. But right now¡­ I need you inside of me.¡± Pushing herself up, Natalie reached down for Cole¡¯s member. Slicking her fingers with her own dew, Natalie gave Cole¡¯s cock a few helpful pumps before angling him into her. Gently, carefully, Natalie started to lower herself onto him. Cole gasped involuntarily as warm wetness enveloped him. A noise Natalie mimicked above him. Speaking more to herself than him, she murmured: ¡°So¡­ so big.¡± Continuing their mirror game, Cole whispered, ¡°So tight.¡± As their hips met, both lovers let out a low satisfied groan. Putting her hands on Cole¡¯s chest, Natalie balanced herself. ¡°Sun¡¯s Tits, you feel fantastic.¡± Ignoring her blasphemy, Cole rumbled his agreement. Bringing his hands to her hips. Cole rasped, ¡°I love you.¡± Chuckling slightly, Natalie bent down and kissed Cole. ¡°I love you too. So how about we screw each other, silly?¡± Instead of answering, Cole lifted Natalie up and pulled her back down onto his cock with shocking speed. A squeak and a gasp escaped Natalie. But Cole didn¡¯t stop. He slowed slightly but didn¡¯t let up. Man-handling Natalie up and down his length in a way she found herself quickly loving. A stream of excited curses and squeaks escaped Natalie¡¯s mouth as Cole pulled her up and down his member. Stars bloomed behind Natalie¡¯s eyes as pleasure coiled around her mind. Smiling like the love-sick creature she was, Natalie forced herself to meet Cole¡¯s gaze. He wore a similar smile Gripping one of his hands, Natalie pulled it to her face. Letting her have a bit more control over the pace of their lovemaking. She liked what he¡¯d been doing but wanted a gentler position for their first time. As Cole cupped her face, Natalie pulled his thumb into her mouth. She¡¯d forgotten how much fun giving oral could be, and the idea of having something in her mouth just felt right. To her utter surprise, Cole purposely pricked his thumb on a fang. Warm blood dribbled into her mouth, and Natalie felt a massive wall of pleasure smash away her composure. Twitching and spasming, Natalie moaned into Cole¡¯s hand as she came and came hard. Going slightly limp, she rode on the waves of her orgasm as Cole slowly pumped in and out of her. Every new thrust added to her joy. Licking his thumb wound shut, Natalie reluctantly let his hand leave her face and collapsed forward onto Cole¡¯s chest. Cole moved his hips so he didn¡¯t leave her sex but stopped thrusting. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Forehead against his clavicle, Natalie moaned. ¡°It¡¯s not fair! You¡¯ve gotten me twice, and I¡¯ve not even made you come once!¡± Cole¡¯s chest shook as he laughed. Looking so she could see his face, Natalie frowned and blew a stream of air at her amused lover. Recovering slightly, Natalie whined. ¡°That trick¡­ with the blood. That is cheating!¡± Cole rolled his hips, getting a gasp from Natalie. ¡°It made you feel good, didn¡¯t it?¡± Grumbling to herself but also grinding against his cock, Natalie said, ¡°I want to make you come! Is that too much for a girl to ask?¡± Brushing her long sweat-streaked hair away from her face, Cole said, ¡°I didn¡¯t quite expect your reaction to be so¡­ uh¡­ intense.¡± Pushing herself back up, Natalie moaned as Cole¡¯s length pressed against a lovely spot. Wiggling her hips in a way that made Cole gasp. Natalie suggested. ¡°I¡¯m ready to continue. How about you pull out that trick when you are ready to cum.¡± Smiling and licking her lips, she added. ¡°Being filled that way sounds¡­ wonderful.¡± Cole twitched at her lewd suggestion, and Natalie giggled. ¡°So, want me to ride you some more or try something else?¡± In response, Cole flipped them. Pinning Natalie to the bed, pulling her hips up to meet where he sat on his knees. They¡¯d returned to where they started, Natalie enjoying the imposing sight of Cole looming over her. As fun as teasing and pleasing him was. Part of her adored when the massive warrior took charge like this. Placing one hand on his heaving chest, the other finding her own nipples and playing with the sensitive buds, Natalie rolled her hips. Ready for whatever Cole had for her. He started slow at first, enjoying how wet and tight she was. But quickly built up to a steady bed-shaking rhythm. Cole¡¯s hands were on either side of Natalie¡¯s shoulders, trapping her beneath him. A fact that made Natalie giddy. For her part, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Making him fight to pull out enough to thrust into her. Cole grunted and gasped in pleasure as Natalie tightened around him. Looking down at her, Cole felt his thundering heart skip a beat. Hair a mess, skin slick with sweat, eyes glazed over in pleasure, Natalie had never looked more beautiful. Lunging down, he brought his lips to hers. The couple kissed madly as they made love. At that moment, everything except Natalie faded from Cole¡¯s mind. All horrors and fears melted away by their shared warmth. One hand moving to her hips and rear, Cole squeezed the soft flesh he found there as Natalie¡¯s sex squeezed his member. She felt incredible, wet warmth encapsulating him as his hands clutched soft slick skin. Ending the kiss, Cole pulled back a little, wanting to see Natalie¡¯s face. Cheeks red and mouth panting with pleasure, she stole his heart anew. The sight pushed Cole close to his own orgasm. Slowing down slightly, he tried to draw the moment out. But the new pace just let him feel how Natalie¡¯ clung to him. Looking up at her lover and noticing the change, Natalie panted, ¡°Is¡­. is something¡­ wrong?¡± A shy smile flickered across Cole¡¯s face, ¡°I¡¯m close¡­ but I don¡¯t want this to end.¡± Giggling, Natalie pulled him closer, her enhanced legs not letting him escape her easily. ¡°Cole love, If I have any say in the matter, we will be doing a LOT of this. So fill me up; I want to feel you come.¡± Bringing his thumb to Natalie¡¯s mouth, Cole changed the pace again. Angling himself to hopefully push against some of Natalie¡¯s sensitive bits. His efforts were rewarded by a gasp from Natalie as she clamped down on him with new intensity. Feeling himself reach the peak, Cole nicked himself on Natalie¡¯s fang. The effect was instantaneous; Natalie started to spasm and thrash in pleasure. Bathing his cock in all sorts of lovely sensations right as he erupted. Both lovers groaned in enjoyment; Cole pulled his finger from Natalie and replaced it with his own lips. They kissed with mad intensity as both came. Cole thrust slightly as Natalie tried her best to crush him with her thighs. As the last bits of their shared orgasm faded, Cole tried to pull himself from Natalie. A soft whine escaped her lips, but she eventually relented. Letting him escape and roll onto the bed next to her. Arms still shaking, Cole grabbed Natalie and pulled her into a tight hug. Her head nestled to his neck. Her curvaceous form pressed against his body. Eyes shut, Natalie made a noise remarkably similar to a purr. While Cole sucked in lungfuls of air. They lay like that for a long time, just enjoying each other''s presence and the love they shared. Opening her eyes, Natalie looked at Cole¡¯s neck. She hadn¡¯t shut the second cut on his thumb, so the smell of fresh blood filled her nostrils. The bit of blood she¡¯d got from Cole had blunted her hunger and woken her flesh. But the curse still whispered terrible temptations. How easy it would be to sink her fangs into Cole and dose him with the Sting. Licking her lips, Natalie pushed back against the Hunger. Eyes alight with determination, she decided to prove something to herself. Gently she kissed Cole¡¯s neck. Not biting or feeding, just a simple warm kiss. The Hunger shrieked in the back of her mind, demanding she feed. Focusing on Cole and the moment they just shared, Natalie planted another kiss on his tattered skin. She was in love, and she was loved. Nothing would get in the way of that. Even an ancient curse born of the first betrayal. Proud of her control, Natalie only then realized how rigid Cole had gotten. His breaths were short and fast. Pulling back, Natalie looked at his face. Eyes shut, jaw tense, Cole was struggling with something. Worried, Natalie asked, ¡°Love? What¡¯s wrong?¡± Blue eyes flashing open, Cole looked at her concerned face and seemed to relax somewhat. ¡°It¡­ it''s nothing,¡± he whispered. Frowning, Natalie bumped her head into his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t do that, Cole. You can tell me. I¡¯m here for you.¡± Taking a deep shuddering breath, Cole let it out in a long exhale. Meeting her eyes, Cole squeezed her soft body and tried to find his words. ¡°When you kissed my neck¡­ It brought back some bad memories. Of when I got those scars.¡± Shocked and furious with herself for not thinking of it. Natalie put her hands on his chest and said, ¡°Oh, Cole! I-¡± Cutting her off with a gentle touch to her face, Cole composed himself. He¡¯d need whatever strength he could gather before speaking. ¡°When I was imprisoned after Isabelle¡¯s death. My jailers used me for¡­ whatever they desired. Blood mainly, but you know how the Hunger mixes with other¡­ pleasures.¡± Slow terrible realization bloomed in Natalie. Of what exactly Cole had endured. Torture and violation could come in many forms. It seemed like Cole had experienced nearly all of them. Suddenly his tentativeness towards Sex took on a completely different light. Covering her mouth in horror, Natalie murmured, ¡°Cole¡­ I''m so sorry.¡± Taking her hand away from her face, Cole gently kissed her palm. A soft, almost sad smile on his face. ¡°I¡¯m not telling you this to make you feel bad. Just¡­ just so you understand me a little better.¡± Forcing himself to keep eye contact, Cole whispered. ¡°I trust you, Natalie. More than I can put into words. And¡­ and what we just shared, it helped.¡± Frowning and looking away, Natalie said, ¡°Cole, I¡¯m so sorry. I kissed your neck like that to prove to myself I wouldn¡¯t attack you. I was being selfish and stupid.¡± Both of Cole¡¯s hands found Natalie¡¯s face, and he forced her to look at him. ¡°You didn¡¯t know, and you didn¡¯t hurt me. Please don¡¯t worry about it.¡± Pushing forward slightly, Natalie kissed Cole. A tender thing in contrast to the near-violent passion of earlier. Ending the kiss, Natalie whispered. ¡°Thank you for trusting me.¡± This time it was Cole¡¯s turn to feel a twinge of guilt. While he¡¯d concluded Natalie wasn¡¯t involved with the Hippogryph Knight¡¯s death, he had doubted her at first. Pushing those thoughts aside, Cole just held Natalie close. Enjoying how she felt nestled against him. Looking at the beautiful creature in his arms, Cole decided the darkness could wait for another time. For now, they would enjoy the night together. Book II: Chapter 18: The Chase

Chapter 18: The Chase

¡°It¡­ it came out of the Ocean. Just walked up off the beach and started killing people. Tore em apart like they were boiled cabbage. Bjor and Ivark both tried to run, but they couldn¡¯t. It caught them with some-sorta power, made it so they were wading through water but on land! All while, the thing kept screaming something in the old tongue. Dunno enough to say for sure what it was saying, but I caught the word ¡®debt.¡¯ Which I reckon makes sense. Poor Skacki shoulda never dredged up that silver. Old Nanna said it was bad luck, shoulda believed her.¡±- Testimony of Brok Struson, a survivor of the Snaaga Draugr attack.
:: An abandoned Farm somewhere in Norica :: Gentle snow fell between half-rotten rafters. Passing through an open maw of wood and thatch. Landing inside what once was a barn, now a monster¡¯s lair. A figure in rust-red armor stood in the center of the barn, eyes unfocused and mind elsewhere. Dietrich Freymond watched the distant city of Vindabon through the senses of Owls and Bats. Looking for any sign of his quarry. While a shivering Yara tried to keep warm in the bleak winter night. Watching her master, Yara felt a knot of fear grow in her gut. The trail led to Vindabon, but there was no sign of Dietrich¡¯s quarry. The Scarlet Knight dared not approach the city. Instead, hoping Yara¡¯s plan to flush out the Alukah and her protector would work. They¡¯d spent a week so far in this ruined barn. Dietrich only leaving to hunt. As every night without results passed, Yara became more and more fearful. It had been her idea to try and poison the Holy League against the Paladin. If it didn¡¯t work then the wasted time and effort would be on her head. Dietrich¡¯s increasing impatience and wrath was evident in the condition of his kills. A peddler had been the most recent. The unlucky merchant¡¯s head had been ripped clean off, his frozen body now lying in one corner of the barn with the others. A pile of dead awaiting either proper disposal or reanimation. Staring at the ten or so corpses piled up like so much cordwood, Yara wondered if she¡¯d join them soon. Strangely the idea of Dietrich devouring her didn¡¯t scare her. What did, was the possibility of failing him. Dietrich had taken her as his. Protecting and caring for her when no one else would. Even in the worst of Petar''s betrayal, he¡¯d spared Yara. If he were to kill her now, it would be only because of her own failures. Clutching the damp blanket closer to her, Yara tried to still her chattering teeth. The need for secrecy stopped her from making a fire, but not her body from slowly freezing. Looking up at her master, his eyes shut, mouth muttering some spell. Yara felt a strange mix of adoration and utter terror. She owed him everything and would gladly die for him. But she¡¯d much prefer to live for him. Looking up out of the collapsed barn roof, Yara blinked away snowflakes and wracked her mind for some way to help Dietrich. He¡¯d been watching the city through the senses of enthralled animals. Forced to jump between creatures every few minutes to evade any detection spells woven around the city. A process tiring both mentally and magically. Something the drained corpses and Yara¡¯s own neck could attest to. A sudden silence pulled Yara¡¯s attention from the open roof back to her master. He¡¯d stopped his muttering. Instead, his face was caught in a pained rictus. Not wanting to interrupt him, Yara watched. Trying to make herself as still and silent as possible. Only the distant wind and groan of rotten boards could be heard as Yara strained her senses for any possible threat. If her master was concentrating, it fell to her to stand guard. So when Dietrich started to scream, Yara nearly toppled over in fright. A vicious animal howl escaped the Vampire¡¯s lips as he fell to his knees. Yara watched in mute horror as the Scarlet Knight clawed at his eyes. Smoke issued from beneath his eyelids, and a faint sizzling could be heard. Not needing to breathe, a Vampire could scream for a very long time. Even when he ran out of breath, Dietrich still let out a rattling choking noise. Cautiously, Yara shuffled towards Dietrich. ¡°Master? I¡¯m here; what¡¯s wrong?¡± Instead of answering, Dietrich lunged for her, his fangs finding her neck. His bite had no venom, only cold numbness. Yara¡¯s knees went weak as the Vampire fed. After a few seconds, he let go of her. Letting Yara tumble to the ground. Reaching up to her newest mark, Yara was stunned to see she still bled. Dietrich hadn¡¯t bothered to seal the wound. Something was truly wrong. Looking up at her master, Yara watched as he opened his eyes. Ash bled from the empty sockets like gray tears. Black blood pooled in the sockets, slowly congealing into familiar red orbs. The destroyed eyes were replaced with a new set. Looking at Yara with them, Dietrich nodded to himself. ¡°Good, I¡¯d feared I¡¯d taken too much,¡± he growled, voice hoarse from screaming. Some well-trained part of Yara took strange joy in his words. Her master valued her! Holding her hand to her bleeding neck, Yara asked. ¡°Master, what happened?¡± Blinking the last bits of ash from his eyes, Dietrich snarled. ¡°Somethings happened at Vindabon. An army had left the city gates, or something close to an army. I tried to get close to see what was happening when....¡± Dietrich flinched slightly, the memory of scorching pain clear in his face. ¡°When I saw the Sun. The Sun rose over Vindabon.¡± Utterly confused, Yara looked up at the sky. It was still midnight black. By her reckoning, they still had a few hours to go before dawn. ¡°Master, what do you mean?¡± Taking a clump of snow and pressing it to his regrown eyes, Dietrich snapped. ¡°Things have changed. I need to get closer to the city..¡± ¡°That is much easier said than done,¡± said a voice from the rafters. Whirling, Dietrich shoved Yara and unsheathed his sword. Vampire and Thrall looked up at the ruined beams of the former barn. Standing at the end of a long splintered timber was a man in a green coopers cloak. With casual ease, the man leaped down from his perch. Landing silently near Dietrich. An impressive feat considering it was a two-story drop onto snow. This close, Yara could see the newcomer was a Vampire. He was short with a lean frame and a face creased from smiling. Even as Dietrich leveled his hulking sword at him, the newcomer grinned. A fox-like smirk almost carved onto his face. Uncaring of the slab of steel aimed at him, the interloper bowed. An extravagant gesture, complete with a flourish of both hands. ¡°It''s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Dietrich Freymond, Brother of the Scarlet Knights. I am Francesco Scapin, Agent of the Ash Door.¡± the newcomer said, his voice flavored with a thick Aenean accent. Dietrich did not lower his sword. Instead, asking, ¡°What is one of the Ash Door doing here?¡± Scapin pulled up from his bow, face still in that vulpine grin. ¡°Not assassinating you if that is what you are worried about.¡± The Scarlet Knight didn¡¯t move. Prepared to strike without any hesitation. Scapin rolled his red eyes. ¡°Honestly, you Knights are all the same. I¡¯m here to aid you, Sir Dietrich.¡± That got the first bit of movement out of Dietrich. His eyes narrowed at Francesco¡¯s words. ¡°I do not need the help of an Ashen Agent.¡± Clicking his tongue, the Agent in question pointed at Dietrich. ¡°Then tell me, where is the Alukah? Where is the Paladin protecting her? Do you have them trussed up in a storm cellar somewhere?¡± Dietrich didn¡¯t respond, just staring at Scapin. While Yara watched from a place near a worn post. Her limbs trembling from the cold and the magical pressure emanating from the two. Both men were powerful Vampires, and the Aether bubbled with their power. Eventually, the Agent just rubbed his face and let out a melodramatic sigh. ¡°Dietrich, do you mind if I call you Dietrich?¡± Francesco didn¡¯t wait for an answer. ¡°I¡¯m certain you are an excellent warrior and war-leader. But those skills aren¡¯t particularly useful when playing games of shadow. Let me help you do your duty and reclaim your honor.¡± Yara could see a muscle in Dietrich¡¯s neck tense at that, pushing a withered vein to prominence. Francesco waved his hand, and in it appeared a long thin dagger. Pointing to it with his free hand, he spoke. ¡°This is me.¡± he then pointed at Dietrich''s greatsword. ¡°That is you.¡± Gesturing in the vague direction of Vindabon with his blade, Francesco spoke like he was explaining something to a dull child. ¡°Both can kill but have different roles. I¡¯m here not to steal the glory or anything so tawdry. The Archduke sent me to slip my blade into his enemies. Leaving them open for you to take their heads.¡± Flicking his regrown eyes to Yara, Dietrich lowered his executioner''s sword. ¡°If your offer is genuine, how would you propose collecting the Alukah? She is inside Vindabon, protected by the Temple.¡± Francesco cupped his ear with an exaggerated gesture. ¡°A little bat told me of a massacre in the Southern Marches. How the reports pointed to a Vampire and her scarred thrall being responsible.¡± Dietrich¡¯s eyes widened at that, but Francesco paid it little mind. ¡°A crude first step but not an ineffective one. We need to apply more pressure to isolate and flush out the target. Something I am happy to help do.¡± Dietrich snapped: ¡°And how would we do that? We cannot infiltrate the city.¡± The Agent¡¯s smile took on a slightly more vicious hue. ¡°Oh, can¡¯t we?¡± flourishing his free hand, Fransesco revealed a pair of vials. Each containing a black fluid. ¡°I bring more than riveting conversation, Dietrich. I bring gifts straight from the Archduke¡¯s own stock.¡± The Scarlet Knight didn¡¯t need to ask what was in the vials. He could feel it. A throb of red-tinged power at the edge of his awareness. ¡°How¡­. how do you have that?¡± rasped Dietrich. Looking at the vials as if he was just noticing them, Francesco chuckled. ¡°The Archduke is as careful as he is powerful. A fraction of Lord Glockmire¡¯s tribute was cached away for a sunny day. We might not have our prized Cow any more, but that doesn¡¯t mean we haven¡¯t kept any of its milk.¡± Tumbling the priceless vials between his deft fingers, Francesco said. ¡°So tell me, Dietrich? Have you ever tasted the Alukah before?¡±
Cole crept through dark moldy tunnels. Shadows clung to him, and foul things whispered just out of sight. The Paladin held up his amulet, trying to force more power into it. Hoping to drive back the darkness. But it was like trying to get blood from a stone. His blue light was a guttering sick thing, unable to do more than illuminate a meter or two of the tight passage. Creeping forward, Cole held his axe up. Ready for whatever might spring at him. The splash of feet through stagnant water caught his attention, and Cole swung. Lunging out into the darkness. Dwarven steel split flesh and cracked bone. A wet gurgle came from the shadows as Cole pulled his target into the light. The face of Wilhelm Striga came into sight. Confused horror in the dying man¡¯s eyes. Shouting in panic, Cole tried to dislodge his axe as the kind man fell into the muck-covered tunnel floor. Blood, black and rancid, poured out of Wilhelm¡¯s wound as the dead man pointed a shaky hand at Cole. Voice weak and rattling, Wilhelm rasped. ¡°You killed me¡­ Just like all the others.¡± Cole tried to press his hands to Wilhelms torn open chest. Trying to heal him while apologies poured from his mouth like so much wastewater. Wilhelm just pointed behind Cole, his arm held out rigor-mortis stiff as life left his eyes. Horrified, Cole swung his head around. The motion was slow and awkward, like he was moving through swamp water. Just as he looked back the way he came, Cole¡¯s amulet bloomed with light. Showing the long path Cole had taken and the hundreds of corpses littering it. Bodies, some fresh, some rotten, lay in the muck. All staring at Cole with dead empty eyes. Breathing fast and hard, Cole stepped away from Wilhelm and the trail of bodies. He couldn¡¯t tear his eyes from them, for every corpse was a story, a story he knew. They were people he¡¯d failed, deaths he was responsible for. Cole felt like someone was crushing him like his lungs were being squeezed into shriveled lumps. He wanted to scream, but he couldn¡¯t. Only stare at the dead and the doomed. Moans and sobs from the other end of the tunnel finally pulled Cole¡¯s attention away from the corpses. In the distance was a man, once hidden by the darkness, now revealed. He was vaguely familiar. Taking Cole a moment to realize he was the Guard taken by the Cult. The one whose Soul Cole hadn¡¯t saved. The Guard was on his knees, two things latched onto his neck. Skeletal thin with waxy skin, the creatures sucked on the dead man like leeches. Cole could physically see the Guard wither. His flesh desiccating by the second. Until all that was left was a set of bones and leathery skin. The creatures dropped the corpse into the muck, where it fell apart. Finally, turning their faces to Cole. Features pulled taught, eyes replaced by black pits, and mouths filled with needle-like fangs, Natalie and Isabelle smiled at Cole. Or the Hunger wearing their flesh did. The two Vampires slithered down the hallway, coming towards Cole, dry, ugly laughter escaping their throats as they came. Laughter soon drowned out by Cole¡¯s scream. As the two monsters reached him, the tunnel floor gave way. Buckling under the horror¡¯s weight, sending Cole falling into the dark below. Gone was the rotten tunnel and the monsters. Replaced by an ashen sky and tumbling corpses. As he fell, Cole almost wanted to weep in joy. Returning to the ashlands of his recurring dreams was a blessed mercy. Plummeting through the skies, Cole looked to the nearest corpse. Fearing what he¡¯d see. Instead of a familiar face, it was a hulking mass of fur and muscle. A Werewolf joining the falling bodies. Confused, feeling like some truth was at the edge of his understanding, Cole didn¡¯t even notice when he hit the ground.
A screaming Cole bolted up from sleep. Limbs thrashing, mind reeling, he fought the blankets wrapping him. Distantly a voice was calling his name, and Cole tried to understand its source. Soft arms slithered around him, and the voice became clearer. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Cole! Cole! I¡¯m here! You¡¯re safe!¡± Blinking away the scraps of dreams, Cole saw the most beautiful sight he¡¯d ever seen. Natalie clung to him, her arms wrapping around his broad chest, her worried eyes locked on him. Breathing heavily, Cole wrapped his own arms around Natalie and brought her to him with crushing strength. It was her, not the hunger; it was her. Natalie let out a pained squeak as Cole¡¯s bear hug trapped her. Releasing her, Cole winced. ¡°Love, I¡¯m sorry! Did I hurt you? Natalie shrugged. ¡°Not really.¡± then changed the topic. ¡°Were you having nightmares? I¡¯ve never seen you like that?¡± Cole nodded in confirmation and crawled out of bed. Going to the nightstand and the pitcher of water there. Downing a glass in one gulp, Cole tried to find his thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for hurting you. Th-thank you.¡± Cocking her head, Natalie asked, ¡°What for?¡± Smiling timidly, Cole said, ¡°For being here.¡± An amused snort escaped Natalie. ¡°What? Do you take me for some Moon-Chaser who scampers off in the morning after she¡¯s had her fun with a cute boy?¡± Both laughed at that, but a fragile look came over Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°Cole¡­ did last night¡­ cause these nightmares?¡± Cole set down his glass and returned to Natalie. Putting his forehead to hers. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. But even if they did, I wouldn¡¯t have changed a single Singing thing.¡± They sat like that for a time before Natalie clicked her tongue in annoyance. ¡° If you keep acting so romantic; I¡¯ll be forced to make sure last night wasn¡¯t the cause.¡± Cole¡¯s brow raised in confusion. ¡°How is that?¡± Natalie smiled and kissed him. ¡°Through repeated tests.¡± Cole chuckled and forced himself to pull back from Natalie. As appealing as that sounded they had business to attend to. Looking at the drawn curtains, he asked, ¡°Do you know what time it is?¡± Natalie scrunched up her face in thought. ¡°Eight, I think? It''s hard to count the tower¡¯s bell when we''re so close to it. Speaking of, how do you sleep through that? It''s so loud!¡± Shrugging, Cole got out of bed properly. ¡°Practice. Let me wash up, and we should make it in time for second breakfast.¡± Natalie was busy staring at Cole¡¯s muscled back and rear. Only catching the oddity of his words after a moment. ¡°Second breakfast? What in the World¡¯s Name is Second Breakfast?¡± Cole found his underwear and headed towards the wash chamber. ¡°The Temple serves food all day, but the options change throughout the day. The closer you are to a change, the fresher the food is, and there''s more of it. The second round of breakfast is usually done by Eight and a half.¡± Turning on the water and letting it warm up, Cole called from the bathroom. ¡°What have you been up to all night?¡± Rolling onto her back and looking up at the ceiling, Natalie blew out a pointless breath. ¡°Well, I snuggled with you for a while after you fell asleep. Then when I managed to wriggle free of your arms, I got washed. Since then I¡¯ve been reading some of the books Mina loaned me, and day¡­ur well night-dreaming?¡± A pleased noise escaped the bathroom as Cole let hot water pour over him. Muscles sore from the past day or two''s adventures welcomed the boon. While the smell of soap blotted out everything, his overly-sensitive nose was picking up. Which was mainly his filthy armor. Cole idly wondered how much of it could be salvaged after his experiences in the Warrens. That thought brought up flickers of his nightmares, and Cole quickly emptied another bucket of water over his head. Long pale-blond hair was plastered to his face in a damp mess. Grumbling at his longer hair, Cole made a mental note to get it cut when he could. Finishing up, Cole dried off and got dressed. Returning to the apartment proper, finding Natalie slipping into some clothes. Once they were both set, they left their rooms. Cole¡¯s empty stomach spurred him towards the dining hall. They passed a few Temple workers and Acolytes in the hallways. None got too close to Natalie, but neither did they bolt and run in the opposite direction. Something both Cole and Natalie took as good signs. Once in the dining hall, Natalie found an empty Table while Cole went to grab food. As she waited, Natalie stared up at the mural covering the ceiling, her enhanced senses letting her read smoke-smudged inscriptions on the vaulting stonework. It was mainly lots of names with a few titles and deeds attached to them. Different Hierophants, Priests, and a few layfolk who¡¯d aided the Temple in their time. Natalie was pulled from her observations by Cole¡¯s return. The hungry Paladin was trying to balance four plates of food on his hands and forearms. The waitress in Natalie laughed at his questionable choices and wondered if she would need help. Cole arrived with all four plates intact and wasted no time digging into a bowl of oatmeal and honey. Natalie watched with mild envy as he wolfed down the food with almost comical speed. Next, he moved to a plate of flat cakes covered in fruit preserves and devoured them with similar gusto. As Cole ate, Natalie found her fingers idly reaching for the plate of sausage and eggs. A lightning-quick fork smacked her hand, and she winced in surprise. ¡°What was that for?¡± Natalie whined, looking at the sticky spot the fork had left on the back of her hand. Cole swallowed and raised an eyebrow. ¡°A certain lovely Vampire told me to physically restrain her if she tried to eat anything.¡± Rolling her eyes, Natalie sighed as she dabbed at the sugary fruit with a napkin. ¡°I wanted to see the food. I¡¯m considering taking up Cooking. The nights are long, and I need more than wood carving to keep me occupied.¡± Letting her pull the plate closer to her, Cole asked Natalie. ¡°Why not force yourself to sleep like we did on the trip?¡± Blowing out a useless breath, Natalie shrugged. ¡°If I¡¯m going to be a Vampire, I might as well enjoy the few perks, like not really needing sleep.¡± pausing, she then confided. ¡°Also, I can only take so much of Isabelle''s teaching.¡± Cole¡¯s lips quivered in a strange mixture of smile and frown. The relationship between his lover and somewhat former lover was more than a little confusing. A fact not helped by Isabelle not reaching out to his dreams since contacting Natalie. Something that made him more than a little nervous. Pushing those worries aside, Cole dug into his third dish before finally grabbing the eggs and sausage back from Natalie. As his gluttonous display ended, Natalie whistled. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen anyone eat that much before. Last night really tucker you out?¡± a coy smile punctuated her statement. Cole blushed and scratched his scarred chin. ¡°My body needs to recover. All healing, magical or mundane, works better with resources to work with.¡± Then, after a moment''s hesitation, he added. ¡°But also yes.¡± Natalie laughed and propped her head up with one elbow. ¡°So, what is the plan for today?¡± Gathering up his dishes, Cole thought about that for a second. ¡°I need to meet with Iron-Teeth and the Guards, see how they are doing and follow the lead we found. But before that, we need to make sure your reading of the city laws is accurate.¡± Just then, someone came up to the couple''s table. A squat youth, maybe ten, in the robes of an acolyte. Short and broad, the boy had a flattened nose and a heavy brow. To Natalie¡¯s surprise, there wasn¡¯t a hint of timidness in the boy. Just surly aggression. Some instinct told Natalie in a few years, he''d make an excellent Soldier or a very dangerous criminal, maybe even both. Jutting his chin out, Paladin, the Acolyte said. ¡°Sir Paladin, Lady Vampire, Priest Morri wants you both.¡± More than a little surprised by the boy¡¯s boldness, Cole asked, ¡°And you are?¡± Puffing himself up, the boy answered. ¡°Acolyte Erik of Snaaga. Student of Keeper Morri and currently in charge of taking you both to the practice yard.¡± Cole¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Snaaga¡­ Then you are?¡± Erik cut him off. ¡°One of the children rescued? Yes, thank you for reminding me of my parent¡¯s terrible death.¡± Cole blinked, looking like he¡¯d been punched. Natalie couldn¡¯t help but snort in laughter. Acolyte Erik gave her a beady-eyed look and snapped. ¡°If you have time to laugh, you have time to follow me. Now come on!¡± The couple got up from their table, more amused than anything by Erik¡¯s antics. Cole went to grab his dishes, but Erik stopped him. Gesturing to a nearby Acolyte who had just finished his own breakfast, Erik barked. ¡°Heya Jan, take the Paladin¡¯s dishes would you?¡± Jan looked at Erik rather than at Cole. Shrugging, the boy nodded. ¡°Sure thing.¡± Frowning, Cole started to say something, but Erik had already started marching off. Finding the bullheaded boy funny, Natalie grabbed Cole¡¯s hand and led after Erik. As they walked, Natalie whispered to Cole. ¡°What was that about Snaaga?¡± Wincing, Cole said. ¡°Snaaga was a port town on the northern Coast near Tvankberg. About six years ago, some fishermen caught something they shouldn¡¯t have. A Gleip Draugr¡¯s treasure. Gleip¡¯s are nasty things, Curse-born Undead of significant power. Morri and I were part of the group who slew it. We¡­ we were too late for most of the town. But the Gleip was keeping the children alive. Erik must have been one of them.¡± Natalie clutched at herself, wishing she could shiver at his words. Cole painted a bleak story, typical of his tales. Looking to Erik, Natalie found it strange to see other players in the tale alive and well. After a moment, Natalie considered Erik¡¯s attitude and wondered exactly how ¡®well¡¯ he was. They arrived then at the practice yard. A sequestered courtyard of hard tile. The courtyard center was a pit sunken into the ground by three steps and open to the winter sky. Surrounding the pit on three sides were roofed chambers holding everything needed for martial training. Rows of weapons, real and wooden. Several benches placed to give good vantages into the sparring pit. A bracing table where broken bones could be set and several other utilities Natalie couldn¡¯t identify. The fourth wall of the pit was a huge reinforced door with runes carved into its wood. Erik took the steps into the pit and gestured for Cole and Natalie to follow. They complied and found Morri and Mina waiting for them. A large Pig leashed to the ground sat in one corner of the pit as well. Natalie glanced at the Pig, and it looked back with eyes filled with malice. Upon seeing the animal, fond memories of the Direboar hunt came back to Natalie. Morri approached them and patted Erik on the back. ¡°Good! Good! You found them!¡± Erik nodded. ¡°Yes, sir, they were in the dining hall.¡± The old Priest looked at Cole and Natalie. ¡°I have good news for both of you. Cole, I assume you told Ms. Natalie about the Council¡¯s decision? Ms. Natalie, I assume you told Cole about your Stigma?¡± Both nodded, and Natalie asked. ¡°Is this about the Temple Song Agreement?¡± Morri blinked in surprise. ¡°Yes! How did you know about that?¡± Natalie smiled. ¡°Woman¡¯s intuition.¡± Mina snorted in mock disgust. ¡°The history book had something about the agreement in it right?¡± Shrugging, Natalie said, ¡°Perhaps. So does that mean I¡¯m free to leave the Temple?¡± Morri shifted uncomfortably. ¡°As long as you bear the Stigma, we will do everything we can to help you. But the Temple¡¯s power is limited outside our purview. We cannot stop you from leaving, but we cannot necessarily protect you either.¡± Scrunching up her face in frustration, Natalie asked. ¡°You can render judgment on me! Declare me protected by the Temple and grant me Asylum. The Council or Court can¡¯t easily revoke that.¡± Sighing, Morri said. ¡°The letter of the law says we can, but the reality of the situation isn¡¯t so simple. The Court could potentially overrule the Temple, even with the Elector-Prince off at War. If we are going to put you under the Temple¡¯s protection, certain precautions need to be taken.¡± Victory hadn¡¯t quite turned to ashes in Natalie¡¯s mouth, but she could feel it coming close. ¡°What precautions?¡± The Hierophant elaborated. ¡°You will need a chaperone while in the City. Something I¡¯m sure Cole will gladly do.¡± Looking at her partner, Natalie shrugged. That wasn¡¯t so bad. But Morri continued. ¡°We will need your blood, word, and fangmark as well.¡± Cole looked at the pig and winced. Natalie, not noticing Cole¡¯s expression, asked Morri: ¡°You already have my blood and oath. So what is a fangmark?¡± It was Mina¡¯s turn to answer. ¡°A Vampire can be identified through their bite. We need you to give us an example. So if you are accused of something we can prove your guilt or innocence.¡± Slowly turning to look at the pig, Natalie sighed. ¡°You have got to be kidding me?¡± Smiling weakly, Mina said. ¡°I got the meanest Pig I could. So¡­ uh, no great loss, right?¡± The absurdity of the situation forced a snort from Cole. Natalie swatted him. Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Cole said. ¡°You fed on the Direboar; this isn¡¯t that different?¡± Crinkling her nose, Natalie sighed. ¡°Yes, but also no. It¡¯s like¡­ like being asked to eat bad food in front of people so they can measure your literal shit.¡± Cole tried and failed not to laugh at Natalie¡¯s choice words. Earning him another swat on the shoulder. Grumbling to herself, Natalie trotted over to the Pig, muttering the whole while. Without ceremony, she sprung at the Pig. Toppling the large swine over and sinking her teeth into its neck. It died quickly, Natalie made sure of that. Once she¡¯d fed, Natalie stalked back to the waiting group. Wiping a bit of pig''s blood from her mouth, Natalie snapped. ¡°Happy?¡± Morri went over to the pig and held up his amulet, whispering some words and examining Natalie¡¯s bite. As he did, Natalie felt coldness spread on her neck. Reaching up, she felt her Stigma. It had faded to near-invisibility when she¡¯d last slept. But now it returned to its full silver glory in the presence of Morri¡¯s miracle. Humming in consideration, Natalie angeled her neck towards Cole. ¡°How does it look?¡± she asked. Cole shrugged. ¡°Like a Stigma? I¡¯ve never seen one before.¡± Natalie opened her mouth to specify what she meant but decided it was wasted energy. Morri then stepped away from the dead Pig and spoke to Erik. ¡°Erik, lad, go get some help to take the Pig down to the Seeking Mortuary.¡± gesturing to the rest of the group, he said, ¡°let us go to my office. I should be receiving other important news.¡± Leaving an annoyed Erik behind, they found Morri¡¯s office with a bored-looking Page standing out front. The Page wore the City sigil on a tabard and had a packet of papers in hand. Seeing them, the Page looked relieved. ¡°Hierophant Morri? This is from Councilmen Korgun¡± Morri nodded and took the packet. Dismissing the Page with a coin and going into his office. The others trailed behind him as Morri flipped through the report. He seemed to find what he was looking for, stopping to read. After a few minutes, he looked at the group and frowned. ¡°We have proof Natalie didn¡¯t kill the Hippogryph Knight,¡± he said. Turning to one of the sheets of paper, Morri looked at it. ¡°I¡¯m surprised this report wasn¡¯t sent to the Temple earlier. The Knight was killed by a Vampire with only one fang.¡± Cole felt a surge of relief, his hidden doubts melting off him like a Glacier in Summer. Only for them to be replaced with a new worry. A curse escaped the Paladin¡¯s lips. ¡°Fixed-Stars¡­ There is another Vampire out there.¡± Mina asked: ¡°One fang? Is that a feature of a bloodline or something?¡± Shaking his head in the negative, Cole explained. ¡°It''s a rare mark of shame in the Blood Duchies. Most Vampires who are deemed failures are just killed. The rare few viewed worthy of redemption have a fang ripped out. They can¡¯t regenerate it and need to have it returned to be at their full power.¡± Morri nodded at Cole¡¯s answer as he flipped to another report page. His eyes danced over the words, while a frown furrowed his brow. ¡°Strange¡­ Cole, did you ever have Natalie use a Sun-Shawl?¡± Cole shook his head in the negative. ¡°No point, Natalie isn¡¯t bothered by the Sun, and that would just make her stand out.¡± Morri set the pack of papers down. ¡°Then the witness was lying. The description is of a large scarred man and a woman wearing a full-body black covering. The Council''s reasons to dismiss her testimony and refuse her Asylum were faulty.¡± Grimacing, Morri added. ¡°Not that they will necessarily believe you or Natalie.¡± Whispering to herself, Natalie put it all together. ¡°A Knight killed close to where we were. People saying they saw us when they didn¡¯t. A disgraced Vampire with one fang¡­ Someone is hunting me.¡± Taking the report from Morri, Cole looked for anything else. A search team later found the Knight¡¯s mount. The huge Hippogryph had its head cut clean off. A hard thing to do, even with a Vampire¡¯s strength. You¡¯d need a large sword, and someone who knew how to use it., Memories of the Alukah¡¯s tomb came back. Of a Vampire in Red armor who¡¯d fought alongside Cole. A Vampire, Cole had spared and told his thrall how to find. A Vampire loyal to the Archduke who¡¯d failed an important task. Looking at Natalie, Cole said. ¡°It¡¯s Dietrich; we are being hunted by Dietrich, the Scarlet Knight.¡± Book II: Chapter 19: Silver and Gold

Chapter 19: Silver and Gold

¡°MOOOOORRRREEE! I NEED MORE! MORE GEMS! MORE GOLD! MORE SILVER! MORE! MORE! MORE! MORE! I will not let this Slumber be my last! Go! Bring me all you can find. Wring out every last vermin nest in ten days flight! Do not stop until my hoard shines brighter than all else! BRING! ME! MORE!¡± - Ravings of Ushumgal the Unsated. Dragon and Overlord of Lagash
Remembering the steel-hard warrior who¡¯d rescued them from the Oubliette, Natalie cringed. Her feelings on Dietrich were complicated. He¡¯d saved her life twice and was partially responsible for her status as Alukah. And if Cole was right, then the Scarlet Knight was responsible for her almost becoming Ash at the City Council¡¯s hands. Looking at her partner, Natalie said. ¡°We need to warn the City. If a Vampire is creeping about causing troubles, they need to know.¡± As annoyed as she was with Vindabon¡¯s government, Natalie wasn¡¯t going to let that grudge get in the way of doing the right thing. Morri answered before Cole could. ¡°We will. I¡¯ll contact my fellows in the towns surrounding Vindabon and take other precautions. But¡­ I worry about how receptive the City will be. That prat, Graf Louon, lost family in the last Duchy War. He¡¯s not happy with your presence Natalie, and he¡¯ll make things difficult if he can.¡± Thinking about that, Cole asked: ¡°What about Councilman Korgun? He seemed receptive, or at least not hostile at the meeting.¡± Shrugging, Morri said: ¡°I¡¯ll talk with my fellow Keepers and then make some plans. Hedwig has connections in the different halls of power we might be able to use. But for now, Natalie, I suggest you don¡¯t leave the city.¡± Letting out an amused snort, Natalie remarked. ¡°Going from just the Temple to the whole city? I count that as progress.¡± Cole spoke up, ¡°I¡¯m going to continue helping the Guards. I swore to aid them, and ending these murders will maybe help the political situation.¡± Natalie started to say something, then stopped. Rebuilding her thoughts, she said. ¡°Uh, they probably won¡¯t want me around. So I guess I¡¯m stuck at the Temple while you help?¡± Breaking her personal Silence, Mina suggested. ¡°I¡¯ll talk with Iron-Teeth. If you tag along with Cole, it frees him and me from being your chaperone.¡± Natalie perked up at that, but Morri dampened her excitement. ¡°Even if he does agree, I suggest you don¡¯t leave the Temple for a day or two, Natalie. It¡¯ll take me that long for the Temple to issue its judgment and make sure no one does anything stupid.¡± seeing the sour look on Natalie¡¯s face, the old Priest added. ¡°Besides, Glynn wanted to take you through the Archives.¡± Accepting that, Natalie crossed her arms behind her back and said. ¡°Well, I guess we all have a busy day ahead of us? Anything else before we get started?¡± With that, the group split up. Cole and Mina heading to the Guard Tower. Morri and Natalie going to find Glynn.
Mina waited at the Temple¡¯s entrance, looking at the twin statues of the Wardens. Each two stories tall and carved from dark stone, the Wardens depicted Master Time¡¯s two guards. Powerful spirits or Seraphs tasked with Guarding the dying and the newborn. A clatter of footfalls pulled Mina from her examination as Cole arrived. Clad in his black cloak, Cole looked shockingly similar to the Wardens. ¡°Sorry for making you wait,¡± Cole said. ¡°I wanted to grab a few things before meeting with Iron-Teeth and the others.¡± Mina gave an unbothered shrug, and the two set out. The city was busy trying to repair itself. The sound of pounding hammers and sawing wood came from multiple buildings, and Cole noticed a cart filled with garbage and broken glass being pulled by. Despite everything, Vindabon was a strong city. Wealthy and usually well-governed, it was healing from the Riot with shocking speed. Passing through the market square close to the Temple, Cole noticed a trio of stockades had been set up near the fountain. Three shivering men with faces bruised and bloody were locked into the pillories. Wincing at their fate, Cole hoped they¡¯d be let out before frostbite made its mark. On a closer inspection, Cole saw signs hung from the criminals'' necks. Each painted with bold letters proclaiming their crimes. ¡®RAPIST. LOOTER. FIRE-STARTER.¡¯ Mina let out a low whistle at the signs and said. ¡°Darvy must have been busy. They only set out the pillories for the worst criminals.¡± Grimacing, Cole kept moving. The collapse of social and metaphysical order during the Riot had let some very bad people show their true selves. As much as he hoped the Guards got the worst of them, Cole knew more than a few Monsters had slipt through the cracks. Now free to step back into normalcy and pretend they hadn¡¯t acted on their foulest impulses. The Guard Tower came into sight soon after, and Cole was bothered to see a line of people streaming out of its main doors. The City Watch would be pushed to its limits trying to ensure the thin veneer of order didn¡¯t crack before it could properly set. Instead of joining the line, Mina guided him to a back entrance of the Tower. It was locked, but Mina had a key. Once inside, the Priestess and Paladin headed towards Iron-Teeth¡¯s office. They passed barely a handful of people on the way. A few exhausted-looking guards and building workers. None particularly noticing Cole or Mina. Arriving at the offices, they found a very bored-looking Cat-Eyes slumped against a table. Upon seeing Mina, the City Warden perked up. Before she could fully get to her feet, Mina had wrapped her arms around Cat-Eyes. ¡°Alia! I was so worried when I heard about the tunnels! I¡¯m glad you are alright!¡± Cole swore he caught a hint of a blush on Alia¡¯s face as she tried to disentangle herself from Mina. Wincing as she did, Cat-Eye¡¯s rasped. ¡°Be gentle, still sore from the Temple¡¯s treatments.¡± Realizing her overstep, Mina, backed up, her own face beet-red. Frowning, Cole wondered if he had actually seen a blush or if that had been just Cat-Eye¡¯s current condition. Alia¡¯s skin was red and shedding like a week-old sunburn. The Priests of Sister Sun had cleansed Alia of any demonic taint, but the process had not been painless. Gingerly leaning against the table, Alia said. ¡°But it''s good to have you back, Mina.¡± a small smile creased the Catblood¡¯s lips. Looking at Cole, Alia added. ¡°And I see, Master Time spared you from getting your hide tanned like the rest of us? But the way I hear it, your night didn¡¯t get much better after the tunnels.¡± Smiling slightly, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯m glad you are intact Cat-Eyes. How are the rest, and where is Iron-Teeth?¡± Alia gestured to the ¡®war room¡¯ Cole had visited before. ¡°He¡¯s in there, obsessing over that Gold Coin you brought back. Weary bastard isn¡¯t exactly helping those Dwarven stereotypes. As for the others, Fargo requested some Time-off to be with his family. While I¡¯m fairly certain Temir is using his new scars and stories to score cheap booze and pretty women. So all things considered, not bad.¡± Frowning, Cole asked softly, ¡°And you?¡± Cat-Eyes spared Mina a glance and then swallowed her pride. ¡°I¡¯ve been better. Nightmares and all that. I¡­I can¡¯t get the smells out of my head. All that death and corruption. It¡¯s fucked up.¡± A sad smile flitted across Cole¡¯s face. ¡°It is. Take care of yourself and talk to the Priests of Aunt Seeress when you get the time. They can help you.¡± Shrugging off her momentary melancholy, Cat-Eyes headed towards the war room. ¡°Enough of that. We have a killer to catch.¡± knocking on the door as she opened it, Alia said. ¡°Boss! Mina and the Paladin are back.¡± Cole audibly winced on seeing Iron-Teeth. His beard was matted, and his eyes puffy from sleep deprivation. While what little skin he showed was red and scaly. The Dwarven Captain was hunched over a table, looking over documents, and seemed to take a second to recognize he was no longer alone. ¡°Ah, good timing,¡± he growled, voice hoarse from exhaustion. ¡°I managed to get a Token-Seer to come take a look at the Coins. They should be here within the hour.¡± Briefly, Cole considered suggesting Iron-Teeth get some rest but realized it was pointless. Obsession was written into Dwarven blood as much as their height and beards were. Iron-Teeth would rest when the killer was caught, or his body gave out. Instead, he nodded in agreement. ¡°A Token-Seer will be useful, especially since we¡¯re working with metal. Back in the tunnels, you said there were others you found. Can I see them?¡± Grunting, Iron-Teeth gestured to a metal box sitting on the desk. ¡°Use gloves to handle them. Don¡¯t want to make it any harder for the Seer.¡± Slipping on his leather gloves, Cole popped open the box and examined their contents. The large gold coin was joined by three silver pieces. Picking one of the silvers up, Cole examined it. The coin was squashed and distorted, like someone had dropped a building on it. One side was perfectly smooth, while the other had a distorted image. Cole thought it might be the profile of some long-dead monarch but couldn¡¯t be certain. Looking at the others, Cole found them in similar shape. Warped and smooshed like candle wax. Bringing one of the silvers to his nose, Cole sniffed it. Earning a raised eyebrow from Iron-Teeth and Alia. Even with his enhanced sense of smell, Cole only picked up the tang of metal and dried blood. Putting the coin back in the box, Cole went to Iron-Teeth and the book he¡¯d been pouring over. It was a text on coinage containing prints and descriptions of all manner of currency. ¡°Any luck identifying them?¡± the Paladin asked. Iron-Teeth shook his head in the negative. ¡°Not really. I think they are Pre-Imperial, but that''s about it.¡± Eyes widening at that, Cole muttered. ¡°Pre-Imperial? How old are these things?¡± Alia answered in a deadpan tone. ¡°At least two millennia? Since that¡¯s when the Empire was founded?¡± Ignoring her snark but glad she was feeling well enough to be glib, Cole removed his gloves. ¡°Old coins like that aren¡¯t exactly common. Especially damaged ones like this. You¡¯d think they¡¯d have been melted down and recast by now?¡± Mina piped up at that. ¡°Morri always says if old coins are suddenly in circulation, it usually means someone found a Tomb or ancient treasure. Could that be the case?¡± A metallic scraping escaped Iron-Teeth as he worked his jaw on that thought. ¡°We aren¡¯t going back to the Undead theory, are we?¡± Cole and Mina exchanged glances. A note of abashment in the Priestess¡¯s expression. She¡¯d led the investigation down a bad lead assuming the Killer was Undead, and Mina was clearly unwilling to repeat that mistake. ¡°Doubtful,¡± said Cole. ¡°But Mina does have a point. Coins like this don¡¯t just show up for no reason. Maybe we check the Banks and any Merchants near the murders for more?¡± A knock at the door stopped any further musing. ¡°Enter!¡± barked Iron-Teeth. A weary-looking Guard opened the door and ushered a plump woman in her mid-forties into the conference room. Clad in fine purple robes and a fur-lined coat, the Woman peered around the room with a bored expression. Her expression was unchanging even when seeing the scarred Paladin. As she adjusted her spectacles, Cole noticed she wore thick leather gloves covered in spiraling runes. Bustling over towards the table, the woman chirped. ¡°You are the ones who requested me?¡± Iron-Teeth nodded. ¡°Aye, Magi Ida. We have some strange Coins we¡¯d like you to inspect.¡± Ida blew out an annoyed breath. ¡°Coins? You do realize how hard it is to get a good reading from them?¡± Placatingly, Iron-Teeth added. ¡°These are old and rather odd Coins. But if you can¡¯t get anything, I understand. We appreciate any aid you can give us.¡± Cole looked to Alia, wordlessly questioning the usually gruff Captain¡¯s conciliatory tone. The Catblood Warden just shrugged. Apparently appeased by Iron-Teeths words, Magi Ida opened the box in question and carefully removed her gloves. She whispered something in a clipped tongue Cole didn¡¯t recognize, and she picked up the Gold Coin. Cole felt a pulse of power ripple out from the Token-Seer. An invisible thing felt through the soul, not by any mundane sense. Ida dropped the coin like it was red-hot and rushed over to a nearby bin, and vomited. Face flushed from her sickness and eyes wide with rage, she made a gesture, and Iron-Teeth was suddenly floating midair. Suspended by his beard, its ends bound up in an invisible fist. Hissing in anger, Ida spat. ¡°You bastard! That coin was close to a Demon! Why in Stars did you not warn me?!¡± Putting as much calm into his voice as possible, Cole stepped between Iron-Teeth and Magi Ida. ¡°Seeress, if we knew it would effect you so, we¡¯d have said something. None of us are familiar with your magical art and didn¡¯t realize what would happen.¡± Adjusting her glasses with the back of her wrist, keeping her other hand up, and pointing at the suffering Iron-Teeth, Ida asked. ¡°And you are¡­.?¡± Reaching for his amulet, Cole answered. ¡°Paladin Cole, servant of Master Time.¡± Relaxing her hand, Ida let Iron-Teeth fall to the ground. Mina rushed over to check on the beleaguered Dwarf. Eyes locked onto Cole, Ida said. ¡°You¡­ I saw you in the Coin. You were the first person to touch it after the Corrupted.¡± Cole nodded, half-expecting it to be his turn to be magi-handled. Instead of striking out with her power, Ida blinked a few times and recovered herself. ¡°The Demon. Did you kill it?¡± Nodding again, Cole said. ¡°I did.¡± Lips in a tight line, Ida jerked her head in what might have been a gesture of approval. ¡°I felt that Spiritual Cysts influence through the coin. That thing needed to die. Glad to hear it met an appropriate fate.¡± Reasonably certain he wasn¡¯t going to get tossed about like a rag doll, Cole asked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to ask, but can you tell us anything about the Coin and its owners before the Demon¡¯s cult got it?¡± Ida looked at the box and the gold coin sitting on the table. Suspicion clear in her green eyes. ¡°Are the other Coins connected to the Demon?¡± The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Iron-Teeth finally got to his feet, massaging his aching chin. ¡°Not to our knowledge. Just that it''s probably connected to the killer we are hunting.¡± Accepting that Ida, stepped to the table, looking at the silver coins with undisguised trepidation. ¡°The Heart-Stealer murders?¡± A muscle in Iron-Teeth¡¯s brow twitched. ¡°We prefer not to give such pomp to scum. I wish the news criers would have the same policy.¡± Ignoring his bitterness, Ida flexed her fingers like she was preparing for a harp recital. ¡°I apologize for my earlier outburst, Captain Iron-Teeth. When I touch an object, I get to look into its past. Precious metals give me a clearer picture and¡­ and the picture that coin gave me was of the Demon and its malice. Not something any sane person would like etched into their mind.¡± Iron-Teeth just chuffed at that. ¡°Find anything useful on the coins, and I¡¯ll consider us even.¡± Ida said her incantation and plucked up one of the silvers. She didn¡¯t drop it instantly this time. Instead, holding it up with both hands, muttering something in that same arcane tongue. After maybe a minute, she set the coins down and repeated the process with the other two. Once it was done, she put on her gloves and faced the expectant group. Cole noticed her eyes had a distant, almost vacant look. Like she was lost in memory, which he guessed she kind of was. Clearing her throat, Ida began her report. ¡°All three silver coins show similar things. They¡¯d only recently been taken out of some sort of storage. A vault I think. Someone put a crude tracking spell on them.¡± Iron-Teeth bolted to his feet, but Ida made a placating gesture. ¡°When you put them in that Stargent lined box of yours, you broke the spell. Which is arguably not a good thing. It''s like a severed thread. I can see its existence but not who cast it. But that fact is honestly not the biggest surprise from these.¡± Sucking in a breath as if her next words took an effort, Ida pronounced. ¡°These coins lay in a Dragon''s Hoard a very long time ago.¡± Stunned silence filled the room. Only broken by Alia Cat-eyes. ¡°Fucking what?¡± Ida nodded at Alia. ¡°Crude but apt. Before these coins found themselves in a vault, they lay in hoard beneath a Dragon. It''s why they are warped, I imagine. A few tons of fiery Wyrm slithering over them would have that effect.¡± Clutching his amulet so hard its metal cut into his skin, Cole asked, ¡°How long ago was this?¡± Shrugging, Ida weighed her words carefully. ¡°A millennium ago, probably two. It''s hard to tell. The imprint of a Dragon leaves quite a mark, making things blurry. Powerful magic has that effect. It''s why I only got the barest whiff of the Dragon from the gold piece. The Demon, being far more recent, blotted it out.¡± Pausing to consider something the Token-Seer added. ¡°The unique nature of these coins is probably why they were used. Tracking spells don¡¯t usually work with currency. Something about their nature conflicts with the magic. Anchoring a spell to something a Dragon has literally lain upon would be much easier.¡± Iron-Teeth looked like someone had told him his father had been caught shagging a sheep, and his mother had died from the shock. ¡°Th-thank you for your help Magi Ida.¡± The Seer just waved a gloved hand dismissively. ¡°Thank the Tower¡¯s idiot students. I¡¯m just paying off a debt they incurred.¡± Then she left without another word. Curious, Cole asked. ¡°Debt?¡± Cat-Eyes shrugged. ¡°We let the Ivory Tower¡¯s students get away with shit that they probably shouldn¡¯t. In exchange, the Tower helps us occasionally. There is some sort of unspoken agreement the Preceptors, and Watch Captains keep.¡± Iron-Teeth got up from the desk then went to the door and shut it. After a moment''s thought, he grabbed a throw rug from nearby and lodged it into the gap beneath the door. Then he gestured for the group to join him at the far end of the room. Confused but willing to play along, the Priestess, the Paladin, and the Warden clustered around the nervous-looking Guard Captain. ¡°Bugger me till I break,¡± Iron-Teeth rasped. ¡°I think I know who the killer is.¡± At their concerned looks, he elaborated. ¡°Coins from a Dragon''s Lair. A murderer using the Noble¡¯s private tunnels. Strong and fast enough to carry a body over a distance. Slag and Soot! The killer is from House Kronor.¡± Mina¡¯s lips flapped like a dying fish while Cat-Eyes winced in grim comprehension. Leaving Cole alone in his confusion. ¡°House what?¡± he asked. ¡°Kronor!¡± snapped Iron-Teeth. ¡°A slagging powerful Noble House as old as the city!¡± Regaining her ability to speak, Mina rasped. ¡°That¡­ that makes too much sense. But why would a Kronor go around ripping people¡¯s hearts out?¡± Iron-Teeth glanced at the door as if he expected someone to burst through it. ¡°They are powerful Sorcerers. Soot knows what a rogue house member could get up to.¡± Cole frowned at that. Sorcerer was a term for a person who was both a Savant and a Magi. Combining their innate magical ability with arcane knowledge for staggering power. The semi-inheritable nature of Savantism often led to clans of Sorcerers hoarding knowledge and power like other families might hoard gold or land. ¡°Why do you think this Kronor family is related to the Murders?¡± Cole asked, trying to get a foundation before things spiraled out of hand. The Captain ground his shining teeth together and said. ¡°They are Dragonblooded. Vindabon got its start as a Dragon vassal. The Kronors are the product of that Dragon''s dalliances.¡± That made some things click into place for Cole. Mina helped erase his remaining confusion. ¡°That book you got Natalie about the city''s history? You should read it sometime. The Dragon, Vindoric, laired in this region back in the Third Epoch. Until he was killed by the Sidhe during the Dawn War. The Fair Folk didn¡¯t bother to take his treasure, so it fell into the hands of his scions, the Kronors. That wealth helped Vindabon survive the Sidhe and grow into what it is now.¡± Nodding his head in understanding, Cole shut his eyes and let out a tired sigh. Dragonbloods were powerful. Even after millennia of dilution, the influence of their ancestor would make them stronger, faster, tougher, and more magically potent than any average person. Combine that with the resources and knowledge of a Noble Sorcerer house, and the killer was looking to be profoundly dangerous. Not even counting the hornet¡¯s nest investigating the Nobility would kick up. Iron-Teeths paranoid reaction seemed reasonable in this new light. ¡°So, what do we do?¡± asked Cole. Iron-Teeth let out a low bitter sigh. ¡°Bugger, if I know. We can¡¯t go poking around a Noble''s business without an adamant reason. What Ida gave us would be enough to push the issue with a commoner. But no magistrate is going to approve anything risky when a House like the Kronors are involved.¡± Rubbing his beard, Iron-Teeth grumbled. ¡°It¡¯d be enough if it was just any Noble family. But the Kronors are probably second only to the Elector-House in power. I don¡¯t see any way forward aside from catching the killer in the act.¡± Going over to the box and the coins, Cole pondered the question. ¡°Magi Ida said a tracking spell was put on the coins. I doubt things like that are exactly common. Maybe we can ask some questions at the Ivory Tower?¡± Iron-Teeth chewed on that. ¡°Maybe, but I had to call in a pretty big favor to get Ida to help us. Last year we had a bunch of Apprentice Magi enchanting half the Horses in the city to recite limericks when goaded. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve got anything else that big banked with them.¡± Cole rubbed his scarred face in consideration. ¡°I have some contacts inside the Tower. Hopefully, they will be willing to meet with me.¡± Nodding, Iron-Teeth grunted. ¡°Aye, good, let''s head out then.¡± The worn-looking Dwarf headed towards the door but suddenly stumbled. Cole caught him, trying to help the Captain to his feet. But Iron-Teeth¡¯s legs were like jelly; he couldn¡¯t keep upright. Cursing, Cole helped Iron-Teeth to the ground before turning to his companions. ¡°Cat-Eyes, go get help. Mina, do you have any healing spells?¡± Alia bolted from the room, shredding the carpet Iron-Teeth had wadded into the door frame in her haste to leave. Mina kneeled down next to Cole and put her hand on Iron-Teeths forehead. Iron-Teeth tried to sit up, but Cole¡¯s firm hand on his chest stopped him. ¡°I-I-I¡¯m fine. Let me up.¡± Mina scoffed, shutting her eyes and murmuring a spell in Saintspeech. Opening her eyes, Cole saw they glowed slightly, her irises a faint silver. The light faded, and her eyes returned to normal. Clicking her tongue in frustration, Mina snapped. ¡°Hells! Captain, when was the last time you slept!¡± A noncommittal grunt escaped Iron-Teeth. Looking at Cole, Mina hissed. ¡°I know Dwarves can go longer without sleep, but¡­ I think his body is just giving out. No sleep, all this stress, and Ida tossing him about. His heartbeat is wrong, irregular, I think.¡± Soon Alia returned with a trio of worried-looking Guards. Gesturing to them, Mina said, ¡°Get a stretcher or something! We need to take him to the temple!¡± The Guards complied, and Mina set her hands on Iron-Teeth¡¯s chest. Another whispered incantation, and a pulse of power went through the Captain. Iron-Teeth let out a pained gasp and snapped. ¡°What in the Ancestors are you doing to me?¡± Mina shot back, ¡°trying to force your heart to beat properly. So shut up and let me work!¡± The vitriol from the normally placid Mina was enough to get Iron-Teeth to comply. The Guards returned then with a stretcher, and Mina said. ¡°Cole, lift him onto it!¡± the large Paladin complied, while Mina never let her hands leave Iron-Teeth¡¯s chest. They set off, then. Mina kept the Captain¡¯s heart working while he was ferried out of the Tower and towards the Tenth Temple. Once they arrived, Mina was replaced by a quartet of more qualified Priests, and she was left with Cole and Alia. Looking into the clinic where the Priests worked, Mina said. ¡°They say it isn¡¯t too bad. Dwarves are hardy, if he rests and takes care of himself, then he¡¯ll recover easily.¡± Alia let out a pained sigh at that. ¡°So he¡¯s fucked?¡± Mina¡¯s lips quivered with a sad smile. ¡°Yeah, basically. At least as long as the Heart-Stealer is running around.¡± Crossing her arms, Alia turned to Cole. ¡°So what now?¡± Confused, Cole asked. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Shrugging, Alia explained. ¡°Darvy can run the District Guard while Iron-Teeth is down. But someone needs to head the investigation. Considering you are a Demon-slaying Paladin sworn to help the city, I¡¯d say that falls to you.¡± Cole cursed under his breath. She had a point, while Alia could, and probably should, take command. If she wanted him to take the lead, she probably had pretty good reasons. Looking down the Temple hallways, Cole resisted the urge to see how Natalie was doing. Hopefully, she¡¯d found something interesting in the Archives. Returning his attention to Alia and Mina, he said: ¡°Let''s get the coins and head to the Ivory Tower. If there are answers, we can find them there.¡± Giving one final glance at the clinic, the trio set out. They returned to the Guard Tower, updated Darvy, and got what they needed. The Lieutenant was able to speak now, his words a little slurred by his new silver teeth but understandable. Concerned by his boss''s condition, Darvy wished them luck and said he¡¯d post someone to watch over Iron-Teeth while he was in hospital. With the coins in hand, the trio set out. Alia flagged down a carriage, and they set out. The Ivory Tower was close to the city center, and the ride would allow them to plan. Tapping his fingers on the Stargent lined box, Cole mused on options. ¡°The Preceptor of Archaeology knows me. He should be amenable to helping us.¡± Cat-Eyes examined her sharp fingernails and asked. ¡°Archaeology? I don¡¯t think a Magi specializing in digging through dirt will be much help.¡± Cole snorted in amusement. ¡°I dare you to say that to his face. Archaeology is a delicate study, and the Magi who engage in it are¡­ interesting.¡± Mina was looking out the carriage window as she asked. ¡°How do you know the Preceptor?¡± then, after a moment, she added. ¡°On second thought, that''s obvious.¡± Alia frowned and glanced between the Priestess and Paladin. ¡°It¡¯s not obvious to me.¡± Keeping a steady drumbeat on the box, Cole said. ¡°Archaeologists and Rest-Bringers have a complicated relationship. The line between a historical site worthy of examination and hallowed ground where the dead rest is¡­ blurry. I¡¯ve helped Rellim, the Preceptor, and his fellows on more than one occasion. No matter how powerful a Magi is, having your dig site overrun by Rattlers is inconvenient.¡± Swallowing that, Alia leaned back in the carriage and said. ¡°So we ask the Preceptor to help us or direct us towards someone in the tower that can?¡± ¡°Basically,¡± answered Cole. They arrived a few minutes later, the Carriage pulling up to the Arcanum Scholastica. The trio got out, and Alia paid the driver. As one, the three craned their neck up to see the Ivory Towers'' heights. Taller than even the Ten Belfires or the City Palace, the Tower was a monolith of silver-white stone. Great swirling glyphs of gold crept over the building''s surface, moving like auric shadows across the stone. Suspended in the air around the main structure were smaller buildings carved of the same white stone. These floated around the Tower like orbiting planets. Like all its kindred across the continent, the Scholastica was both a center of learning and a monument to knowledge. Shaking off their shared awe, the trio entered the university''s grounds. A large garden and park surrounded the Tower. Complete with flowering bushes in defiance of Winter and statue fountains whose water ignored gravity in eye-catching streams falling through the air. Cole had heard that the Gardens were where Magi liked to show off. Creating arcane art pieces as displays of power and talent. A rather petty thing, but Cole had to admit the results were wonderful and shared with the City freely. Following the main path of tesselating stone, similar to the Imperial Highways but of a different pattern. The trio went towards the main doors of the tower. Along the way, they passed bundles of students hurrying to and from the Tower. Getting a few strange glances, but no one stopped their passage. Until a voice called out from a nearby fountain circle. ¡°You there, young man! Do I know you?¡± A little surprised to be referred to as such, Cole turned to the voice. A man in his mid-thirties in loose robes sat on a wooden bench, feeding a flock of bored-looking pigeons. The man was utterly unassuming, plain of feature and build. But seeing him made Cole¡¯s insides turn to water. Forcing himself not to run, Cole took deep shuddering breaths. Alia and Mina both looked at him, confused by the utter terror they saw on his face. With great effort, Cole forced himself to speak. ¡°Yes, I am a Rest-Bringer of Master Time. You helped end a hunt for a Necromancer a few years back.¡± The average man nodded at that. ¡°Ah yes, I thought you looked familiar. Don¡¯t see that many people running around with as many scars as you. So tell me Rest-Bringer, why are you here at my Tower?¡± Mina mouthed to Alia, ¡°My tower?¡± and the Warden just shrugged. Cole clutched at his amulet, forcing himself to look at the man before them. Where his eyes saw a simple Magi, his soul felt the truth. Infused with a God''s power, his soul recoiled from the profane thing sitting not twenty paces away. Swallowing, trying to force the bile back down his throat, Cole ignored the truth and focused on the body he was supposed to see. ¡°I am hunting a killer and came to the Tower seeking aid from Preceptor Rellim Hardspade.¡± Mina looked to Cole and asked. ¡°What¡¯s going on? Who is this?¡± When Cole didn¡¯t answer, she started to pull up her power. Fast as he could, Cole grabbed Mina¡¯s wrist and hissed. ¡°Don¡¯t. You do not want to see what he is.¡± Seeing the fear in Cole¡¯s eyes, Mina let her power retreat and looked at the man with newfound worry. Laughing slightly, the man got up from his seat and approached them. ¡°So you are the Paladin stirring things up in my city? Interesting.¡± Patting Cole¡¯s arm with almost grandfatherly affection, the man said. ¡°Come now, don¡¯t be so afraid. You dealt with some vermin hiding under the proverbial floorboards and called up a Goddess. That hasn¡¯t happened here in a very long time. It was extremely entertaining; I thank you for that.¡± Alia rasped. ¡°Cole¡­ who is this?¡± Smiling at her, the man spoke. ¡°Oh, excuse me for not introducing myself. I am First Preceptor Leonid Lupa. Master of the Arcane Arts, First among Magi, Scholar of Eternity, and the Lych of Vindabon.¡± Joining her fellows in fear, Alia shrunk back slightly. They were in the presence of an Ancient Monster. A creature who¡¯d fought Dragons, Jotunn, Archmagi and won. The most powerful being in Vindabon and possibly the entire Continent. The First Preceptor looked at them with patient amusement. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve come to my Tower seeking knowledge. Let me see if I can help.¡± Glancing at the box Cole held, the Lych asked, ¡°May I?¡± A little surprised by that, Cole handed the container to Preceptor Leonid. Casually the Lych opened the box and pulled out a silver coin. ¡°Oh, interesting, lots of layers to these trinkets. What do you wish of them, Paladin?¡± A million possibilities floated through Cole¡¯s mind. It wasn¡¯t impossible for the Lych to tell them everything they needed to know right then and there. But some instinct told Cole overreaching when dealing with a nightmarishly powerful Archmagi wasn¡¯t the best idea. ¡°A tracking spell was put on them. We¡¯d like to know by whom.¡± Cole answered, hoping a simple request would be best. Holding the coin up in the winter sunlight, the Lych hummed and let it dance between his fingers. He tossed it to a startled Alia, who still managed to catch it. The Lych repeated this gesture with the other three coins. Nodding in satisfaction, the ancient monster explained. ¡°The spell in question was severed both by the caster and the box. I cannot restore it easily, but I can alter it into something useful. Each of those coins will react to the original caster of the spell or if a similar spell is cast. I¡¯d suggest using them to track this killer.¡± No sooner had he said that than the coins started to glow and hum. Smiling to himself, Lych added. ¡°Ah, well then. I¡¯d suggest you all get moving. Don¡¯t want another corpse to besmirch my City¡¯s name.¡± Looking at each other for a second, the trio bolted. Heading towards the garden entrance and out towards wherever the killer was. As they ran, Cole felt eyes pressing on him. Glancing back, he saw the Lych standing there, a curious smile on his false-face. Words came to Cole then, whispered into his ear like the Lych was right next to him. ¡°I look forward to seeing you again, Sir Paladin.¡± Shivering, Cole grabbed a coin from Alia and muttered a prayer to Master Time. Hoping his next meeting with the Lych was a very very long time coming. Book II: Chapter 20: Choices and Consequences

Chapter 20: Choices and Consequences

¡°The Red-Soaked Queen stood upon the Zaqar-mount. Crowned in Red Night, the blood of nations in hand. Fell things whispered in her ears while Nine unholies lapped at her offerings. Oh lady of betrayal! Breaker of the first oath! We look upon your works and despair for you. Can any kingdom of blood and bone compare to what you sacrificed to gain it?¡± - The Apocrypha of Red Twilight
Natalie covered her nose with a handkerchief and grumbled to herself. The odor of dusty parchment and flaking vellum assaulted her senses like a rancid army. She was deep inside the Temple archives, following Keeper Glynn towards where books on Stigmata were hidden. Glancing around, Natalie rubbed her face. Despite not breathing, the smell had managed to cram itself into her mouth and nose with violent intent. ¡°Are we almost there?¡± she asked, trying not to let any more vellum-stained air into her mouth. Glynn held up the glowstone he was using to navigate and made a vague gesture with his free hand. ¡°I think so? The Archives are never easy to navigate.¡± An honest, if underwhelming, statement. They¡¯d passed through the Temple Library and into the labyrinthian Archives hidden below. The Archives were a massive basement structure filled with row after row of bookcases and scroll racks. It was dimly lit by shaded glow stones and kept cool and dry by careful engineering. The whole place reminded Natalie of the Glockmire tunnels, which added to her tense mood. With her Vampire''s eyes, she could see farther than Glynn¡¯s glowstone could illuminate and see the full harrowing scope of the Archive. The corridor of bookshelves they walked through stretched far in either direction. The lines of shelves only broke every fifty paces or so at an intersection. Creating a monumental grid pattern that Natalie hoped Glynn knew how to navigate. They reached one of these intersections, and Natalie stared down the seemingly endless shelves while Glynn tried to find their bearing. Tapping a faded glyph on one of the nearby bookshelves, Glynn spoke. ¡°Aha! The books should be here.¡± Wordlessly, Natalie followed as he stepped down the hallway and reached the Tome he was looking for. It was a large leather-bound beast of a book chained shut by a silver lock. Instead of producing a key, Glynn placed his finger on the lock and channeled his power into it. The lock clicked, and the chain fell away. Picking up the hefty book, Glynn flipped through its vellum pages and nodded to himself. Holding it out, he set the book in Natalie¡¯s arms. Looking down at the text, Natalie could see its title in archaic font. ¡®Records of known Stigmata and their Meanings.¡¯ Just as she finished deciphering the title, Glynn dropped two more Tomes into her arms. ¡®Famous Bearers of Stigmata¡¯ and ¡®Holy Portants¡¯ Annoyed by the weight of vellum she was carrying, Natalie asked. ¡°Is there a reason I¡¯m carrying these?¡± Glynn smiled slightly. ¡°I may look young, but the years are starting to weigh on my bones. Besides, you are strong enough to lift an Ox. Humor an old man, will you?¡± Sighing, Natalie grumbled. ¡°I also have a nose capable of smelling every year these books have existed. It''s wretched.¡± Looking at the books, Glynn winced. ¡°Uh¡­ that''s not just the vellum you are smelling. We¡­ we treat the books to resist age and vermin.¡± Looking at the books with mounting dread, Natalie asked. ¡°What do you do to them?¡± Glynn idly traced the spines of nearby books before he answered. ¡°The compound is an interesting bit of Alchemy and-¡± Natalie cut him off. ¡°Keeper Glynn¡­ what do they use?¡± Sheepishly, Glynn answered. ¡°Cat Urine is a key ingredient.¡± Looking down at the stinking books, Natalie kept her mouth shut tight and glared at Glynn. Hoping to change the topic, the Keeper kept moving, forcing Natalie to follow him. ¡°Those three should give you answers on the Stigmata. Next, we¡¯ll get some texts on the Rabisu and her scions. Those will be deeper but shouldn¡¯t be hard to find.¡± Holding the three books away from her chest, fearing the smell would get on her clothes, Natalie gritted her teeth. She missed Stockings, her old cat, but hadn¡¯t missed whenever the furball had decided to mark something at the Silly Goat. Following Glynn, Natalie paused upon seeing their destination. They¡¯d reached the furthest depths of the Archives and a huge vault door. Similar to the one protecting the Anchorites and Fane, the door was a slab of carved stone. Glynn slid it open and revealed a dark chamber filled with chained and bound books. Looking back at Natalie, Glynn hesitated. ¡°On second thought, how about you wait out here. Some of the Grimoires we store can be temperamental; let me get the texts we need.¡± Frowning at that, Natalie tried to get comfortable with her carried texts, hoping the stink wouldn¡¯t get into her clothes. From over her stack of books, Natalie watched as Glynn entered the vault. As he did, Natalie swore she heard whispers at the edge of her hearing. Words in some foreign tongue echoing from the vault. Whatever Grimoires the Temple kept locked away were powerful. Not something Natalie had any desire to tangle with. Natalie glanced around the Archive and mused how Isabelle¡¯s plans had been grossly insufficient. The Archive was much larger than either Vampire had imagined and not nearly as well staffed as they¡¯d feared. If she¡¯d followed Isabelle¡¯s advice, Natalie might have spent days stuck down here trying to find a book locked away in a vault she¡¯d never be able to access. ¡°It pains me to admit you were right.¡± said a voice right behind Natalie. An undignified yelp escaped Natalie as she spun to see Isabelle leaning against a nearby bookshelf. Glynn¡¯s voice echoed from the vault. ¡°Everything alright, Natalie?¡± Glancing from the spectral Vampire to the vault, Natalie said. ¡°Just jumping at shadows.¡± then mouthed at Isabelle. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Looking around the surrounding shelves, Isabelle smiled and shrugged. ¡°Secret knowledge protected by the Temple? How could I possibly resist? Besides, you need someone with more experience to help decipher all this. We can¡¯t just rely on Glynn¡¯s word and interpretations, can we?¡± Before Natalie could answer, Isabelle started to peruse the nearby shelves. ¡°Also, I wanted to thank you for trusting me with your body. Having flesh again was fun, even for a short while.¡± Uncertain and not wanting to let Glynn know she¡¯d smuggled Isabelle into the last place the Temple would want her, Natalie stayed silent. Isabelle slipped closer and looked at the books Natalie held. ¡°Interesting choices but not what I¡¯m here for,¡± she muttered. Looking up, Isabelle saw the annoyed frown on Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°Think what you want to say to me, and mouth the words. The connection we share will let me understand you.¡± Trying this, Natalie mouthed. ¡°How does it work?¡± Isabelle kept her mouth shut, but her words came to Natalie, whispered right next to her ear. ¡°The bridge between our souls lets us share our surface-level thoughts. You are an amateur. So a crutch is needed until you improve your Telepathic skill.¡± Still studying the books, Isabelle asked. ¡°Open them up and flip through them if you would. I can pull the images from your mind and save them for later.¡± Natalie complied and asked. ¡°How can you do that?¡± Isabelle¡¯s eyes unfocused, and she absently answered. ¡°If you want to actually remember everything you learn in a centuries-long lifespan, then certain skills must be acquired. I can pick the images from your memory and place them into my palace.¡± ¡°Palace?¡± Natalie questioned as she flipped through the pages. Isabelle clicked her tongue. ¡°A mental construct, useful for memorizing information. Combined with the interesting relationship Souls have with memory and I can do all sorts of impressive things. Now please be quiet; this does take a bit of concentration.¡± Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Natalie kept turning the pages of the Stigmata record. Pausing when a familiar symbol came into sight. The labyrinth mark the Anchorite had given her. It took up most of a page, the ornate sigil put to parchment with exacting detail. Staring at the symbol, Natalie felt her eyes pulled to its center, the hourglass at the labyrinth¡¯s heart. ¡°I believe that¡¯s everything,¡± said Glynn, startling Natalie. Shutting the book a little too quickly, Natalie held out her arms for more tomes. The Keeper obliged her and placed four large texts into her arms. An impressive feat considering he kept a scroll and fifth book in his own grip. Natalie could understand why he¡¯d carry the scroll. Balancing it on top of her pile would be arduous, but why was he carrying the fifth book? ¡°Taking mercy on your pack-mule?¡± she asked, pointing her chin at the slim text Glynn held. The Keeper looked at the fifth book and held it up for Natalie to see. The cover and binding shone slightly in the dim glowlight. A metallic sheen clear to Natalie¡¯s sharpened eyes. Glynn tucked the text under his arm and said. ¡°More than you know. It¡¯s covered in silver foil.¡± Wincing, Natalie nodded in appreciation. Of all the Vampire banes, silver still held true for her. Burning her skin like a hot iron. Taking a moment to look at the new texts, Natalie could just see the title of the top one. ¡®Origin of Vampiric Bloodlines.¡¯ Something about that pulled up a memory. Natalie asked Glynn. ¡°Keeper, have you ever heard of the Strixscion family?¡± Shutting the vault door, Glynn turned back to Natalie and frowned. ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound familiar. Where did you hear of it?¡± Uncertain of how much to share, Natalie split her coin. ¡°The Vampires of Glockmire mentioned it once while I was¡­ captive. Something about Vampires grooming better scions and blood magic.¡± Glynn frowned and started walking, gesturing for Natalie to follow. ¡°I¡¯m no expert on the Blood Duchies and their methods. The Paladin is a better resource and failing him, Morri might have some insight.¡± Accepting that, Natalie nearly stopped mid-stride upon seeing Isabelle walking beside her. A curious frown on the Vampire¡¯s face. Phantom words reached Natalie then. ¡°Strixscion? I know of them. Let''s learn what we can from these books, and I¡¯ll tell you about that abhorrent experiment.¡± It had never occurred to Natalie that Isabelle would know about the Strixscions, but in retrospect, it seemed obvious. As that truth sunk in, Natalie wondered exactly how bad the ¡®experiment¡¯ had to be for Isabelle to be disgusted. Considering what little she knew about Isabelle¡¯s own pursuits, the very idea something might disturb her made Natalie uneasy. As Natalie followed after Glynn, she mentally asked Isabelle. ¡°What type of Vampire are you anyway?¡± Turning her nose up with the arrogant air of any noble whose lineage was questioned, Isabelle answered. ¡°I am an Eighth generation Strix. Scion of the Youngest Sister, if you must know.¡± Not particularly impressed but a little interested, Natalie added. ¡°And what exactly does that mean?¡± Slightly annoyed at Natalie¡¯s ignorance but never willing to forgo an opportunity to lecture, Isabelle explained. ¡°I am of Nontho¡¯s blood, carrying her will to experiment and alter the world. She was on the three original Strix, and her gift has been transmitted seven times to reach me.¡± Frowning at that, Natalie was annoyed at how little she knew. The Vampires worked hard to keep their livestock ignorant. She had a lot of learning to do if she wanted to wrap her mind around the mess of monsters and myths she¡¯d gotten herself into. Glynn and Natalie reached the archive exit, taking the staircase leading up to the Library proper. Unlike the musty dark book-tomb she¡¯d just escaped, the Library was a surprisingly bright place. Great glowstone lamps hung from its ceiling, illuminating the reading tables and chairs scattered around the chamber''s center. Smaller bookshelves lined the walls, holding more common texts than the Archives stock. A few Librarians and Temple Scriveners milled about, but the large chamber was mainly empty. Upon seeing Glynn, the workers offered short bows and, on seeing Natalie half-concealed warding gestures. Isabelle, still hiding in Natalie¡¯s peripheral vision, sneered. ¡°Temple Mice. They are always so certain they know everything. They decry us as Abominations but keep the Anchorites as favored totems. We may be altered by the Beyond, but we are still ourselves at our core. Their ¡®oh so sacred¡¯ relic-priests are utterly destroyed. Sacrificed to the Gods like so much livestock.¡± Natalie ignored this. Getting into a philosophical debate with a possibly insane, partially dead Vampire wasn¡¯t something she had the time or energy for. Instead, she focused on Glynn and the side room he had led them to. A small chamber set aside for private research. Upon entering the chamber, Natalie felt a slight pain go through her. A numb ache like she¡¯d swallowed snow. From inside her throbbing skull came a startled gasp. Looking over, Natalie saw Isabelle bent over in pain. Red, confused eyes darted around the chamber. Glynn frowned on seeing Natalie¡¯s discomfort and went to the study room door. Placing his hand on the frame, he traced the runes etched there. ¡°Curious, the secrecy spells activated. The eavesdropper set especially.¡± looking at Natalie, Glynn mused. ¡°Perhaps the Alukah¡¯s presence was enough to trigger them?¡± The image of Isabelle flickered like a dying candle, and the dull throb in Natalie¡¯s skull got worse. With a word and a gesture, Glynn released whatever spell had ensnared the two Vampires. The pain faded, and Isabelle came back into focus. Setting her stack of books down on the reading table, Natalie gasped. ¡°Thank you, that wasn¡¯t fun.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Face still creased in a frown, Glynn idly said. ¡°I imagine it wasn¡¯t. Still, it is strange that particular defense activated. I¡¯ll have to be more careful. Many of the Temples wards are designed to stymie the Undead. The blood you provided us was added to the wards, so this shouldn¡¯t have happened. I¡¯ll double-check all of that when we are done here.¡± Eyes flicking to Isabelle and back to Glynn. Natalie was tempted to tell the Keeper about her ¡®passenger¡¯ but decided not to. Isabelle was technically Cole¡¯s secret. Even if she wasn¡¯t, some Vampire instinct told Natalie to keep a few cards to herself. The Temple leadership was warming up to her, but not enough to fully dissuade Natalie¡¯s worries. Her meetings with the Keepers and Anchorites had enforced exactly how tenuous her position was. She lived because a God¡¯s mercy and machinations decreed it. Even Cole wouldn¡¯t be able to save her if his God decided she was no longer needed. A hint of bitterness still flavored Natalie¡¯s mind when she thought of Master Time. The Tenth God had used her like a tool. Pushing her and Cole together for reasons as noble as they were duplicitous. It irked Natalie something fierce. Being manipulated by powers outside her control while also agreeing with the choices those powers made. Master Time had used her, true. But Natalie couldn¡¯t exactly fault the logic of his actions. The God had averted a nation-ending catastrophe with minimal collateral damage. It just happened that collateral damage was Natalie¡¯s father and her life. Retreating from that dark line of thought, Natalie refocused on Glynn. The Keeper was setting down his own texts and grabbed one of the books Natalie had carried for him. It was ¡®Records of known Stigmata and their Meanings.¡¯ Flipping it open, Glynn said. ¡°Morri said you wanted access to the Temple Archives. Even with your Stigmata, I cannot give you that. But I believe having me as a guide and escort is a fair compromise.¡± Setting the book down and gesturing to the others, he continued. ¡°These are what I thought would be most pertinent. Containing information on Stigmata and the origin of Vampires. I¡¯ll aid you the best I can in your research.¡± The Quarter-Elf¡¯s words were polite and silken. Lacking any of the aloof airs Natalie had felt when they¡¯d first met. Deciding this was a more pressing concern than the ancient texts before her, Natalie asked. ¡°Why are you being nice to me?¡± Glynn blinked, his large eyes dilating as he considered the question. It had clearly surprised him. After a moment''s consideration, he picked up the Records book and flipped to an early page. Tapping it, he handed the book to Natalie. At his prompting, she read the line he¡¯d pointed out. It was an old dialect but still readable. ¡°Do not envy the Bearers of Stigma. Those selected by the Gods are not blessed. They are cursed in the most tragic way. A mighty doom lies upon their shoulders, and the Gods give them this mark to merely lessen that burden a fraction.¡± Natalie read the paragraph twice over and looked up at Glynn. The Keeper smiled, his too-small, too-white teeth showing in a mournful crescent. ¡°Stigmata marks a person who is key to major events. Someone the Gods believe will face great challenges and tribulations. By giving you this mark, Master Time is proclaiming your importance and warning you of what is to come.¡± Reaching up to her neck and the cold mark there, Natalie hissed. ¡°Why me? Why choose me for this?¡± Glynn shrugged. ¡°If my understanding is correct, you weren¡¯t so much chosen as at the right place at the right time. Or at least you will be. Some crux of fate will fall to you, and the Gods want to ensure the best path is taken.¡± Rubbing his face in an uncharacteristic display of weariness, Glynn added in a softer tone. ¡°You have a difficult path ahead of you, child. Vampire or not, I¡¯d be a failure of a Priest if I didn¡¯t try and help.¡± Natalie felt like she was going to be sick. Of course, she really couldn¡¯t, but her mind wanted to express the stress in something as familiar and soothing as vomiting her guts up. Looking at the Priest and trying not to see the pity in his eyes, Natalie rasped. ¡°I got this Stigma after I became the Alukah.¡± Glynn nodded, and Natalie whispered. ¡°Does¡­ does that mean whatever crux I¡¯m connected to is yet to come? That it''s worse than a mad Vampire gaining the powers of a nation-eating monster?¡± Her last words came out higher and shriller as fear sunk its claws in. Natalie had assumed the Stigma was just a way for Master Time to keep his chosen ¡®container¡¯ safe. Not the portent of some future calamity she was doomed to be caught up in. Again Glynn nodded. Sadness etched into his face. His ethereal youth bent and warped by the expression. Taking the Stigmata book back from Natalie, Glynn flipped through it until he found a familiar page. The one showing her Stigma. Tapping the image and looking at the cramped notation surrounding it, Glynn said. ¡°The Maze of Moments is a harsh Stigma.¡± Setting the text onto the table, he picked up ¡®Famous Bearers of Stigmata.¡¯ Flipping through it, he continued speaking. ¡°The Maze shows its bearer they have a long and very arduous path ahead of them. Their choices will be complicated and crucial in ways they cannot easily imagine.¡± More than a little panicked, Natalie snapped. ¡°So does this mean I¡¯m some sort of ¡®Chosen One'' like out of the stories?¡± A slight snort escaped Glynn. ¡°No, it means you are the one who gets to choose. You aren¡¯t some prophesied hero or destined-doomseeker. Just someone who made choices and will have to keep making more important ones. Important enough for Master Time to interfere with.¡± Trying to process this, Natalie asked. ¡°So you are being nice to me because you pity my possible future?¡± Glynn made a gesture with his hand, indicating she was partially correct. ¡°I¡¯m being nice to you because you have a difficult path ahead of you. And because you will be able to do a lot of good on that path.¡± Shutting the book he¡¯d been holding, Glynn spoke softly. ¡°Something else you should know about the Maze of Moments. It does not predict a hopeless path. A labyrinth of choices and consequences await you, but at its end is happiness or something close to it.¡± A God¡¯s words from a half-remembered dream surfaced in Natalie¡¯s mind. ¡°In all the futures I can see involving you, Natalie Striga. Ones where your story has a happy ending, are not uncommon. You can make a life out of your undeath, and a good one at that.¡± A good life and a happy ending? Natalie thought about her Father and Mothers''s death. Of Felix, Gurni, and every other horrible end she¡¯d known. A God promised her a good life and a happy ending? Part of her wanted to spit on that idea. Where was that promise for everyone else? Where had it been when Petar ripped her father apart or when she¡¯d killed Cole? Yet, for all her spite, Natalie couldn¡¯t cast away those words. They carried power in them she dared not dismiss. A good life and a happy ending. Those were hopeful words. Clenching her jaw, so tight fangs bit into her gums, Natalie sucked in a pointless breath. Ignoring the stale odor of the books, she centered herself and found her path. That was what had started this story. She¡¯d made a choice and saw it through to its end. Nothing had changed; she¡¯d just keep doing her best and hope that was enough. Which, Natalie reflected, was all anybody could really do. Nodding and letting her jaw relax, Natalie said. ¡°Thank you for being honest with my Glynn. That means a lot.¡± Looking at the books and the silver-coated one Glynn had collected from the vault, Natalie tried to find her path. ¡°My Uncle once said knowledge was key to making the correct choice. So I guess I need to start learning all I can.¡± Glynn¡¯s smile turned genuine, and he said: ¡°Wise words, Natalie. Now how can I help you learn?¡± Eyes still on the silver book, Natalie said. ¡°For starters, help me with that one.¡± she pointed, and Glynn nodded solemnly. Picking up the text, Glynn traced its engraved cover. ¡°By showing you this, I¡¯m extending considerable trust, Natalie. Please do not make me regret it.¡± Curious, Natalie asked. ¡°Why? What is important enough to bind in silver?¡± Opening the book, Glynn showed Natalie the first page. It depicted a grotesque image. A nude woman atop a stepped pyramid Nine tendrils of blood and viscera spooled out from the woman, congealing into nine monsters in supplication before her. A red sigil crowned the Woman¡¯s head, and blood poured from her hands. A red waterfall reached the base of the pyramid where countless corpses lay. Natalie was drawn to the image; her eyes couldn¡¯t leave the intricate illuminated page, while at the same time, she was repulsed, wishing she could touch the book just to shut it. The more she looked at the page, the more detail Natalie could see. It wasn¡¯t a stream of blood pouring from the woman; it was being pulled from the corpses and feeding the Woman. Finally pulling her eyes away from the page, Natalie whispered the woman''s identity. ¡°The Rabisu, the first Vampire.¡± Glynn nodded. ¡°This book is the Apocrypha of Red Twilight. Or at least a copy of a copy of a copy of the Apocrypha. It documents much of the Temple¡¯s knowledge on the Rabisu and Alukah.¡± Natalie felt a flicker of excitement that was not her own; Isabelle ¡®sat¡¯ next to her, eyeing the book with predatory intensity. Sudden caution prompted Natalie to ask. ¡°I¡¯m still confused about why this is so important. I thought until my¡­transformation, the Alukahs were thought to be all dead. Shouldn¡¯t this book be more of historical interest than anything else?¡± Pointing to the nine monsters surrounding the Rabisu, Glynn explained. ¡°Five of the Alukah are truly dead. Two were sealed away, and two were lost to history. Or, well, one is lost to history now.¡± The idea another Alukah might unlive had never occurred to Natalie. Now with Glynn¡¯s revelation, the idea scared her to the bone. She¡¯d seen the Alukah within her soul. Even while dying, its malice and power had been incredible. Could another one still stalk the night? One not drained and chained by enterprising Leeches, a true Monster free and furious. Stuttering slightly, Natalie said. ¡°Wh-why tell me this? Shouldn¡¯t keeping this secret from me be crucial? Wh-what, what if I lose control? What if the power corrupts me?¡± Seeing her rising panic, Glynn gently asked. ¡°Why did you want to know about the Alukah then? Why did you want access to the Archives and our secrets if you feared what you might do with them?¡± Looking to where a mildly disinterested-looking Isabelle sat, Natalie barely mouthed. ¡°Sorry, talk later.¡± and banished the Vampire back to her skull. An act Natalie had forced Isabelle to teach her the day after the Riot and Possession. A stipulation if Natalie was going to let the other Vampire borrow her senses occasionally. Isabelle let out a startled noise as her illusionary self disappeared. Turning back to Glynn, Natalie swallowed uselessly. She¡¯d started to trust Isabelle some, but letting her learn more about the Alukah seemed like a bad idea. Natalie didn¡¯t even trust herself with what Glynn was saying; Isabelle could wait for her to share what she would. ¡°I was hoping for a way to seal it away or cure myself at first,¡± Natalie said to Glynn. ¡°But then I started to wonder if I could use the power for good.¡± shutting her eyes and leaning back in her chair, she added. ¡°Now¡­ now I don¡¯t know. I guess I just wanted to know what I¡¯m supposed to do.¡± Tapping his fingers on the table, Glynn answered. ¡°I¡¯m taking a leap of faith in telling you this. My God sees you playing an important role in things to come. Events I have a hard time thinking won¡¯t involve that darkness you¡¯ve taken on.¡± Natalie started to say something, but Glynn cut her off. ¡°The fact you fear this knowledge is a good thing. If you grasped and begged for it, I¡¯d be much more concerned. You came looking for hope, and when you saw the magnitude of the knowledge you seek, it scared you. That is not how a monstrous Vampire reacts.¡± Smiling slightly, Glynn added. ¡°So let me take my leap of faith and try to enlighten you, child. Besides, it''s better for secrets to slip free than ignorance to guide us.¡± Accepting his logic, Natalie looked at the Rabisu in her tableau of slaughter. Reaching out, she pointed to one of the Alukah. This one was a mass of black feathers, cruel talons, and countless eyes. The rune for seven crowned it, and it sat amidst a ruined city. ¡°The seventh Alukah. That is¡­ me?¡± Glynn took the book and turned to another page. ¡°Annoch the Binder, Seventh-born Alukah and one of the two thought lost.¡± scanning the page, he elaborated. ¡°Annoch was feared for his cruel intellect, dark charisma, and mastery of Blood Magic. When the Rabisu and his older kindred, Mazkim the First, were destroyed, Annoch fled north. Never to be seen again¡­till now.¡± Part of Natalie was annoyed she had to rely on Glynn to read the Apocrypha to her. While another deeper part was glad to not have to look at the book. Something about it pulled at her mind, bewitching and befuddling in equal parts. Natalie had heard ancient Tomes could gain a presence in the Aether. The knowledge and emotions connected to the text give it magical ¡®weight.¡¯ As her eyes flicked to the Apocrypha, Natalie wondered if that was the case here. Or was the power inside of her reacting to the text? Like a sleeping bear noticing a familiar scent in early spring. ¡°Annoch isn¡¯t mentioned by name in the Book of Miracles, right?¡± Natalie asked. ¡°Is there a reason? I¡¯ve heard of Mazkim and Daru but not Annoch.¡± Glynn reached to the book stack and pulled out one titled. ¡®Commentaries and Apocrypha on Lamentations.¡¯ It was a hefty text, and Natalie¡¯s nose wrinkled at the smell. Handing it to Natalie, Glynn said. ¡°I suggest you look there. You said you wanted to learn, now is the time to start.¡± Looking at the large book and others Glynn dredged up, Natalie briefly considered calling Isabelle back. The idea of dealing with the older Vampires'' inevitably smug reaction to Natalie needing her help was enough to quell that wish. Letting out a sigh, Natalie opened up the first book and got reading.
The day burned away as Natalie poured over the texts Glynn had supplied. Trying to absorb every bit of Vampire lore she could. It was staggering how the information could go from frightfully boring to just plain frightening. One chapter would be a list of suspected and known Vampire Lineages in great chains of undead genealogy. While another would be first-hand accounts of a city butchered by an insane elder Strigoi. In this great haystack of blood and boredom, she did occasionally find precious needles. To her surprise, Lord Glockmire was mentioned in one history. Having been one of the first Vampires to join the Archduke¡¯s conquest of what was now Zaubervold. While Isabelle even got a passing mention in another paragraph about talented Vampire Magi. Something Natalie decided she wouldn¡¯t share with her spectral mentor. Isabelle was arrogant enough without learning she was documented as ¡®one of the most dangerous flesh-crafters and arcane researchers known to Vampirekind.¡¯ Aside from getting a better grounding on the different types of Vampires and their history, Natalie had mainly read about the Alukah and its past. Annoch, her predecessor, had been one of the more subtle of the nine. Preferring to manipulate and subvert instead of simply slaughtering and dominating like his siblings. This made researching him annoyingly difficult. His life before the Rabisu embraced him was a mystery, and his later actions were barely recorded. One thing that did stick out to Natalie was Annoch¡¯s title, The Binder. It had taken Glynn some time going through the Apocrypha to find the origin of that epitaph. What he found disturbed Natalie. Annoch had been a master of ensnaring and enslaving people. Using magic and his knowledge of the mind to make thralls of any who opposed him. The Seventh Alukah had taken a perverse joy in reducing any opposition to fanatical worshippers. It was said he only fed on people who once hated him. Only devouring them once they¡¯d been broken into a being of unquestioning adoration. On principle, Natale found the whole thing revolting. It reminded her of the thralls she¡¯d seen in Glockmire and the way the Vampires treated people like toys. A fell tradition that seemed to start with Annoch. But mere principle wasn¡¯t the only thing that worried Natalie. When the Hunger was out of control, Natalie felt some very dark urges. To manipulate and subjugate everyone and everything out of some self-obsessed malice. Shameful memories suddenly took on a new and worrying light. She¡¯d inherited the Alukah¡¯s power, and what else? Other than that, Natalie had learned the answer to a question that¡¯d long nagged her. Where were the Alukah¡¯s scions? The Rabisu¡¯s reign had been nearly a century long, surely the Alukah would have sired more Vampires in that time? Well, they had, and they¡¯d all been devoured. Any Vampire the Alukah sired was a stunted mutant thing. Few were sapient, let alone comparable to their primogenitor. It was the same for any new Alukah the Rabisu tried to spawn. Her children were nine in number, and that would not change. No matter how she or the Alukah tried. The ¡®Edimmu¡¯ or Alukah-spawn were little more than blood-drinking beasts. Gifted with a twisted array of powers but still pale shadows of their Sire. Shadows the Alukah had taken to consuming, hoping to regain the energy expended on their creation. All of this information swirled inside Natalie¡¯s mind. Something about it nagged at her subconscious, some theme to the whole bloody history barely escaping her. Before she dived into trying to figure out why later Bloodlines could reproduce, Natalie decided to ask Glynn something that was bothering her. ¡°In all this, I keep seeing references to the Rabisu¡¯s betrayal. Saying she committed some sort of crime so heinous the Gods cursed her. But I can¡¯t seem to find out what exactly happened.¡± Glynn picked up the Apocrypha and winced. ¡°She broke the first oath. The oath a Mother swears when she holds her babe for the first time.¡± Phantom cold flooded Natalie¡¯s chest as she understood what Glynn was saying. Looking down at the book, the Keeper said. ¡°The Rabisu was a Priestess-Queen of Akzad. Mother to nine children and ruler of a kingdom. She offered both up for power and spent the rest of her existence trying to replace what she sacrificed.¡± Looking at the book, Natalie let a hand rest on her Stigma. It''s silver-lines glowed at the touch. This was a story straight from the Book of Miracles. A story long thought over. But it seemed the next chapter was for her to write. Fear bubbled up in Natalie, but feeling the mark of a God¡¯s trust, she found her courage. So many people had put their trust in her, Priests, Paladins, and Gods. While she might doubt herself, maybe she could try and return that trust a little. If the next part of the Alukah¡¯s tale was hers to tell, then she¡¯d make sure it was a happy one. Book II: Chapter 21: Tips and Tricks

Chapter 21: Tips and Tricks

¡°There is an art to death. Knowing how to cut in the space between vertebrae or measuring the proper length of a noose. Everyone must die, but that does not mean they must suffer in the process. Yes, even those who come into our custody deserve a clean death. Our duty is to deliver them to Master Time, not to judge on his behalf. We leave that to the laws of Gods and Mortals¡± - Words of Executioner Albert of Stonepoint to the Brotherhood of the Axe.
Cole held up the silver coin and felt it hum in his hand. Slowly he waved his arm, feeling in which direction the vibration intensified. Turning to Mina and Alia, who were making similar gestures with the other two silver coins. ¡°East, I think we need to go east.¡± Mina nodded, and Alia set out ahead, clutching her silver coin tight. As the Paladin and Priestess trailed behind her, Cat-Eyes looked at the coin. ¡°If this is anything like the tracking charms I¡¯ve worked with, it¡¯ll pulse faster the closer we are.¡± Looking at his own coin, Cole watched as it pulsed every second or so, the metal vibrating and emitting a faint glow. It almost seemed like a child''s bauble, a crude bit of thaumaturgy meant to entertain. Looking back at the Ivory Tower, Cole wondered if that was how the Lych saw all of this. A children¡¯s game he wanted to spice up. Another way to stave off the boredom that comes with practical immortality and nearly limitless power. Slowing her steps, Mina muttered a spell and looked at the coin. ¡°No, it''s more complicated than that. I think the intensity of the vibration changes as well. Maybe something to do with the spell¡¯s power?¡± Clutching the Stargent box under one arm, Cole wished he had more skill with Spellcraft. He¡¯d never been able to learn more than the most rudimentary spells and had been forced to use blood magic to power them. While his newly growing abilities as a Paladin were lessening that shortfall, part of Cole still felt lacking. Something he decided was a side-effect of being a literal product of magic. A fish who swam poorly would have similar baggage. They kept heading east, following the streets and moving briskly. As Cole paused to check their direction, he got a few odd looks from fellow pedestrians. He must have looked a sight, waving a coin in the air like a parlor illusionist. Once he was certain of their direction, he started moving again. Only noticing then that Alia and Mina were struggling to keep up with his pace. Long legs and superhuman endurance had put distance between Cole and the others. Upon reaching him, Alia scowled up at Cole. ¡°I want you to know the only reason you¡¯re faster is every part of me aches from the Scouring.¡± Alia rubbed her nose to punctuate her point, and a bit of white flaking skin peeled off in the act. Making a noise of disgust, Cat-Eyes looked at her coin. ¡°You¡¯d think the most powerful Magi in the city could have made things more convenient.¡± Slowing his pace, Cole remarked. ¡°He probably could. This is probably his way of making the ¡®game¡¯ fair.¡± Frowning, Alia said. ¡°Fucking what now?¡± ¡°Beings with unnatural life spans get bored easily,¡± Mina said before turning to Cole. ¡°So you think he¡¯s helping us just enough to make things interesting?¡± Nodding, Cole elaborated. ¡°He also probably wants these killings stopped out of simple vanity. The Lych considers Vindabon his. Violent ritual murders every week aren¡¯t exactly what you want happening in your prized possession.¡± Cat-Eyes scoffed at that. ¡°I think the Elector Prince would dispute his ¡®ownership.¡¯ Along with most of the nobility.¡± A grim smile split Cole¡¯s lips. ¡°Not publicly.¡± Frowning at that, Cat-Eyes pointed back at the Ivory Tower. ¡°Exactly how powerful is this guy? You looked like you were about to shit yourself with him. I¡¯ve seen you fight a literal Demon with less fear.¡± Memories of what Cole saw in the Aether around the Lych came back unbidden, and the Paladin twitched slightly. Trying to knock the memories away like a Horse might flies. ¡°Powerful enough to destroy this city and everyone in it. An Arch-Pyromancer or Geomancer can destroy entire towns with a single spell. The Lych is stronger than that, not even counting his Undead nature. It¡¯s why the Temple tolerates him. There''s no way to beat him without a nightmarish amount of collateral.¡± Mina¡¯s eyes were wide as saucers, and Alia looked a little sick. The trio moved in silence for a little while. Cutting down a side street and following the coin¡¯s pulse. Alia broke the silence once they entered another tight alley. ¡°So we ran into a guy strong as an Ancient Dragon while he was feeding the Pigeons? And¡­ and he offered to help us for shits and giggles?¡± Mina and Cole answered at the same time. ¡°Pretty much.¡± Alia grumbled something under her breath about missing petty criminals and Direrats. As the Catblood stewed in her complaints, Mina asked, ¡°How do you know all that about the Lych?¡± Looking around to see they were alone in the alley, Cole whispered. ¡°Every decade, the Temple reconsiders their options and makes new plans to possibly deal with the Lych. I was present at the last one.¡± They exited the alley and followed a busier street. Cole¡¯s newly sensitive noise picked up a new array of smells crowding out the general filth of the city. Boiling fat, thick perfumes, and other more acrid odors caught his attention. As he followed the coin, Cole realized the scents were coming from the same direction. Turning to Cat-Eyes, he asked. ¡°Can you smell that?¡± Frowning, Alia sniffed the air. ¡°The Laundry? Yeah. How can you?¡± Kicking himself for creating a situation where he needed to lie, Cole bent the truth. ¡°Magical enhancement. I cast it this morning.¡± Alia accepted that. ¡°Good spell, if it can match my nose. But what about the Laundry? You think that¡¯s where we are headed?¡± Cole nodded and asked. ¡°My coin is vibrating fast enough to numb my hand. So I¡¯m guessing so. Anything you can tell me about this place?¡± Dancing her own buzzing coin between her fingers, Alia looked in the direction they were headed. ¡°This isn¡¯t my part of the city. We¡¯re in the Fourth District. Bit more spit-polished than the Thirteenth.¡± pausing for a second, she added. ¡°But I¡¯d wager we¡¯re headed towards one of the large Laundry yards. Where the stains and sweat of anyone who can afford it is washed out. Knowing the fourth district, probably a lot of work from the Ivory Tower and the like.¡± The trio found the Laundry yard soon enough. The coins and smells guiding them. A large wooden gate opened into a courtyard centered around a drain. Streams of soapy water flowed down the dented stone from the surrounding buildings. Clotheslines hung between the structures like motley banners while dozens of workers milled about the Laundry. Cole watched as stocky youths wheeled carts of fresh and soiled fabric in and out of the Courtyard. While steam-boiled laundresses scurried to and fro like ants in a hive of cotton and soap. Holding out the coin, Cole let his arm drift until he felt the vibrations speed up. Looking at his companions, he nodded. They returned the gesture, and the trio sought their quarry. They made it roughly halfway into the courtyard when a sharp whistle caught their attention. A burly woman with forearms like a pugilist stomped forward. Long gray hair was wrapped in a tight bun, and her face had the worn look of a hard life. ¡°Oi! What you doing in ma yard?¡± she barked, voice hoarse and cracked by use. Cat-Eyes stepped forward, gesturing to her uniform as she did. ¡°I¡¯m City-Warden Alia Cat-Eyes; I¡¯m looking for someone here.¡± The chief Laundress bristled. ¡°None of mine be causing trouble. You sniffing the wrong place, Catblood.¡± Alia raised an eyebrow at the Laundress''s word choice. Ready to respond with even more choice words. Cole stopped her before she could. ¡°We don¡¯t think the person we¡¯re looking for has done anything wrong. In fact, they might be in danger.¡± The Laundress frowned. ¡°Who you looking for?¡± Cole glanced at Alia and realized the City-Warden was gladly letting him take the lead. ¡°We don¡¯t know exactly.¡± he said. Then holding up the silver coin Cole asked. ¡°They would have a coin like this.¡± The large hunk of silver seemed to only make the Laundress tenser. ¡°None of mine are thieves. I can swear that on both Uncles.¡± Trying to make a placating gesture while still holding the coin, Cole said. ¡°We don¡¯t think anything has been stolen. Someone we need to talk to has been¡­ spending these coins. And someone here probably has one.¡± Chewing on that like a bar of soap, with an expression to match the act, The Laundress shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t know nothing bout the coin, but you can go poking about. Just don go making a mess.¡± The trio moved past the Laundress and towards the back of the yard. The vibrations were near constant now; they were close. A door to one of the buildings swung open, and a huge cart creaked out into the open. Pushing the wagon of laundry was a wiry young man with gaunt cheeks and greasy brown hair. Holding the coin up, Cole felt it nearly jump out of his hand. The noise and glow of the coin caught the worker''s attention, and he looked to Cole and then Alia. Shock, surprise, worry, and finally, fear cycled behind the worker''s eyes. Raising his hand, Cole started to say. ¡°Have you seen a coin like-¡± He was cut off by the laundry cart being shoved into him. Cole stumbled back from the surprise blow and caught a flicker of movement as the worker bolted. Cat-Eyes hissed in anger and shot after the fleeing worker. Dropping the Stargent-lined box, Cole charged after Alia and their quarry. The worker ducked into the space between two of the laundry buildings. His pursuers enter the alley just in time for an unfastened drying line to smack into Alia. Spitting like a furious feline, Alia fought her way out of the wet sheets covering her. Mina stopped to help, but Cole just kept up the chase. Rounding the next corner, Cole heard a clang and a splash as a great vat of wash water was upturned into his path. A deluge of hot, grimy water sluiced down the alley. Cold stone met the water, and thick vapor was the result. Ignoring the stinging heat of the steam, Cole kept going. Boots splashing through centimeters of near-boiling water. Bursting through the steam cloud, he found the courtyard wall and caught the barest hints of someone slipping over it. Running full bore towards the two-meter wall, Cole lept and gripped onto the stone. His new strength carried him up and over the red brick with ease. Landing on the other side he glanced around for the worker. Cole was in an empty sidestreet, no sign of the Greasy-haired youth. Taking a deep breath, Cole smelled hints of soap and bleach to his right. Pushing in that direction, he followed his nose and the coin. Exiting the sidestreet, he found himself on a larger road. On the opposite side, Cole saw Grease-hair running fast as he could for another alley. Charging forward, Cole dodged pedestrians and even a horse-drawn wagon. Reaching the other side of the road, Cole sucked in more air, sifting through the city''s smells. Even if Grease-hair could outrun him, Cole had the nose of a bloodhound or a wolf¡­ Making it into the next alley, Cole saw Grease-Hair barreling down it not fifteen meters ahead. The laundry worker looked back just for a moment, and terror contorted his face. Frowning, Cole redoubled his efforts. Why was Grease-hair running? What was he afraid of? Grease-hair turned abruptly at the next corner and overturned a pile of crates into the path. Grinding his teeth in annoyance, Cole jumped over the pile and tried to keep up. He was faster than Grease-hair but didn¡¯t know this place and couldn¡¯t make turns as easily. Advantages the laundry worker seemed happy to use. He zig-zagged between buildings in a messy pattern, forcing Cole to keep changing directions and avoiding obstacles. Forcing his legs to move faster, hoping he could outlast Grease-Hair, Cole shot into the next alley just in time to hear a loud clang and thunk. Grease-hair had been knocked on his ass by a swung Stargent box. Mina and Cat-eyes had been waiting for Grease-hair and greeted him with blunt trauma. Coming to a stop, Cole looked down at his quarry. Who was currently trying to figure out what planet he lived on. Then up at Mina and Cat-eyes. ¡°Good work! How¡¯d you cut him off?¡± Only then did he notice Cat-eyes was puffing from exertion, sweat beading on her forehead, while Mina was bright red. Her cheeks and ears matched a ripe strawberry. Grinning, Alia nodded at Mina. ¡°Combining our talents. I¡¯m faster than you, uninjured, and I know the city layout. Mina put a nice little pain-relief spell on me, so I could run like normal. Then I carried her here and cut off our little mouse.¡± Glancing at Mina, Cole saw the young Priestess playing with a lock of short hair and doing everything but look at Alia. Even an oblivious fellow like him could see Alia had swept Mina off her feet in more ways than one. Forcing the amused grin from his face, Cole looked down at Grease-hair. The laundry worker was coming to his senses and looked utterly terrified. Shaking slightly, he rasped. ¡°P-please don¡¯t hurt me! I¡¯ll have the money! I promise! Tell Rat-Teeth I just need a little more time!¡± Confused, Cole glanced at Alia, who frowned in understanding. For his and Mina¡¯s benefit, she said. ¡°Rat-Teeth is a Ghoulgiver. Bad loans and cruel deals are his business; he preys on desperate people. Guess our friend here is one of those unfortunate ones.¡± Leaning down over the frightened worker, Cole said. ¡°We are not bad bankers or enforcers. Why¡¯d you think we were?¡± Glancing at Alia, the worker hissed. ¡°A Guard alongside a Cleaverman like you? Thought you was here for my skin! You to chop me up, her to make sure I never found.¡± Cat-eyes actually laughed at that. ¡°I should break a finger for suggesting I¡¯m for sale. But the fact he took one look at you, Cole, and thought you were a paid killer is pretty funny.¡± Grimacing, Cole remarked. ¡°I¡¯m glad you find it amusing, Alia.¡± looking at Grease-hair, he asked. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Nervous eyes flicked around the alley for a second before he answered. ¡°I¡¯m Antony. If you aren¡¯t here to kill me, then what do you want?¡± Holding up the vibrating coin, Cole asked. ¡°Do you have a coin like this? We have some questions about it.¡± Setting his jaw, Antony spat. ¡°I didn¡¯t steal it!¡± Cole raised an eyebrow. ¡°Never said you did. May we see it?¡± Those same nervous eyes looked to Cole¡¯s waist, where his axe was buckled. The sight seemed to force some cooperation. Antony reached into his pockets and fished out a large gold coin. Alia whistled at the sight. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Makes sense you ran. If I didn¡¯t know more, I¡¯d assumed you did steal that. Not the sorta thing you want a Guard or Thief-in-law to find.¡± Antony nodded jerkily at that, and Cole plucked the coin from the Laundry worker''s hand. Cole¡¯s own silver piece buzzed violently for a second and stopped. Seeming content that its target was in Cole¡¯s grasp. Flipping the bent piece of wyrm-gelt between his fingers, Cole asked. ¡°How did you get this? Even if you stole it, we don¡¯t really care. We just want to know the source.¡± Eyes never leaving the coin, Antony said. ¡°If I tell you, can I keep the coin?¡± Alia laughed and clapped Mina on the back. ¡°I think you knocked some sense out of him with that hit.¡± Squatting down, Alia looked Antony in the eye. ¡°No, you can¡¯t, but in exchange for it and information about it, we¡¯ll save your life.¡± Eyes wide, Antony sputtered. ¡°But, but I earned it! He gave it to me as a tip!¡± Taking the coin from Cole and examining it, Alia remarked. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear that whole bit about us saving your life?¡± Frowning, Antony hissed. ¡°You just saying that to scare me!¡± Going over and picking up the Stargent box, Cole fished out the large gold coin and held it up. ¡°This was found on a man whose heart was ripped out, and his soul devoured.¡± Putting it back inside, he held up the silver piece and turned to Alia. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say something about them having to scrub dried blood off one of these?¡± Cat-eyes nodded. ¡°Aye, that was mine,¡± holding up her coin. ¡°It was in the fifth victim''s blood. Probably why the killer didn¡¯t retrieve it.¡± gesturing to Mina, she continued. ¡°Her coin we found lodged in between the cobblestones nearby¡± then, pointing at Cole¡¯s, she finished. ¡°His we just found in a hidden pocket of another victim¡¯s corset.¡± Color drained from Antony, and he looked about ready to be sick. A nervous gulp escaped the sheetmover, and he said. ¡°I was at a Gryp Game two nights ago. A nobleman wanted someone to do a few errands for him. I did, and he gave me the coin in exchange.¡± Gryps were distant, distant relatives of Griffins. Looking like a mix between a feral cat and a goshawk. Known for their speed, viciousness, and unpredictability, they¡¯d recently been taken up by the baiting circuit. With many cities underbelly enjoying Gryp games. Where two or more of the creatures compete for a kill. A bloody affair where chickens, mice, and the like are torn apart by starved Gryps for the enjoyment of a betting crowd. Face wrinkling in distaste, Cole resisted the urge to spit in disgust. Cruelty to animals was one of the gray areas the God¡¯s had difficulty judging. An unfortunate side effect of Humanity¡¯s history of hunting and keeping livestock. The Gods did not punish the ancient hunters of Sutu who chased Antelope until their hearts burst. Or those early Qabsuians who culled aggressive rams until they could do with their flock as they pleased. So bloodsports like Gryp Games continued as one of the world¡¯s petty evils. The Paladin had been forced to watch a few Gryp Games years ago. A rather unimpressive Necromancer had been using his magic to fix games and get more ¡®use¡¯ out of favored Gryps. Aside from the pointless cruelty, the whole affair had been a sick farce. Ending poorly for everyone involved. Cat-Scratch-Fever, courtesy of a necrotic Gryp-Ghoul¡¯s talons, wasn¡¯t anything to laugh at. The fact Antony attended such games earned him Cole¡¯s dislike. ¡°What sort of errands?¡± he asked. Trying to stay courteous about the whole thing. Antony shook his head for a second. ¡°I was kinda drunk. Don¡¯t really remember. I think I just grabbed him drinks and watched his spot while he pissed. The sorta stuff Nobles can¡¯t be bothered with.¡± Sighing in annoyance, Cole tried for more details. ¡°What did the noble look like? Surely you remember that?¡± Shrugging, Antony grunted. ¡°Tall, but not as tall as you. Kinda thin with good clothes. Didn¡¯t look at him much; nobles don¡¯t like it when you do that.¡± pausing for a second, Antony snapped his fingers as another detail bubbled up. ¡°He had a cough! I remember that he kept hacking all the time. It made my sister scared. She thought he might have been sick.¡± Frowning, Alia asked. ¡°Your sister? She was with you at the Gryp fight?¡± Antony looked momentarily uncomfortable. ¡°She¡¯s ten; I bring her sometimes. Better than leaving her alone at the tenement.¡± Mina started to ask some valid questions about Antony¡¯s family and their situation, but Cole cut her off. ¡°A cough? He had a cough. Was it wet or dry?¡± Confused but unwilling to disobey Cole, the sheetmover said. ¡°Dry? Kinda like he had something stuck in his throat. I thought it was why he kept telling me to get him drinks.¡± Cole and Alia exchanged a knowing glance while Mina asked. ¡°So your sister lives with you? Where are your parents?¡± An increasingly uncomfortable Antony snapped. ¡°I told you what you wanted to know! Can I go now!¡± Shaking his head, Cole pulled Antony to his feet. ¡°You are in danger. Until we know more, you should be under our protection.¡± Spluttering, Antony asked. ¡°In danger? Because I got this fucking coin?¡± All three of his pursuers nodded. Handing Antony¡¯s gold coin to Mina, Cole asked. ¡°Can you see if the tracking spell is still active?¡± Taking it, Mina whispered an incantation and focused on the coin. A slight thrum of power escaped the Priestess, and she blinked away silver tears that boiled away into nothingness. ¡°The spell is active. I don¡¯t know if I can reverse it and find the caster, but I bet someone at the Temple could.¡± Antony started to ask frantic questions about this tracking spell and the danger he was in. But was mostly ignored as Cole bent down to whisper with Alia. ¡°The noblemen who paid him had a cough. Like the type you get from mold exposure.¡± Nodding, Alia asked. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be worse than a cough, though? You acted like we¡¯d all die if we left the Warrens before the Demon died.¡± Shrugging, Cole made an uncertain gesture. ¡°Dragonbloods have a resistance to most diseases and illnesses. Besides, we don¡¯t know how much he was exposed to or if he got treatment for it. We¡¯ll need to ask around and see if any of the Nobility are having coughing fits, but that¡¯s a whole other knot of snakes to unravel.¡± Going over to the upset Antony, Cole grabbed his arm and started dragging him out of the alley. The laundry worker tried to protest and pull away. He¡¯d have better luck trying to stop an ox. Ignoring the man¡¯s struggle, Cole said. ¡°We¡¯re taking you to the Guard Tower. But first, let¡¯s retrieve your sister. Where can we find her?¡± Planting his heels in the ground, Antony failed to slow Cole at all. Filled with angry impotence, he spat. ¡°I¡¯m not telling you shit till you explain what¡¯s going on!¡± Pocketing the coins, Cole held up a hand and showed two fingers. ¡°Two more questions, and then I¡¯ll explain what you need to know.¡± Antony protested, but Cole ignored his complaints. ¡°First, do you work nights? Second, do you regularly visit a minor shrine or similar?¡± Confusion pulled the fight from Antony, and he answered. ¡°Yeah, sometimes. I do extra shifts when coin is scarce.¡± frowning, he added. ¡°I go to Gaetano¡¯s corner before any night out.¡± Cole looked to Cat-eyes for an explanation. ¡°Gaetano¡¯s corner is a beggar shrine of luck and gambling. Gaetano is a¡­ questionable Saint of Uncle Trickster if I know my theology.¡± She looked to Mina, who nodded in confirmation that she was correct. Cole idly noticed it was the first time Mina had managed to make eye contact with Alia since his arrival. Digesting all this information, Cole looked Antony in the eye and said. ¡°I am a Paladin of the Tenth Temple. Alongside my companions here, I am hunting the murderer stalking your city. The one the news-criers are calling the Heart-Stealer. That coin you have matches the ones we¡¯ve found on previous victims. The killer is likely targeting you. So to save your life and stop the murderer, you will come with us and cooperate.¡± A barrage of different emotions crossed Antony¡¯s face. Confusion, shock, horror, fear, and mounting dread. All while holy terror gripped his heart in a frigid vice. It was a look Cole was almost used to by now. Something about him overwhelmed people when he acted as a Paladin. He never knew if it was some magic woven into the mantle or just generations of stories having an effect. Either way, Cole¡¯s grip on Antony¡¯s arm was the only thing that kept him standing. Gently, Cole tried to keep the man standing. He disliked thesleazy washworker but not enough to deny him basic decency. Finding out you were being targeted by a ritual killer wasn¡¯t something easy to learn. So Cole let Antony sort of slump against him for a little bit till he recovered slightly. Panicked worry shone in Antony¡¯s eyes as he asked. ¡°My sister? You¡¯ll keep her safe, too, right?¡± Cole was about to say they had no reason to think she was in danger. But that fact could wait for later; right now, the sad man in Cole¡¯s grip needed something else. ¡°Yes. You will both be protected by the city and temple until the threat passes.¡±
They collected Cass, Antony¡¯s sister from the nearby school. A small wooden building where local children learned a little of the world on the City¡¯s coin. The girl was thin with dark auburn hair and nearly started crying on seeing Cole. But the presence of her brother and a kindly Mina calmed her down. Alia whistled up a carriage, and they returned to the thirteenth district. Cole was forced to sit with the driver while the other four rode inside. He didn¡¯t mind as much as the driver did. The heavy-set man kept flicking glances away from his horse to the scarred giant taking up much of his bench. Staring out at the passing city, Cole saw signs of reconstruction and returning normalcy. The steady murmur of urban life and the clip-clop of the carriage¡¯s horse did little to intrude on his thoughts. Finding Antony had been good and would hopefully lead them to the killer. Even if it didn¡¯t, denying the killer, another victim was worth it. Glancing back at the carriage interior, Cole mused on Antony. While collecting his sister, Cole had gotten more of the worker¡¯s story. The man was apparently a chronic gambler in debt to some bad people. He also tried to look after his half-sister since their mother died. He¡¯d been sixteen when that responsibility was thrust on him. Robbing him of whatever meager future he might have once had. A child forced into a role he wasn¡¯t prepared for and coping in poor ways. But Antony was no longer a child. He was twenty-two (but looked closer to thirty) and had all the burdens and vice you¡¯d expect from an adult. Looking out across the city, Cole thought about how such stories were bitterly common. Not everyone over eighteen is an adult. Many are just children who got old. Still, despite his failings and how he¡¯d been failed, Antony was entitled to his life. The killer wouldn¡¯t steal anyone else¡¯s time; Cole would ensure that. They arrived at the Guard Tower soon after. Cat-eyes taking Antony and his sister to one of the small sleeping chambers in the Tower''s upper levels. While Mina had a message sent to the Temple of Mother Earth. Antony was apparently on the edge of malnourishment, while Cass generally needed to be looked at by a skilled healer. Leaving Cole alone in Iron-Teeth¡¯s ¡®war room.¡¯ Setting down the Stargent box and the coins, Cole pondered his next step. Getting someone to reverse the tracking spell would be important. The sooner, the better; Cole didn¡¯t know how the spell worked and was already worried the caster had cut it. If they saw a potential victim headed into a Guard Tower? Doubtful they¡¯d keep the spell. Maybe they should move the coin somewhere else? Set it up as bait? Thinking on this, Cole let out an annoyed sigh. How did he keep getting tied up in these sorts of messes? He was meant to be out in a forest somewhere hunting a Ghoul or Ghost, not playing at Watchmen for a beleaguered city. Reaching for his amulet, Cole played with the cold metal. No matter how much he complained, he was part of this mess. Sworn to help solve the murders and end the senseless death. Thinking of the riot the killings had caused and his encounter with a Demon. Cole wondered how much more could be tangled up in all this? As an answer, he felt a cold tug in his chest pushing him towards a nearby shelf. Looking at it, Cole saw several notebooks sitting in a haphazard pile. Reaching out he ran a finger along the books until a cold spike went through him. Stopping his hand on the book he was touching, Cole pulled it from the pile and opened it. The text was Iron-teeth¡¯s notes on the victim¡¯s personal lives. Skimming it, Cole muttered to himself. ¡°Ann Eder, first victim. Prostitute by profession, thirty-one years old. Mother to a single boy, now at the City Orphanage.¡± scribbled in Iron-teeth¡¯s cramped hand in the margin. ¡®Boy¡¯s arm was broken recently, healed badly.¡¯ Frowning, Cole kept reading. ¡°Josef Aigner, second victim. Prostitute and nineteen years old. Ran away from home. Father a violent drunk? Younger siblings still with Father?¡± ¡°Victim three, Lana Klammer. Page by profession, twenty-three. Frequently visited her much younger sister at the family farm in east Norica.¡± flipping through a few pages, Cole found other details that stood out. ¡°Klaus Kress, thirty-six. Eighth victim, Tanner by trade and father of two. Estranged from wife and children.¡± Cole read through the text and checked the other notebooks. Seeing a pattern, he was surprised Iron-teeth had missed. The victims all had bad family relations. Estranged parents, unwanted children, and siblings they were forced to care for. That sort of thing. Frowning, Cole wondered if broken families were just that common, and he was reading into this. After all, the notebooks had carried plenty of other details about the victim''s schedules, employers, and everything else Iron-teeth could write down. But something about the family connection stuck out to Cole. He¡¯d been pushed towards it by his God and Cole knew better than to second guess such things. A knock at the door pulled Cole from his thoughts. Alia entered the room and gave him a worried look. ¡°The last person I saw reading those is at the Temple with a cracked heart. Let''s not repeat the Captain¡¯s example, shall we?¡± An amused snort escaped Cole, and he asked. ¡°How are Antony and Cass?¡± Cat-eyes shrugged. ¡°Scared, worried, and confused. But I think the Priestess Mina got is helping.¡± Lips quirking in a smile, Cole asked. ¡°So¡­ about Mina.¡± Alia scoffed. ¡°Hells no. I¡¯m not having that sort of talk with you, Cole.¡± Shrugging, Cole channeled Natalie a little. ¡°I¡¯ve rarely seen a woman as flustered as she was after you carried her like a princess. Something to think about.¡± Narrowing her eyes, Alia snapped. ¡°Why are you, of all people, trying to play matchmaker?¡± Cole¡¯s smile waivered slightly, but he kept it on. ¡°Because I think you both deserve any happiness you can find. And as someone who''s just recently graduated from awkwardly dancing around a possible relationship, I recognize the signs.¡± Alia flipped him a rude gesture, and Cole laughed. Hiding his own bewilderment. In truth, Cole was surprised by his own words. He liked Cat-eyes and Mina; they were good people who might be better ones together. So on some bull-headed instinct, he¡¯d butted in and offered his own opinion. Hoping to push events in a happy direction. Perhaps Natalie really was having an effect on him? A second knock came at the door then. Alia took the distraction and opened it. Finding a tired looking Guard-in-training standing there. ¡°Sorry to bother you City-Warden. But we have a Noble downstairs demanding to speak with the Paladin.¡± Cole exchanged worried glances with Alia, and they set off. Cat-eyes asked. ¡°Give me details, Jonas.¡± Jonas complied. ¡°She just came in a few minutes ago. With her whole entourage. Saying she wanted to speak with the Paladin.¡± Frowning, Cole asked. ¡°She?¡± then added. ¡°How¡¯d she know I was here?¡± ¡°Baroness Patrizia DeMello, as she is happy to inform us,¡± answered Jonas. ¡°Apparently, she just visited the Temple, and they said you were here.¡± Pausing for a second, the youth gathered some courage and asked Cole. ¡°Is it true you killed a Demon with Captain Iron-teeth?¡± Alia scoffed. ¡°Bloody bits, Jonas, you know better than to be poking about like that.¡± then after a pause, added. ¡°And the rest of us helped, not just the Captain.¡± Cole nodded. ¡°We did. The Demon is gone, and its corruption burned from beneath the city.¡± Something like awe and fear colored the trainee¡¯s face, and Cole resisted the urge to smile. It was better than the usual fright he seemed to inspire. They reached the Towers waiting room shortly after and found the Noblewoman in all her opulent glory. The Baroness was clad in violently colorful cloth that had so many layers and ruffles it reminded Cole of some artisan cake. As for herself, the Baroness was a woman of average height, maybe forty or fifty in age. Good breeding (or cosmetic magic) had aged her well. With long blond hair done up in an elaborate braid and tasteful makeup decorating her face. At either side of her was a Man-at-Arms, in sharp, if practical, uniforms. A small gaggle of attendants waited behind the Baroness while a pair of child-sized Golems carried the trailing bit of her dress. Altogether it made a display teetering between impressive and ridiculous. Upon seeing Cole, the Noblewoman did the last thing Cole expected. She smiled and came over to hug him. The Men-at-Arms tried to stop her to no avail, and Cole just stood there as arms covered in layers of expensive fabric wrapped around his torso. ¡°Oh, the Hero of the City! The Paladin who saved us from a Demon and ended a massacre! I¡¯m so happy to finally meet you in person!¡± Trying to find his words, Cole blinked away, confusion as the Baroness let him go. ¡°Uhhh, thank you, my lady. What, what do I owe the pleasure?¡± Lessons in decorum he¡¯d thought forgotten snapped into use. The pageantry of the Aristocrat digging up old training in Cole. Smiling and returning to her guards, Lady DeMello said. ¡°You are polite for one so rough-looking! I¡¯m now certain this is a good idea!¡± Clapping her hands together, she continued. ¡°First, I wanted to thank you for saving my darling boy. If you hadn''t intervened, Little Jaerd might have gotten terribly sick from those awful tunnels.¡± That spurred Cole¡¯s memories. Jaerd DeMello had been one of the two young nobles he¡¯d encountered in the Undercroft. The Paladin wondered what in the World¡¯s Name the boy told his mother? Whatever it was, it probably wasn¡¯t that Cole had caught him in a youthful tryst while half-drunk. ¡°I¡¯m happy to help any way I can, my Lady. But I must ask, is there any other reason for you spending your time on me?¡± As he spoke, Cole caught a glimpse of a sniggering Alia out of the corner of his eye. She apparently found his manners amusing. The Baroness didn¡¯t notice or care about Alia¡¯s reaction. Focused totally on Cole. ¡°I¡¯m here to invite you as the Guest of honor to the Solstice Ball of Vindabon!¡± Decorum training so easily pulled up, fell away as Cole answered with ¡°What?¡± Book II: Chapter 22: About that...

Chapter 22: About that¡­

¡°NOTHING WORKS! We¡¯ve bled it, burned it, shredded it, boiled it! Red Night, we even drowned the accursed thing in lye! The Bitch¡¯s pet won¡¯t stay dead! What? Yes, of course, we devoured it. That¡¯s the first thing we tried once Sir Otto noticed the healing. Why are you¡­oh¡­OH! Why didn¡¯t I see that? It seems she actually managed to succeed. Imagine that. Well, until we find something that works, we certainly won¡¯t go hungry¡­¡± - Overheard conversation between two Vampires in service to the Voivode of Flesh.
:: Memories of Thirty Years Ago :: A dissected rat sat on the table before Isabelle Gens Silva. Most of its internal organs had been removed, and its blood was drained into a small basin at the table¡¯s edge. Alone in her prime laboratory, the Countess waited with (metaphorical) bated breath. Tapping long cold fingers on her notebook, Isabelle glanced around the room. Red eyes took in the cages, dissection tables, preservation jars, and scrubbed stone floors. She¡¯d once heard a ¡®watched pot never boils¡¯, and she wondered if the principle applied to blasphemous experiments. A wet noise from the table pulled her eyes down to the rodent corpse. Under the bright light of the Glowstones, she could see something moving inside its chest cavity. Looking closely, Isabelle enhanced her eyes to better observe what was happening. Strings of tissue were slithering out from its neck and spine, questing to find absent organs. Isabelle couldn¡¯t help but smile. Nerves and capillaries grew and spread like moss as the rat regenerated. From the growing roots came larger structures, nascent organs, and more complicated tissue. Veins swelled and coiled around an emerging heart and lungs. Intestines snaked up from the rat¡¯s pelvis and met with the descending stomach and esophagus. Metal clamps holding peeled skin and fur started to protest. Isabelle released the clamps and watched as flaps of dead skin were pulled back into place. Meeting questing veins and growing muscles. Even obscured from her sight, Isabelle could sense the continuing regeneration. Her enhanced ears, empowered with spent blood, could hear the tiny pops and squelches of organs reforming. Carefully, nervously, she listened. The noises slowed and eventually stopped, the rat¡¯s innards restored to their proper configuration. For a few long moments, the laboratory was completely silent, aside from the squeak of other rats in a nearby cage. Just as Isabelle was about to pick up her scalpel and try again, she heard the sound she¡¯d been waiting for. ¡®ba-dum¡¯ Leaning down, so her ear nearly touched the rat, Isabelle listened with all her focus. ¡®Ba-dum¡¯ Pulling back, she set her fingers on the rat¡¯s neck. ¡®Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum¡¯ A heartbeat, growing faster every second. Isabelle watched as pale rodent limbs flushed pink with new blood. The rat¡¯s nose regained its color just as it took its first new breath. Tiny beady eyes snapped open, and the rat started to struggle in its restraints. Isabelle shut her eyes and forced her will into the rat. It didn¡¯t even try to resist. Looking through its eyes, Isabelle felt for irregularities in her borrowed flesh. Its vision was slightly cloudy, and the rat teetered on the edge of both shock and hypothermia. Pushing deeper, Isabelle made it sniff the air. No scents were transmitted by their link. Frowning, Isabelle tested muscle groups. There was local paralysis in its left leg and tail. Ending her possession, Isabelle let out an annoyed sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. She found a white hair in the process and clucked in annoyance. Vampires steadily lose all pigmentation if they don¡¯t properly care for themselves. Their ever-miserly bodies were unwilling to spare the energy required for color unless forced. The silver hair was evidence of how hard Isabelle was working. She was barely leaving her laboratories. Only taking time to feed and ensure her Castle wasn¡¯t burning before diving back into her studies. Glancing down at the struggling rat, Isabelle growled in annoyance. She was so close! Steadying herself, she tried to look at this objectively. The brain damage was significantly reduced compared to the last time. Her alterations to the regenerative sequence were working. It just needed a bit more work to reverse all post-mortem neural decay. That thought spurred a moment of smugness in Isabelle. Her breakthroughs in understanding flesh were incomparable. The Ivory towers were still debating the brain¡¯s structure while she was already learning how to alter and repair its most minute parts. Isabelle¡¯s failures were far surpassing her ¡®equal¡¯s¡¯ successes. That stroke to her ego dulled the frustration, and Isabelle went to check on the rest of the experiment. Rows of cages lined the Laboratories wall. A cluster of small ones held fresh rodents. The twitchy creatures were unusually still. Their simple minds sensing the death and return of kin. While death was something they could easily understand, they¡¯d squealed and thrashed throughout the dissection. The resurrection had left them still and bewildered. Well, most of them. A single rat was dead, its fresh corpse cooling in its cage. Bared fangs pricking her lips, Isabelle opened the cage and removed the dead rat. Gently she examined its body. Seeing no obvious wounds or issues. She wondered if its heart had given out from the stress. Knowing that was meager hope, Isabelle took it to the dissection table. Setting it on a clear space, Isabelle put her fingers on its head and heart. A dark spell spoken in a Hellish tongue rasped from Isabelle, and a pulse of power went through the rat. Information flooded into Isabelle¡¯s mind. Her spell was a simple bit of Necromancy invented to judge a corpse¡¯s condition. With a smidge of alteration, it became a fantastic diagnostic tool. Letting Isabelle know exactly what killed the rat. Combing through the motes of knowledge bubbling in her mind, Isabelle let out a frustrated groan. Nothing had killed the rat. Its body had shut down like the Tenth God had simply decided it was time. An annoyed hiss escaped Isabelle at that thought. The Tenth God, the so-called Master of Time. A self-perpetuating spiritual lie come to life. Bane to her and any other who might surpass mortality. A tyrant over life who punished any who tried to escape his domain. Letting go of the rat she returned to its resurrected kin. Looking down at the brain-damaged rodent, Isabelle sneered. She¡¯d become a Vampire to be free of Time¡¯s limitations. In the centuries since her rebirth, she¡¯d made discoveries and uncovered secrets that would change the world. Putting her keen mind and ever-growing knowledge to work in ways no mortal could match. Soon she¡¯d surpass both nature and the divine. Freeing her from the shackles of both. Only then would she move on to her greater plans. Hoarded knowledge would be set free, and a new age of wonders would bloom from her work. Taking the basin containing the resurrected rat¡¯s blood, Isabelle dumped it into a nearby sink and replaced it with a clean one. Moving to her newest subject, she freed it from its restraints and made it walk to the table''s edge. Its neck hung above the basin, and it didn¡¯t resist when Isabelle cut its throat. Carefully she collected the rekilled rat¡¯s blood and then set its corpse next to the other dead rat. She¡¯d need to pull them apart both later, but now it was time to test the final component of this experiment. Dipping a finger into the warm blood, Isabelle brought it to her lips. The potency of the blood was key; if it was dead, then much of this was for naught. The blood wasn¡¯t dead. Oh, it was anything but dead. Isabelle felt like she¡¯d been struck. Stumbling back, she clung to a nearby table. The taste of a powerful Vampire exploded in her mouth. Contradictory youth and incredible strength sparked utter confusion. The table gave way then, sending Isabelle to the ground. Gone was the cold stone of her laboratory, replaced with a lake of blood. Understanding came then. Licking her fangs, Isabelle hissed a name. Her rival, her annoyance, her student, and her only hope. ¡°Natalie.¡±
Natalie sat in her room, looking at the bleached skull she¡¯d set on the small table by the couch. After finishing her research with Glynn, she¡¯d returned to the room to ¡°process¡± everything she¡¯d learned. Which meant consulting the resident Vampire Magi. She¡¯d fed Isabelle some blood and mentally called out to the old Monster. Now she just had to wait for the inevitable tongue-lashing. She didn¡¯t have to wait long. A plume of black smoke escaped the skull¡¯s eye-sockets. Quickly materializing into a floating illusion of Isabelle. The former Countess looked fantastically pissed. Arms crossed, silver hair floating around her like she was underwater. Red eyes glared at Natalie. Gesturing at the skull, Natalie said. ¡°That¡¯s new. Never seen you come out of it like a Djinn.¡± Sucking in a pointless breath and scrunching her eyes, Isabelle snapped. ¡°I offer you my aid. I offer you my knowledge. This is how you repay me? Denying me the succor of secrets? Do you know what I could discover with access to the Archives?¡± Natalie crossed her legs on the couch and put her hands in her lap. ¡°No, I do not, which is partly why I cut the link. I¡¯d be responsible for any harm you did with that knowledge.¡± Isabelle actually hissed in frustration, and Natalie rolled her eyes. Reaching over, she picked up a pad of papers. ¡°But I took notes on what I read. Stuff I think you¡¯d find valuable. But probably can¡¯t use to, I dunno, resurrect the Rabisu or something?¡± Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Isabelle looked at the papers as Natalie set them on the table. ¡°You are a barely educated village girl. I don¡¯t think you are exactly qualified to make those judgments,¡± the phantom Vampire snapped. Shrugging and leaning back into the couch, Natalie replied. ¡°Probably, but let''s try to be civil. We need to work together if my survival and your resurrection are to ever happen.¡± Furiously scanning Natalie¡¯s cramped notes, Isabelle practically growled. ¡°Yes, but your ¡®notes¡¯ aren¡¯t exactly the resource the archive is. You probably omitted crucial details you didn¡¯t even realize were crucial!¡± Sighing, Natalie retorted. ¡°It¡¯s not like you are telling me everything either, Isabelle. Let me have my secrets, and I¡¯ll let you have yours.¡± Looking up from the papers, Isabelle remarked coolly. ¡°Trust is a bridge built from both ends. I¡¯m doing my best, you seem to be lacking.¡± Wincing, Natalie pulled out her biggest proverbial blade. ¡°You were in some of the books Glynn showed me.¡± Isabelle instantly perked up like a Cat smelling nip. ¡°Oh?¡± Flattery was one of the most potent tools of persuasion, especially with Vampires. ¡°It had a list of some of the most dangerous Vampires known to be alive and active. The book was obviously out of date, but you were listed. Saying you were one of the most dangerous Vampire Magi in the Blood Duchies¡± Despite herself, Isabelle started to smile. On some level, the older Vampire knew she was being baited. But twelve years spent as a ghost stuck in memories and nightmares had left Isabelle desperate for any kind of ego-stroking. Swallowing her pride, Natalie continued reciting what she¡¯d learned but refused to put to paper. ¡°The text said you were one of the greatest Soul-Weaver Magi in Erebu. That your flesh-crafting was only matched by someone called ¡®Voivode Igori.¡¯ He was mentioned elsewhere, but I didn¡¯t really pay attention.¡± A flash of anger went across Isabelle¡¯s face. ¡°Igori is a bloated tick who has more in common with a Horse Breeder than he does with me!¡± The fury in Isabelle¡¯s words caught Natalie by surprise. It wasn¡¯t quite the half-mad wrath she¡¯d seen before. This was older and deeper. Whoever this Igori was, Isabelle hated him. Against her best judgment, Natalie poked the disturbed Dragon. ¡°Was he a rival of yours or something?¡± A cruel sneer made its way onto Isabelle¡¯s sharp face. ¡°You want my secrets and hope to pay in flattery. I know your game, girl. But I¡¯m willing to play as a token of good faith.¡± staring intently at Natalie, she added. ¡°Adding to the pile of such tokens at your feet.¡± Trying to keep a neutral face, Natalie waited for Isabelle to continue. Feeding her ego and giving her opportunities to monologue were the best ways to appease Isabelle. ¡°Voivode is a title used in the Blood Duchies. It''s not a rank of nobility but an office. Each Voivode is tasked with overseeing a certain facet of the Blood Duchies. Acting as Drakovich¡¯s hands and advisors. Igori Gens Suillia is the Voivode of Flesh. Tasked with overseeing the health, breeding, and quantity of the Duchies livestock.¡± Natalie knew exactly what Isabelle meant by livestock. Grimacing, she absently found her fingers trying to tear apart an unfortunate throw pillow as Isabelle talked. ¡°Igori prides himself on his ability to produce valuable bloodlines. Cultivating traits through methods magical and mundane. It¡¯s actually interesting you brought him up; he relates to one of your questions. The Strixscions are one of his projects.¡± A jolt of fear and disgust echoed through Natalie. She fought to keep her expression unreadable. Trying to be polite, she said. ¡°Thank you, can you tell me anything else?¡± Crossing her arms, Isabelle replied. ¡°Only if you tell me why you are interested in them. And don¡¯t give me that trolldung excuse you gave the Hierophant.¡± Mouth open, mind trying to select the right words. Natalie decided on the truth. ¡°I¡¯m building the bridge in telling you this. My mother escaped the Strixscions. It¡¯s why that bastard Petar killed me. He wanted my blood and its power.¡± Gently so she didn¡¯t actually touch the clip, Natalie pulled her hair, so the silver memento was visible to Isabelle. Who floated over and made an interested noise upon seeing it. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s the sigil of the house, if altered slightly. The Strix Owl¡¯s horns have been shaved off, and it''s a bit battered but recognizable. Curious that your mother gave you such a thing. Is it silver?¡± Natalie let her hair fall back, ¡°It is. You don¡¯t seem surprised about me being Strixscion?¡± Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Isabelle floated over to a nearby chair and mimicked sitting. ¡°This explains a few things. You¡¯ve taken to some of the magic I¡¯ve taught you remarkably well. I¡¯d assumed it was just the Alukah¡¯s influence. But I guess the Savantism of the Clan passed to you.¡± Pondering for a moment, Isabelle said. ¡°Thank you for your honesty. Let me return the favor. The Strixscions are selectively bred for a few purposes. Most obviously, as potential new Vampires. They are cultivated to be intelligent, beautiful, and magically talented. Perfect traits for a Strix or Moroi. Of course, only one or two a generation are turned. The rest serve a different purpose other than breeding stock. Their blood is potent, as you know. Good for magic or simple feeding. Strixscions are prized across the Duchies as Thrall.¡± Disgust warred with hate inside Natalie for dominance. ¡°So my mother was a slave? And she escaped?¡± Isabelle shook her head in the negative. ¡°If she¡¯d been enthralled, she¡¯d have never run. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she¡¯d been sold to someone unpleasant and fled that fate. It¡¯s an innate problem with Igori¡¯s little system. If you are going to shackle a person, you can¡¯t educate them; just as you can¡¯t elevate a broken thrall into a Vampire. They are mutually exclusive goals and mixing them just wastes time and resources. Creating people like your mother. Clever enough to escape but not talented enough to be sired..¡± A thought struck Natalie then. ¡°What¡­ what if she was talented enough? What if my mother was to be turned, and she escaped that?¡± Isabelle scoffed. ¡°Being groomed for Drakovich¡¯s court isn¡¯t an opportunity you throw away.¡± Looking at her hands and the jewel box she kept hidden in her pack, Natalie muttered. ¡°Some might.¡± Putting her hands together, Natalie tried not to think of how¡­ detailed Isabelle¡¯s knowledge of binding people was. Forcing herself to look at the old Monster, Natalie said. ¡°Thank you for telling me this. I knew a lot of it from Petar, but still, thank you.¡± Isabelle shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. Besides, the knowledge someone actually managed to escape the Clan long enough to breed outside their supervision is fascinating. I see you inherited the looks and magical talent of the clan. But I guess your intellect comes from your father.¡± Glaring up at her mentor, Natalie was about to snap something but saw the look of remorse on Isabelle¡¯s face. ¡°That¡­ that was uncalled for.¡± the old Monster muttered. ¡°That loss is still fresh, and my words were cruel. Cole¡­ Cole would be saddened.¡± Till now, Natalie hadn¡¯t put much faith in Isabelle¡¯s claim Cole helped her be a better person. Seeing what might have been guilt on Isabelle¡¯s face made Natalie reconsider. Letting out a pointless breath, she said. ¡°Apology accepted. Let''s move on to the Alukah, then.¡±
For the next hour or so, Isabelle picked apart Natalie¡¯s notes and everything she¡¯d share. While Natalie tried to wrap her head around everything she¡¯d learned. ¡°You think I could sire new Vampires?¡± Natalie asked, confused by Isabelle¡¯s latest theory.¡± Nodding her head vigorously, Isabelle grinned. ¡°Yes! You were a Strix before becoming an Alukah. The Sister¡¯s alterations to the curse should have corrected that part of the Rabisu¡¯s punishment! I don¡¯t think your scions would be Alukah, but they would probably be more than a Strix.¡± Frowning, Natalie said. ¡°I don¡¯t ever intend to test your theory.¡± Bad memories of her own transformation. Both from Human to Vampire; and Vampire to Alukah whispered in her mind. Sighing at what she thought was a clearly ridiculous moral leash, Isabelle changed topics. ¡°It¡¯s been long theorized the Rabisu was devoured by her children, but the Temple guarded that secret well. Officially she died with the rest, at the Seraphblood¡¯s hands. Knowing they betrayed and consumed her makes more sense. I wonder if it increased the Alukah¡¯s power or had other effects. Once we leave this Temple, we must experiment with your limits.¡± Just as Natalie was about to comment on how being experimented on had no appeal. A knock came at the door. Isabelle¡¯s illusionary body faded into nothingness, and Natalie frantically grabbed her skull and stuffed it into Cole¡¯s pack. Once she was certain the skull was hidden, Natalie turned to the door. ¡°Come in¡± To her surprise, Cole stepped into the room. He had a slightly nauseous look on his face. Frowning, Natalie ran over to him. ¡°Love, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Cole blinked and his eyes took a second to focus on her. With Natalie¡¯s guidance, Cole went over to the bed and sat on it. Sitting next to him, forcing warmth into her body, Natalie asked. ¡°Why on Vardis did you knock?¡± Finding himself, Cole said. ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t know if you were changing or something.¡± Natalie actually laughed. ¡°You¡¯ve seen everything I have to show Cole. But I appreciate the courtesy. Now, what¡¯s wrong? Is the city giving us more trouble?¡± a hint of worry snuck into her last sentence. Glynn and Isabelle had kept her busy today, but she still was nervous about the Temple¡¯s judgment. Or, more importantly, how the Council would react. Shaking his head, Cole actually smiled. ¡°No, no, nothing like that. I talked with Morri, and you¡¯ve been declared a protectee of the Temple. The Council wasn¡¯t happy, but they are too busy trying to repair the city to push the issue.¡± A relieved sigh escaped Natalie, and she took Cole¡¯s hand. ¡°Then did the meeting with the Guards go poorly?¡± Cole winced. ¡°Captain Iron-Teeth is at the clinic. He¡¯s been overworking himself, and his heart almost popped. So I¡¯ve kind of taken over leadership of the investigation.¡± Natalie gasped; she had mixed feelings on the Captain but knew he had Cole¡¯s respect. Holding his hand, Natalie let Cole explain the day''s events and the progress he¡¯d made. As he finished his tale recounting returning to the Guard Tower with the Laundry Worker, Natalie frowned and asked. ¡°Okay, but what¡¯s got you so discombobulated? When you came in, you looked like you¡¯d been concussed,¡± she said, a mixture of worry and playfulness in her tone. Swallowing, Cole coughed nervously. ¡°A Noblewoman came to the Tower shortly after we got Antony. She¡¯s the mother of one of the two I found in the Undercroft.¡± Natalie snickered, remembering Cole¡¯s account of the young couple. He just kept talking, an almost haunted look on his face ¡°There¡¯s to be a Solstice Ball in less than a week. I¡¯ve been invited as a guest of honor.¡± Shock and then amusement erupted on Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°That¡¯s what has you so stressed? A Ball? Oh, you are adorable, Cole.¡± Planting a kiss on his cheek, Natalie started to say: ¡°Come on, it will be fun! I¡¯ve always wanted to¡­¡± her words died as realization set in. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to come, will I?¡± A sad note to her voice. Scratching a scarred cheek, Cole said softly. ¡°About that¡­¡± Head cocked to the side, Natalie asked. ¡°What?¡± Cole reached into a pocket and pulled out a rectangle of wood. About the size of Cole¡¯s hand, it had been varnished and painted to a glossy ice-blue. On one side was a collection of heraldic stamps surrounding the crest of Vindabon. A fanciful Dragon, Otter, and Stag chasing each other on black and yellow. On the other side were silver words inlaid into the wood. Natalie assumed it was just painted silver but made sure to not touch it, just in case. The argent lines formed an elegant script she had a hard time deciphering. ¡°To Paladin Cole of the Tenth Temple. The Venerable and Gracious House DeMello invites you to the 219th Annual Winter Solstice Ball. To be held at the DeMello Keep on the evening of Darksol 30th.¡± ¡°By the grace of the City of Vindabon and Baroness DeMello, this invitation extends to both the Paladin and his Vampire Paramour. A meal will not be provided for her. Formal dress is to be expected, and courtly protocols respected. We hope to see you both at this celebration of the Year¡¯s triumphs.¡± Natalie just mouthed the word ¡°Paramour¡± in her mouth and tried her best not to laugh. A series of squeaking giggles escaped her, and she collapsed onto Cole. Leaning against him as snorting laughter broke free. Confused, Cole took the invitation from her. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± Still laughing, Natalie flopped onto the bed, pulling Cole with her. They lay there as she tried to regain her composure. Finding a bit of it, Natalie let out a breathless sigh. ¡°If you told a sixteen-year-old me I would one day go to the Vindabon Solstice Ball on the arm of a Paladin, I¡¯d have never believed you.¡± Letting her head rest on Cole¡¯s chest, Natalie thought about what Glynn had said regarding her Stigma. She had many difficult choices ahead of her, but her path wouldn¡¯t be without its joys. Maybe going to this ball with Cole would be one. Wrapping an arm around her, Cole sighed. ¡°It¡¯s going to be difficult. I don¡¯t want to dampen your spirits, but I seriously doubt Lady DeMello¡¯s intentions are innocent.¡± Shrugging, Natalie said. ¡°I know. She probably wants us as Curios. Displayed for all her friends to see. The Paladin and the Vampire in love. It¡¯s honestly kind of melodramatic when you think about it.¡± It was Cole¡¯s time to snort with laughter. Looking up at the room¡¯s ceiling, he tried to suppress the knot of fear he was feeling. He felt fiercely protective of Natalie, and something about taking her into this viper''s nest rankled him. Letting his hand play with her hair, Cole let out a soft sigh. He could have lied about her being invited; he could insist she not come. He¡¯d do neither. Natalie had earned his trust and proved her mettle. He wouldn¡¯t insult her or their love like that. All he could do was try and prepare and protect her the best he knew how. After a little bit of just enjoying each other''s company, Cole asked. ¡°How did it go with Glynn? Find anything interesting in the Archives?¡± Pulling up from Cole¡¯s chest and looking over at Cole¡¯s pack and Isabelle¡¯s skull. Natalie said. ¡°About that¡­¡±
Natalie told Cole everything about her experiences in the Archives and her later ¡®study session¡¯ with Isabelle. He listened with calm intensity. His face was a neutral mask doing little to hide his worry from Natalie. Cole was in turmoil about the growing alliance between Natalie and Isabelle. Try as he might, flashes of his nightmare, of the two as true monsters, danced behind his eyes. He loved both of them, and feared what the future might hold. Still, Natalie¡¯s caution and cooperation with Isabelle was heartening. His worries were growing, but not as fast as they could. Something that changed when Natalie turned her words to the topic of Strixscion and the Voivode. Cole¡¯s muscles instantly tensed at the Monster¡¯s mention, and Natalie pulled back slightly in concern. Gesturing for her to keep talking, Cole took deep breaths and tried to relax. Absorbing everything she said, Cole let out a breath. ¡°Coincidence is their domain.¡± Looking at Natalie, Cole said. ¡°You said Petar wanted your blood, and your Mother was a Strixscion. I didn¡¯t know what that meant. I¡¯d heard the term before related to certain thralls but little else. But now it all fits together.¡± Covering his eyes, Cole cursed. ¡°Fucking concordian puzzle painting.¡± Natalie gave him a strange look, but Cole just kept talking. ¡°I¡¯ve not told you why I was in the Blood Duchies, have I?¡± Shaking her head slightly, Natalie pulled up the memory. ¡°Aside from doing Paladin stuff, I thought you mentioned a Vampire you were hunting?¡± Nodding, Cole rasped. ¡°I was hunting Voivode Igori. He¡¯s the one who killed Isabelle and kept me in a dungeon for a year. He¡¯s the one who¡­.¡± Cole just gestured at his neck. ¡°Well, he and his Court.¡± Natalie looked at the collar of scars he wore. A flash of guilt went through her on seeing the fresh wounds she¡¯d added to it. That was pushed back as realization started to build. ¡°Coincidence is the God¡¯s domain. Me being a Strixscion and meeting you is part of that?¡± A pulse of anger went through Natalie. Was everything in her life and unlife manipulated by Master Time? Had he really maneuvered everything so she and Cole might meet? Shutting her eyes, Natalie tried to think rationally about this. ¡°So my Mother escaped a Monster who breeds people like livestock. The same Monster you want vengeance against. Master Time just moved you into my path like a jagging game piece and watched events play out. My father dying, my transformation, all of it.¡± Bitterness salted her words, and Natalie warred with the emotions inside her. Logically she could understand the God¡¯s actions. He¡¯d saved countless lives and guided them down the best possible future. If Cole hadn¡¯t met her, she and everyone else would have died or suffered a worse fate at Petar¡¯s insane hands. If her Mother hadn¡¯t escaped her own family, then Natalie would have never been accidentally transformed. If Cole hadn¡¯t returned to a place he knew he shouldn¡¯t be, he would have never met her. Reaching up to her Stigma, Natalie wondered if a puppet on strings would be more accurate than a knot-work maze. Feeling her anger fade slightly, Cole reached out with a hand and whispered. ¡°You¡¯re right. We¡¯ve been dancing to my God¡¯s tune. But¡­¡± Shutting her eyes, Natalie completed his words. ¡°But if another song was playing. Things would be worse. And¡­ and we¡¯d never have met.¡± Thanks to Master Time she¡¯d lost and gained much. Were the scales even? Thinking of her father¡¯s face as he died and of Cole¡¯s smile, Natalie couldn¡¯t find an answer. Pushing away the roiling emotions, she just tried to listen to Cole¡¯s heart. The steady drumbeat a comfort. After a time, Cole broke the new silence. ¡°I suppose I owe you the full story.¡± Looking up at him, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯d like that, but you don¡¯t have to.¡± Sitting up, Cole gently moved Natalie off him and went to his pack. Grabbing Isabelle¡¯s skull, he returned to the bed. ¡°I was once known as the Homunculus Knight. Countess Isabelle Gen Silva¡¯s immortal champion. Her greatest creation who defended her honor in the Courts of Atredia.¡± Cole said this like he was reciting a script. Something he¡¯d heard many times. His next words were his own. ¡°Isabelle had made breakthroughs in fleshcrafting and soulweaving that threatened the Voivode¡¯s power. He took exception to that and planned her downfall.¡± Eyes shut, trying to push back the memories of roaring fire Cole said. ¡°He succeeded. Isabelle was executed, and I was taken for vivisection.¡± Reaching to his chest, Cole felt where the scars of that hid. Long buried under other marks of torment. ¡°Igori was ordered to destroy me. It was assumed Isabelle¡¯s claims about my¡­ regeneration were exaggerated or reliant on her. The Voivode quickly learned otherwise.¡± Natalie went over to Cole and held him. Just letting him speak, but trying to be a support. ¡°The first three months, they just tested out ways of killing me. Once they realized what I really was, the Voivode found other uses. Whatever you say about that Monster, he is nothing if not practical. Eight more months of being fed upon and used however the Court pleased. My memories of that time are¡­ muddy, thankfully. Just enough to hurt but not enough to break me.¡± Looking at Isabelle¡¯s skull in Cole¡¯s hands, Natalie wondered if the old Monster had ever considered the potential horrors of immortality. Fingers tracing the skull¡¯s cheekbone, Cole mused. ¡°Isabelle wanted to create a true immortal. Something to surpass Vampirekind. She reached for starfire, and well¡­ we both burned.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°How¡¯d you escape the Voivode¡¯s dungeon?¡± She¡¯d pieced together much of this story but had never learned how Cole had freed himself. Snorting in bitter laughter, Cole said. ¡°Desperation, carelessness, and greed. Igori started trying to kill me properly again. I think word got out he was defying the Archduke by keeping me. So before those rumors could cause him problems, he got creative in his efforts.¡± Setting the skull down, Cole turned to Natalie and took both his hands in hers. ¡°I trust you, and I love you. What I¡¯m about to tell you can never be repeated. Do you understand?¡± Nervous but wanting to have his trust, Natalie nodded. Cole put his forehead against hers for a second and then spoke. ¡°Stargent. I don¡¯t revive as long as the substance touches me. A spike of it went through my heart and they thought they had finally killed me. I don¡¯t know exactly what happened after that but I ended up in a mass grave near the Voivode''s castle.¡± Cole twitched at the memory. Thinking of the stink of corpses as he¡¯d pulled himself from the pile of dead. ¡°Stargent is valuable.¡± a morbid smile flicked across Cole¡¯s lips. ¡°Someone robbed my grave.¡± ¡°With the Stargent gone, my body healed. My mind was¡­ not intact. I spent maybe a month closer to an animal than anything else. Heading back towards Isabelle¡¯s castle like a bird heading south in the Winter. Called home by whatever was left of me.¡± looking into the empty eye sockets, Cole continued. ¡°The Castle was a ruin. Everyone was dead. Isabelle¡¯s skull high on a pike for all to see. A monument to her sins and warning to any who¡¯d challenge the Archduke.¡± Running a finger along the needle-sharp fangs of his creator, Cole murmured. ¡°I¡¯d found a bit more sanity by then. I took her skull and intended to bury it, but she reached out to me. Despite everything, we¡¯d both survived.¡± A sad smile parted his lips. ¡°I picked through the castle''s ruins. Grabbed what I could and went south. Took a ship up to Concordia and tried to find answers. The God of Death seemed a good place to start. After that¡­ well, you can probably guess.¡± Natalie could. Cole had gone to Master Time seeking Isabelle¡¯s resurrection. He¡¯d been denied that but found another path. One that led him to her. ¡°Thank you for telling me, Cole,¡± she whispered. Cole set the skull down and embraced her. ¡°Thank you for being a person I can trust.¡± Taking a useless breath, Natalie felt a lump in her throat. She might not be able to cry properly, but she could at least have that. They sat like that for a time. In the comfortable silence of true companionship. Cole had bared his most grievous wounds, and Natalie met them with love and trust. The moment only ended when Natalie bolted up, sudden fear in her eyes. Whirling on the shocked Cole, she said. ¡°A dress! I need a dress for the Ball!¡± starting to nervously pace, she hissed. ¡°But where will I get one on such short notice? If I need it altered, will any tailor even see me?¡± Strangely, Cole found Natalie¡¯s violently mundane concerns a balm. At her words, a memory surfaced. Of a shattered storefront and a bloodied man clutching a box. Smiling, Cole looked at Natalie and said. ¡°About that¡­¡± Book II: Chapter 23: A Date?

Chapter 23: A Date?

¡°The Reincarnation Theory of Savantism is widely regarded as suspect. The idea that a Soul''s previous skills aren¡¯t fully washed away during Reincarnation has merit. With it believed most ¡®natural talents¡¯ are holdovers from a previous life¡¯s skills. But this does not account for the inheritable nature of Savantism nor its magical intricacies. Currently, the Aether Mutation Theory is considered the most likely explanation.¡± - Excerpt from Erasmus Wedgwood¡¯s ¡®Origin of Magical Talent.¡¯
Engelbert Schneider sighed and watched as two laborers fitted a piece of glass into his display window. Getting the new pane had cost him a pretty silver, but it would be worth it. A Tailor unable to display his work was no Tailor at all. Turning away from the work, he glanced around his shop. Rioters had smashed his windows, grabbed his show pieces, and made a mess of things. They¡¯d thankfully not found his safe and hadn¡¯t bothered to raid his workshop. The Trollbrained bastards hadn¡¯t known the value of the fabric inside, instead grabbing what looked fancy. Engelbert had been happy to hide upstairs with his wife Philomena while the looters grabbed what they could. That is, until they grabbed a certain box. His darling daughter Rosa¡¯s wedding dress. This theft pushed Engelbert to act. Fabric, glass, and other clothes could be replaced. The dress Rosa would wear in the Spring could not. It was a labor of love created by Englebert and his Wife over the past year. The perfect gown and a shared masterpiece of the Tailor and his Dressmaker spouse. Thinking of the dress made Engelbert¡¯s head throb. Reaching up to his bandaged scalp, he remembered the night of the riot. Philomena and him hiding; his foolhardy efforts. The violence of the looters, and his eventual savior. A Tattered Man who¡¯d scared off the two thieves with ease and returned the prized dress. The memory sent a shiver down Englebert¡¯s bending spine. The Tattered Man was obviously a warrior of some kind, with skin more scarred than not. He¡¯d honestly been more frightening than the sap-addled fools who robbed Engelbert. As the workers started their final efforts to install the new window, Engelbert looked out on the promenade his shop sat on. Woad Way had suffered badly in the riot, few buildings were in as good condition as his. A Tailor, even a high-class one, wasn¡¯t the favored target for looters. Engelbert had talked with a few of his neighbors since the Riot. Hearing how they were and learning of the damages. To his surprise, he wasn¡¯t the only one with a story of the Tattered Man. Wido Bachmann claimed he saw the Tattered Man grab a fire and literally pull it off a burning building. Little Marie Manz told anyone who¡¯d listen about the scarred giant who¡¯d righted a tipped wagon with one hand. Selina Schwarz said little about the night, only offering thanks to the man who broke her attacker¡¯s arm. While Vincent Menger saw the Tattered Man fight five looters at once, with only a piece of wood, beating all five bloody. The creak of wooden floors pulled Engelbert¡¯s attention towards the workshop, where a tired-looking Philomenia entered from. Stretching her fingers, she sighed. ¡°I should have the Frisci long hem done by tonight. Did they get the new window in safety?¡± Nodding, Englebert waved to the leaving workers. One returned the gesture. Both men looked exhausted, barely noticing him as they left. Anyone capable of holding a hammer or measuring wood was drowning in work. The city coffers had been opened to help fund rebuilding, but the miserly quill-pushers in charge of disturbing funds were unwilling to pay for more than the utter minimum. So Engelberts had been forced to pay for the new window out of his own pocket, at least the city had covered the installation. Going to his wife, Englebert took her hand and led them back toward the workshop. As they walked, she reached up to his bandage. He winced at her probing touch and she clucked her tongue in annoyance. ¡°Bertie, you are a damn fool sometimes.¡± Letting out a chuckle he nodded in agreement. ¡°I¡¯d have to agree, Phi. But I couldn¡¯t just let them take it!¡± An exasperated sigh filled with twenty-five years of marriage escaped Philomena and she leaned against him. ¡°I just don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without you. Don¡¯t ever be so stupid again, Bertie.¡± Engelbert was about to offer words of comfort when the shop door creaked and the tinkle of its bell echoed through the store. Frowning, Englebert went towards the main counter muttering. ¡°Did one of the workers forget something?¡± The store was technically open, but they¡¯d not had any customers since the Riot. The city had bigger concerns than new clothing at the moment. Englebert grabbed his measuring cord and entered the main storefront, starting his usual refrain. ¡°Welcome to Schneider & Schneider; what can I-¡± Englebert dropped his cord in shock and reached for the nearby counter to steady himself. Standing in his shop was a familiar giant. No longer in grubby armor; instead, he wore simple work clothes. Barely visible under his long black cloak and mantle. Next to the Tattered Man was a beautiful young woman in a slightly worn coat and dress of the Mountain style. The woman wore a thick scarf even inside the store and had a nervous air to her. Lips flapping like a fish, Englebert tried to find his words. ¡°Y-y-you!¡± it came out almost as a shout. The woman looked at the Tattered man with worried confusion and hissed. ¡°What did you do to him?¡± Holding up his hands, the Tattered man answered. ¡°Nothing! I stopped some looters here on the night of the riot. Maybe he thinks I was one?¡± Recovering himself slightly, Englebert stepped forward. ¡°No, I remember you. You got my daughter¡¯s wedding dress back. Thank you for that. I¡­I just never thought I¡¯d see you again. Broke-Stitches! The whole neighborhood was half-convinced you were a Guardian Seraph, not a real person.¡± The Tattered Man¡¯s companion shot him a look both amused and surprised. Even with her mouth hidden in the scarf, Engelbert could see her cheeks rise in a smile. ¡°I mean¡­ he¡¯s not far off,¡± Engelbert noticing her accent as she spoke. He didn¡¯t recognize the whispery inflection but guessed it was from the far south. Just then, Philomena entered the store proper. ¡°Bertie? Do we have customers? Oh!¡± She blinked up at the Tattered Man and remarked. ¡°My aren¡¯t you a big one.¡± Stepping over to his wife, Engelbert whispered. ¡°That¡¯s him, that¡¯s the Tattered Man!¡± Philomena looked at their towering guest and smiled. ¡°So, I have you to thank for keeping my foolish husband alive and returning my daughter¡¯s wedding dress? Wonderful! What brings you to our humble establishment.¡± Stepping forward and holding out a hand, the Tattered man introduced himself. ¡°I am Cole of Atredia¡± gesturing to the woman, he added. ¡°This is my companion, Natalie. She needs a new dress. I remembered this store from the Riot and figured we¡¯d visit.¡± Needing no further provocation, Philomena bustled over to Natalie. Eyeing the young woman with professional intensity. ¡°What sort of dress will you be needing, deary?¡± Glancing at her companion as if asking permission, Natalie said. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t entirely know. We¡¯ve been invited to the Solstice Ball, and I have no clue what¡¯s expected for that.¡± That got Philomena to pause. ¡°The Ball? Truly? I don¡¯t know if we have time to make something.¡± going over to the counter where Engelbert stood, she thought for a second and then raised a single finger in triumph. ¡°A-ha! I might have just the thing.¡± going back to Natalie, Philomena said. ¡°Let¡¯s get that coat and scarf off, and I can make some measurements.¡± To Englebert''s surprise, Natalie shied away from Philomena and gave her companion a pleading look. The Tattered man, or Cole, as he called himself cleared his throat loudly. ¡°One of the reasons we came here was discretion.¡± Glancing to Engelbert, who was struck by the man¡¯s cold blue eyes, he said. ¡°You owe me no debt for helping you that night. But if you are willing to help me, I¡¯d appreciate it.¡± Confused and a little worried, Englebert looked at his wife and then nodded. ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t put me and mine in danger, anything.¡± Accepting that, Cole reached under his cloak and pulled out a battered hourglass medallion. It started to glow slightly, a cold blue light that cast new shadows across the Tailor shop. Letting the light dim, Cole said. ¡°I am a Paladin of Master Time. Natalie is a Vampire.¡± On his cue, the young woman slipped off her scarf and gave the Schneiders an awkward smile. A smile that revealed long, sharp fangs. Philomena stepped back in fright, and Engelbert felt his eyes widen in shock. Wincing at their reaction, the Vampire stopped smiling. Cole found her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before looking at the Schneiders. ¡°She¡¯s of no danger to you. The Tenth Temple itself vouches for her. But you can understand why discretion is important.¡± Philomena and Englebert exchanged worried glances. Cole let out a sigh and turned to leave. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for bothering you. Have a good day, and please don¡¯t tell anyone about us.¡± Before he could stop himself, Englebert said. ¡°Wait! Are you going to the ball as well?¡± Frowning, an expression that creased his many scars, Cole said. ¡°Yes, why?¡± Gesturing at the cloaked giant, Englebert said. ¡°Well, do you have dress clothes?¡± Blinking at the question, Cole took a moment to say. ¡°I thought I¡¯d get some new armor.¡± Natalie let out an exasperated sigh. ¡°Love! You can¡¯t wear a suit of armor to a noble gala!¡± A little nonplussed by her reaction, the Paladin added. ¡°Nice armor, polished and maintained.¡± That was enough; Englebert shook his head in resignation. ¡°Paladin or not, you will not be going to the most prestigious event of the year in common steel and leather!¡± Cole looked a little insulted by that. ¡°The smith I patronize is rather skilled.¡± Rubbing her face, Natalie apologized for her partner. ¡°Forgive him, he spends most of his time hunting Monsters in the wilderness. I¡¯ve had to save him from starting a bar fight by simply sitting down to eat.¡± Englebert and Philomena shared looks. A Paladin and a Vampire were certainly their most¡­exotic customers, but that wouldn¡¯t stop them from ensuring they got the best clothes they could. Striding forward, Philomena reached the Vampire. Before she could second-guess herself, she helped Natalie out of her coat and gave her an appraising once over. ¡°Hmm, I¡¯ll have to alter it for your curves, but I do have a lovely red and white gown that I can have ready by then.¡± peering into Natalie¡¯s eyes, she added. ¡°I thought your kind had red eyes?¡± Blinking slowly, Natalie grew a few shades paler, and when her eyes opened, they were a bright crimson. Philomena took a half step back but found her courage. ¡°Yes, I have just the thing to match that!¡± Englebert came over to Cole and pulled the cloak off the large man. Looking at the black garment¡¯s stitching, Englebert let out an appreciative whistle. ¡°Someone very talented made this.¡± Cole nodded as Englebert set the cloak down and got busy measuring him. ¡°A string Savant made it for me.¡± Philomena led Natalie into another room to get her measurements, while Englebert scurried around the Paladin. ¡°Oh, a rare talent indeed. Not one I possess. But maybe in the next life. They say Savantism is the echo of a previous life¡¯s skills after all.¡± Once he had the measurements needed, Englebert went over to a drawer and pulled out a collection of fabric and color samples. Holding them up, he compared them to Cole¡¯s skin and eyes. ¡°Blue and black, to contrast with the Lady''s red and white.¡± The Paladin nodded and glanced in the direction of his partner. ¡°That sounds good. I do have a request, though.¡± ¡°Hm?¡± asked Englebert, curious to what demands the not very fashion-conscious man would make. ¡°Pockets, I¡¯d like it to have a fair number of pockets. Preferably subtle ones.¡± Frowning at that but grateful Cole wasn¡¯t requesting something ridiculous like metal plates sewn into his doublet. Engelbert nodded and voiced the question bothering him since the Tattered Man¡¯s identity was revealed. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking. Why did you save me? Surely a Paladin on the night of a riot had more important things to do than help a foolish old man?¡± Cole looked at him with a confused expression. Like the question was ridiculous. ¡°Because I could. Whatever other reason would I need?¡±
Cole and Natalie left Schneider & Schneider with receipts for their clothes. Natalie gazed down at the estimated cost and nearly tripped over an uneven cobblestone. Inhuman reflexes saved her from tumbling to the ground. Cursing and adjusting her scarf, she took Cole¡¯s offered hand. Slipping the receipt into her coat pocket, Natalie shook her head in shock. ¡°I don¡¯t know what surprises me more. How much they will charge, or the fact I can pay easily!¡± Smiling at her, Cole remarked. ¡°That''s why we stopped at Andvari Bank first. Your mother¡¯s gift should be kept somewhere safer than your pack.¡± Nodding, Natalie thought of the great sunken building and its Dwarven owners. The Andvari were a Dwarven Clan who¡¯d lost their home to a Dragon and found a place on the surface as Bankers. Their honor, diligence, and paranoia earned them an excellent reputation as coin-keepers. Still, it had been a little uncomfortable to leave the box of jewels and coins in another''s hands. Natalie only agreed to it upon hearing Cole kept an account there. She¡¯d actually wanted to store her coin with his, but he¡¯d objected. Some mix of chivalry and practicality at work. So instead of carrying a box of gems and gold, Natalie had a small purse of silver. A fraction of a single stone¡¯s value. Glancing back towards the Tailor shop and then around the city, Natalie asked. ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s okay for you to be doing this with me?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°I talked with Cat-Eyes. We¡¯re taking turns carrying the coin and acting as bait. I¡¯ll do it this evening, so for now, I¡¯m free.¡± That brought another worry to Natalie. ¡°What if the killer takes the bait? Will she be okay?¡± If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Mina will be with her, and two other Guards are trailing them. Right now, the goal is to see if anyone is watching the coin.¡± pausing, he looked at Natalie and scratched his cheek in a way he only did when nervous. ¡°But this evening, I¡¯ll need someone to watch my back during my shift. Would you be willing?¡± Smiling at that, Natalie said. ¡°Of course! A lovely day out with my Boyfriend and then an evening of waiting for a Ritual Killer to strike. That honestly sounds like a perfect Date for us.¡± An amused grunt escaped Cole. ¡°You make a good point. What would you like to do next?¡± Pausing to consider the question, Natalie thought to the Fiddle Player and the pile of stinking scrap that Cole called armor. ¡°Well, I suppose you should get new armor, even if you aren¡¯t going to be wearing it to the Ball. Let¡¯s head to the Weinstadt market and go from there.¡± Accepting that, Cole took Natalie¡¯s hand, and they wandered the streets of Vindabon, heading for their destination. Free to enjoy the city again, Natalie let her eyes wander. A more subdued air permeated the City compared to when she arrived. But even a Riot couldn¡¯t rob the City of Music and Dreams of all its Magic. (Literal and Metaphorical) Natalie saw a barrel-laden wagon pass by, the sweet smell of spiced wine trailing in its wake. While a quartet of Sisters of the Season-song Convent walked by in perfect lockstep. Their thin clothes and red faces evidence of their Winter worship. Something that caught the eye of nearby Bargefolk on shore leave. Their catcalls and whistles died as a cold gust of wind battered them. They reached the Weinstadt marketplace soon after, and Cole looked to see if Emma of Stonebone was at her stall. He found the Smith haggling with an annoyed-looking Mercenary. The Mercenary in question slammed down a pouch of coin and spat. ¡°Fine!¡± and grabbed a package Emma had set before him. As the Mercenary stormed off, Emma called after him. ¡°When that extra layer saves your ass, I expect you back here thanking my benevolent self!¡± Looking at her returning customer, Emma smiled. ¡°Ah! The Restbringer, I was wondering when you¡¯d be back.¡± Glancing at Natalie, Emma asked: ¡°And who might you be? Another Restbringer looking for new kit?¡± Smiling under her scarf, Natalie shook her head in the negative. ¡°His Girlfriend, here to peruse the market while you find something to protect him.¡± Emma¡¯s smile flickered for a moment. ¡°Ah, shame.¡± looking at Cole, she said. ¡°Well, I assume you ruined the last set of armor I sold you?¡± Nodding in confirmation, Cole said. ¡°Just the jack and pants. The leather got messed up in a skirmish.¡± Frowning, Emma asked. ¡°You certain it can¡¯t be patched? I¡¯d be happy to do that for you.¡± Shaking his head, Cole wrinkled his nose at the smell-memory. ¡°Probably, but some choice¡­substances were baked onto the material. I could get it off the Gauntlets and replace bits of the bandolier, but I think the Jacks fit for scrap.¡± Nodding at that and not even questioning what ¡°choice substances¡± meant, Emma asked, ¡°Well how¡¯d my armor perform? Any issues?¡± Thinking about his encounters in the Warrens, and the Demon¡¯s scything claws, Cole said. ¡°It held up well. Protected me from a few nasty hits. I just put it through more than what¡¯s reasonable.¡± Emma scoffed at that. ¡°What do you consider unreasonable then? If my armor broke after a little hard use, then that¡¯s a problem. I can¡¯t have a suit bearing my mark giving out so easily.¡± Cole almost smiled at that. He admired her conviction; if he was going to be buying equipment from her, then he might as well be honest. ¡°The armor held up against the Cultists easy enough,¡± he said, getting a raised eyebrow from Emma. ¡°But the Demon¡¯s blades made short work of it.¡± Emma let out an amused snort. Clearly assuming Cole was joking. Looking to see Cole¡¯s deadpan expression and Natalie¡¯s amused posture, she blinked and asked. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re serious?¡± Cole nodded and glanced at Natalie. ¡°With the Ball coming up, I don¡¯t think trying to be subtle is practical anymore.¡± she nodded in agreement, and Cole scratched his cheek awkwardly. ¡°I¡¯m a Restbringer, true, but Paladin is a more accurate title.¡± Emma wiped non-existent sweat from her forehead and swore. ¡°Singing Souls of Steel! You¡¯re the one who ended the Riot?¡± Nodding again, Cole said, ¡°Technically, I just helped Sister Sun do it, but yes.¡± Letting out a low whistle, Emma looked back at her stock of gear. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I have anything¡­ Paladin-worthy but I can see.¡± Looking back at Cole, eyes flicking over him with newfound respect, Emma pointed a finger to his waist. ¡°That Axe of yours, would you mind if I looked at it.¡± Natalie resisted rolling her eyes. She¡¯d been a little annoyed when Cole insisted on taking his weapon with them. Unbuckling his Axe, Cole handed it to Emma with a questioning expression. She took it, tested its balance, and whistled. ¡°Never seen an axe with a metal haft before. But I suppose a Paladin¡¯s weapon would never be normal. What¡¯s its name?¡± Cole blinked and asked. ¡°Name?¡± Emma looked almost affronted by that. ¡°Slag and Soot, man! This isn¡¯t a normal woodchopper! You¡¯re a Paladin straight out of the fables, and this is your weapon. It needs a name!¡± A bemused Natalie said. ¡°The good smith has a point, Love. All the best stories have named weapons.¡± A look of actual annoyance flickered across Cole¡¯s face. ¡°It¡¯s my weapon. It doesn¡¯t need a name.¡± Ignoring this, Natalie asked Emma, ¡°What about Ensepulcher?¡± Shaking her head, Emma answered, ¡°Not bad, but too fancy for an Axe. What about Dirge?¡± ¡°Too grim,¡± Natalie answered. ¡°Finality?¡± ¡°Respite?¡± ¡° Oh! Reminder!¡± Cole looked at the two women and grimaced. ¡°It¡¯s my weapon.¡± Natalie gave him an almost patronizing smile beneath her scarf. ¡°Cole, you had your Halberd for over a decade and never bothered to name it. You¡¯ve surrendered that right via negligence.¡± Emma frowned. ¡°Halberd? No offense Miss but you don¡¯t seem to not a lick about weaponry.¡± Grumbling, Cole grabbed the axe and cut a finger on it. Emma made a noise of alarm that turned into a gasp when the axe transformed into its full length. Taking the Halberd from Cole and testing it, Emma whistled. ¡°I owe you an apology, Miss. That¡¯s a fancy enchantment. Blood-activated transformation? A bit crude but still impressive.¡± Holding out a hand of introduction, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m Natalie, by the way.¡± Absently shaking her hand while examining the Halberd, Emma muttered. ¡°It''s good steel. Bit phallic, but I guess that¡¯s to be expected from most weapons.¡± Cole let out an uncharacteristic squawk. ¡°It¡¯s what?!¡± Natalie snorted in amusement, and Emma just shrugged. ¡°Y¡¯know, like a penis. It grows with blood flow and has a hard metal shaft.¡± seeing Cole¡¯s mortified expression, she added, ¡°Oh, relax, most weapons are. Do you know how many idiots come in wanting the biggest, hardest greatsword I can sell when a decent short blade would serve them infinitely better.¡± Natalie was beside herself with laughter, trying not to double over in mirth. Emma worked hard to keep a straight face and Cole wore a slight scowl. Seeing this, Emma sighed. ¡°Okay, back to the topic at hand.¡± and shook the Halberd slightly. ¡°What about Last Rites?¡± An appreciative noise came from Natalie. ¡°That is good!¡± turning to her suffering partner, she asked. ¡°What do you think about Last Rites?¡± Taking the Halberd back from Emma, Cole looked at it. Thinking of how it''s blade sang when he fought. The mournful tune of steel cutting the air. A final hymn for those he put to rest. ¡°Requiem. Its name is Requiem.¡± Cole whispered. Emma and Natalie exchanged looks while Cole shrunk Requiem and returned it to his belt. ¡°So, is there a reason you wanted to see my weapon?¡± Emma shrugged. ¡°A Smith¡¯s curiosity. I wanted to see what sort of weapon can kill a Demon.¡± Cole considered explaining how Requiem had only been part of what destroyed Gaol-Gru-Mapa but figured that wasn¡¯t what Emma was interested in. The Smith, for her part, rolled a shoulder and said. ¡°I¡¯ve been experimenting with a different style of Plate Jack, and it might just be perfect for you. It''s a change to some of the Ciryonian techniques. It¡¯ll let me easily repair and swap out elements of the suit.¡± As Emma and Cole started to discuss the details of his new armor, Natalie explored the market square. It wasn¡¯t quite lunchtime, and the food stalls were busy prepping for the next rush. Their cooking filled the air with all sorts of wonderful smells. Exotic and delicious foods Natalie fully intended to force Cole to try for her. Close to Emma¡¯s pavilion, Natalie found a market section set aside for martial equipment. The mixed threats of the World ensured there was always a need for weapons and armor. Looking over a row of unstrung bows, Natalie saw stacks of arrows with different tips. One small stack caught her eyes, the shining arrowheads dipped in silver. Thinking back to the riot, Natalie winced. She¡¯d need to visit the Werefolk before they left the area. See how Tiar the Werehawk and all the rest fared. Past the sharp steel and sturdy mail were merchants selling tools for all manner of trades. Natalie eyed a set of carving tools. They were set out in a lovely leather case and caught the faint winter sunlight on their edges. Thinking of her simple carving knife, Natalie wondered what she could do with better tools. Another more practical, if morbid thought mused on how well they¡¯d carve bone. ¡°You see anything you like, Miss?¡± came a scratchy voice, and Natalie nearly jumped in fright. She¡¯d been so absorbed in examining the tool¡¯s she hadn¡¯t noticed their seller approach. Short and bearded, the Toolmaker puffed on a pipe while giving Natalie an inquisitive look. Taking a moment to consider, she asked, ¡°How much for that set in the leather pouch?¡± Glancing at her selection, the Toolmaker answered. ¡°Good eye, that¡¯s a Rossford set. Quality stuff. I can let it go for ten clean silver pieces.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes widened, the price wasn¡¯t outrageous, but it wasn¡¯t cheap either. She was about to thank the merchant for his time when a familiar warm hand met the small of her back. ¡°We¡¯ll take it.¡± intoned Cole, having finished with the Blacksmith. Looking up at him, a little annoyed she¡¯d been surprised twice in such a short time, Natalie started to object. But Cole was already exchanging coins with the Toolmaker. Taking the Rossford set, he put it into the small pack he¡¯d brought for their purchases. Stepping away from the Toolmaker¡¯s stall, Natalie said. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to do that.¡± Cole shrugged and smiled. ¡°I know, I wanted to. What¡¯s next?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll finish the market, then decide from there,¡± Natalie answered before adding. ¡°Stuff work out with the Smith?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°Yes, she¡¯ll have this new suit finished after the Solstice. Hopefully, I won¡¯t need it till then.¡± Whistling (something she¡¯d been forced to relearn thanks to her new teeth), Natalie said. ¡°She¡¯s going to work quickly. I hope this isn¡¯t her way of seducing you.¡± Blinking in confusion, Cole spluttered. ¡°What?¡± Rolling her eyes and playfully shoving a shoulder into Cole, Natalie said. ¡°When you said I was your Girlfriend, she was disappointed. Bet she was hoping for more than a ¡®repeat customer.¡± A dumbstruck Cole tried to find his words, and Natalie elaborated. ¡°I¡¯ll admit your scars are off-putting at first. But you really are quite handsome. A tough gal like Emma probably just sees them as badges of honor.¡± Squeezing one of Cole¡¯s hands, Natalie half-jokingly said. ¡°So, do I have to worry about the comly blacksmith stealing you away for ¡®private fittings?¡¯ Or whatever they call it in Smithing circles.¡± A little stunned and forced to reassess Emma¡¯s treatment of him, Cole answered. ¡°No, you and Isabelle are plenty.¡± Smiling, Natalie remarked. ¡°She was cute, in that ¡®I could kick your ass kinda way, but I¡¯ve no real desire to share you with anyone else.¡± Giving Natalie a strange look, Cole shook his head. ¡°Noted.¡±
They perused a few more stalls, and Natalie cajoled Cole into trying a number of delicacies. After that, they left the Market Square and headed towards the Eighth District, Strausburg, better known as the Theatre District. While the great Opera companies wouldn¡¯t be performing till the evening, there would always be a few street plays running in the district. Something Natalie was excited to see after hearing so much about them. As they walked, Cole caught sight of a Man selling small black bottles from a cart. Even over the din of the City streets, Cole could hear the hawker¡¯s pitch. ¡°Wolfsbane! Wolfsbane Extract! Get your Wolfsbane here!¡± Wincing, Cole shook his head in worry. The Riot¡¯s effects were still being felt. Last he¡¯d heard the Temple¡¯s casualty numbers were in the low hundreds. Before that disastrous night, Vindabon hadn¡¯t had a legitimate reason to fear the Werefolk. Only their own prejudice and paranoia. After the Clans defended themselves¡­ vigorously, that changed. Life and limb had been lost in the Riot. Alongside pride and respect. Three months ago, selling Wolfsbane on a street corner in Vindabon would have been considered incredibly crude and almost offensive to the city''s cosmopolitan values. Now, the hawker was making good coin. Natalie saw his worried expression and squeezed his arm reassuringly. ¡°You¡¯ll catch the killer, and this craziness will end.¡± Glancing back at the Wolfsbane seller, Cole muttered. ¡°I hope so, but something tells me the damage is already done.¡± With that grim thought, the couple arrived in Strausburg. A great stone obelisk marking the district''s entrance. Sitting in the middle of the promenade, the pillar was garishly covered in a motley selection of colors. Approaching it, Natalie realized its sides were plastered in advertisements for plays and shows. Posters warred with paint in a contest for the public¡¯s attention. Rose-colored sheets proclaiming tawdry romances dueled green pictograms of laughing Fools. Elsewhere a feud between three rival troupes was depicted in graffiti. As colors and symbols fought for space on the two-story obelisk. To Natalie¡¯s intense amusement, she noticed the conflict wasn¡¯t restricted to the easily reachable sections of the pillar. Writing space was contested from the cobblestones to the peak. Only ending where the grinning/frowning Mask of Uncle Trickster stuck out of the top like a weathervane. Smiling at the strange sight, Natalie turned to the waiting Cole. ¡°I read about these! Fool Pillars. The City installed them at every road into the Eighth District. Something about limiting the Acting Troupes advertisements. Before the Pillars, there wasn¡¯t a single clean wall in Strausburg.¡± Making an appreciative noise, Cole nodded. ¡°Interesting, I¡¯ve wondered about them.¡± Taking his hand and heading deeper into the district, Natalie remarked. ¡°It¡¯s surreal to me you¡¯ve been visiting this city for years and never attended a show.¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°Never had anyone to go with. Besides, I never stayed in the city long. Just checking in with the Temple usually and resupplying.¡± ¡°Well, that changes today,¡± said Natalie. As she followed the sound of laughter and shouts. It didn¡¯t take the couple long to find the noise''s origin. A small stage tucked off the main street was hosting a show eagerly watched by a sizable crowd. Above the stage was a huge banner with the words ¡°Wyrmfart: Tale of a Dragonslayer¡± painted on it. Eyebrows raised at the¡­ curious title, Natalie got closer to watch. Cole¡¯s presence helped them get deeper into the crowd. Upon the stage was a strange sight. A huge Dragon puppet of painted fabric and wood took up nearly half the stage. The body looked to be a recycled wagon while its head, wings, and tail were animated by strings only visible to Natalie¡¯s inhuman eyes. Facing the Dragon was a man in soot-blackened armor holding up a comically small dagger as if it were a broadside. Cowering behind him were half a dozen actors wearing sackcloth and manacles. The ¡®Knight¡¯ waved his dagger in the Dragon¡¯s direction and proclaimed. ¡°Foul Wyrm! Your slaves are free! Your doom is at hand!¡± The Knight''s voice was impossibly high-pitched. Distorted to match a Squirrel¡¯s chattering, not a warrior''s roar. Natalie let out a snort at the contradiction. The Dragon retorted, its voice a deep echoing thing that boomed as its puppet-head flailed in the air. ¡°Foolish Snack! Your pig-poker cannot pierce my scales! My fires will cook you alive!¡± In that same squeaking voice, the Knight answered. ¡°HA! I faced your burning maw and survived! If my blade is a pig-poker, then you are simply a scaly swine!¡± A jet of fire shot out of the Dragon¡¯s mouth and into the air. ¡°Crunchy Human! You faced my lesser flame. Now boil and burst under my true power!¡± The Dragon puppet whirled about, so its tail was facing the Knight. Cole let out a groan as he realized what was about to happen. The Dragon¡¯s tail went up, and a geyser of flame erupted from its rear. Laughter and whoops escaped the crowd as the Knight squealed in horror. Just as the ball of fire was about to reach him, a new figure leaped out from behind the curtain. An old witch or at least someone dressed as one stood between Knight and fire. She held up her hands and stopped the blaze. The flames distorted around her and the shielded Knight. As the Dragons'' flatulence ended, the Knight let out a squeaking battle cry and charged the Wyrm. Pig-poking dagger met the Dragons rear, and a fierce howl escaped the beast. It spun on the Knight, puppet-jaws open and ready to spew more flame. Charging forward, the Knight gripped the Dragon¡¯s head and pulled a rope from somewhere. Wrapping the rope around the Dragon''s mouth, he proclaimed. ¡°Plugged like a kettle you are! Now we¡¯ll see if you squeal like one too!¡± The Dragon started to thrash, a high-pitched whistle escaping it. The whistle reached a fever pitch as the Knight held on to the Dragon¡¯s head. A large boom echoed out from the stage as the Dragon exploded. Its body popping open in a shower of red ribbons and glitter. Smoke billowed out from its ruptured wagon-body and covered the stage. When it faded, the Knight was standing tall. His burnt armor transformed into a set of shining scales. The audience whooped and cheered, including Natalie. As the noise subsided, the Witch barreled into the Knight. Latching to his side and proclaiming. ¡°Oh, mighty Dragonslayer! I came to your aid, and our compact must be sealed! Let us be bound as Husband and Wife!¡± The Knight slowly turned his helmet to the wrinkled hag and, after a second, shrugged. Taking the Witch, he whirled her into a kiss. A puff of pink smoke issued from them, and the crowd laughed. Soon the smoke cleared, and a line of three-score people covered the stage. The members of the troupe. They bowed as one, as the audience clapped. Cole looked at Natalie, enjoying her glee. They¡¯d caught only the tail end, but she¡¯d still enjoyed the show. Glancing at the smoking puppet-dragon, a frown creased Cole¡¯s face. If Iron-Teeth was right, he¡¯d soon be tangling with a Dragonblood killer. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Cole squeezed Natalie¡¯s hand. That struggle could wait for the evening. Book II: Chapter 24: The Tongue!

Chapter 24: The Tongue!

¡°Gold, warm and fair, mark our devotion and seal our prayer. Silver, cold and pure, bind the dark and reveal the obscure Iron, stout and strong, protect us and stop any wrong. Amber, soft and bright, cast your light over what is right. Metal, common and rare, keep us safe and help us prepare.¡± - A hymn commonly sung during Metallurgic Ritual Work.
Natalie held a deformed gold coin in her gloved hand. Examining the ancient coinage in the setting sunlight she turned to her partner. ¡°Is the tracking spell still active?¡± Nodding, Cole took the coin back from her. ¡°It was when Mina handed it to me. So hopefully, it still is.¡± Looking at the gold piece, Cole sighed. He needed to practice with his Aethersight. Where Mina could tell much about the spells cast upon the coin, he only got a sense of it being enchanted. It was a small comfort that other Priests they¡¯d consulted had issues doing more than Mina. Their efforts to invert or alter the tracking spell had been for naught, so using it as bait was the next option. Leaving Cole and Natalie to wander the city with coins in hand. Glancing around the seedy alley they walked, Natalie said. ¡°Today was fun, thank you.¡± A slight smile creased Cole¡¯s lips. ¡°It was, and it was my pleasure.¡± They¡¯d spent the day bouncing between Shows and Shopping. Natalie replaced some of her worn clothes and got other needed comforts. Cole restocked and expanded his equipment. Buying more glowpaste and getting himself a brace of throwing knives. Recent encounters had made him consider the need for a way to maim at a distance. He¡¯d always been good with thrown weapons but never found much use for them in his profession. A knife in the leg did little to stop the Undead. Cole would need to see how the Heartstealer would handle that. Looking up at the dimming sky, Natalie asked, ¡°Which show was your favorite?¡± Cole paused to consider. They¡¯d gone to four plays, and he¡¯d enjoyed them all. Mainly because Natalie was having fun. Still, the third play they¡¯d seen had struck a chord. ¡°I liked The Fox and the Wolf.¡± A little surprised by that, Natalie said, ¡°Really? I thought it was sad.¡± Cole just shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s hopeful in its own melancholic way. They both die, but out of their deaths comes hope for peace.¡± Natalie huffed at that. ¡°I guess. But the whole war between the two tribes seemed so stupid. They drive Vix and Lupo to their deaths over what? Some argument their ancestors had? Just doesn¡¯t sit right with me.¡± Accepting her words, Cole mused. ¡°It made you feel something, didn''t it? Frowning, Natalie said, ¡°It did, but I could do without another reminder that I can¡¯t cry properly anymore.¡± Putting a comforting hand around her shoulders, Cole asked. ¡°That¡¯s what Arts supposed to do, right? Make you feel something. Preferably what the Artist wants you to feel.¡± ¡°I guess. But there is so much sadness in the world. So much darkness. Why spend your time trying to make more of it? Even if it is beautiful.¡± she answerd. They left the alley and kept following the route Antony had provided. They were mimicking his schedule for the most part. Taking a few detours to check for followers. So far, nothing unusual had happened, and the couple enjoyed their walk. Thinking about what she¡¯d said, Cole mused. ¡°The purpose is to remind people.¡± Natalie scoffed at that. The idea of anyone needing a reminder of the world¡¯s ugliness was ridiculous to her. Seeing her reaction, Cole gently added. ¡°Here in Vindbon, tragedy isn¡¯t so common. Especially when compared to the Duchies.¡± That made her pause for a second. Natalie sometimes forgot her former life in Glockmire wasn¡¯t ¡®normal¡¯ by much of the World''s standards. The Free Peoples ruled the World now. The ages of enslavement and predation were supposed to be over. For better or worse, Humans and their kindred peoples guided their destinies. Places like the Duchies, where darkness ruled, were the exception, not the rule. Letting out a sigh, She reassessed her thoughts on the play. ¡°I guess telling people to not be so petty and terrible is a good thing..¡± Cole nodded in agreement, and Natalie found herself lost in her thoughts. She felt something like¡­ resentment for the people of Vindabon. The feeling wasn¡¯t quite strong enough to call it anger. But there was something there, a sense of jealousy for their comparatively easy lives. Tugging on that emotional thread, Natalie pursed her lips in thought. She wouldn¡¯t wish the constant fear of her hometown upon these people. It wasn¡¯t like she wanted them to suffer like she had. There was just an element of¡­ contempt she felt for them. Dusk''s arrival pushed those thoughts from the forefront of her mind. A pulse of new energy invigorated her. Free of the Sun¡¯s shackles Natalie was untrammeled. Humming softly in enjoyment, Natalie felt her senses sharpen and her body quicken. While she was by no means weak during the day, the Alukah is a creature of the night. Her power waxed with the coming dark. Cole watched as Natalie stretched and basked in her power. The new dress she¡¯d gotten was a bit more form-fitting than her Glockmire wear and Cole forced himself to look away. He¡¯d need his wits about him, something Natalie¡¯s body habitually snatched from him. Seeing his awkwardness, Natalie leaned against him with a fangy smile on her face. ¡°You really are cute when you¡¯re flustered. So what¡¯s next?¡± Glancing down the road they traveled, Cole grimaced. ¡°We¡¯ll do a bit more here and then head towards Rabenhof, the Nineteenth district. It¡¯s a little rougher than Weinstadt. Especially at night. So keep sharp.¡± Lip curling in amusement at that, Natalie ran a hand along Cole¡¯s side. ¡°I¡¯ve got the senses of a Cat. You¡¯re the one who needs to focus.¡± Squeezing her close, Cole laughed. ¡°True enough.¡± They walked down one of Weinstadt¡¯s main streets and watched as the Street Lamps came to life. Pale yellow light bloomed from the top of each poll. The Glowstone reacted to the encroaching dark. Stepping close to one of the Lamps, Natalie watched as the caged stone steadily increased in brightness. Glowstones had been a relatively rare resource in Glockmire. Seeing them used for something mundane like street lighting was another reminder of what she¡¯d escaped. ¡°I know this is a dumb question, but what are Glowstones?¡± she asked Cole. Knowing it was probably common knowledge to anyone with a proper education. ¡°Amber,¡± he answered. ¡°Magically treated Amber. Gemstones and precious Metals react to magic in weird ways. Amber is especially good at trapping or producing light. I don¡¯t know why exactly.¡± ¡°Huh¡± was Natalie¡¯s answer. ¡°How¡¯d you know that?¡± Waiting until they were a little away from fellow pedestrians Cole answered. ¡°Isabelle implanted a sizable amount of ¡®Common knowledge¡¯ into me. I was born an Adult and she made sure I have the mind of one.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°Strange. I just know certain things. I don¡¯t remember learning them, and I have little context for the knowledge. It¡¯s just there in my mind. Reading, Writing, Mathematics, a shocking amount of magical trivia. Whatever she thought would be useful.¡± Cole¡¯s words made Natalie consider something she¡¯d never really thought about. ¡°How old are you?¡± That actually made Cole stop and frown. ¡°It¡¯s 1450, right?¡± Natalie let out a snort of amusement. Here she¡¯d been worried about not knowing things and Cole was questioning what year it was. ¡°Yep, at least till the Winter Solstice. It¡¯ll be a new year at Midnight then.¡± Nodding, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯m Eighteen, maybe nineteen. I don¡¯t exactly know.¡± A flat ¡°What?¡± escaped Natalie. ¡°Wait, wait, wait! I¡¯m older than you?!¡± Frowning, Cole said. ¡°I guess? You¡¯re what twenty, twenty-one?¡± Shaking her head in surprise, Natalie confirmed, ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m twenty. My birthday is the Second of Firstbloom.¡± then, more to herself said. ¡°You¡¯re really Eighteen?¡± A little sheepishly, Cole said. ¡°Probably? I don¡¯t exactly have a birthday.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± asked Natalie. For her, birthdays have always been important. Some of her best memories were celebrating her¡¯s or a family member''s Birthday. Scrunching up his face at some vague and unpleasant memories, Cole tried to describe his ¡®birth.¡¯ ¡°I was decanted over nearly a month. Then I spent another month or so having my mind¡­ assembled. So there isn¡¯t exactly a specific date for my¡­ creation?¡± he hesitated on that last word, uncertain if it was the best word for it. They walked in silence for a little bit as Natalie tried to wrap her mind around this. ¡°Okay then. Pick a Birthday¡± Confused, Cole asked, ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because I want to be able to celebrate it with you.¡± was her answer. ¡°Birthdays are when we get to celebrate a person. If you don¡¯t have a proper Birthday, then pick one. There are three hundred and sixty days in the year. Choose one.¡± After a moment''s consideration, Cole said, ¡°Thirtieth of Stormthaw. That will be my Birthday.¡± Curious, Natalie said, ¡°The Spring Equinox? Any reason why?¡± Shrugging, Cole said, ¡°It¡¯s the day I became a Paladin. I also generally just like the symbolism. The Equinox is a day of balance but also optimism. Winter has faded, and Summer is within sight.¡± ¡°Poetic¡± was Natalie¡¯s response. ¡°I¡¯ll be certain to remember that.¡± It was only then that Natalie noticed the feel of the city around them had changed. Cole had guided them off the main streets and down a few seedy avenues into a more ¡®colorful¡¯ part of Vindabon. ¡°I assume we''re in the Nineteenth district?¡± she whispered. As a grimy-looking man puked his guts out in an alley they passed. Cole nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll get close to a few unpleasant establishments and loop back around. See if we can pick up a tail.¡± Here in Rabenhof, the streets were tighter and less well-maintained. Giving Natalie the sense they were navigating some urban canyon. The tall tenement houses and their plain brick walls did little to alter that impression. Clotheslines dripped with icicles and clothes. Hanging between buildings like ragged banners. While worn-looking Vindabonites went about their business. There was none of the leisurely pace of other districts. The people here moved fast and efficiently. Going from task to task without any wasted time. Something about that tickled Natalie¡¯s mind and she kept finding herself watching people with strange intensity. After a little bit, she realized why. These people moved like prey. They moved like they were afraid. Something her new instincts were eager to notice. Frowning, Natalie was thankful she¡¯d fed before leaving. She was getting better at combating the intrusive thoughts of a Vampire, but a recent meal helped. Whispering to Cole, she relayed her observation. ¡°These people are afraid.¡± Cole made a noise of agreement. ¡°Yes, they are. I¡¯m trying to determine if it¡¯s general anxiety or something more specific.¡± Natalie gave Cole a questioning look, and he elaborated. ¡°I¡¯d imagine many of the Rioters were from neighborhoods like this. This could be smoke from that fire or something more.¡± Now that he mentioned it, Natalie saw more than one passing citizen with red, flaky skin. A God¡¯s displeasure marking them out. Passing into a larger street, Cole suddenly stopped. Natalie looked at him and saw a flicker of concern coupled with what might be embarrassment. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asked. Cole swallowed nervously. ¡°I realized where Antony¡¯s route is taking us.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Natalie looked to Cole, expecting him to elaborate. When he didn¡¯t she poked him. ¡°Well? Where are we headed?¡± Cole pointed down the road they¡¯d entered. Down in the distance was another street branching off this one. Unlike every other part of Rabenhof, this new street was properly illuminated. Lamps with tinted Glowstone shed red light all over the street. Frowning, Natalie looked at Cole. ¡°Red light? What does that mean? Danger?¡± Cole¡¯s lips quirked in a momentary smile. ¡°Of a sort, yes. Red Light is a sort of universal sign in the Holy League. Advertising¡­ Night Companions.¡± Natalie went through a whole series of emotions in about five seconds. Confusion, understanding, shock, revulsion, reassessment, embarrassment, and finally, amusement. ¡°You¡¯re pulling my leg.¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°Nope, Antony apparently walks through the Red Light Street every night.¡± Wrinkling her nose, Natalie said, ¡°How is this legal? People selling themselves like that?¡± Scratching a scarred chin, Cole carefully selected his words. ¡°It¡¯s not like in Glockmire where people are pressed into being Bloodslaves. It''s¡­ well¡­ I¡¯ve had it¡­ I¡¯ve had it described to be like any other sort of labor. A carpenter sells their time and skills, and so do these people.¡± A slightly scandalized Natalie asked, ¡°And how would you know this?¡± Blushing, Cole tried to find his words. Seeing Natalie jump to some unfavorable conclusions, he broke his silence. ¡°I¡¯ve spent time among the Night Companions.¡± Cole saw Natalie¡¯s eyebrow raise, and he almost shouted. ¡°Not like that!¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Trying to recover some dignity, he elaborated. ¡°I¡¯d¡­ I¡¯d rather not say, but I can tell you I¡¯ve never purchased a Night Companion¡¯s¡­labor.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyebrow just went higher, and Cole let out a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s not a pleasant story.¡± Natalie just kept looking at him. A deeper sigh escaped Cole. ¡°Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you. A few years ago, there was an incident among the Companions. Morri asked me to look into it because I¡¯m not a Priest. Having members of any Temple hanging around the Red Lights isn¡¯t a good look. So it fell to me.¡± Seeing that he was stalling, Natalie just kept up her accusatory look. Grinding his teeth, Cole got to the point. ¡°An expelled student of the Ivory Tower was using Necromancy to fill a¡­ niche market.¡± Confused, Natalie was about to ask him to elaborate when it dawned on her. A violent retching noise escaped her as she doubled over in disgust. ¡°Oh gods! You can¡¯t be serious!¡± Cole just shrugged, a little happy to see Natalie regretting her prodding. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised how often stuff like that happens. It¡¯s one of the lesser talked about duties of the Tenth Temple for obvious reasons.¡± Glancing down towards the Red Lights, Cole added. ¡°Thankfully, the Companions I talked with were eager to shut down the¡­ competition. They were extraordinarily helpful, and I had some interesting conversations with them.¡± Recovering slightly, Natalie hissed. ¡°I really wish I could throw up.¡± ¡°You asked,¡± remarked Cole, false innocence dripping from his voice. Swatting his leg and pulling herself up, Natalie grumbled. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m surprised. I love you Cole but I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve ever walked and talked without you sharing something utterly horrible.¡± Shrugging in agreement, Cole said, ¡°So, we¡¯ll take a detour?¡± Narrowing her eyes, Natalie adopted an evil grin under her scarf. ¡°Oh no. I¡¯m getting my revenge. Let¡¯s see how flustered you can get. To the Red Light Street, we go!¡± She set off then, a woman on a mission, and Cole trailed behind her. Stepping into the Red Light, Natalie blinked in shock. It was a chilly Darksol day, and there was an awful lot of skin on display. While no prude by any stretch, the sight of Night Companions advertising themselves under maroon awnings was a little more than the former Village Girl could handle. As her eyes slid off some very lovely women in revealing dresses, Natalie felt Cole¡¯s presence behind her. ¡°I¡¯ll get flustered, huh?¡± he said. Refusing to acknowledge him, Natalie pushed forward. A voice from a nearby pavilion called out, ¡°Hey there, cutie! Looking for someone to dance with you and Mr. Tall?¡± Glancing over at the voice¡¯s origin, a lovely woman with short blond hair and the type of lean physique dancers favor. Natalie tried to formulate a response. ¡°I¡­I¡­Ur¡­No, no, Thanks?¡± The Companion just smiled, ruby-red lips practically glowing in the light. ¡°Well, if you change your mind, come find me. I always like to play with couples, especially cute ones.¡± Cole took Natalie¡¯s hand and helped guide her forward. They received more than a few more offers as they continued down the road. Natalie became sincerely glad she wasn¡¯t projecting life outside her eyes. Turning red from blushing would not help. The shoe was truly on the other foot, with Cole calm and confident and Natalie nervous and flustered. Eventually, they passed through the valley of lust intact. Following Antony¡¯s route the best they could. Dipping into an alley, the Sheetmover used as a shortcut. Natalie asked something that had been bothering her. ¡°Why aren¡¯t we asking about the Coins? Surely other people might know more?¡± Cole glanced back at the Red Light Street and answered. ¡°I fear tipping our hand. That option remains open, but Cat-eyes and I both think we should try something a bit more subtle first.¡± They took another turn and stepped over a pile of half-frozen vomit. Heading towards a rowdy Bar. Laughter, curses, and shouts echoed out from the dingy building and Natalie noticed the hulking doorman leaning against the Bar¡¯s entrance. Nearly as tall as Cole, the doorman had green-gray skin and a pronounced underbite. A Half-Orc or something close to it. Beady eyes peered out from behind a heavy brow, and the Doorman growled, ¡°If you¡¯re bringing a Companion inside, you best be ready to pay for her drinks.¡± Natalie let out an indignant squawk at that and surged forward to correct the Doorman. Cole caught her and said, ¡°We¡¯re just passing by, and she¡¯s not a Companion.¡± The Doorman grunted. ¡°Huh, pretty enough to be. Well, never mind.¡± Taking another turn away from the Bar, Natalie huffed, ¡°I don¡¯t know if I should be insulted or complimented.¡± Cole just smiled at her indignation and guided them down a dark alley. They passed by a wall covered in crude graffiti and dodged piles of unidentifiable refuse. Holding her dress¡¯s hem up, Natalie sighed. ¡°You take me to the loveliest places.¡± The alley exited into a crowded street. A rogue market of cramped stalls and shouting peddlers took up much of the road. Creating a congested river of people and commerce. Leaning down, Cole whispered, ¡°Keep a hand on your coin purse,¡± as they entered the stream. This market was a jagged twin to the others Natalie had seen in the city. Similar in many ways but meaner and harder in every way that counted. One merchant sold vicious-looking Gryps in cages barely large enough for the Avian-Feline hybrids. Another hawked bottles of questionable Alchemy. Nearby a blind Hedge Mage offered talismans that glowed and buzzed with cheap magic. Natalie idly noticed one peddler selling a cure for Sunburns and making good silver. Hand tight on her coin purse, Natalie followed after Cole. A fish trailing in a whale''s wake. The crowd shied away from Cole, smooshing themselves together rather than touch the scarred man. Looking up at his broad shoulders, Natalie wondered why. Was it his appearance or something more? Some part of Natalie was amused at how Cole was the one who scared the crowd. She, by contrast, got more than a few crude looks and lewd remarks from passersby. These people shied away from the Paladin but eagerly baited the Vampire. The darkness in her whispered how easy it would be to lure one of these lechers somewhere quiet and feed. She ignored the impulse and let Cole lead her into a side street. While less crowded, the road was still busy with clumps of people moving to and fro. It was just before dinner time, and the whole Nineteenth district seemed to be on the move. More than once, Natalie swore she felt a tug on her coin purse, but her solid grip kept it in hand. Checking to make sure it hadn¡¯t been cut, Natalie almost didn¡¯t notice Cole had turned again until he gently grabbed her hand and pulled her to their next destination. This alley was empty except for the couple. Glancing around it, Cole nodded to himself. ¡°We¡¯re being followed.¡± Quickly tucking away her coin purse Natalie asked, ¡°Are you sure?¡± Shaking his head, Cole answered, ¡°Not completely, but I¡¯ve seen the same face three times since we left the Red Lights.¡± Looking up, Cole noticed a slight overhang on one of the nearby buildings. Pointing up at it, Cole asked, ¡°Can you climb up there?¡± In response, Natalie leaped into the air and pulled herself up onto the ledge. It was little more than a groove separating the structure''s first and second floor, but Natalie could stand on it no problem. Nodding in appreciation, Cole laid out his plan. ¡°We¡¯re going to wait and see if our tail is real. If someone comes, I¡¯ll try to grab them. You¡¯re faster than me, so if they slip away, you pounce.¡± Natalie jerked her head in acknowledgment and watched Cole prepare. Taking out his axe Requiem, Cole nicked a finger and smeared blood on his forehead. Creating a simple sigil while he muttered an incantation. ¡°Marked brow, hidden now.¡± A tiny trickle of magic covered Cole. A crude concealment spell meant to provide him a little stealth. It wouldn¡¯t stand up to any proper inspection, but it should make careless eyes slide off him. Which was all he¡¯d need. They waited then, Natalie deathly (literally) still on her perch. Cole leaned against the alley wall, cloaked by his mantle and the shadows. It didn¡¯t take long for footsteps to reach Natalie¡¯s sensitive ears as the pursuer entered the alley. The steps stopped for a second as if their source was unsure. Then sped up, clearly thinking their quarry had slipped away. As the pursuer approached, Natalie saw him clearly, even in the dark. A weary-looking man straddling adulthood and middle age, with lank brown hair and plain, if well-kept, clothes. He glanced around the alley, looking for something. Natalie didn¡¯t know what he was looking for, but he certainly found Cole¡¯s fist. The Pursuer doubled over as Cole stepped out of the shadows and introduced his hand to the man¡¯s stomach. Crumpling to his knees the Pursuer wheezed and spluttered, trying to gulp down the wind knocked from him. Gripping his collar, Cole yanked the man up and pinned him against the alley wall. The Pursuer tried weekly to resist, thrashing slightly, but Cole¡¯s other hand pressed against his chest. A firm unmovable weight that promised broken ribs if tested. In a polite tone, Cole asked, ¡°Would you explain why you¡¯re following us?¡± The Pursuer struggled to regain his breath, finally rasping out, ¡°I¡­I wasn¡¯t!¡± Cole¡¯s eyes skimmed the Aether and saw the truth. Puffs of fear and hope swirled around the man. Taking his hand from the Pursuer¡¯s collar, Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold coin. ¡°Really? Then would you happen to know anything about this coin?¡± Recognition, confusion, worry, and fear soiled the Aether, and Cole nodded in confirmation. ¡°So you were following us. Tracing the spell and watching the coin bearer, I assume?¡± more fear and shock from the Pursuer. Cole watched as the captive man tried to muster his courage. Trapped in a dark alley by a scarred giant had shaken him. His exposure and the coin¡¯s presence had opened up cracks of fear he was desperately trying to plaster shut. ¡°Give me the coin, and let me go. If you don''t, bad things will happen.¡± Natalie jumped down, landing in a puff of snow and swirling fabric. The coin follower¡¯s eyes flicked to her, but a little pressure on his chest from Cole stole his attention back. Putting a little iron into his voice, Cole growled, ¡°Like what? You¡¯ll drug me and rip my heart out? Add a twelfth victim to your tally?¡± The Pursuer blanched and squeaked, ¡°No! No! No! That¡¯s not what I meant.¡± Frowning, Natalie stepped closer and asked, ¡°Then what did you mean.¡± Glancing between them the Pursuer hissed. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you. Please just give me the coin and forget about all this.¡± Cole put a little pressure on the man¡¯s chest and got a gasp of pain from him. Struggling to suck in a breath, he squealed. ¡°I CAN''T TELL YOU!¡± Natalie put a hand on Cole¡¯s arm and said, ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡± Frowning she leaned in towards the man and gripped his jaw. Cole saw fear pulse in the Aether as Natalie pulled the man¡¯s jaw open and looked into his mouth. Her sensitive eyes had caught something every time the Pursuer spoke. Something she now confirmed. ¡°Cole! His Tongue! Something¡¯s on his tongue?¡± Without hesitation, Cole pocketed the coin and gripped the man¡¯s tongue. Pulling it into the open and revealing the sigil marking it. A large black tattoo of a Dragon and Lion entwined together. The circular mark was bordered by fell runes that made Cole¡¯s eyes itch. His Aether sight seeing the power bound into the mark and how it effected the man. Letting go of the marked tongue, Cole wiped his hand on the man¡¯s shirt and said, ¡°You meant that literally, didn¡¯t you? You can¡¯t tell us even if you wanted to.¡± The marked man nodded jerkily. Sighing, Cole asked, ¡°What¡¯s your name? Can you at least tell me that?¡± Another jerky nod, no. ¡°Can¡¯t reveal anything important.¡± the marked man spat. Sighing, Cole struck the marked man. Knocking him out with a single clean blow. Natalie watched as he crumpled to the ground. ¡°Why¡¯d you do that?¡± Reaching into a pocket, Cole grabbed a length of rope he¡¯d collected from his gear when they¡¯d deposited their purchases back at the Temple earlier. ¡°So I can get him back to the Guards without issue. That mark on his tongue is a Geas. A magical compulsion he needs to obey. If the compulsion said to kill himself rather than be captured, he would.¡± Repulsed, Natalie said, ¡°That¡¯s horrible!¡± Hoisting his bound prisoner onto his back, Cole grunted in agreement. ¡°It is. Geases are illegal in all but the rarest situations. Having one bound into your flesh like that? That¡¯s an act of enslavement.¡± Disgusted, Natalie asked, ¡°So I guess Black-tongue here isn¡¯t the killer?¡± Nodding, Cole checked the alley and started out, ¡°Probably their servant. Sent to watch or collect the coin. Which isn¡¯t good. The killer¡¯s probably suspicious and will definitely be when ¡®Black-tongue¡¯ doesn¡¯t report back.¡± Letting out a sigh, he added, ¡°We¡¯d best get him to the Guards and hope someone can break the Geas.¡± They slipped out of the alley and cut through side streets with haste. The sight of Cole and his prisoner caught more than a few looks, but no one stopped them. Which, while convenient, spoke poorly of the district. Passing by the Bar from earlier, Natalie heard a panicked scream from behind them. Whirling around as Cole reached for his axe, Natalie found the scream¡¯s source. Standing in the Bar¡¯s doorway, finger pointed at her, was Thick-brows. The sole survivor of her massacre on the night of the riot. Leaning against the doorframe, shaking hand out, Thick-brows was trying to find a word. Natalie knew what word it was, and couldn¡¯t afford for it to be spoken. She might be under the Temples''s protection, but being exposed here in the middle of the city would not be good. Panic surged in Natalie, and she felt alien instincts answer it. Following them out of desperation, she met Thick-brow¡¯s eyes. Focusing her will and mind into the gesture. An immaterial bridge snapped into being, connecting them. An instant flood of information assaulted Natalie. Thick-brows was intoxicated and distressed. His mind was a fragile thing trying desperately to grasp the word Vampire. With an effort, Natalie slammed her mind against his and stole away the word. Thick-brows stumbled back like he¡¯d been hit and fell unconscious. The bridge snapped, and Natalie blinked away jumbled thoughts not her own. Turning back to Cole, she saw his brow was furrowed. He leaned down, blocking her with his body. ¡°Your eyes are red.¡± Wincing, Natalie shut them and took a few useless breaths. Forcing her heart to beat and her mind to calm. Opening her eyes, she whispered, ¡°Better?¡± Cole nodded, and ¡°Yes, what happened?¡± Glancing around at the looks they were getting Natalie answered ¡°Not here, let''s get back to the Guards.¡± They pushed forward, leaving the knocked-out Thick-brows and slight crowd his outburst had created. It didn¡¯t take them long to leave the dingy streets of Rabenhof. Only then did someone stop them. ¡°Hey! Hey you! What are you doing with that man?¡± a concerned-looking Guard trotted up, spear held tight in his hands. Cole grabbed his Amulet and held it up; as he explained, blue light issued from it. ¡°This man is under a dangerous magical compulsion. I¡¯m a Paladin of the Tenth Temple. We¡¯re taking him to the Thirteenth District Guard Tower.¡± The Guard blanched and made a warding gesture. ¡°Fire and iron! You¡¯re the Paladin?¡± Cole nodded and kept moving. The Guard spluttered and weakly said, ¡°Thank you. Some of my friends were injured during the Riot. Thank you for ending it.¡± Cole glanced at the Guard and said, ¡°The Gods ended it; I just helped them.¡± Natalie wanted to roll her eyes, Cole just couldn¡¯t take praise at all. The Guard found himself trotting up after them. ¡°Let me escort you!¡± Considering it, Cole decided having someone to ward off more concerns was a good idea. ¡°Alright, I¡¯d appreciate it.¡± They made quick time back to Weinstadt and the Guard Tower. Once it was in sight, Cole nodded to the Guard. ¡°We¡¯ll be okay from here. Thank you.¡± The Guard nodded and trotted off. Leaving Cole and Natalie alone on an empty street. Checking to make sure the prisoner was still unconscious, Cole asked. ¡°What happened with that man?¡± Natalie nervously said, ¡°Uh, you remember how I met with the Werehawk and stopped Rioters from killing him?¡± Narrowing his eyes, Cole answered, ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Well¡­ things got messy. I¡¯d been injured and lost my amulet in the fall. The thugs who tried to hurt him also tried to take me for¡­ foul reasons. I killed them all except the one we just saw. I got control back and let him run. He must have recognized me.¡± Shutting his eyes in grim resignation, Cole asked, ¡°Did you devour any of them? Feed on them till they died?¡± Natalie shook her head. ¡°No. I¡­ I remembered the last time I did that, and the memory stopped me.¡± Letting out a relieved breath, Cole spoke softly. ¡°When a Vampire devours someone, they don¡¯t just kill them; they rip off a piece of their soul and absorb it. It makes the Vampire stronger, and it¡¯s incredibly addictive. I¡­ don¡¯t want to see you suffer that, Natalie.¡± Licking her fangs, Natalie shifted uncomfortably. ¡°You¡¯re not mad I didn¡¯t tell you?¡± Cole sighed. ¡°I¡¯m a little disappointed. I can understand your reluctance but remember what we promised each other. No secrets.¡± Shrinking slightly, Natalie muttered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. When I lost control¡­ It was ugly, and I¡­ I didn¡¯t want you to know.¡± Holding out a hand, Cole took Natalie¡¯s and whispered, ¡°Love, I¡¯ve seen ugliness and horror I hope you never learn of. You acted in self-defense, and you managed to reclaim your sanity before things went too far. It¡¯s not a great situation, but it could be worse.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Natalie¡¯s free hand went to her own amulet, and she squeezed it. Letting the Aetheric cold consume her fingers. Before they set out, Cole added one last thing. ¡°That power you used. Mental domination is one of the crueler skills Vampires possess. Be careful with it.¡± He didn¡¯t meet her eyes and Natalie sensed the pain in those words. ¡°I¡¯ll only use if I¡¯ve no other options.¡± Cole hesitated but accepted that. They entered the Guard Tower using a key Cat-eyes had provided. Heading up the stairs and to the investigation floor, Cole and Natalie entered the war-room. To find Cat-eyes and Mina sitting close together. Very close together. Both Priestess and Warden leaped back from each other with remarkable speed. Upon seeing who¡¯d entered, Mina looked mortified and Alia annoyed. Those expressions turned to shock when they realized what Cole had slung over his shoulder. ¡°Bloody bits!¡± hissed Alia. ¡°Did you catch him!¡± Shaking his head, Cole set the prisoner on the ground, leaning him up against the chamber wall. ¡°Unfortunately, no. But we did catch the man sent to find the coin. So hopefully, he can tell us more once the Geas is removed.¡± ¡°Geas?¡± asked Mina as she came forward to the unconscious man. Setting a hand on his head, she murmured something and turned to Cole. ¡°Mild concussion. Was knocking him out strictly necessary?¡± Kneeling down, Cole opened up Black-tongues mouth and showed him her tongue. ¡°I feared there was a suicide command buried in the Geas.¡± Alia and Mina both squatted down to look at the mark while Natalie leaned against a nearby wall. ¡°Fuck me!¡± spat Alia; turning to Mina, she said, ¡°Is that-¡± ¡°Yes, a House Mark,¡± answered Mina. Rubbing her face in sudden exhaustion, Mina turned to Cole. ¡°In the past, the Noble Houses used to put Geases on their most important servants. Binding them to the utmost secrecy. But these marks have been horrifically illegal for centuries. I can¡¯t believe someone¡¯s actually used one!¡± Narrowing his eyes, Cole asked, ¡°Can you tell which house he ¡®belongs¡¯ to?¡± Looking closer, Mina squinted at the mark. ¡°No, it¡¯s not any sigil I recognize. But that make¡¯s sense. How dumb would you have to be to tattoo a Geas victim with your family sigil? Sighing, Cole rubbed his face. ¡°Fair enough. I guess we just need to figure out how to break it then.¡± Book II: Chapter 25: Geas and Guests

Chapter 25: Geas and Guests

¡°MISSING: Michelle Stine. Aged 51 years and employed as Governess. She was last seen leaving her place of employment, Louon Manor. House Louon and her two children will handsomely reward any information about her disappearance or safe return.¡± - Caption on a ragged poster in Vindabon¡¯s Ninth District.
¡°Well, why don¡¯t we just stab his tongue?¡± asked Alia. The group looked at the Warden like she was insane. Shrugging, she added, ¡°It¡¯ll destroy the House Mark and break the Geas, right? So I put my knife through his tongue; Mina stops the bleeding, and we¡¯re good to go.¡± Mina let out a sigh. ¡°I¡¯m no expert on Geases, but I doubt that would work.¡± she glanced at Cole for confirmation. He nodded. ¡°Destroying the actual mark would at best have no effect on the Geas. At worst, it could trigger a backlash or countermeasure.¡± Natalie stepped over then. ¡°What sort of countermeasure?¡± Wincing, Cole thought of the time he¡¯d seen a Geas breached. ¡°Nothing pretty.¡± Mina was about to ask, but Natalie stopped her. ¡°If he doesn¡¯t want to elaborate, then you really don¡¯t want to know.¡± Cole¡¯s lovely stories about the Red Light Street still haunted her. ¡°So what do we do?¡± asked Alia as she checked Black-tongue¡¯s pockets. Scratching his cheek, Cole thought about that. ¡°Mina, can you look into the House Mark and see if the Sigil matches anything?¡± she nodded in confirmation, and Cole looked to Alia. ¡°Can you poke around and see if there has been anything similar to this in the Guard records?¡± ¡°On it.¡± she answered before triumphantly pulling a slip of cloth out of Black-tongue¡¯s pocket. ¡°Aha! What do we have here?¡± Getting up, Alia put the slip of fabric on the table. It was a small length of white fabric marked with an arcane sigil and a brown stain. Touching the sigil, Alia¡¯s eyes widened, and she stumbled slightly. Mina cursed and went towards her. Alia let go of the fabric swatch and held out a hand. ¡°I¡¯m okay, just startled me.¡± Ignoring her words, Mina got close and checked Alia¡¯s pulse and eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t go touching unknown magics!¡± she snapped while confirming Cat-eyes was alright. Brushing Mina off after some fussing, Alia said ¡°It¡¯s alright. The tracking spell is bound to the swatch. When I touched the mark, I felt where the coin was.¡± Frowning, Cole asked for elaboration. ¡°Explain?¡± Gesturing towards the marked fabric, Alia tried to find the right words. ¡°Y¡¯know how you have a mental map? Like a general idea of places you¡¯ve been and shit? Well, when I held the fabric, I knew where the coin was. Its location was just there in my head. Part of the map.¡± Concerned, Cole asked, ¡°Could you tell who had it or where it had been?¡± Shaking her head, Cat-eyes reached out for the spell cloth, but Mina stopped her. ¡°You don¡¯t know if there''s anything else attached to the spell. Stop touching it until we know more about it!¡± Shrugging, Alia thought about her small experience. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. It was just a vague sense of where the Coin is.¡± Pausing to look at the swatch, Cole muttered, ¡°We know how he was tracking us.¡± Putting on a glove, he picked up the fabric and examined it. The brown stain was, as he expected, dried blood. Probably the Spell¡¯s fuel. Sniffing the swatch, Cole ignored the looks he got from his compatriots and tried to learn anything else. To his surprise, he caught something outside the usual smells of life in Vindabon. A spice of some kind, it reminded Cole of mint but had a slight acridness as well. Frowning, Cole set the swatch down and racked his memory. The smell was vaguely familiar, but he couldn¡¯t place it. Grunting in mild annoyance, he said, ¡°Natalie and I will go to the Temple and see if we can get any help in breaking the Geas. Barring that, we can try the Ivory Tower. The Token Seer owes us for probably triggering Iron-Teeth¡¯s heart attack.¡± Mina and Alia both shivered upon recalling their last visit to that institution. Looking at the table and everything they¡¯d gathered, Mina said, ¡°The Captain¡¯s coming in and out of consciousness. He¡¯s run himself ragged and paying the consequences.¡± looking around the group, she finished her thought. ¡°We have a duty to the City and its people, and we can¡¯t complete it if we break ourselves trying. So let¡¯s play it smart.¡± The group nodded as one, accepting her concern. Glancing down at their prisoner, Alia toed him with her boot. ¡°So while we''re busy, what do we do with him?¡± Sighing, Cole answered. ¡°Gag him and keep him bound. Put him in a comfortable cell and have someone watch him. It¡¯s probably not the most ethical option, but it should work for now.¡± Cat-eyes nodded, grabbed Black-tongue¡¯s collar, and dragged him from the room. Her Werefolk physique let her haul him without issue. A physique Mina was surreptitiously admiring. Natalie let out a snort of amusement at the sight and followed Cole out of the war room. Leaving the Tower, Natalie absently said, ¡°By the solstice, they will be dating.¡± Cole suppressed a chuckle. ¡°When did you become a pessimist? I¡¯m betting by the end of tomorrow.¡± Leaning against Cole as she walked, Natalie laughed. ¡°I¡¯ll accept that wager. What will I owe you if I lose?¡± Shrugging, Cole said, ¡°A kiss?¡± Eyebrows raised, Natalie mused, ¡°How tame. You¡¯d think our journey down the Red Light Street would have inspired you.¡± Lips quirked slightly; Cole added, ¡°I never said where.¡± Natalie cackled at that and took his hand. ¡°All right, we have a bet. Loser owes the winner a kiss.¡± They shook on it and headed towards the Temple. As they walked, Natalie looked up at the clear night sky. ¡°Hey Cole¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± he grunted. ¡°I had fun today. Thank you.¡± Squeezing her hand, Cole said, ¡°I did as well.¡± Little was said, but much was meant. They both bore scars, Cole¡¯s might be a bit more visible, but they both had them. The day had been a (relative) break from the bloodshed and madness that had defined their lives. A little respite had done wonders for them both as people and as a couple.
A weary-looking Morri did not appreciate having his sleep plans delayed by Cole¡¯s request. Still, the Hierophant listened to what had transpired and offered his opinion. ¡°Go speak with Keeper Nyami; she¡¯s the one you want for this sort of thing.¡± Rubbing a bit of the exhaustion from his eyes, Morri added, ¡°And I don¡¯t think you need to worry about waking her. Nyami keeps odd hours. She may be a Priestess of the Temple, but at her heart, she¡¯s a scholar. The Ivory Tower actually tried to poach her back when she was an Acolyte.¡± Nodding in thanks, Cole asked, ¡°Any word about Dietrich or the city''s decisions?¡± Morri glanced at the waiting Natalie and sighed. ¡°They are skeptical. The Council and Court are none too pleased with us outmaneuvering them. Your warnings are falling on deaf ears.¡± Shifting slightly, trying to undo the knot of worry growing in her, Natalie started to ask, ¡°Is there anything we can-¡± Morri stopped her with a raised hand and a tired smile. ¡°It¡¯s not all doom and darkness. I informed the other Temples about your Stigma, and they are supporting your Asylum status. That¡¯s got the Court willing to back off for now.¡± looking at Cole, he continued, ¡°Also, just because the City isn¡¯t doing anything doesn¡¯t mean nothing is being done. I¡¯ve trained, helped, or fought alongside every Restbringer in the region. I put the word out, and they¡¯ll be looking for this Scarlet Knight. Even if the City isn¡¯t looking for the bastard, the servants of the Tenth Temple are.¡± A relieved breath escaped Natalie. She¡¯d not thought highly of Morri after their first meeting. The old Priest¡¯s reaction to her (while probably justified) hadn¡¯t been pleasant. Natalie was quickly reassessing that opinion. Whenever she spoke with Morri, she better understood Cole¡¯s respect for him. ¡°Thank you for your help,¡± said Cole. Morri just waved them off and headed towards his room. Looking down the Temple hallway, Cole paused to consider. ¡°We can probably find Nyami at the Library or her laboratory.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked, ¡°Laboratory? She has a laboratory?¡± Cole guided them down the hallway and towards a staircase. ¡°Yes, she¡¯s the Temples¡¯ Keeper of Mysteries. Magical theory and all that fall under her purview.¡± The laboratory in question was underground and slightly secluded. Nestled into the rock below the Temple and hidden behind winding passageways. Natalie had started to think she¡¯d gotten a pretty good mental map of the Temple complex. As they reached the laboratory and its nearby chambers, she was forced to update that map considerably. The Tenth Temple of Vindabon had more in common with a keep than any country parish. Stretching multiple stories above and below ground. Cole knocked on the laboratory door. When nothing happened, he knocked again. Looking at Natalie, he shrugged and went to touch the door¡¯s handle. It swung open just as he was about to grab it. Revealing Nyami¡¯s laboratory. The stink of chemicals issued out of the open doorway in a veritable cloud. While the flutter of papers foretold the mess of scattered books, notes, and scrolls, they found littering every surface of the chamber. Small and well-lit, the laboratory held multiple tables, shelves, and benches. All surrounding a central ritual circle. Engraved into the room¡¯s floor, the two-meter wide circle was the only unobstructed part of the laboratory. Kneeling in the center of the circle was Keeper Nyami. Opening a single brown eye, she looked at Cole and Natalie. ¡°The Paladin and the Alukah? What do I owe the pleasure?¡± Bowing slightly, Cole laid out his purpose. ¡°Hierophant. I come seeking your aid in breaking a Geas.¡± That got Nyami to open both her eyes. Standing up with an audible crack of old joints, the Priestess beamed. ¡°A Geas? Oh, now that sounds like a fun puzzle. Lead on deary!¡± Blinking in surprise, Cole nodded and waited as Nyami found her shoes and winter coat. He¡¯d expected Nyami to be more reluctant to leave her studies. But, he wasn¡¯t about to question her eagerness to help. Leaving the Temple and heading for the Guard Tower, Cole, and Natalie told Nyami all they could about the Geas and its bearer. The old Priestess listened with interest. Making a slight humming noise as she absorbed the situation. ¡°Hmmmm. A House Mark Geas? I¡¯ve not seen one of those in¡­ forty, no, fifty years? Oh, that was a scandal. House Dresmier had kept their involvement with the Vanni Syndicate secret using a Geas. I wonder if any of that family still lives? Eh, I know the children weren¡¯t punished, so they are probably out there somewhere. Not nobility anymore, that''s for certain. Oh, listen to me prattle on! An old woman¡¯s favorite vice.¡± Natalie said, ¡°I don¡¯t mind. I¡¯ve long learned you can pick up all sorts of wisdom from our elders that way.¡± Nyami chuckled. ¡°Oh, you are a lovely little thing, aren¡¯t you?¡± Turning to Cole, she whispered almost conspiratorially, ¡°Vampire or not, you could have done a lot worse, Paladin.¡± Despite himself, Cole¡¯s lips quirked in a smile at that. Natalie just snorted in amusement. They arrived at the Guard Tower soon after and made their way to the holding cells. Cat-eyes had been going through the Guard records when they arrived and joined them. Mina had apparently left to see if she could find a book on old Heraldry. Black-tongue was leaning against the cell wall, hands, and legs bound, gag in his mouth. He was awake but did not look well. Upon seeing him, Nyami made a disapproving hum and swatted Cole on the side. ¡°People under Geases are often victims. They deserve more dignity than what you¡¯ve afforded this poor fellow.¡± Grimacing, Cole explained his actions. ¡°I feared the Geas had some sort of self-harm trigger to it. Binding him seemed the safest option.¡± Nyami looked at Cole with exasperated disapproval. ¡°Do you know how hard it is to magically compel someone to commit suicide? Only the most powerful, complex, or insidious Geases could do that. I seriously doubt a petty House Mark has that sort of potency.¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°After everything that has happened, I¡¯d prefer not to take the risk.¡± A neutral hum escaped Nyami, and she approached Black-tongue. Cole followed behind her, and she gently chided him. ¡°I¡¯m a Hierophant and a Magi deary. Your worry is appreciated but not needed.¡± Staying at the cell entrance, Cole watched as Nyami pulled the gag from Black-tongue. Muttering as she did. ¡°Oh, honestly, Paladins are all alike. Protective to a fault.¡± Once the gag was free, Black-tongue snapped his mouth shut, and Nyami sighed in annoyance. Holding one hand out, she made a gesture, and invisible hands pried Black-tongue¡¯s mouth open and pulled his mark into the open. The telekinetic skill involved was impressive, and Natalie idly wondered if Isabelle could teach her anything like it. Nyami pulled a pair of spectacles from her pocket and put them on. The lenses glowed with silver light and Nyami hummed in interest. ¡°Oh, this won¡¯t be too hard to deal with. Give me an hour, and I can wrap this up for evening meals.¡± Alia glanced at Cole, eyebrow raised. Dinner time came and went three hours ago. Ignoring her unspoken question, Cole spoke to the Hierophant. ¡°Thank you, your help it¡¯s greatly appreciated.¡± Nyami waved him off and set to work. Setting her hands on either side of Black-tongue¡¯s face and muttering an incantation. Alia left to keep working, and after a few minutes, Natalie dragged Cole away. ¡°You heard the Priestess. She can take care of herself, besides the cell is guarded.¡± she gestured to the bored-looking watchmen as they passed him. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Cole grunted in acquiescence and followed her into the war room. They found Cat-eyes pouring over record books. A violently bored expression on her face. Looking up at them she gestured to some of the other books and said ¡°Any help would be appreciated.¡± Frowning, Natalie said, ¡°Uhh¡­ Is that¡­ that a good idea?¡± Alia blinked in momentary confusion. ¡°Oh right, Vampire. I keep forgetting that.¡± pausing, she looked at the small stack of record books and said, ¡°Fuck it. You¡¯re literally in bed with the Paladin. Just help me.¡± Natalie was sorely tempted to just turn around and leave. Instead, she sat down and pulled one of the books towards her. ¡°You can be a bitch, you know that, Alia?¡± Not even looking up from the text, she was flipping through Cat-eyes answered, ¡°Yep, now help me.¡± Gesturing at the texts, Alia explained her search. ¡°I¡¯ve got the records of all flesh-peddling cases for the past fifty years. That brown tome by you is a volume of magical crimes. While the one by Cole is a collection of missing people..¡± With that, they got to work. Cole flipped through the tome of missing people and became increasingly worried. Vindabon had a disturbingly large number of missing people. Cole tried to tell himself the amount was simply an effect of the city''s size and nature. It was a trade and cultural hub for the eastern Holy League. People came and went as their fortunes changed. Some left quickly, escaping debt or pursuing opportunities without telling people. But even that couldn¡¯t explain the sheer number of odd disappearances. Over the last ten years, the number had steadily increased, with people from all walks of life vanishing without a trace. Looking through the cases, Cole wondered how much of this was the Demon¡¯s fault. Its cult had been luring people into its grip for an unknown length of time. The sacrifice pillar and the black coral formations would explain much of these disappearances, but not all. Grimacing, Cole rubbed the scar along his left cheek and flipped through the text. Most of the recent cases were among the poor and near-destitute. Barely documented by the city and noticeable only through sheer numbers. Those Cole could pretty confidently place upon the Demon¡¯s shoulders. Others, though, were a bit stranger. A number of servants from different noble families had vanished without a trace. They weren¡¯t employed by the same family but scattered among all the different Aristocratic Houses. To Cole¡¯s eyes, it seemed almost every House of Vindabon had lost one or two servants mysteriously over the past ten years. Something about that made Cole¡¯s scars prickle. It stunk of hidden foulness and opulent secrets. The Paladin had long learned to recognize those signs from his time among the Vampires. He¡¯d need to investigate this more thoroughly. Even if it wasn¡¯t connected to the Heartstealer murders, it required his attention. Looking up from his text, Cole was about to ask Cat-eyes for more information when the war room¡¯s door opened. A thoughtful-looking Keeper Nyami stood in it. ¡°There''s a problem.¡± Setting the book down, Cole got to his feet. ¡°What kind of problem?¡± Nyami almost smiled. ¡°The interesting kind.¡± Cole, Natalie and Alia followed Nyami back to the cells and found Black-tongue sitting there with a weary expression. Pointing to the prisoner, Nyami explained. ¡°I started dispelling the Geas but ran into a rather messy complication. He doesn¡¯t want it removed.¡± ¡°What?¡± asked Alia, looking at Black-tongue. ¡°He doesn¡¯t want the magical mind slavery gone?¡± Nyami nodded absently. ¡°Yes, he resisted my efforts to remove it. I tried to explain it to him, but our guest here resists quite ardently. From what I could see of the spell, he consented to it. This is less of a case of Geas enforced servitude and more of a¡­ contract? It¡¯s hard to explain, but it''s certainly interesting.¡± Peaking into the cell, Natalie asked, ¡°Can you just break the Geas without his consent? Could it be forcing his mind into thinking he needs to have it. I¡¯ve seen mind magic do things like that before.¡± Stroking her chin, Nyami offered, ¡°That is a possibility, but I doubt it. You can not alter a person''s mind like that without serious consequences. No, I think we¡¯re dealing with something much more mundane than mind-warping. Our guest here is loyal to whoever put the Geas on him.¡± Stepping close and looking into Black-tongue¡¯s eyes, Nyami added, ¡°To answer your other question, I cannot break a Geas without his consent. Imagine a locked door. I can pick the lock and open the door once that¡¯s done. But if someone on the other side of the door tries to keep it shut, then even if it¡¯s unlocked, it can¡¯t be opened. Not without force that is. Force I¡¯m unwilling to use.¡± Natalie opened her mouth, about to offer her new skills but thought better of it. Cole was right; the power to manipulate minds was dangerous. Both in the damage, it could do and the temptation it offered the user. Looking at Cole, she asked the question they were all thinking. ¡°What now?¡±
:: The Next Day :: Dietrich did the impossible. He stared up at the Sun and survived. Its golden light banished even the winter''s chill and left a prickly itching sensation wherever it touched. The sensation stirred long-dormant memories of life among a Mercenary company long destroyed. Marching between battles under a hot summer sun, watching the sunset with a woman whose name he¡¯d long forgotten. Dietrich thought he¡¯d made peace with his existence. The day was denied him, but the night was his to rule. That is until Francesco Scapin offered him the blood of the Alukah. Opening up half the world with a few drops. ¡°How long will you keep staring?¡± asked a nearby Francesco Scapin. Dietrich blinked away the sunspots and followed after the Agent of the Ashen Door. Sighing, Francesco whispered, ¡°Well, at least Vindabon is impressive. People will think you¡¯re a country mercenary awed by the city.¡± Grunting in confirmation, Dietrich absently adjusted his scale mail. The cheap armor didn¡¯t fit him properly, and the longsword at his belt felt like a flimsy stick. He missed his equipment and loathed needing to leave it with Yara. Trying to refocus on the task at hand, Dietrich walked behind Francesco, observing the city of Vindabon during the day. Dietrich had visited the city before, back when he¡¯d been mortal. In the hundred and fifty years since then, not much had changed. The buildings were, perhaps, on average taller and the streets more crowded, but little else was different. As they moved through the streets a large man bumped into Dietrich and snapped ¡°Watch it!¡± Face twitching with anger, Dietrich reached for Lex, only to realize his sword wasn¡¯t there. An annoyed Fransesco gestured for him to follow. ¡°Honestly, Dietrich. Have some subtlety. We cannot use our abilities without alerting the city.¡± Looking back at the rude stranger, Dietrich growled, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t need them for someone like him.¡± Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Scapin snapped, ¡°Not the point. Now let''s keep moving; we have an appointment to make.¡± They trudged through the busy streets of Vindabon, heading towards a box-shaped building of stone and narrow windows. To Dietrich, it looked like the single most uninspired Castle to ever exist. He vaguely remembered passing it while alive but never bothered to investigate the structure. ¡°This is our destination?¡± he asked, pointing a finger at the squat cube of stone. ¡°What is it?¡± Scapin looked annoyed at the question but decided to answer it. ¡°The Chamber of Coin and Communication. Or the Vault, as the locals call it. It¡¯s a palace of bureaucracy and storage. Where the minutiae of merchants and messengers take place.¡± Dietrich frowned. He disliked the flowery way Scapin spoke almost as much as he disliked entering into one of the city''s most important buildings. They were limited in how long they could be in the city. The two drops of Alukah''s blood should give them six hours of freedom if they didn¡¯t use their powers. If they were trapped in the Vault until the blood wore off they¡¯d be doomed. The city¡¯s defenses would react to their exposed nature and there would be no escape. Still, Dietrich followed Scapin and entered the Vault. He¡¯d run out of options, and working with the Ashen Agent was his best bet. The doors to the building were huge things of metal and wood, open but guarded. A trio of fully armored soldiers stood at attention. Only letting Scapin pass when he produced a wooden card containing information about this supposed meeting. To Dietrich¡¯s surprise, the Guards did not make him surrender his sword. They apparently thought little of the threat a single blade might pose. The main gallery of the Vault was a huge hall of cold stone and austere decoration. Counters lined the hall¡¯s walls, with different bits of business dealt with at each. Scapin went to a station marked ¡®appointments¡¯ and the bored-looking woman sitting at it. Dietrich hung back while Scapin did his business. He only caught snippets of the conversation, the daylight muffling his senses. Something he¡¯d yet to compensate for. The woman laughed and gave Scapin directions. He tipped his hat to her, a gaudy thing of green and feathers, and set off. Dietrich caught up with him and asked, ¡°How did you manage to make all this work?¡± Scapin looked at him, carved amusement on his face. ¡°I sent a letter and scheduled an appointment. Saying we are representatives of the Matthaus Company here with a message from the Archduke.¡± Dietrich¡¯s eyes widened in shock, and he had to force himself not to grab Scapin. ¡°You did what?¡± Giving him that same fixed expression, Scapin elaborated. ¡°Communication is key in matters of statecraft, trade, and espionage, even during times of War. The Archduke knows this, and so do the more intelligent leaders of the Holy League. The Matthaus Company is more than a mercantile organization. It¡¯s a front for the Ashen Door. One that lets us sneak and peek into our rival nations.¡± Dietrich glanced around, ensuring no one was close enough to hear them. Scapin clicked his tongue. ¡°Oh relax. It¡¯s an open secret to those who matter. We play this game of spies and secrets with the League while keeping clear communication. A message passed through the Company can make it to all the right hands.¡± Accepting that, Dietrich followed Scapin up two flights of stairs and down a hallway of polished wood. Doors lined the hallway, leading to offices and other passages. At the very end was an ornate door leading into an office labeled ¡®Alexo Argentari: Chief of Trade Relations¡¯ As they reached the office door, Scapin turned to Dietrich. ¡°Stay silent and let me work, Dietrich. I wouldn¡¯t dare to correct your sword-form, so give me the same courtesy.¡± Grinding his teeth, careful to not let his mouth open wide, Dietrich nodded. Scapin knocked on the office door, and they were soon bustled inside by a pretty aide. She directed them to a nearby couch and twittered in an annoyingly high-pitched voice, ¡°Master Argentari will be with you shortly. May I get you anything to drink?¡± Scapin smiled. ¡°No, thank you, dear. Do you want anything, Zannis?¡± It took Dietrich a moment to recognize his assigned pseudonym. ¡°What? Oh, no.¡± They sat like that for maybe five minutes. Little to do but look at the art on display in the waiting room. Which Dietrich realized was probably both the paintings on the walls and the aide. Eventually, the door on the far side of the room opened, and a portly man with a beard and tan skin ushered them in. ¡°Ah, Francesco! It¡¯s so good to see you. What brings you back to Vindabon?¡± said the man who Dietrich assumed was Alexo Argentari. Scapin gestured for Dietrich to stand by the door as he went to sit across from Argentari at his desk. ¡°Nothing good, I¡¯m afraid, Alexo. I¡¯m not here as a Brother of Matthaus.¡± Argentari¡¯s face lost its jovial humor, and he tented his fingers together on his desk. Eyes flicking to Dietrich, he asked, ¡°Bad enough for you to require a bodyguard, it seems.¡± Scapin nodded. ¡°Bad enough that the Court of Noct-Bucaros is reaching out during times of war.¡± Reaching into his desk, Argentari pulled out a sparkling medallion. ¡°Then I accept your message on behalf of the Mercury Players.¡± Dietrich crossed his arms, keeping his hand conspicuously close to his sword. A religious order sworn to Uncle Trickster, the Players were cunning bastards. Part spy, part priest, all schemer. Reaching into his coat pocket, Scapin pulled out a sheet of paper and placed it on the desk. It held a portrait of a young woman with long black hair and attractive features. The face of Natalie Striga. ¡°A rogue Vampire has stolen an artifact of incredible power and is most likely hiding in Vindabon.¡± Alexo Argentari¡¯s expression gave away nothing, and he shrugged. ¡°That sounds like a problem for you, then.¡± A rueful smile escaped Scapin. ¡°I¡¯d not have approached you if the artifact wasn¡¯t this dangerous. Having it outside Vampire control is asking for a disaster. Argentari raised an eyebrow at that and Scapin continued. ¡°The artifact is called Lilu¡¯s kiss. It¡¯s a piece of an Alukah¡¯s power.¡± The tiniest look of shock escaped Argentari, and Scapin pressed the attack. ¡°Lilu¡¯s kiss dramatically enhances a Vampire¡¯s ability to influence and control people. It¡¯s powerful enough to even bypass most magical protections and enthrall even Priests unprepared for it.¡± Dietrich tapped his fingers against his side and listened. Trying to figure out what game Scapin was playing. Brows set in worry, Argentari countered, ¡°If you had such a relic, then the League would have fallen centuries ago. The balance of power would have been utterly upended.¡± Scapin tapped on the image of Natalie. ¡°True, if the relic didn¡¯t drive the user utterly insane within a year of first use. Only the most stupid or desperate Vampire would risk that.¡± Leaning back in his chair, Scapin added. ¡°It¡¯s one of those little surprises we¡¯ve kept in case things get messy. I¡¯m sure the League has similar toys locked away.¡± Considering this, Argentari asked ¡°Assuming I believe you, what must be done? Scapin smiled, showing his fangs to Argentari. To his credit, the Mercury Player didn¡¯t even blink. ¡°Vampires are immune to Lilu¡¯s kiss, and its effects aren¡¯t as powerful when stretched over large numbers of people. Give us an opportunity, and my colleague and I will capture the rogue Vampire.¡± Argentari looked at Dietrich, comprehension on his face. Reaching for his medallion, he held it up. It started to glow slightly, and both Scapin and Dietrich flinched in anticipation. But no burning light came. The Player smiled and set the medallion down. He got all the confirmation he needed. ¡°You want the city to let two agents of the Archduke kidnap someone from inside its walls? Absconding with an ancient relic in the process.¡± Scapin looked Argentari in the eye and said, ¡°We¡¯re willing to let you keep the relic. It¡¯s useless without a Vampire, and it¡¯s proven not to be worth the hassle. But the girl¡­ we need her to make an example of.¡± Snorting in bleak amusement, Argentari snapped, ¡°Helping you with an internal discipline matter isn¡¯t much more appealing, Francesco.¡± For the first time, Scapin lost his playful air. He leaned forward, eyes meeting Argentari, voice hard and taught. ¡°How do you fight a Vampire, mortal? You use a Priest or a Paladin. What do you do if that¡¯s not an option? Lilu¡¯s kiss will let our rogue Vampire control any living being she gets close enough to touch. Altering their memories, planting ideas in them, or just turning them into her thralls. Not even the Gods can defend against it. How will the city, nay the continent, fair if its holy folk are bound to the whims of insane fledgling Vampire?¡± Matching Scapin¡¯s attitude, Argentari snapped, ¡°Why are you so set on this idea of her infiltrating the Temples? Besides, wouldn''t her causing chaos benefit you?¡± Putting his hand on the sketch of Natalie, Scapin explained. ¡°The Kiss is a shard of an Alukah¡¯s power. If given time, this runaway welp can grow into a true Monster. The idea of an insane pseudo-Alukah glutting itself on your city and then striking at the Duchies has little appeal to the Archduke. He¡¯d rather nip this quickly and quietly.¡± Argentari considered that as Scapin continued. ¡°As for why we think the Temples threatened, well, the last time we saw our criminal, she was in the company of a Restbringer. She bound him to her and used his skills to escape. She¡¯s already done it once; why wouldn¡¯t she continue with what¡¯s worked?¡± Coldly, Argentari asked, ¡°What about the Lych? He could deal with this. We could call upon him?¡± Smiling, fangs fully on display, Scapin used a precious bit of information. ¡°Would he answer that call? Whispers in the dark speak of him growing more erratic..¡± Argentari¡¯s eyes widened imperceptibly, and Scapin pushed. ¡°Tell me, is it true he spent an entire year motionless? Unresponsive to even his closest student¡¯s pleas?¡± Setting his jaw, Argentari growled, ¡°I cannot make such an important decision alone. Will the usual methods of contact work?¡± Scapin nodded. ¡°I suggest you don¡¯t take long. The Tenth Temple has probably already fallen, and who knows about the others?¡± With that, he got up and went to the door, Dietrich following behind him. Scapin smiled and waved at the aide as they passed. Repeating the same with the receptionist they¡¯d met downstairs. Rakish charm oozed from the man as he headed towards the city gates. Watching him as he walked, Dietrich frowned. He got the sense he¡¯d just watched a master of a talent he couldn¡¯t even comprehend work. Scapin had walked into one of the greatest cities of the Holy League in broad daylight. Poisoned it against the Alukah and left without a care. They left the city and passed through the small town that¡¯d grown up outside its eastern wall. Dietrich asked, ¡°Can you explain to me what just happened. I don¡¯t think I caught all of it.¡± Scapin gave him his eternally amused look. ¡°The best lies use the truth as an ingredient. I created a believable story designed to spread paranoia and distrust. It will spread and spread like poison in a wound. Even if the truth comes out, it won¡¯t be enough. The Paladin¡¯s word will be suspect, and the Alukah will be considered a threat. Their very existence will be poisoned by fear and rumor.¡± Gesturing back at the city walls, he continued. ¡°Even if they don¡¯t allow us to collect her, we¡¯ve sowed distrust and robbed our enemy of allies. The Alukah will be driven into the open. Her protector neutered. Her haven turned hostile. She¡¯ll be easy prey. Your plan wasn¡¯t bad, Dietrich; it just lacked¡­ scale. Which I¡¯m happy to help rectify.¡± Looking up at the pink walls of Vindabon, Dietrich felt a flicker of what might have been pity for the girl from Glockmire. But before that flicker could fester into something larger, Dietrich felt the gap in his fangs. He had his orders and his duty. The girl could have surrendered and become the greatest member of the Archduke¡¯s court. She spurned that right. She¡¯d earned the tide of retribution bearing down on her. Or at least that¡¯s what Dietrich told himself. Book II: Chapter 26: Skin and Sigils

Chapter 26: Skin and Sigils

¡°The skin is continuing to be an issue. It doesn¡¯t take to the regenerative energies like any other body part. Even neural tissue wasn¡¯t this finicky to work with. My current theory is that skin''s metaphysical relationship with protection and marking hampers the pseudo-curse from working. Further tests are required,¡± - Notes of Isabelle Gens Silva.
Cole let out a pained sigh. Looking down at Black-tongue, he thought of their options. ¡°I guess figuring out who our prisoner is would be a good first step.¡± Leaving the cell the group adjourned in the war room. Turning to the Hierophant, Cole asked, ¡°Keeper Nyami, If we managed to convince him, would you remove the Geas then?¡± Nyami nodded. ¡°Of course, but I¡¯d like a favor in return.¡± Frowning, Cole started to speak, but Nyami turned from him to look at Natalie. ¡°I have all sorts of questions for you. We know relatively little about your¡­ kind, so the opportunity to learn would be wonderful.¡± Before Cole could object, Natalie had already agreed. ¡°That sounds fine. I have some questions that maybe you can help answer, actually.¡± Beaming, Nyami patted Natalie on the elbow. ¡°Yes, we¡¯ll have a nice little scholarly session. That sounds lovely!¡± The Temple bells started ringing then. Counting off eleven notes in a city-wide cacophony. Nyami let out a hum of surprise. ¡°My word, is it that late already? Well, I best be headed back to the Temple. I suggest you all do the same. Age catches us all, but lack of sleep gives it a headstart.¡± pausing, she looked at Natalie again. ¡°Well, it catches most of us, at least.¡± As Nyami left them, Alia let out an annoyed sigh. ¡°She has a point. I¡¯m going to head home. Do me a favor and make sure Mina follows her own advice. I don¡¯t want her wearing herself out looking up heraldry.¡± A faint smile flicked onto Natalie¡¯s lips. ¡°Is there anything else we should convey to her? Or would you like to accompany us to the Temple? Mina might appreciate the late-night company.¡± Alia flipped a rude gesture at Natalie. ¡°Quit poking your nose into other people¡¯s business Vampire.¡± Clicking her tongue, Natalie said, ¡°But it is my business now. Cole and I have a bet on how long till you start dating.¡± An uncharacteristically mortified Alia whirled on Cole. Scowling up at the Paladin she snarled. ¡°A bet? What were the terms?¡± Sheepishly, Cole answered. ¡°I said the end of tomorrow. Natalie said by the solstice.¡± Glaring at Natalie, Alia spat, ¡°I¡¯ll ask her out tomorrow. You lose.¡± With that, she stormed off, hackles raised like any startled cat. Leaning against Cole Natalie let out a melodramatic sigh. ¡°I guess you win, Cole. Oh well, I guess I¡¯ll have no choice but to shower you with kisses.¡± Suddenly very aware of her form pressed against him, Cole swallowed nervously. ¡°Let''s at least wait till we return to the Temple.¡± Natalie pretended to pout but acquiesced. They returned to their apartment within the Temple and settled the bet. Thoroughly.
As Cole lay sleeping on the bed, Natalie traced his scars with a delicate finger. They were as diverse as they were layered. A tapestry of suffering marking victories and defeats Natalie could only guess at. Some of the fresher marks she did know the origin of. A ring around his forearm where a Vryko-Ghoul had almost bitten the limb off. Discoloration on his stomach where the Vampire in the Obuillete had impaled him. A dozen dents from the jaws of a Werewolf, both living and dead. Sighing, Natalie looked at her own body in the near-darkness of their room. Where Cole¡¯s strata of scars spoke of his burden. Her own unnatural perfection testified to hers. Frowning, she wondered if Cole would age. The thought had never occurred to Natalie, and it suddenly terrified her. Surely Isabelle wouldn¡¯t create an Immortal who could die of old age? Sliding out of bed, Natalie found a robe she¡¯d purchased on their outing and went over to Cole¡¯s pack. Fishing out Isabelle¡¯s skull, she set it on the table and stared at it. Shutting her eyes, Natalie mentally called out to the ghost inhabiting the skull. ¡°I¡¯d like to talk.¡± Isabelle flickered into being, sitting on the nearby bed, looking down at Cole¡¯s sleeping form. An expression of grief, anger, and regret covered the Vampire¡¯s face. Natalie winced. She¡¯d not thought this through. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t think-¡± she started to say. ¡°Save it.¡± snapped Isabelle. ¡°Why did you call upon me?¡± Sighing, Natalie answered. ¡°I had some questions and wanted to inform you of an opportunity.¡± Isabelle actually perked up slightly at that. ¡°Hm?¡± Rubbing her face, Natalie elaborated, ¡°I¡¯ve made contact with a Hierophant and Magi of the Temple. She wants to poke and prod me. Hoping to find out more about the Alukah. If you have any suggestions or ideas, I¡¯m listening.¡± Nodding, Isabelle considered the offer. ¡°What questions did you have for me?¡± Glancing at her lover¡¯s sleeping form, Natalie stuck her hand into the bear trap. ¡°They are about Cole.¡± Scowling, Isabelle snapped, ¡°You can ask him then.¡± Blinking slowly in exhaustion, Natalie said, ¡°I don¡¯t think he knows the answers. Besides, you know more about him and his creation than literally anyone. Why read the book when you can ask the author?¡± Getting up from her seat on the bed, Isabelle made a gesture of mute acceptance. Letting out a useless breath of relief, Natalie asked, ¡°Does he age?¡± Isabelle looked at Natalie as if she was stupid. ¡°Why would I create an immortal who can die of old age?¡± Natalie opened her mouth to elaborate, but Isabelle cut her off. ¡°Technically yes, but also no. He ages, but every death restores and heals his body. Flushing toxins, repairing damage, all that. If he lived fifty years, then yes he¡¯d age that length. But my Darling has yet to last longer than a year or two.¡± A relieved sigh escaped Natalie. ¡°Why the name Cole? Did he pick it?¡± Isabelle laughed bitterly. ¡°Oh no, it''s a strange story, actually.¡± The humor left Isabelle, and she looked at the sleeping Paladin. ¡°Well, it started as something of a joke¡­.¡±
:: Twenty Years ago :: ¡°It needs a name.¡± Pavlos of Pleuron, the ancient Manei of the Thoas citadel, looked up from the stack of papers he was moving. ¡°What does mistress?¡± Isabelle Gens Silva stared at the collection of vats and jars that filled the chamber. The largest was a great glass tube large enough to fit a troll. Floating in its murky depths was a body. Or at least part of a body. Isabelle had gotten most of the digestive tract and nervous system working. But the musculature and skin were proving more difficult. ¡°My creation, if it is to be truly alive, then it needs a name.¡± The Spectral Majordomo adjusted his robes, ephemeral things of blue vapor as real as he was. ¡°Not to overstep, Mistress, but is getting attached to it like that a smart idea? You know what purpose the Archduke has for it?¡± Stepping closer and putting a cold hand on the glass, Isabelle mused. ¡°No, probably not. But I¡¯m allowed some idiosyncrasies while surpassing the Gods, aren¡¯t I?¡± Pavlos bowed his head. ¡°Yes, mistress¡± Feeling the warmth of the glass against her cold skin, Isabelle asked, ¡°What do you think, Pavlos? What should we name the first of the new Homunculi?¡± A little surprised by her request, The Wraith thought about it for a moment. Pulling on centuries of memories to find something appropriate. ¡°In the oldest legends, they say the Gods made man from wet clay. If you are surpassing the Gods, then why not usurp that legend. Call him Clay or some variant of such.¡± Isabelle scoffed at that. ¡°Foolish stories. We weren¡¯t sculpted by the Gods. Our existence comes from nature and its myriad wonders. Even before the Gods came, Humankind existed. Descended from those southern tree-beasts. Evolving, growing, changing. My creation will be the culmination of that process. Naming it after a petty myth is unbecoming.¡± Pavlos bowed. ¡°Yes, mistress.¡± Putting her other hand to her chin, Isabelle considered the topic. ¡°He won¡¯t be born of clay. He will be of harder, darker stock. Tell me, Pavlos, do you know the origin of Diamonds?¡± Pavlos did, in fact, know the origin, but he decided that wasn¡¯t what his Mistress needed. ¡°I do not, mistress.¡± Turning away from the vat, Isabelle smiled. ¡°Incredible heat and pressure can turn simple coal into sparkling diamonds. They say the mightiest Dragons create gems like that.¡± Spreading her arms wide, Isabelle continued, ¡°If man is clay, soft and malleable. Then my creation will be coal, dark and powerful. He won¡¯t crack or splinter under pressure; he will be forged anew. A new form of man, a diamond in the rough. One I will cut to my liking.¡± Pavlos nodded. ¡°Very good, mistress.¡± Whirling back to face her unfinished creation, Isabelle let her hands press against the glass. ¡°Yes, Cole. That will do.¡±
Natalie blinked away the memory Isabelle had gifted her and sucked in a useless breath. In a hushed whisper, she hissed. ¡°You megalomaniacal bitch. Do you know how jagged this whole thing is? You created a person as some kind of vanity project and then fell in love with him? I can¡¯t say if this is incestuous, narcissistic, insane, or some combination of all three!¡± Looking at where Isabelle stood, Natalie expected the phantom to snap back at her. Instead, a look of guilt and shame covered the Vampire¡¯s face. Sliding over to a chair near Natalie, Isabelle sat down. ¡°It¡¯s practically tradition, you know?¡± Frowning, Natalie waited for Isabelle to continue. ¡°One of the first Golems was created by a Mad sculptor. He carved it in the likeness of his dead wife and poured magic into it in hopes of bringing her back. For a time, he thought he succeeded. But in truth, he¡¯d only enchanted the sculpture to move and follow his commands. That didn¡¯t stop him from proclaiming it his wife reborn and treating it as such. It killed him eventually. Hugging him so close he was crushed in its grip.¡± Internally, Natalie wondered if Cole had learned his habit of morbid storytelling from Isabelle. Externally she asked. ¡°What does this have to do with you and Cole?¡± Scoffing, Isabelle threw up her hands. ¡°Admitting guilt. I fell in love with my creation. I created a being with a heart greater than anything I could imagine. Do you understand the irony of that? Cole isn¡¯t human; he¡¯s not anything close. He¡¯s an abomination that exists because of my arrogance. So why is he one of the kindest souls I¡¯ve ever known? Putting her head in her hands in a shockingly mundane gesture, Isabelle admitted her weakness. ¡°Is it hard to believe a being like that could find an old monster¡¯s heart? Or in seeing that good in him, I might see the possibility of redemption? If I could create someone that noble, then maybe there was more to me? More than the withered, selfish, cold creature of blood and magic I¡¯d become?¡± Confused and more than a little concerned, Natalie asked, ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Isabelle gave Natalie an annoyed stare. ¡°Because you are the one person I can actually talk to. Creating a bridge to Cole¡¯s dreams or anyone else''s nearly forces me into hibernation.¡± shutting her eyes, Isabelle opened up a little more. ¡°You also are probably the only person who might understand. When you became a Vampire when you drank him to death, what did Cole do in response? The man who¡¯d been violated, mutilated, and desecrated by our kind in ways you can¡¯t imagine. What did he do?¡± Wincing at the memory, Natalie whispered, ¡°He hugged me and apologized for not saving me.¡± Isabelle nodded.. ¡°Vampires are creatures of blood and darkness. We are cursed, and we are a curse. Yet Cole finds it in him to care for us. His skin is testimony to our kind¡¯s cruelty. Cruelty, he only suffered because of me. I created him through my genius and damned him through my foolishness. And yet he didn¡¯t smash my skull or free my soul. He looked for a way to resurrect me. After everything, he still wanted to help me.¡± Glancing back at Cole¡¯s sleeping form, Isabelle clicked her tongue. ¡°I hated you, Natalie, and part of me still does. But¡­ he smiles with you. When I return¡­ we will have much to discuss. But till then. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m glad he has something more than a skull and his duty.¡± Neither woman spoke for a time. Tension bled away, and eventually, Isabelle spoke. ¡°I do have some questions about your Savantism and how it relates to your powers. From what I¡¯ve seen, your body is remarkably efficient in using blood. You do much with little. I want to know how.¡± Nodding, Natalie said, ¡°That seems like a good start.¡±
:: The Next Morning :: A Homunculus, a Vampire, a Werefolk, and a Priest sat around a table and poured over records. They¡¯d reconvened back at the Guard Tower and were searching for a new lead. Black-tongue was taking food and water in silence. Refusing to talk, either by volition or Geas. Forcing them to look elsewhere for answers. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Mina had found a tome on historical heraldry and was busy looking it over. Natalie, Alia, and Cole were resuming their research from the previous day. After the first hour, Mina let out an exhausted sigh. Shutting the heraldry book, she let her forehead meet its cover. ¡°You¡¯d think the Noble Houses could be a little more creative? It¡¯s just Dragons, Lions, and Eagles over and over again. Sometimes together, sometimes alone. Rarely a Griffin or a Unicorn to break up the same stupid patterns!¡± Grimacing, Natalie asked, ¡°No luck, I take it?¡± Mina shook her head. Forcing herself back up, she started flipping through the book. ¡°I¡¯ll keep looking.¡± Cole flipped through the missing person''s records and scribbled notes on a sheet. Alia set down her text and looked at the notes. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Standing up, Cole went over to the map of Vindabon covering one wall. The eleven murders were marked on it. Grabbing a handful of the marking pins, Cole looked at his notes and added them to the map. The new pins formed a cluster in the Second and Third districts. A region dominated by Noble estates and posh homes. Frowning at the cluster, Cole looked down at his notes and then finally answered Alia¡¯s question. ¡°Following a hunch.¡± pointing at the cluster of disappearances, he explained. ¡°Each of these marks the place of employment of a missing person. There''s been a pattern of these disappearances, and the more I look at it, the more certain I am that it''s connected to our killer.¡± Frowning, Alia looked at the map. Two clusters of pins marred the city. The first centered around the thirteenth district. The other around the second and third districts. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Looking down at his notes, Cole said, ¡°These disappearances started ten years ago and only seemed to end in the last six months. It could be a coincidence, or new missing cases aren¡¯t being reported, but¡­¡± Alia nodded in comprehension. ¡°You think the killer started with noble servants?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°It reminds me of a few Vampires I¡¯ve hunted. You could track them by seeing where people went missing.¡± Natalie twitched slightly at his words, but no one noticed. Everyone¡¯s attention was on the map. Alia let out a low whistle. ¡°I keep forgetting what you are, Cole. I mean, sleeping with a Vampire is one thing? But hunting them? Damn.¡± Cole gently flicked Alia in the side of the head and mused. ¡°But why change where they hunt? And if it¡¯s the same person, then why are we only finding bodies now? That¡¯s what bothers me. The change in methods seems strange.¡± Mina then piped up, ¡°I¡¯m no hunter, so this is just me guessing. But wouldn¡¯t a predator move if it ran out of prey or faced a new threat?¡± Nodding, Cole looked down at his notes. ¡°That makes sense. But I doubt the Nobles would run out of Nannies, washerwomen, and the like. So maybe the killer was nearly discovered?¡± Frowning, Mina plucked Cole¡¯s notes from his hand and looked at them. Her eyes darted over it and she looked like she was about to speak. Handing the page back to Cole, she faced the map, hesitant, worry painting her face. Alia asked, ¡°What is it? You noticed something?¡± Mina shook her head no but answered, ¡°Maybe, it¡¯s probably nothing.¡± Alia playfully shoved Mina. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s totally nothing. Just something you clearly noticed and bothers you. Surely that can¡¯t be important?¡± Conflict played in Mina¡¯s eyes, and Cole gently said. ¡°Assuming the killer was Undead was reasonable at the time. Just because you made a mistake doesn¡¯t mean your insight is worthless.¡± Sucking in a breath, Mina tapped at Cole¡¯s notes. ¡°Helping grieving families is part of being a Priest of the Tenth, right? Well, back when I was an acolyte, I¡¯d accompany Morri on some of those duties. He does a lot with noble houses that lost members in battle. So I saw a lot of these families and their children. Something that always stuck out to me was the kids often seemed more attached to the servants than their own parents.¡± Looking at the notes, Mina explained her thoughts. ¡°Particularly servants like Nannies, washerwoman, cooks, and others on your list.¡± glancing up at the frowning Cole, she started to retreat. ¡°But it could be nothing-¡± Cole put his notes in her hands and went over to Iron-Teeth¡¯s casebooks. Pulling out the one he''d marked, he set it on the table. Flipping through it, he confirmed what he thought he knew. ¡°Caretakers, that¡¯s what the victims all have in common. They had someone they looked after or should look after.¡± Putting a finger on the book, he elaborated. ¡°Antony has his sister. And if you read between the lines, it''s the same with each victim. I¡¯d bet our missing servants were like you said, Mina.¡± Rubbing her face, Alia laid it all out. ¡°So we are looking for a member of House Kronor who was killing servants for something like a decade. Only to move on to killing people in Weinstadt in what are probably ritual murders. Oh, and somehow this bastard has people loyal enough to submit to a Geas.¡± Slumping into a chair, the City-Warden yowled, ¡°That should narrow it down a bit.¡± As they¡¯d been talking, Natalie had gone over to the heraldry book and flipped through it. Finding the ¡®K¡¯ section, she looked at House Kronor¡¯s various sigils. The house was old, nearly as old as Vindabon. So its heraldry has taken countless forms and iterations over the centuries. All depicting a Green Dragon. Over and over again, the Draconic sire of the house shown in every possible configuration. Scanning the heraldry, Natalie asked, ¡°Are we certain it¡¯s House Kronor?¡± Cat-eyes shrugged. ¡°We¡¯re certain of nothing, but it seems like a good bet. Who else would have a cache of Wyrmtreasure? Why do you ask?¡± ¡°No lions.¡± Natalie murmured. ¡°There are no lions on any of the Kronor heraldry.¡± Mina shrugged. ¡°It could be a personal sigil? We doubted we¡¯d find anything in the book. Besides, you¡¯d have to be an idiot to use your House¡¯s symbol like that.¡± Frowning, Natalie looked at Cole. He shrugged, and she chewed on her lip. Ignoring the slight sting of her fangs. ¡°I want to get a closer look at the House Mark. I¡¯ve been practicing enhancing my sight and might be able to tell us more.¡± Rolling her eyes, Alia snapped. ¡°What would you learn? It¡¯s not a House¡¯s sigil.¡± Cole spoke then. ¡°I have something I want to try with the prisoner as well. So, Natalie might as well.¡± Putting their notes away, the group made their preparations. Then headed for the secluded cell containing Black-tongue. The prisoner was no longer gagged. But he was manacled and weary looking. Watching their approach with trepidation, Black-tongue backed up into the cell''s corner as Cole approached. Without hesitation, Cole pulled Black-tongue¡¯s mouth open and exposed the House mark. Natalie slipped in next to him and shut her eyes. When she opened them, they were the color of blood. Black-tongue saw this and started to panic and struggle. Cole¡¯s grip was unbreakable, and the Paladin offered calming words. ¡°It¡¯s alright. She isn¡¯t going to hurt you. We just want to see the mark better.¡± Natalie resisted the urge to roll her enhanced eyes. She understood the necessity of Cole¡¯s words, but they still annoyed her. He spoke like she was some snarling lion ready to bite. Which¡­ as Natalie thought about it, it wasn¡¯t strictly inaccurate. Forcing herself to focus, Natalie looked at the mark. Letting her eyes find details she¡¯d missed earlier. Scribbling her impressions onto a piece of paper, Natalie flicked her eyes between the mark and drawing. She¡¯d always preferred sculpture, but she was passible with a stylus. Finishing her sketch, she nodded to Cole. He released Black-tongue and stepped back. Natalie went to the cell''s entrance and showed the sketch to the waiting Mina and Alia. ¡°They are fighting?¡± asked Mina. ¡°The Lion and Dragon are fighting?¡± Alia cocked her head and muttered. ¡°Or the other thing. Could be that.¡± Mina swatted Alia playfully, and Natalie couldn¡¯t stop herself from smiling. Pointing at her drawing, Natalie explained. ¡°Definitely fighting. See the Lion¡¯s jaws are around the Dragon¡¯s throat.¡± Alia gave Mina a sidelong look and struggled not to snicker. Rolling her eyes, Natalie explained her thoughts. ¡°They are fighting, and the dragon is losing. See, it¡¯s on the bottom, and the Lions got it in a death bite. I don¡¯t think our suspected House would have that on their mark. Even if it was a personal one.¡± Squinting at the image, Mina asked. ¡°Are you certain?¡± Natalie shrugged. ¡°It was a surprisingly good tattoo. I¡¯m not the best artist, but I think I captured the important bits.¡± The noise of Cole¡¯s voice and the clank of manacles pulled the trio of women from their discussion. ¡°You are working for a murderer. Someone who has stolen at least eleven lives. People with friends, family, and children. Each snuffed out in terrible fashion. How does that make you feel?¡± They found Cole leaning over Black-tongue, the Paladin¡¯s eyes unfocused and leaking silver vapor. He peered into the Aether and watched the prisoners'' emotions swirl around him. While Cole might not be able to read magical imprints well, he could certainly tease out emotions like the flickers of guilt and fear that bloomed around Black-tongue at Cole¡¯s words. Nodding to himself, Cole continued. ¡°The killer drugs them, you know? Not enough to knock them out. But enough to render them helpless. They are awake but can¡¯t fight back. It¡¯s a terrible, terrible way to die.¡± Black-tongue didn¡¯t react to the drugging, but a quickly stifled puff of shock and horror escaped upon hearing the details. Nodding to himself, Cole said. ¡°You didn¡¯t know the victims were awake? You knew they were drugged but not that? Interesting.¡± More shock and surprise from Black-tongue. Frowning, Cole growled. ¡°You won¡¯t speak the truth. Geas and misplaced loyalty ensure that. But you cannot hide your feelings. I¡¯m a Paladin of Master Time. Sworn by soul and steel to protect the living and the dead. I can see your heart and how it betrays you.¡± Stunned horror and raw panic filled the cell. A psychic discharge Cole could almost taste as well as see. ¡°The Geas can be removed. You can have mercy. I do not know what circumstances would bring you to willingly serve a monster. But they could not be good. Help me end the killings, and I will ensure you get the aid you need.¡± Shame spilled out of Black-tongue alongside the tiniest spark of hope. A wall of duty and responsibility stamped out the spark and closed off the shame. Black-tongue took a breath and spoke for the first time. ¡°No.¡± Voice lacquered with non-use, Black-tongue offered nothing more than that. Cole shut his eyes, letting silver tears of arcane phosphorescence stream down his face for a moment. Opening his lids, Cole saw new fear in Black-tongue. Both on his face and in the Aether. Cole was diving deep into the Aether, and his eyes were pools of silver-blue light. An eerie sight to any, but especially the guilty. ¡°Fine. You made your choice in the name of duty. I¡¯d respect that if your loyalty wasn¡¯t so misplaced. So I¡¯m going to tell you what we¡¯ve learned, and I¡¯m going to see how your mind betrays you. I tell you this not as a threat or to gloat. I¡¯m stating what will happen.¡± Cole watched armored plates grow along the prisoner''s soul. Self-control weaved with confidence and duty into a mail of defiance. Nodding to himself, Cole let his spear fly. ¡°Was Michelle Stine the first victim?¡± Metaphorical armor cracked, emotional chainmail splintered. Black-tongue¡¯s composure evaporated like dew in the desert. But Cole¡¯s assault wasn¡¯t over; he¡¯d gained the initiative, and now was the time to press it. ¡°Thank you for confirming that the killings in Weinstadt and the servant disappearances are connected.¡± Embarrassment and self-loathing curdled in Black-tongue. ¡°How many people has your master killed? Two dozen? Three? So much time stolen, so many lives lost. For what? Whatever magic it is at work surely can¡¯t be worth it.¡± The growing self-loathing became a fetid lump in Black-tongue. Its growth only stopped by the confusion and surprise Cole''s mention of magic had brought. Surprise that was quickly quashed. Cole¡¯s own emotions matched Black-tongue¡¯s then. He¡¯d assumed there was a ritual component to all this. Why else go through all the effort of keeping the victim conscious and ripping their heart out? Trying to piece more together, Cole asked, ¡°If it¡¯s not a ritual¡­ Then are the killings connected to the Demon in the undercroft? That got a wave of utter confusion from Black-tongue. He had no idea what Cole was talking about. Again Cole¡¯s emotions mirrored the prisoners. Brow creased in a frown, Cole asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of a Dragonblood needing hearts. But then again, I¡¯m no expert.¡± Worry turned into barely hidden elation. Cole was clearly sniffing at the wrong burrow. Letting out an annoyed sigh, Cole tried another gamble. ¡°There were prepared fighters in the riot. People trained and equipped to make use of the chaos. The killings triggered the riot. Was that what this was about? Casting suspicion on the Werefolk?¡± That dredged up a whole mess of emotions. As Cole tried to sort through them. Pulling the doubt and worry from the congealing suspicion and worry. He mused. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make complete sense, does it? Your master has been killing people long before the Werefolk came. Was the change a coincidence or something else?¡± Sorting through his own thoughts, Cole dwelled on his notes. ¡°The disappearances stopped for a while. Then restarted as these pseudo-ritual killings.¡± letting out a sad breath as understanding bloomed. Cole asked. ¡°Someone almost caught the murderer. They stopped for a time but started again when the Werefolk offered a distraction.¡± Bits of shame and morbid acceptance colored the Aether. Cole felt the urge to punch Black-tongue, but he resisted. The killer was a craven monster and yet the wretch before him was loyal to them. Any pity the Paladin might feel was drowned beneath disgust. This interrogation session was proving fruitful, but a rising ache in Cole¡¯s skull told him it needed to end quickly. Even he couldn¡¯t gaze into the Aether for long without consequences. He needed to make his last few questions count. Cole was about to ask more about the murders and their start when a thought struck him. The killer was an aristocrat. Probably a powerful one at that if they could arrange for the soldiers to aid the rioters. Nothing in Cole¡¯s life was a coincidence, including his invitation to the ball. ¡°Do you think your master would prefer their downfall to be private or public?¡± asked Cole. Stirring up confusion and worry in Black-tongue. ¡°I am going to the Solstice ball. I will find your master there and expose them before the entire city.¡± Cole didn¡¯t even need to look into the Aether to see the terror and doubt in Black-tongue. His face betrayed his feelings well enough. Chapped lips fell open, and the prisoner spat. ¡°You won¡¯t catch him. You can¡¯t. Too much is protecting him.¡± Wetness welled up in Black-tongue¡¯s eyes, and Cole saw self-loathing and resignation drip from the man like his tears. The wall of duty burst like a dam, and bits of truth poured forth. ¡°Even if you caught him and proved it, nothing would happen. His family will protect him. Protect him like they always have.¡± a twitch of pain went across Black-tongues¡¯ face. ¡°You saw what they¡¯ll do to protect him.¡± Slumping down, tears pouring onto his shackled hands, Black-tongue hissed. ¡°Besides, he¡¯s done. The killings are done. Just let it go. Hells, blame me for it. Hang me for the crime and end this.¡± Clear cold truth and bitter resignation warred inside Black-tongue, clear to Cole¡¯s waning Aether sight. Turning away from the accomplice, Cole let his power fade. Letting out a low breath, he said. ¡°A debt of time is owed. You will pay for your part, but so will your master. Face your future, knowing you spent your life in service to evil. I hope whatever judgment the Gods have for you is merciful.¡± Quiet weeping answered Cole¡¯s words, and he shut the cell door behind him. Black-tongue was broken. Crushed by whatever edifices sheltered the killer. Cole had seen similar among Vampire thralls. It sickened him and summoned painful memories. Looking to his allies, Cole was surprised to find them looking at him with undisguised trepidation. Even Natalie looked uncertain. Pausing, Cole asked. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± When Cole exited the cell, he crackled with some phantom energy. An unseen power that pulled the trio¡¯s attention and made each nervous in a different way. Something like religious fervor gripped Mina. While Alia tensed in the presence of a superior predator. And Natalie felt the darkness inside her soul quail at the icy wrath coming off Cole. No¡­ not Cole. The Paladin of Master Time. But with his words, Cole broke the spell, and the mantle seemed to fade. Its influence evaporated like a spring frost. Letting out a breath, Natalie answered for them. ¡°You were doing the whole ¡®scary holy warrior¡¯ thing.¡± Cole seemed a little nonplussed, and Natalie changed the topic. ¡°Did you get anything?¡± Leaving the prisoner and heading back towards the war room, Cole nodded. Still a little surprised by their reactions. Mina seemed dazed. Her aetheric senses overwhelmed by the Paladin. Once they were seated, Alia took a moment to help Mina actually find her seat. Cole explained. ¡°I did, lots, actually. But first, any luck with the Mark?¡± Natalie slipped the paper to Cole and explained. ¡°The lion is killing the dragon. That seems odd for a House of Dragonbloods.¡± Nodding, Cole said. ¡°That makes sense. I do not think House Kronor is actually involved Black-tongue didn¡¯t react right. I think we¡¯re on the right track, but the killer isn¡¯t from House Kronor.¡± ¡°So how does that work? What you just did. Do you like, read their minds like a Seer or¡­¡± asked Cat-eyes. Recovering slightly, Mina said. ¡°He can see emotions. It¡¯s Aether sight. Most Priests can only catch glimpses of emotions and mainly use the sight to observe magic.¡± waiving vaguely at Cole, the disoriented Priestess added. ¡°He can do more, ''cause, y¡¯know. Paladin.¡± Natalie frowned, ¡°Are you okay?¡± Mina just waved her off. ¡°When he ended the interrogation, I was curious, so I used my own Aether sight to see him. I¡­ I wasn¡¯t prepared for a Paladin fully using the mantle.¡± Accepting that, Natalie opened her mouth to ask Cole what he¡¯d learned when a piece of her soul was yanked violently. Natalie physically stumbled and mentally reeled. Stunned, she looked in the direction of the pull and tried to decipher the familiar feeling. Cole rushed to her side. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Taking useless but calming breaths, Natalie tried to reconcile what she felt with what was possible. ¡°My blood¡­ no, the Alukah¡¯s blood. Someone nearby is using it.¡± Eyes wide, Cole asked, ¡°Are you sure?¡± Natalie spat, ¡°No! But that''s what it feels like. I¡­I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening. I just feel this¡­ tug on my blood.¡± Jaw set, Cole whispered. ¡°Can you do what you did in the tomb with Petar?¡± Frowning, Natalie said, ¡°I don¡¯t think so. The connection isn¡¯t as solid. That was like a rope connecting us. This¡­ this is like a vague current pulling me.¡± Gripping Requiem, Cole nodded. ¡°Then we follow it and find the source.¡± Book II: Chapter 27: Cold and Cruel

Chapter 27: Cold and Cruel

¡°In life, we were weak; in death, we find strength In red steel, we are clad; in war, we are tested. In our hearts is loyalty; in battle, we prove it. In the day, we sleep; in the night, we serve. I am a Knight of the Scarlet Song. From now until eternity.¡± - Sword Oath of the Scarlet Knights.
Cole and Natalie left the guard tower. Leaving a worried Mina and confused Alia behind them. Cole answered their questions as the couple left. ¡°This isn¡¯t something I want you to get involved with unless strictly necessary.¡± Natalie walked down the city streets, a slightly glazed look in her eyes. A current of power tugged on her, a faint sensation she focused on. It was fading rapidly, and Natalie moved faster, trying to keep up with the feeling. Cole trailed behind her, hand on his axe, eyes darting around the city. It was mid-morning, and Vindabon was alive and well. Horse-drawn wagons and pedestrians competing for space on cobblestone streets. A nervous Vampire and her Paladin escort just two more drops in a stream of people. They walked for a long time, reaching the city''s eastern part. Natalie never stopped, just following the pull of blood. As they approached one of Vindabon¡¯s great gates, Cole felt a cold tingle in his chest. A God''s touch caressing his soul. Frowning, Cole drummed his fingers on Requiem¡¯s head. The dwarven metal cold in the winter weather. Looking up at the eastern gate, Natalie stopped and let out an annoyed sigh. Glancing back at Cole, she took his hand and led him to a secluded spot off the main thoroughfare. ¡°I lost it. Whatever that was, it¡¯s too faded for me to detect.¡± Looking east towards the gate, Cole whispered. ¡°I think Master Time is asking me to pick up the trail.¡± Confused, Natalie was about to ask when Cole tapped his chest and gestured east. ¡°I can feel it. Something requires my attention outside the city.¡± Letting out a nervous breath, Natalie asked. ¡°Should we check it out then?¡± Jerking his head in a noncommittal way, Cole answered, ¡°I will alone.¡± Before Natalie could protest, he explained his reasoning. ¡°This feels like a trap for you. A scent laid out to lead you from the city into someone¡¯s clutches.¡± Natalie frowned. ¡°You are probably right, but that doesn¡¯t mean you should stick your foot into the bear trap for me.¡± Cole actually smiled. ¡°It does, in fact, mean that. My God guides me forward. I¡¯m obliged to follow that command.¡± Opening her mouth, Natalie almost said something but realized it was pointless. In his own way, Cole could be frightfully stubborn. ¡°Let''s at least let the Temple know before you head out.¡± Cole accepted that and turned to leave. Natalie squeezed his hand hard. ¡°Just be careful.¡± She tapped Requiem in its sheath. ¡°And don¡¯t stick your foot into the bear trap; try sticking that instead.¡± Smiling, Cole bent down and kissed her. After a long moment, Natalie broke it with a sigh. ¡°Let''s let the Girls know and then return to the Temple.¡± Cocking an eyebrow, Cole mused. ¡°The girls? I doubt either of them would like to be referred to as such.¡± Chuckling, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Yeah, well, too bad.¡± The ¡®girls¡¯ accepted Cole¡¯s explanation that he had Paladin business outside the city. While agreeing, it was better for Natalie to stay at the Temple and repay Nyami¡¯s favor instead of tying Mina or someone else down with escort duty. Back at the Temple, Cole assembled his equipment. Emma¡¯s first armor set was in bad condition but usable. (If not presentable.) While Cole¡¯s restocked bandolier carried everything he¡¯d need for a quick scouting mission. Wrinkling her nose at Cole¡¯s stinking armor, Natalie asked for the fifth time. ¡°Are you sure I can¡¯t convince you to let Morri send someone with you?¡± Buckling his cloak into place, Cole shook his head. ¡°The Temple is overwhelmed as is. Besides, it will be safer if I¡¯m by myself.¡± Seeing the look of concern on Natalie¡¯s face, Cole offered. ¡°If I¡¯m not back by the morning or haven¡¯t sent word, you should send someone after me. Preferably a lot of someones.¡± That did little to assuage her worry, so Cole fished something out of his pack. A strip of black cloth. Nicking his forearm, Cole let a few drops of his blood fall onto the strong fabric. It was instantly animated. Pulling towards him with a gentle tug. Handing it to Natalie, Cole explained. ¡°This is how Barnabas found me that night. A little magic poured into it, and the scrap will point towards my cloak.¡± Barely comforted by the tracking charm, Natalie let her fangs nip her lower lip. ¡°I don¡¯t like playing fair maid in the forbidden mansion. So come back quickly and safely.¡± Cole hugged her then. Natalie demonstrating her love by letting him, even with his corpse-stained armor. ¡°I will,¡± he whispered and let his head rest against hers. Breaking the embrace, Cole left to hunt a monster. Leaving Natalie to her meeting with Nyami. Flexing his hands in his gauntlets, Cole ignored the reverent looks he got from passing Priests as he exited the Temple. Heading east, Cole did as he had for a decade, following the cold tug of a God¡¯s guiding hand. People on the streets parted for him. Some instinct (or more likely his smell) kept them from obstructing him. Reaching the Sun Gate, Cole left Vindabon proper. His amulet and a slight glow of power were enough to get the Guards to let him pass through quickly. Cole heard whispers from the stunned crowd leaving and exiting the city. ¡°That was him? That was the Paladin?¡± ¡°Fire and Iron, they weren¡¯t lying about the scars.¡± ¡°Big one, ain¡¯t he? How many monsters do you reckon he¡¯s killed?¡± ¡°Ya tink its true? What happened under ta city?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the Tattered Man?¡± ¡°The what?¡± Cole ignored the whispers and slipped down a sidestreet in Walltown as quickly as he could. Notoriety was always something he¡¯d tried to avoid. But now he faced something even worse than that. He was famous. Grimacing at the idea, Cole pulled his hood up and headed east. Passing through the town that hung in the lee of the city. Walltown was a relatively young section of Vindabon. While not technically part of the city, it had grown up in the last century or so. Peace and prosperity had allowed and even necessitated the creation of the new community. The walls of Vindabon could stop armies and withstand the most horrific magic. But they couldn¡¯t exactly move according to the growing city''s needs. It took Cole the better part of three hours to make his way from the Temple to the edge of Walltown. Noon had come and gone. Cole only stopped to grab food from a seller before pushing into the farms surrounding Vindabon. Snow-covered and broken up by copses and cottages, the rolling farmland stretched on for kilometers. The road was surprisingly empty. Cole only passed one or two wagons on his way. Leaving the Paladin alone on the road. Low wind and the crunch of armored footfalls were the only sound as Cole walked. It was strangely pleasant to return to this old pattern. Just him, the road, and a mission. Not that Cole had any desire to make the experience regular. But it was a reminder of what he¡¯d gained and how he¡¯d lived. Like tasting an old food once loved, now only enjoyed. Looking up, Cole saw black wings flapping in the distance. A few crows were flying over a nearby field. They are not circling like you¡¯d expect them to over carrion. But darting from one stand of trees towards another. Something about that made Cole uneasy, and he let his hand settle on his axe. Years of facing Vampires had taught him a healthy dislike of crows and other dark flyers. A murder of crows magically compelled to mob a man could be lethal. Something Cole could, unfortunately, attest to. Following the cold pull of a Master Time, Cole kept walking. Leaving the shadow of Vindabon and entering the rural region proper. It was maybe four in the afternoon when Cole stopped for the first time. A faint discomfort tingled at the edges of his awareness. Some itch in the Aether his honed senses were picking up. His recent experimentation and practice with his powers were bearing early fruit. The sense of wrongness increased with every step, and by five, Cole knew he was getting close. As the sun dipped to the horizon, carried low by the upcoming solstice, Cole pulled his amulet into the open. Ready to create light with it. In the gathering twilight, a single shape stuck out from the farm fields. A half-ruined barn. Its roof collapsed under years of heavy snowfall and no maintenance. Creating a great cavern of splintered wood and old snow. The sight vaguely reminded Cole of a giant¡¯s mouth. Sighing, Cole unsheathed Requiem and turned it into a halberd. Holding his weapon ready, Cole approached the ruined barn.
:: A Few Hours Earlier :: Dietrich opened his eyes, cutting the connection with the crows he¡¯d dominated. Looking at his companion, he hissed. ¡°We are being followed.¡± Scapin frowned. ¡°By who?¡± Thinking of the snippets of crow-sight he¡¯d stolen, Dietrich hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but he was tall and cloaked.¡± Scapin paused for the barest moment. The closest to surprised Dietrich had ever seen him. ¡°Do¡­ do you think it¡¯s him?¡± Glancing back in the direction they¡¯d come, Dietrich bared his fangs. ¡°The Paladin? Possibly. But how would he have found us?¡± The carved grin on Scapin¡¯s face became even more wooden. ¡°The Gods do love to meddle.¡± Reaching for his absent sword, Dietrich cursed and found his pitiful longsword. ¡°We should turn back and confront him. This would be a good opportunity to end this.¡± Shaking his head, Scapin said. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t be a good idea. The Alukah¡¯s blood isn¡¯t reliable in small doses. Fighting a Paladin while the Sun is up would be unreasonably dangerous.¡± Thinking of the fight in the Alukah¡¯s tomb, Dietrich scoffed. ¡°He isn¡¯t much of a Paladin. We could kill him quickly and be done with it.¡± Giving Dietrich a heavy-lidded stare, Scapin asked. ¡°Didn¡¯t he leave you a frozen corpse the last time you fought?¡± Dietrich growled and started to rise to the bait. Scapin held up a calming hand. ¡°The night is our time. Let''s lead him into a trap and take him, then. Why not use your little security measure properly?¡± Forcing his choler to fade, Dietrich nodded. ¡°That might work. We will beat him to the farm by a few hours. I can prepare, and then we can find somewhere to hide.¡± Scapin smiled, or more accurately, intensified his existing smile. ¡°Yes, that sounds perfect.¡±
Cole found the barn¡¯s entrance. A large number of tracks led in and out of it. Enough to indicate heavy passage by a fair number of people. Cole glanced at some of the tracks leading toward a nearby forest. Noting them for later, he circled around the barn. Looking for other entrances or dangers. The Aetheric itch was almost painful this close, and Cole kept his Halberd ready to strike. Some instinct had him leery of the used entrance, so Cole decided on another option. Finding a rotting sideboard, Cole cut a new door into the barn. Peering in, he summoned light from his amulet. Managing this without holding the metal hourglass brought him a tiny surge of pride. Putting that feeling aside, Cole let the pale blue light shine into the barn''s interior. Piles of disturbed snow covered much of the barn floor. They lay unnatural in their size in distribution. Frowning, Cole poked his halberd into the nearest pile. The steel met resistance a few centimeters below the snow. Using Requiem to brush away the snow, Cole found the buried object. It was a corpse. Black and withered from the cold. A surge in the aetheric buzzing got Cole to step back from the barn entrance just in time for the corpse to start moving. A horrible cracking noise escaped the body as its frozen joints forced themselves to work. Barely visible in the twilight, the other piles of snow started to move. Shifting as frost-blackened hands pulled free and empty eyes looked for Cole. Eye sockets that started to burn with green witchfire. At least thirty of the Ghouls were in the process of freeing themselves. Cole didn¡¯t waste the time he had. Running through the snow, Cole reached the corner of the barn and swung Requiem with all his formidable might. Cold wood exploded in a shower of splinters as Cole smashed apart a support beam. Creaking and cracking wood filled the winter twilight. Moving quickly, Cole repeated the act, smashing his halberd into any beam or post close to the rotting wall. The shabby sideboards let him spot and splinter his targets quickly. By the fourth one, the creaking of the barn turned into a low groan. Trotting backward, careful to keep his eyes peeled. Cole nicked his hand and threw a stream of blood onto the collapsing barn. ¡°Fire crackle and snap. Ignite this scrap,¡± a crude little incantation buoyed by the spark-stone. Flames shot out from Cole¡¯s palm and along his splatter of blood. Where the fire connected with the barn, it spread. Magic helping it chew through damp wood. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Focusing on the flames, Cole fed it from his bleeding hand and watched as the barn collapsed. Folding in on itself in a roar of breaking wood and displaced snow. A cloud of icy powder and splinters filled the darkening sky as Cole quickly stepped back. All while keeping the fire going through magical fuel. As the plume of snow and debris settled, Cole watched as a few figures pulled themselves from the wreckage. Maybe half a dozen instead of the nearly six times that he¡¯d seen in the barn. Keeping his halberd ready, Cole let them come to him. The more intact ones moved fast. Their bodies jerked forward with almost mechanical movements. Ice-logged limbs lacking in dexterity. The first reached Cole, its arms outstretched, bloated black hands grasping the air, searching for his throat. Requiem sang as it cut, parting head and shoulders in a single clean blow. As the Ghoul''s head toppled to the ground, it kept coming, stumbling blindly towards the Paladin. Eyes widening in surprise, Cole moved backward while bringing the haft of Requiem around. It smashed into cold-hardened flesh and sent the ghoul sprawling. Looking at the severed head, Cole saw witchfire still glowed in its empty sockets. A smashing strike pulped the skull and snuffed out the flames. The first ghoul, which had been trying to right itself, slumped down. The magic animating it extinguished. As five more ghouls approached, each sporting injuries from the barn collapse, Cole grit his teeth. There was Necromancy at work. These ghouls were being enhanced and protected by dark magic. Striding towards the two closest ghouls, Cole brought Requiem down and split the ghoul head to chest. Frozen innards stuck to the halberd, lodging it in the animated corpse. Cursing, Cole spun, dragging the corpse with his weapon as the second ghoul lunged. Bringing his foot down in a low kick, Cole tripped the ghoul and managed to dislodge Requiem in a single fluid motion. Coming back to the stumbling Undead, Cole slammed the halberd¡¯s butt into the ghoul¡¯s skull. Brains and rotting blood sprayed over the snow in a grotesque fountain. By now, the three remaining ghouls had closed the distance. The trio were all ragged things, less intact than their forebears. One was missing an arm, while another had a wooden plank impaled through its midsection. Cole was faster than them, and he used this to his advantage. Striding to the left, the three ghouls were forced to change directions and follow him in something close to a line. The primitive instincts guiding the ghouls pushed them forward with new vigor. They thought Cole was trying to escape. Three corpses jerked forward on blood-swollen legs. Each seeking warm flesh to devour. None would taste any. Cole cut the first one¡¯s head in half. Hitting right at the eye line and smashing the skull apart. Spinning his halberd, Cole used its haft to shove the second ghoul back into the third. The one with the wooden debris lodged in it. They toppled to the ground, both stuck on the same piece of crossbeam, unable to get up. Requiem ended their clumsy struggles and their suffering. Cole looked down at the ruined corpses. He was surprised by how easy the fight had been. Frozen Ghouls were tough, especially ones enhanced by necromancy. He¡¯d cut through six without much effort. Going to the ghouls, Cole released each of their souls before returning to the barn''s ruin. Smoldering flames puffed out thick streams of smoke. Even magical fire struggled to ignite the damp wood. Pulling a clay bottle from his bandolier, Cole tossed it into the flames. A crack of breaking pottery was drowned out by the woosh of growing fire. The flammable mixture helped tip the balance, and the barn became a proper pyre for the ghouls. Pulling his attention from the growing flames, Cole looked towards the tracks. He needed to follow them. These ghouls weren¡¯t the result of some tragedy. They were victims turned into a trap for anyone who might investigate the barn. Grimacing, Cole admitted to himself if he¡¯d entered the barn properly and gotten surrounded by the ghouls, it wouldn¡¯t have gone well. Thirty enhanced ghouls in a closed space? Cole wouldn¡¯t have died, but he would have had some injuries. A curious wanderer or even guard investigating the barn? They wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Cole rolled his neck and prepared to follow the trail. Before he could resume the hunt, the sun finally dipped below the horizon, and twilight turned to night The crunch of snow and clatter of mail was the only warning Cole got. Spinning to the sound, Cole caught a bone-creaking blow on Requiem¡¯s shaft. Sliding along the slushy snow, barely keeping his balance, Cole forced a pulse of light from his amulet. A pained hiss escaped the receding darkness as Cole caught a glimpse of his opponent. Red eyes glowed in the dark, and pale blue soul light reflected off worn armor. While a corpse-white face cut into a predatory snarl sizzled with a holy burn. A face Cole recognized. Holding out Requiem in a far guard, Cole growled. ¡°What are you doing here, Vampire?¡± Dietrich held his longsword in both hands, squeezing the leather handle hard enough to dent wood. ¡°Killing you, Paladin.¡± Cole pushed more power into his amulet, creating a brighter silver glow. Charging forward, Cole moved to strike Dietrich. Ignoring the pain of his smoking skin, Dietrich met Cole¡¯s charge with one of his own. Halberd and sword clashed in a shower of sparks. To Dietrich¡¯s utter shock, their strength was equal. Eyes wide with surprise, Dietrich ducked under a halberd swing and lunged out with a probing thrust. Cole sidestepped it and whispered something in Saint-speech. The cold winter air suddenly bit Dietrich. His undead flesh feeling proper cold for the first time since¡­ since the tunnels. Leaping back, Dietrich muttered his own incantation. Raucous caws filled the early evening as dozens of crows descended upon Cole. The Paladin spun, right hand outstretched. A stream of fire erupted from Cole¡¯s palm as he twirled. The smell of burning feathers filled the night as crows died or fled. Scowling at the act of cruelty he¡¯d been forced to commit, Cole looked to his foe. ¡°Why are you hunting us, Dietrich?¡± Icy vapor streamed from the Paladin¡¯s mouth and flowed from the edges of his cloak. The Cold of Entropy called up and ready to be unleashed. Keeping his distance, wary of the sinister ice magic, Dietrich answered. ¡°You and the fledgling stole something belonging to the Archduke. I¡¯m here to retrieve it.¡± Slowly circling each other, weapons drawn, gathering their respective power, the warriors faced each other. Eyes hard, Cole growled. ¡°That isn¡¯t going to happen. Master Time has placed Natalie under his protection. I suggest you return to your liege with that news and end this madness.¡± Dietrich exploded forward, pouring bloody power into his legs. Lunging for Cole with his longsword. The Paladin barely dodged, his cloak gaining a new tear as Dietrich swept by. Cursing, Dietrich spun around, his two-handed grip ready to split Cole in half. For the second time, Cole caught a full blow from Dietrich on Requiem. It pushed the Paladin back, but he held his ground. Cold coalesced around Cole, swirling in a cloak of entropic frost. ¡°I¡¯m glad you aren¡¯t doing the smart thing, Scarlet Knight.¡± Cole snarled as hoarfrost crept from his hands and along Requiem. ¡°I can place thirty stolen lives on you, but I suspect the true number is much higher. A debt of time needs to be settled.¡± Exploding forward, Cole tried to catch Dietrich¡¯s legs with a low cut. Dietrich literally leaped over the blow and brought his longsword down toward Cole¡¯s shoulder. The Paladin pulled back a little too late, and a line of distant pain opened along his chest. The strike had split the leather and licked his skin. The blood froze as quickly as it came from the wound. A black scar of obsidian armored Cole¡¯s flesh as he let the Cold flow through him. He¡¯d never tried channeling it through his body and weapon simultaneously. But if he was to face a Scarlet Knight and win, then new heights must be reached. Retreating back from Cole¡¯s retaliatory lunge, Dietrich licked his blade. ¡°First blood to me.¡± Pointing his blade at Cole, the Scarlet Knight asked. ¡° When we last met, you weren¡¯t this strong. You lack a smell, and your blood tastes strange. What strange gifts has the Tenth lain upon you?¡± Cole almost stumbled in surprise. Dietrich didn¡¯t know what he was? The Scarlet Knight didn¡¯t hesitate to pounce on his misstep. Cole barely parried the blows coming his way. As the steel storm came down on him, Cole realized something about Dietrich¡¯s fighting style. The Vampire was incredibly strong. Even missing a fang, he could chain together stone-pulping blows with ease. But he lacked creativity or versatility in his strikes. Dietrich used the same dueling forms over and over again. The blows were nearly perfect and held power enough to snap bone. But they lacked the flow you¡¯d see from a true Swordmaster. As he barely dodged a strike that would have decapitated him, Cole understood what he was facing. Dietrich was a creature of the battlefield and dueling ring. Utilitarian and practical were his watchwords. He used what worked and saw little reason to change from it. That was a flaw Cole could exploit. A kick of iron smashing into Cole¡¯s side forced him to reconsider. Dietrich spun a leg into Cole¡¯s side as the Paladin batted his longsword away. Stumbling, Cole felt his icy flesh groan in protest. Looking, he saw a cruel smile on Dietrich''s face. ¡°I felt your ribs creak from that. You are tough, Paladin; I¡¯ll give you that. I¡¯ve pulped men with a kick like that.¡± Sucking in a breath, Cole retorted, ¡°Maybe once, when you had both your fangs.¡± Snarling, Dietrich brought his longsword down in an arc seeking Cole¡¯s neck. The Paladin caught it on Requiem¡¯s haft, but the strike forced him to one knee. Cole had miscalculated. Dietrich didn¡¯t fight without flourish, not because he couldn¡¯t. But because he normally didn¡¯t need anything else. Steel ground on steel as the two weapons clashed. Recovering, Cole let some of the cold in Requiem flow into Dietrich¡¯s blade. The metal fogged with frost, and Dietrich pulled back when he saw what was happening to his weapon. Cole took the opportunity to rise and lash out in a vicious low strike. Dietrich caught the blow on his blade, exactly as Cole hoped. The longsword shattered. Arcane cold turning good steel into so much brittle slag. Shrapnel exploded as Cole¡¯s blow struck. Dietrich roared in pain, and Requiem cut through armor and muscle. Only stopped by the Vampire''s reinforced bones. Yanking the halberd back, Cole spun to repeat the strike. As Dietrich stumbled, Cole put the axe head of Requiem into the Vampire''s arm. This time the blow cut fully through the bone. Dietrich''s arm fell to the ground, and Requiem lodged itself in his armor. The furious Vampire was maimed but not finished. Wild-eyed, Dietrich clamped what was left of his arm over Requiem. Trapping the weapon between armor and stump. Lunging forward, Dietrich wrapped his other hand over Cole¡¯s elbow. Then he started to squeeze. It was Cole¡¯s turn to scream as flesh tore and bone cracked under the boulder-crushing grip. Trying to free himself, Cole put his boot on Dietrich¡¯s chest and pushed. It did little but make the pain worse. Cruel triumph shone in Dietrich''s red eyes. ¡°A limb is a paltry price for a Vampire to pay for victory. I doubt you feel the same way, mortal.¡± In response, Cole released Requiem and grabbed his hunting knife from his belt. Cole rammed the blade into his arm without hesitation and pushed off Dietrich¡¯s chest. The sound of tearing muscle was hidden under Cole¡¯s scream as he lost his left forearm. Dietrich fell back, his remaining hand clutching Cole¡¯s limb. Dropping his knife, Cole spat a gout of fire at Dietrich from his remaining hand and grabbed Requiem from where it had fallen. Hot wet blood sprayed from Cole¡¯s arm as he turned to run. Dietrich lunged after him but failed to grab him. The Vampire collapsed into the snow as the Cold of Entropy devoured his leg. Hissing in fury, Dietrich grabbed the dropped hunting knife and got to the grim work of cutting the magical poison from his flesh. Cole ran for his life. Requiem shrunk into an axe clutched in his remaining hand. Already blood loss was making him dizzy. Sheathing his weapon, Cole summoned up fire from the spark stone strapped to his right palm. Sucking in a breath, Cole cauterized his stump. A horrible noise of pain escaped Cole, but he didn¡¯t stop running. Dietrich was strong, Cole doubted he could win if the clash continued. So he threw everything he had into that final attack. Hoping to cripple the Vampire and escape. Distant roars of pain and howled curses told Cole he¡¯d been at least marginally successful. ¡°I WILL TAKE YOUR HEAD, PALADIN!¡± Delirious with pain, Cole almost laughed. Answering Dietrich¡¯s wrath with whispered words, he said, ¡°Better have tried. Some even succeeded.¡±
Dietrich watched as the Paladin fled. He never took his red eyes off his foe, even as he finished cutting off his leg. Moving to the frosted stump of his arm, Dietrich excised the tainted flesh and pulled off the touched armor. Dietrich wanted to scream in frustration while lying in the ash and blood-stained snow. It would take him time to heal. Regrowing two limbs and cleaning any traces of the ice magic from his body would take hours. Just then, a voice spoke from behind him. ¡°That did not go well.¡± A furious Dietrich glared up at the arrived Scapin. ¡°Pursue him! He¡¯s injured! Even you should be able to take his head.¡± Scapin went over to a red lump in the snow and picked it up. The Paladin¡¯s severed forearm. ¡°I¡¯d rather not risk a Paladin¡¯s last stand. Who knows what desperate tricks he might hold for such a moment? Besides, blood loss and shock will finish what you started. We¡¯ll wait till you heal, then recover the corpse.¡± A crunch of hoofs pulled Dietrich''s attention to a scared-looking Yara. She led the Rattler Horses up to them. Slung over one''s back were Dietrich''s proper weapons and armor. Glaring at his Greatsword, Dietrich let out a pained hiss. If he¡¯d had better gear, this fight would have gone differently. He¡¯d approached this as a Vampire fighting a human warrior. That had been a mistake. The Paladin¡¯s power had grown rapidly in the past three or so months. Next time Dietrich wouldn¡¯t underestimate him. Slung over the second horse''s back was a dead deer. Its body still steaming in the cold. Scapin helped Yara bring it to Dietrich and let him feed. The blood was weak but tasted like ambrosia to Dietrich¡¯s ruined body. Scapin gestured to the drained deer. ¡°I dominated it in case you were injured. I¡­ expected you to take a few ugly blows, but nothing like this.¡± Frowning up at Scapin, Dietrich opened his mouth to rebuke the Agent for not helping but stopped himself. Dietrich had insisted on facing the Paladin alone. Partially to reclaim his honor and partially to preserve what little he had left. Scapin had accepted that request even when it miscast spectacularly. Dietrich couldn¡¯t rebuke Scapin for that. Grabbing the terrified-looking Yara, Dietrich sunk his fangs into her neck. Pumping her full of venom, he took enough blood to knock her out. Wrapping the unconscious girl in a fur cloak, he¡¯d looted. Dietrich set her next to the dead deer. Its remaining warmth would help her. Scapin was staring at the burning barn. The growing pyre cast long shadows in the night. ¡°He¡¯s more powerful than I thought. So he really is a Paladin?¡± Dietrich spat. ¡°Of course he is!¡± Glancing back at Dietrich, Scapin cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Truly? Then¡­ well, that is surprising.¡± Glaring up at his ¡®colleague,¡¯ Dietrich growled. ¡°What is that supposed to imply?¡± Scapin just shook his head. ¡°Nothing important. Some facts are fitting together and making an interesting puzzle picture.¡± There was more to it, but Dietrich sensed Scapin would not be sharing it. So the two Vampires sat in silence for five hours. As Dietrich struggled to regrow his arm and leg. While he¡¯d cut out most of the Cold, its lingering presence had stunted his regeneration. Turning a three-hour process into a five-hour ordeal. But at last, Dietrich''s leg and arm had returned. Leaving the sleeping Yara with the horses, Dietrich and Scapin pursued their prey. The footsteps and blood weren¡¯t hard to follow. A steady trail that went towards Vindabon. The splatter of blood decreased at one point but never fully stopped. Cole must have found a way to bind his wound. But it wouldn¡¯t be enough. Losing an arm without a Priest or Healer skilled in medicine nearby was a death sentence. Their quarry would bleed out sooner rather than later. Still, Dietrich was surprised by how far the Paladin had gone. He was made of stern steel, which Dietrich realized was to be expected. The Scarlet Knight had made the mistake of underestimating Cole yet again. A pattern that needed to end here and now. After perhaps an hour of following the trail, the two Vampires found something strange. A patch of disturbed snow soaked in frozen blood. A lot of frozen blood. Frowning, Dietrich leaned down to inspect the patch of red-black snow. It was large, clearly where the Paladin¡¯s body had finally given up. Dietrich knew the signs of a collapsed person and their lifeblood flowing free. This is where the Paladin should have died. So where was his body? Looking up, Dietrich started to look for drag marks and stopped mid-stride. Finding what Scapin was looking at. New prints leading away from bloodstain. Not drag marks or stumbling strides, but long even steps. Scapin leaned down next to where the bloodstained ended and the new tracks began. Pointing down at the snow, Scapin muttered. ¡°Now that is curious.¡± There was a handprint in the snow, like where someone would press off the ground to get to their feet. It was from the left hand. The same hand Dietrich had torn off. Shocked and confused, Dietrich looked for a second set of tracks. He couldn¡¯t find any. Turning to Scapin, Dietrich stopped when he saw the Agent was frowning. An expression he¡¯d never seen on his face. Looking at Dietrich with anomalous worry, Scapin asked. ¡°Tell me, Dietrich, have you ever heard of the Homunculus Knight.¡±
The Sun Gate of Vindabon stayed open even at night. Only during times of war or crisis did it shut. A gesture partially symbolic of Vindabon¡¯s relationship with Sister Sun. Partially the result of bureaucratic squabbles. Something Cole was more than grateful for. Clutching his regrown arm to his chest, the Paladin trudged through Walltown and towards the gate. Cold, exhausted, and utterly rattled by his fight, Cole would be glad to be back in Vindabon. Patches of frostbite burned on his skin where his magic had shown its double-edge. While his body struggled to replace all the blood, he¡¯d lost in the fight. Reaching the Sun Gate, Cole was stopped by a startled-looking watchman. Even if the Gate was open, it wasn¡¯t unguarded. ¡°Hey, you! What are-¡± the Guard trailed off when he saw the dried blood covering Cole¡¯s cloak and face. Holding up his Amulet, Cole growled. ¡°I¡¯m a Paladin of the Tenth Temple. I need to report an incident to the City.¡± Face blanching, the Guard asked. ¡°What in the Fixed-Stars happened?¡± Glancing back in the direction he¡¯d come, Cole said. ¡°A Vampire.¡± Book II: Chapter 28: Insights

Chapter 28: Insights

¡°I see it. I see it! I SEE IT! Whirling flames and singing choirs. A host of silver and gold. I see a billion billion souls anointed and joined in purpose. They stand vigil, and they watch eternal. Oh blessed ancestors, oh mighty elementals, I see you! Oh, your song! I can feel the song in my soul. It¡­it is wondrous.¡±- Words of Rhodri the Seraph-touched.
Natalie waited in an empty hallway. Tapping her fingers against her lap in a repeating pattern. She¡¯d been waiting for Nyami for close to an hour. The Hierophant had said to meet near the practice yard, and Natalie had complied. So where was Nyami? ¡°It¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it?¡± came a voice from nearby. Looking up, Natalie saw Isabelle or a projection of her leaning against the opposite wall. Letting out a breath filled with mixed feelings, Natalie asked, ¡°What is?¡± Gesturing down the hallway, Isabelle answered. ¡°How mortals don¡¯t seem to value time. It''s a limited resource, especially for them, yet they fritter it away without a care.¡± Natalie made a noncommittal shrug. ¡°From what I¡¯ve seen, Vampires seem to be as guilty of that crime as well.¡± Isabelle actually laughed. ¡°You have a point. Immortality gives plenty of time to procrastinate. And our kind is infamous for becoming distracted with different dalliances.¡± Raising an eyebrow, the younger Vampire asked. ¡°But you don¡¯t?¡± Isabelle¡¯s smile faltered, and she wrapped a finger in her white hair. ¡°No, I don¡¯t. Distraction or detachment have never been my vices. Obsession, on the other hand¡­ That is a sin I claim my own.¡± Pointing at Natalie, Isabelle added. ¡°Immortality does curious things to the psyche. Finding a way to handle that change is important. Pick your poison and learn to enjoy the taste.¡± Musing on Isabelle¡¯s unusually philosophical words, Natalie caught the sound of shuffling feet. Looking down the hallway, she saw Nyami approaching. The old Priestess carrying a stack of books and papers. While two acolytes carrying boxes of Pantheon knows what trailed behind her. Seeing Natalie, Nyami paused and said. ¡°Oh, you are early! Good, good, we can get started right away.¡± Natalie started to correct the Priestess but saw one of the Acolytes just grimace and shake his head slightly. The message was clear. Informing Nyami of her tardiness would be wasted breath. Nodding to the Acolyte in understanding. Thankful for the minor kindness, Natalie followed Nyami into the training yard. The boxes, books, and papers were piled on a table. Nyami dismissed the weary-looking acolytes and turned to Natalie. ¡°So then, let''s get started.¡± Eyeing the pile of research material. Natalie asked. ¡°What exactly did you have in mind?¡± Nyami retrieved a curious sphere of polished amber and a notepad. ¡°We should start with this first. It might sting a little, but nothing too terrible.¡± Before Natalie could object or ask more, the amber sphere started to glow. A soft, warm glow that made Natalie¡¯s skin itch. Sunlight, the sphere was giving off sunlight. Nyami held the sphere forward and said. ¡°Tell me when it starts to hurt.¡± The glow intensified steadily with every second, and Natalie said. ¡°It itches badly, but that¡¯s just what sunlight feels like to me.¡± Nyami nodded, moving a stylus over her notepad with telekinesis. ¡°Good, that¡¯s interesting. Let''s continue.¡± The glow grew brighter and brighter. Natalie was forced to shut her eyes against the light. After maybe thirty seconds, the itching feeling started to turn into burning. Once it went from discomfort to proper pain, Natalie let out a wince and yelp. Nyami instantly turned off the sunlight and scribbled something down on her notes. ¡°Interesting. Mild to normal sun exposure is irritating but not dangerous. I had to reach three times the sun''s brightness to hurt you. I¡¯d expect fivefold or higher, and you¡¯d start to cook. Good, good, that is very good.¡± Natalie felt her exposed skin starting to peel. Alukah regeneration replacing damaged skin in seconds. Leaving a layer of ash covering her exposed skin. Nyami pointed to a nearby barrel of water, and Natalie used the collected snow water to wash her face and hands. Turning back to Nyami, Natalie started to say. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate more warning before you- OW!¡± Two needles had floated over from Nyami and poked the Vampire. One in the wrist, the other at her neck. Both pulled free with drops of black blood on them. Natalie reached for her neck to where her Stigma was. Nyami returned the needles to her and whispered something in an alien language. The needles both glowed, and the blood on each puffed into ash. Turning to Natalie, the Priestess explained. ¡°I tested new blood samples and ones taken from the Stigma site against our earlier ones. The blood near the Stigma is noticeably colder and less magically potent. But that says little considering how much of a presence your blood has in the Aether.¡± Looking up at the now annoyed Natalie, the Keeper asked. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry. What were you saying?¡± Letting out a sigh, Natalie repeated herself. ¡°Tell me what you are doing to me and why.¡± Nyami cocked her head like a confused owl. ¡°I thought I did, deary? These tests are to learn more about the Alukah and its properties.¡± Grimacing, an expression she was fast learning from Cole, Natalie elaborated. ¡°I¡¯d like you to tell me the details BEFORE you start doing them.¡± Nyami looked at Natalie with an almost annoyed expression that quickly softened. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry! I usually work with Corpses, so my manners are a little¡­ inadequate.¡± Accepting her apology with a grumbled, ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Natalie asked, ¡°What do you know about Blood Savantism?¡± Frowning, Nyami glanced around the courtyard as if she expected someone to be eavesdropping. Explaining her reason, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m a blood savant. Or at least the Vampire who turned me thought I was.¡± Nodding in understanding, Nyami sterilized her needles with summoned fire and put them away with a flick of her hand. ¡°It''s one of the few types of Savantism the Temple does not share with those undergoing the Rite of Youth. A knack for dark magic isn¡¯t something most people need to know they have.¡± Frowning, Natalie questioned the ethics of this choice but decided that it was another day¡¯s battle. Nyami saw her frown and tried to justify the Temples'' actions. ¡°No good can come from telling a youth they have skill in binding minds, warping flesh, or animating the dead. If they discover their talent, so be it. We¡¯ll do our best to teach them. But that sort of power can corrupt so incredibly easily.¡± Accepting that for now, Natalie asked, ¡°So what about Blood Savants? I know my blood is¡­ was, more powerful than normal.¡± Nyami winced. ¡°It''s in part why we keep that type of savantism hidden. A powerful Blood Savant¡¯s ichor can fuel some very nasty spells. Something I believe you can tragically attest to.¡± Rubbing her stigma and the bite it hid, Natalie got to her point. ¡°What about Blood Savant¡¯s turned into Vampires? Is there anything I should know?¡± Shrugging, Nyami pulled out another item from her collection. A triangular piece of glass a little larger than Natalie¡¯s palm. Taking Natalie¡¯s hand, the Priestess placed the glass in it. So her thumb and pointer finger touched two points of the triangle. The glass was slightly sharp, not enough to break the skin but enough to discomfort. Nyami held out her own pointer finger and pressed it against the remaining corner. The glass slowly but steadily changed color. A wave of red seeped out from Natalie¡¯s fingers and met Nyami¡¯s. After a few seconds, the glass cracked and shattered. Dissolving into crystalline dust and releasing a puff of foul-smelling vapor. Pulling her hand back from the sudden shock, Natalie looked at Nyami. The Priestess¡¯s eyes were slightly glazed over, and she was muttering under her breath. Right when Natalie started to worry, the Hierophant snapped out of it. Blinking away whatever trance she¡¯d entered, Nyami asked. ¡°How often do you feed?¡± A little surprised by the question, Natalie stammered out. ¡°Uh¡­ daily. I take a little from¡­ ur¡­ Cole in the morning.¡± Accepting this admittance of intimate predation, Nyami asked. ¡°And that¡¯s enough to sustain you?¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°Yes, usually it is. Unless I get badly injured or need to use my powers a lot, that is enough.¡± pausing to think on it, Natalie added. ¡°But I can sort of¡­ stockpile? I guess that¡¯s the right word. Yeah, stockpile blood if I don¡¯t use much in a day. Anything I don¡¯t use is kept in case I need it.¡± Frowning, looking at the glass dust on the ground, Nyami said. ¡°The way you use blood is frighteningly effective. I tested how much arcane power it''s taking to keep you awake and animated during the day; it¡¯s a considerable amount. From what we know of Vampires and their ability to convert blood into power. Your body is extraordinarily efficient.¡± Isabelle appeared then, floating nearby, an interested expression on her face. Forcing herself not to look at Isabelle, Natalie asked. ¡°Couldn¡¯t that just be a side-effect of being the Alukah?¡± Nyami hummed in consideration. ¡°Possibly, but I doubt it. The Alukah were infamous gluttons. They could drink an entire city to slake their hunger but would then spend that stolen blood quickly. While it''s been literally Epochs since one last roamed Vardis, I¡¯m inclined to believe the stories.¡± Tapping Natalie¡¯s chest, Nyami smiled. ¡°You, my dear, are not just the Alukah but a better version of them. Blood Savantism is rare outside certain bloodlines, and that gift combined with your curse has created something new.¡± Nyami¡¯s fingers found the stigma and traced its near-invisible lines. ¡°What exactly that new thing is¡­ I think that falls to you.¡± Isabelle watched as Nyami went back to the table before turning to Natalie. ¡°Fascinating but not unprecedented. I knew Blood Savant Vampires were capable of great magical acts, but the exact mechanism was kept secret from me. I wonder if it could be improved. Or if you could-¡± The puff and hiss of a candle being lit cut Isabelle off. Not because it was particularly loud but because Isabelle had suddenly changed color. Or, more accurately, the candlelight had stripped the color from her. Turning Isabelle into a monochrome specter. Both Vampires whirled to see Nyami, who held up a small candle flickering with silver fire. The Priestess¡¯s eyes were unmistakenly fixed on Isabelle. Smiling like an indulgent grandmother, Nyami asked. ¡°Would you mind introducing your friend, Natalie?¡± Isabelle spasmed and suddenly looked afraid. ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t leave.¡± Nyami nodded. ¡°Yes, as long as this candle burns, a Ghost cannot escape its light. They are expensive little things but very useful. Now, I believe an explanation is owed.¡± Stunned, Natalie asked. ¡°How did you know?¡± Nyami raised an eyebrow. ¡°Deary, this is the Tenth Temple. How incompetent would we have to be not to notice a Wraith hiding inside our very walls?¡± Isabelle glared icy daggers at Nyami. A look the Priestess returned with calm amusement. Still surprised, Natalie sputtered. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything before now?¡± Shrugging, Nyami held up the candle. ¡°We¡¯ve known the Paladin has carried a haunted object all this time. Morri, Glynn, and I had some concerns, but we also trust the Paladin. Carrying a bound Ghost isn¡¯t the strangest habit a Paladin has had.¡± gesturing at Isabelle with the candle, Nyami added. ¡°But when Glynn sensed our little friend poking about the archives with you, things changed. Now I believe it''s your turn to answer my questions.¡± Before Isabelle could make the situation worse, Natalie told the truth. ¡°She¡¯s a dangerous Vampire from Cole¡¯s past. She¡¯s been teaching me how to use my powers in exchange for eventually creating a new body for her.¡± Isabelle whirled on Natalie with maniac hate. ¡°Stupid child! Telling a Priestess that? You are going to get us both killed!¡± Shocked by the outburst, Natalie stepped back from Isabelle. The Vampire was seething, fangs shining, eyes wild. The madness Natalie saw in those eyes was familiar. She¡¯d seen it in Isabelle in their first few encounters. Whatever progress the old monster had made was evaporating before her eyes. Forcing herself to stand her ground, Natalie snapped back. ¡°I¡¯m trying not to be a Monster! Nyami and the Temple are our allies! We might as well try and work with them.¡± Another furious hiss escaped Isabelle. ¡°THE TEMPLE!? The Temple stole Cole from me, and now they want to take you too! How can you be so stupid! They¡¯ll take your freedom, your power; they¡¯ll take it all because of what we are!¡± Looking away from Isabelle, Natalie said to Nyami. ¡°Snuff out the candle. I¡¯ll answer any questions you have. Just¡­ don¡¯t make me speak with her.¡± A sad smile went across Nyami¡¯s face. ¡°I understand, deary.¡± She snuffed the silver flame with two fingers. Color returned to Isabelle just as Natalie banished her with a thought. A scream of impotent rage echoed in Natalie¡¯s mind as the spectral Vampire returned to her skull. Shaken, Natalie rasped. ¡°What do you want to know?¡± Nyami pointed to some nearby chairs, and they sat. ¡°First, I¡¯m curious about what happened in the Archives. Glynn said he was fairly certain you banished the spirit when he shared the Apocypha of Red Twilight with you. Why was that?¡± Shifting uncomfortably, Natalie looked away. ¡°I don¡¯t fully trust myself with the information Glynn shared. I wasn¡¯t about to let Isabelle have unrestricted access to it. Betraying the Temples'' trust wasn¡¯t something I could do.¡± A small smile crinkled Nyami¡¯s wrinkled brown face. ¡°We thought it was something like that. And that¡¯s why we are having this conversation here, not in a cell beneath the Temple.¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Wincing at the implied threat, Natalie muttered. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what involves me, but Isabelle is Cole¡¯s secret to share. I¡¯m just her¡­ student? I guess that might have changed now, but she helped me develop my powers for a time.¡± The Hierophant''s eyes narrowed slightly, and she asked. ¡°What exactly has she been teaching you?¡± Shrugging, Natalie explained. ¡°The basics of shapeshifting, necromancy, and body enhancement.¡± seeing Nyami¡¯s frown, Natalie quickly added. ¡°I¡¯ve only used animal bones. No people and no souls. It''s¡­ it''s still not pretty, but I need tools to defend myself when Cole can¡¯t.¡± Lips pursed, Nyami shrugged. ¡°Your death would be a calamity. Some minor heresy to forestall that disaster is¡­ well, understandable. So how long has the ghost been haunting you?¡± Thinking back, Natalie tried to figure out when. ¡°She first really manifested outside the skull weeks ago. But my arrangement where I let her accompany me like this started the night of the Riot.¡± Leaning forward onto the table between them, Natalie explained. ¡°I overtaxed myself trying to warn the Werefolk, and she helped. Since then, I¡¯ve let her see the world through my eyes occasionally.¡± Flexing her fingers in an odd rhythm, Nyami asked. ¡°And she leaves you be when you tell her to.¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°Yes, she taught me how to sever the connection. It¡¯s one of the first things I got her to teach me.¡± Words echoed in Natalie¡¯s mind. ¡°Let''s see if she told you the truth?¡± Eyes wide, Natalie looked to Nyami and realized her hand gestures had been a spell. ¡°Break the connection I made between our minds.¡± With an effort, Natalie reached out to the ephemeral bridge connecting them through the Aether. She tore it down like an old cobweb. Nyami pulled back and hummed in interest. ¡°She actually did teach you? That is surprising. Tell me, is the ghost usually as unhinged as we saw today?¡± ¡°No, not normally.¡± was Natalie¡¯s answer. ¡°I¡¯ve seen her get like that before, but not for a while.¡± Nodding as if she expected that answer, Nyami said. ¡°Wraiths with her level of intact faculties we call Ghosts. They are perhaps one of the most tragic types of Undead. They start as mirrors of the person they were but slowly warp and degrade into something¡­ horrible. A ghost of a powerful Vampire? I shudder to think what she might devolve into.¡± Taking Natalie¡¯s hand in a surprisingly kind gesture, Nyami said. ¡°Existing in such a half-life is torture. I do not know the Paladin¡¯s reason for keeping this ghost, but freeing this ¡®Isabelle¡¯ would be a mercy. I don¡¯t know Cole¡¯s reasons, and I won¡¯t pry. But perhaps you could help us convince him to let the ghost go.¡± A flurry of temptations and possibilities swam around Natalie. She¡¯d learned much from Isabelle but had also become indebted to the unraveling Ghost. Removing Isabelle would simplify her relationship with Cole and probably rid the world of some very dangerous secrets. The selfish impulse to have Cole to herself and the selfless desire to end Isabelle¡¯s malice swirled together in a deadly mixture. Opening her mouth, Natalie forced herself not to speak. The desire to remove a rival and secure ¡®territory¡¯ was core to a Vampire¡¯s psychology. How much of this was the Vampire¡¯s whispers, and how much of it was her? Rubbing her face with her free hand, Natalie found a way to kick the stone down the road. ¡°I don¡¯t think Isabelle is a normal ghost, and I don¡¯t know if she can even be put to rest.¡± One of Nyami¡¯s small eyebrows raised at that, and Natalie explained. ¡°I¡¯m no Rest-Bringer, but I¡¯ve learned a few things from Cole. Wraiths require an anchor, right? A location or object they can attach to. Usually their remains or resting place.¡± Nyami nodded slowly in confirmation, so Natalie continued. ¡°Well, Isabelle¡¯s body was burned to ash, and her skull was carried around by a Paladin working Miracles for close to ten years. Wouldn¡¯t either of those things be enough to break the anchor?¡± Slowly Nyami nodded. ¡°Yes, but this is an unusual case. A Vampire turned into another form of Undead is incredibly rare. Other factors might be at work in preserving her anchor.¡± Filing that bit of information away for later use, Natalie asked. ¡°What if, in trying to free her, we just damage Isabelle? Making her more dangerous and unstable. Can¡¯t we try the other way of freeing a Ghost?¡± Leaning back in understanding, Nyami hummed in consideration. ¡°If the Anchor can¡¯t be broken and the Soul can¡¯t be freed¡­ Then the Wraith has to choose to let go. You want to try and convince a degrading obsessive Vampire-Ghost to peacefully accept Master Time¡¯s Judgement?¡± Natalie just bobbed her head yes. Nyami let out a surprisingly youthful giggle and rubbed her wrinkled forehead. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m getting far, far too old to play these types of games. Can¡¯t an elder be left to her laboratory in peace?¡¯ Looking at Natalie, the Hierophant¡¯s eyes suddenly became cold and hard. ¡°I understand what you are doing. You are trying to buy time. Placating the Temple with claims of helping Isabelle move on. At the same time, gaining more knowledge and power under her tutelage. Even perhaps a powerful ally if you were to resurrect her in a new body. Such a thing is possible but never simple or easy. But with the Alukah¡¯s power, it might very well be in your grasp.¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie slowly said. ¡°I¡­.I didn¡¯t even think of all that, I guess you are sorta right. But not completely¡­¡± The ice in Nyami¡¯s voice melted just a little ¡°Oh?¡± Sheepishly, Natalie explained. ¡°I have a vested interest in Isabelle peacefully leaving both Cole and my life.¡± Glad she wasn¡¯t projecting life, or otherwise, she surely would be blushing, Natalie explained. ¡°Isabelle isn¡¯t just my teacher. She¡¯s my rival for¡­for Cole¡¯s affection.¡± Silence hung between them for a long beat before Nyami broke down laughing. A scratchy cackle escaped the old woman¡¯s throat as she nearly collapsed forward onto the table. Natalie glanced past the Hierophant and into the nearby training pit. Briefly wondering if she could bury herself under its floor. Recovering slightly, Isabelle wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. ¡°You are telling me that Paladin Cole is involved with not just one Vampire, but two? Oh, I don¡¯t know what purpose Master Time has for that boy, but it must be important to put up with that kind of mischief.¡± A little offended, Natalie countered. ¡°We started going with each other before I was a Vampire.¡± Slapping the table in amusement, Nyami shrugged. ¡°No matter. I guess you do have proper motivation to see Isabelle gone. We¡¯ll need to discuss this more with the Paladin later, but let''s get back to business.¡± Getting up, the old Priestess went into the sparring yard proper. The courtyard was sand and tile. The sort of place where skin and pride are bruised. Natalie followed her, remembering her last visit to the yard and the unfortunate pig she¡¯d consumed. Once Nyami was in the middle of the yard, she made a gesture, and the sound of grinding stone echoed through the courtyard. A pillar of stone as tall as Cole pulled up from the courtyard floor. ¡°We will start with testing your raw physical enhancements.I want to know how a newborn Alukah compares to a normal Vampire.¡± Nyami gestured to the pillar, ¡°so how about you see if you can break this.¡± Flexing her fingers unnecessarily, Natalie let the power of blood flow through her body. She¡¯d learned enhancing just her hand or arm was a quick way to break something. While more costly, letting the blood flow through her entire body balanced things. Striking forward, Natalie slammed a punch into the stone. She winced as both stone and bone cracked. Pulling back, Natalie shook her injured knuckles in pain. The damaged muscle and bone quickly healed, but the cracked pillar did not. Stepping close, Nyami looked at the large mark Natalie¡¯s fist had made and the cracks spidering out from it. ¡°Interesting; let''s continue.¡± And so they did. Natalie completed the myriad tests Nyami concocted. After the third hour of jumping, punching, running, healing, slashing, and bleeding. Natalie held up her hands in surrender. ¡°I¡¯m starting to use too much blood. We need to be done for now.¡± A slightly annoyed hum escaped Nyami. She seemed to be considering asking Natalie to continue. But upon seeing the weariness in the Vampire¡¯s red eyes, Nyami decided better of it. ¡°Well, we can be done for today. I think I have a good estimate of your strength. At least the brute section of it.¡± Dusting the bit of sand and dirt she¡¯d gotten on her clothes off, Natalie asked. ¡°Oh? How strong am I?¡± Flipping through a book she¡¯d brought with her, Nyami consulted it and her notes. ¡°In terms of raw physical power? I¡¯d compare you to a Vampire thirty or forty years turned. But your efficiency is astounding, and your finesse is lacking. Which¡­ matches what we already knew.¡± Shutting the book, Nyami smiled. ¡°So we¡¯d dispatch an experienced Restbringer and a squad of veteran soldiers to kill you. According to the guidelines on these things.¡± Natalie did not know what to make of that, so she just let out a pointless breath. ¡°Well, I guess that¡¯s good to know. What¡¯s next?¡± Before Nyami could answer, the distant doors of the courtyard opened, and a quartet of Acolytes strode in. They looked surprised to see Nyami and positively unnerved to see Natalie. The tallest of the four, a long-limbed girl, maybe sixteen of age, stepped forward with a frown. ¡°Keeper Nyami¡­ We had the sparring ground reserved for this afternoon.¡± Nyami nodded. ¡°Yes, and I had it for the late morning and early afternoon. You are early and eager to train, I see?¡± The four Acolytes exchanged looks, and the tall girl, who Natalie assumed was their unofficial spokesperson, tried to gently correct her superior. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Keeper Nyami, but it¡¯s four in the afternoon.¡± A surprised hum came from the Keeper, and she laughed. ¡°Oh, silly me. I let things get away from me. Thankfully Natalie and I just finished up here.¡± Another of the quartet stepped forward then and pointed at Natalie. ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re the Paladin¡¯s Vampire, right?¡± Thankful undeath prevented her from twitching in anger, Natalie coolly answered. ¡°I am Natalie. I am my own person, but yes, I am Cole¡¯s partner.¡± The new speaker, a short boy maybe fourteen with unusually thick arms for someone his age, blanched at Natalie¡¯s rebuke. ¡°Sorry, I¡­I just wanted to know if he was here.¡± Cocking her head in interest, Natalie asked. ¡°What business do you have with him?¡± The boy rubbed the back of his head. Running calloused fingers through short dark hair. ¡°We were wondering if he¡¯d spar with us. We¡¯re all training to be Rest-bringers and¡­ Well, who better to learn from?¡± Squinting at the boy, Nyami asked. ¡°Malwick, right?¡± The boy shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s Cedrick, Lady Keeper.¡± Nodding, Nyami said. ¡°It seems to me that sparring with a Paladin would be useful. He surely has lots of tips for fighting the Undead. But in the end, he¡¯s just a human. Wouldn¡¯t it be better to spar with the Undead?¡± Cedrick and his companions looked at Natalie with dawning comprehension. Holding her hands up, Natalie shook her head. ¡°Woah woah woah. I¡¯m not going to spar with these kids. Why¡­ why would you even suggest that?¡± Gesturing back towards the sparring pit, Nyami explained her reasoning. ¡°You lack finesse and fine control. Sparring would better your skills as much as it would the Acolytes.¡± Befuddled, Natalie asked. ¡°Why would you want me to be stronger?¡± The acolytes gave sheepish nods confirming they thought similarly. Nyami reached towards Natalie¡¯s neck and tapped the Stigma. ¡°Master Time wants you to continue existing. Giving you the tools to do that while training our Rest-bringers in fighting you or other Vampires is an efficient way to achieve multiple goals.¡± Frowning, Natalie gestured at the acolyte Rest-bringers. ¡°You want me to train with my potential death squad?¡± Nyami raised a thin eyebrow. ¡°If you were to lose control and require sealing or execution, would you want Cole to do it? Or would you prefer him spared that pain?¡± Wincing, Natalie let out a breath. ¡°Point taken.¡± looking up at the acolytes, Natalie smiled without showing her fangs. ¡°I guess we will be sparring in the future.¡± The quartet looked at each other before Cedric answered. ¡°I guess we will.¡± Natalie helped Nyami pack up her various tools and texts. Then they headed towards the arch sanctum of the Temple. They passed a trio of temple workers who quickly tried to duck away but were stopped by Nyami. ¡°Hello there, would you be so kind as to take these boxes to my laboratory.¡± The workers took the containers without complaint and shuffled down the hallway. Once they were out of (human) earshot, Natalie heard them grumbling about Nyami¡¯s habit of using anyone and anything as a gofer. Practicing her toothless smile, Natalie was pleased to realize the workers'' attempted escape wasn¡¯t because of her. Once they entered the arch sanctum, Natalie paused to look up at the stained-glass rings forming the chamber''s ceiling. The colors of the glass seemed to change at different times of the day. Shifting sunlight accentuating different patterns and pigments. The size and majesty of the arch sanctum were humbling. Especially since Natalie always felt a faint pressure whenever she entered it. An aetheric echo of all the magic and miracles worked in the hall. Whispering, because that seemed the appropriate thing to do, Natalie asked. ¡°What are we doing here?¡± Nyami answered in her normal voice. ¡°Adding your blood to the city''s defenses. If what you sensed, the presence of Alukah blood, was accurate. Then we cannot let this ritual be delayed any longer.¡± In the central ritual pit of the arch sanctum, nine priests waited. Each in silver-white robes and wearing a generally bored expression. Glynn was among them. Upon seeing the approaching Nyami, Glynn let out the smallest sigh. ¡°You are half an hour late, Keeper Nyami.¡± Nyami shrugged like it was a nonissue. ¡°Well, I¡¯m here now, and I have our newest refugee with me.¡± Nine sets of eyes fell on Natalie, and the young Vampire suddenly felt very nervous. ¡°So¡­ uh, what does this all entail?¡± Glynn¡¯s lips tightened in the barest sign of annoyance. ¡°I¡¯m assuming my fellow Keeper didn¡¯t inform you of the details.¡± Natalie shook her head, and Nyami defended herself. ¡°We learned much about the Alukah¡¯s capabilities today. Besides, we might have come to an arrangement involving the spectral problem. Surely that¡¯s worth thirty minutes of your very long life Glynn?¡± The other priests looked at each other with confusion, and Glynn¡¯s eye twitched slightly. He muttered something in a melodic language even Natalie could barely hear. Switching to Western, he said. ¡°Fine, fine. Let us begin.¡± Natalie then found herself at the center of the ritual pit. Her forehead was daubed with some strange-smelling ointment, and a white robe overlaid her clothes. Ten Priests of Master Time surrounded her in a circle. Standing on the edges of the silver circle enclosing the pit¡¯s bottom. Glynn stood directly to Natalie¡¯s left while Nyami stood directly to her right. The two Hierophants lead the ritual. Saint-speech filled the air as ten voices intoned words of power. Natalie held perfectly still, holding two bottles up, one in each hand. They were small things of clear crystal. Each contained a sample of her blood. More than a little nervous, Natalie watched as the ritual gained momentum. The chanting saint-speech grew louder, and Natalie felt the strange pressure in the arch-sanctum grow. Absently she noticed Glynn and Nyami¡¯s chants did not match the other eight Priests. Glynn droned on in a low melody that Natalie swore she could feel in her teeth. While Nyami¡¯s lips blurred between syllables as humming words spilled from her. The silver ring of the pit started to glow, a pale blue light that cast strange shadows over the arch-sanctum. Sigils daubed in ochre covered the floor around Natalie, and these, too, started to glow. The red clay ignited in silver fire. Five-centimeter-tall flames danced and flickered as the sigils started to move. The sigils formed multiple rings around Natalie, and each started to spin. Every ring spun in the opposite direction of the one before it. Creating a dizzying mandala of symbols around the Vampire. As the whirling flames reached a steady speed, they changed again. The mandala rose off the floor, splitting into multiple layers of dancing magic, and Natalie forgot to breathe. The sight was hypnotic. The flames were stable and steady, unlike true fire. Attracting the eye but confusing the brain. Fire was humanity¡¯s oldest ally and, coupled with ochre, formed the bedrock of human magic. The whirling column of fire started to close in on Natalie, shrinking around her as its individual pieces spun faster. Tensing, she glanced around, wondering if this was supposed to happen. Nyami¡¯s voice echoed in her head then. ¡°Stay still, deary. We are almost finished.¡± The psychic connection ended then, and Natalie did her best to follow the Priestess¡¯s advice. Staring forward, forcing herself not to flinch, Natalie watched the dancing runes. There was a pattern to the movement. She couldn¡¯t understand it, but she could see it. Squinting, Natalie tried to decipher what she saw. As she focused, Natalie caught glimpses of something. It almost looked like there was a¡­ Natalie forced herself not to leap back in surprise. There was a shape in the sigils. A disturbance in the pattern. It was a silhouette, visible only in how it shifted the runes. The spinning mandalas distorted around it. Much like how water flows around a rock. Giving the impression of a person standing very close to Natalie. Watching with muscles clenched, arms outstretched, Natalie kept her eyes open as the figure brought its hands to meet hers. They hovered above the two bottles, almost as if the silhouette was preparing to dance with Natalie. The bottles started to vibrate, and Natalie¡¯s eyes flicked to them. They were emptying. Her collected blood was slowly draining away. Where to? Natalie could only guess. As the last of the black fluid disappeared, Natalie looked at the silhouette. This close to her, she could see a little more detail. It was tall and feminine, slim of build but not sickly. Yet all those details faded to the back of Natalie¡¯s mind when compared to the presence of a singular feature. The silhouette had wings. As that realization soaked her soul, Natalie opened her mouth. Trying to find words for the silhouette before her. She knew what it was but couldn¡¯t imagine what she could possibly say to such a being. The wheels of spinning fire suddenly stopped and collapsed. Turning into a shower of silver sparks that floated down around Natalie. Leaving the Vampire staring at the now empty space. Natalie breathed for the first time since the mandala¡¯s expanded. As the sparks faded, Natalie glanced at the Priests. They all looked worn but content. Nyami stepped forward and collected the two bottles from Natalie. A small smile on the old Priestess¡¯s face. ¡°You saw her, didn¡¯t you? The Temple¡¯s guardian?¡± Jerkily, Natalie nodded. Seeing the shock on her face, Nyami set a reassuring hand on Natalie¡¯s arm. ¡°It¡¯s a lot to take in. But the ritual is done, and my prodding can wait another day. Rest, deary, you¡¯ve seen the divine. Let your mind and soul recuperate.¡± Not completely in control of her own faculties, Natalie nodded again. Following Nyami¡¯s gentle touch as they left the arch-sanctum. Natalie never let her eyes drift far from the empty space as they walked. An empty space where a Seraph treads. Book II: Chapter 29: Intrigue

Chapter 29: Intrigue

¡°The Final Gates are the greatest and final gift of Saint Mira. They enforce balance upon the world. Limiting the harm the Fell Gods can inflict at the cost of trammeling the Pantheon. A price the Saint and the Pantheon deemed worthy. Good requires only a little push to succeed. By contrast, Evil needs much to triumph.¡± - Writings of Saint Samos the Scale-keeper.
Natalie lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. Sitting next to her was a collection of objects. The book on Vindabon¡¯s history, a now empty beaker of pig¡¯s blood, and her amulet. Taking the beaker, Natalie let out a disgusted sigh and set it on the night table. After everything that had happened, she needed something to blunt her hunger. The Temple kept several pigs for medical use, and they¡¯d been willing to let Natalie feed from them. Looking at the book, Natalie marked her page and set it next to the beaker. She¡¯d just finished reading a section on the city''s squabbling aristocracies. Nothing had stuck out in a way that said ¡®possible ritual killers.¡¯ Just a lot of petty people with too much wealth and power to waste. For maybe the seventh time, she glanced at the apartment door. Hoping Cole would step through it. Stretching out on the bed, Natalie let out an annoyed sigh. She hated the idea of waiting around like this. Playing this role of ¡®fair maid in the fell mansion¡¯ went against her instincts. Both natural and unnatural. Natalie, the human, rejected being left behind and protected. Natalie, the vampire, wanted to be out hunting her enemies and securing her territory. Looking at the door for the eighth time, Natalie groaned and rubbed her face. This was getting ridiculous. Rolling onto her stomach, Natalie let her face rest in the feather pillows. One of the unexpected perks of vampirism was the ability to lay like this without fear of suffocation. Resisting the urge to complete her full juvenile pattern and scream into the pillow, Natalie sat back on her haunches. Lazing about in bed was an old habit from whenever she was stressed. Bitterly, Natalie thought on the irony of her two coping mechanisms being diametrically opposed. Either throwing herself into some project or flopping about like an overfed cat. Letting her eyes rest on the yew amulet, Natalie licked her fangs nervously. She was procrastinating, and she knew it. The longer she put this off, the worst it would be. Still, the idea of speaking with Isabelle was about as appealing as slathering herself in honey and napping in a Direbear den. Frowning, Natalie realized she¡¯d probably survive such an act of stupidity now. Shaking that distracting thought away, Natalie forced herself to grab the amulet. Settling herself under the covers, ignoring the numbing cold in her right hand, Natalie prepared to sleep. Clutching the amulet to her breast, Natalie felt a wave of cold ripple over her. Exhaustion pressed her into the bed, and Natalie briefly wondered if this was what freezing to death was like. Before the full weight of that ominous thought could sink in, Natalie entered torpor.
Natalie expected to wake in her field of red lilies or Isabelle¡¯s bloody lake. She did not expect the burning castle and the terrible screams. Surprised and scared, Natalie looked around, trying to ground herself. She stood in the courtyard of a breached citadel. A little past its battered down gates and in the Castle¡¯s arming yard. Dead bodies littered the ground; most were rotten or skeletal. From how they lay, Natalie knew these weren''t old corpses but freshly slain Undead. Looking towards the citadel, Natalie was shocked by its beauty. Even engulfed in flames, the structure was a marvel. Tall with magnificent towers surrounding a central citadel, the Castle was stepped, each floor slightly smaller than the one below it. Creating garden terraces decorated with statues and plants. Statues now shattered, and plants now burning. Above the terraced floors was a great clerestory that once held stained glass windows. Shards of which Natalie realized, decorated the courtyard around her. Terrible screams pulled Natalie from her reverie. Moving towards the Castle¡¯s main door, she found a small crowd of armored warriors. All watching a horrific sight. A woman had been impaled, a sharpened log driven through her. Caught on the wood like a rabbit on a spit, the woman was burning. A pyre built around her blazed with infernal heat. Disgusted and horrified, Natalie looked away from the brutal scene. Just to see a familiar form lying on the ground near the pyre. Stripped bare and covered in ash and blood was Cole. Even lacking most of his scars, Natalie recognized her lover. Standing above him was a huge knight in red armor. One sabaton-clad foot crushed Cole¡¯s right arm while the knight¡¯s sword point was stuck in Cole¡¯s mouth. The Homunculus thrashed and screamed, trying to pull free. Natalie saw where the sword tore at Cole¡¯s cheek, cutting him from his lip to his jaw. Creating a scar Natalie sometimes traced while he slept. The screams of the impaled woman reached new terrible heights as the flames grew and grew. Natalie wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn¡¯t. The sight of the burning Vampire and her tortured creation would not let her look away. She was witnessing the event that defined Cole and Isabelle. Hiding from that felt wrong. The fire started to swallow the impaled Vampire. Her regenerating flesh failed under the flame, showing the bones beneath. Watching the cremation of a living corpse, Natalie frowned as she noticed something odd about the fire. Its tongues danced and whirled slowly like they were moving through water, not air. Looking around, Natalie saw the effect was universal. Ash floated down sluggishly, and Cole¡¯s struggles became a slow pantomime. The world slowly froze, leaving Natalie alone in a gruesome tableau. Stepping forward towards the pyre, Natalie felt a tingle of worry move up her spine. Glancing towards the knights watching Isabelle¡¯s death, her eyes were drawn to one at the lead. Handsome with long hair and a thick mustache was a Vampire completely lacking in pigment. Only his eyes shone with color, a red somehow richer than blood itself. The lead Vampire¡¯s armor was incredibly ornate, with images of whirling bats and dragons engraved on it. By contrast, a simple sword sat at the Vampire¡¯s waist. It lacked a proper crossguard, and its grip was worn leather. Natalie focused on all these details because they protected her from properly viewing the man. Something dark and powerful radiated off the Vampire. Even in this piece of a memory Natalie could sense the Vampire¡¯s presence in the Aether. While she tried to focus on his physical body, her power felt the truth of him. Within that armored form was an ocean of oily shadows and bloody cruelty. A leviathan of malice peering into the world through blood-red eyes. The closest frame of reference Natalie had was the Alukah, but that didn¡¯t match exactly. There was a¡­ rigid intensity to this monster. Something Natalie couldn¡¯t put into words. As she considered stepping toward the Vampire Lord, a voice from behind Natalie whispered. ¡°He¡¯s even worse in person.¡± Whirling, Natalie found Isabelle standing there. The Countess looked worn, her flesh palid and corpse-like. Her eyes didn¡¯t blink as they stared at the Vampire Lord. ¡°That is Drakovich, the so-called Archduke of the ¡®Red Empire¡¯ as he privately calls the Duchies.¡± Finally pulling her unblinking eyes from the Monster of Monsters, Isabelle let them fall to the ground between her and Natalie. ¡°I spend much of my time here in these memories. Either a witness or participant in my murder.¡± Looking to where Cole lay, frozen in pointless struggle. Isabelle whispered, ¡°seeing him hurts almost as much as the flames. I think he¡¯d died six times that night. Defending me during the attack and trying to rescue me once it was too late.¡± Grief and regret flashed across Isabelle¡¯s waxy face as she looked toNatalie. Swallowing audibly, the older Vampire rasped. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for earlier. If¡­ if you are here to destroy me, let me speak to Cole one last time before you do.¡± The regretful tone in Isabelle¡¯s words stunned Natalie. ¡°Uh¡­ no, I¡¯m not here to release you. I¡¯ve convinced the Temple to let me try something else instead.¡± Isabelle¡¯s expression snapped to cool neutrality, and words hissed from her. ¡°I will not be sealed away. I won¡¯t be locked in some reliquary. Kill me instead.¡± Crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes, Natalie answered. ¡°No, I convinced them I¡¯d help you move on. To surrender your anchor and peacefully move into the Beyond.¡± Isabelle¡¯s eyes became red slits, and she bared her fangs. ¡°You¡­ you can¡¯t honestly expect me to-¡± Natalie interrupted her. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you can! But that doesn¡¯t matter. What does, is that I bought myself some time and gave you other options.¡± Fangs gleamed in the frozen firelight, and Isabelle started to snarl something. Natalie stepped forward and pressed an accusatory finger into Isabelle¡¯s chest. ¡°Stop that! Stop the whole paranoid, unstable monster goatshit. I understand your fear and worry, but it¡¯s not helping anyone! Once I banished you, I got the Temple to come to a compromise. They listened to me and were willing to work with me. That¡¯s what gets things done, not skulking about and acting like a cornered rat!¡± Rage grew in the older Vampire¡¯s eyes. Meeting the determination in Natalie¡¯s. The rising swell of wrath crested and then started to fade. Shutting her eyes, Isabelle relaxed slightly. Dead muscle untensed, pale skin loosened, and she whispered.¡°You may have a point.¡± Glancing toward the tortured form of Cole, Natalie said. ¡°We need to talk about this. Can we do it somewhere other than here?¡± With a sweeping gesture, Isabelle melted the world. Castle, flames, bodies, and everything else turned into blood. Settling into the crimson lake and its oversized moon. Glancing around, Isabelle seemed surprised. ¡°That was much easier than normal. I can get stuck in those memories very easily.¡± Natalie raised out her hands and pulled up memories. She imagined two chairs from the Silly Goat. With a clunk and a splash, the two comfortable wooden seats materialized before her. Natalie let herself relax in the familiar chair. Isabelle raised an eyebrow as she went to the other seat. ¡°You are getting better.¡± Shrugging, Natalie let her fingers rub along the carved wood. A gesture she¡¯d repeated a thousand times in another life. ¡°I¡¯ve had a good teacher.¡± What might have been a smile crossed Isabelle¡¯s face for a moment. Natalie rubbed the wooden ram¡¯s head capping the armrest as she spoke. ¡°How you acted earlier wasn¡¯t right. You lashed out and acted like a demented monster. Something the Temple is already convinced you are. I want to think you aren¡¯t, but old doubts are resurfacing.¡± Scowling like a winter storm, Isabelle asked. ¡°What are you doing, Natalie? Why are you talking to me like I¡¯m some petulant child in need of a spanking?¡± Raising an eyebrow, Natalie gestured wildly. ¡°Because it¡¯s either that or treat you like a lunatic. Besides, spanking doesn¡¯t work. I¡¯m trying to communicate with you.¡± Seeing the annoyance in Isabelle¡¯s eyes, Natalie continued. ¡°Forging and maintaining relationships requires clear communication. After being turned, I forgot that and acted like an idiot. I¡¯ve relearned that lesson, and it¡¯s paying well. So let¡¯s try and rebuild what you broke today.¡± The barest twitch of anger was smothered under Isabelle¡¯s control, and she let out an annoyed breath. ¡°Fine. Thank you for convincing the Temple not to destroy me.¡± Shrugging, Natalie explained. ¡°I honestly doubt they could. Doesn¡¯t it seem odd that you¡¯ve survived as this¡­ ghost in a skull all these years? Burning to death and being so close to a Paladin actively using his powers should that have freed you.¡± Isabelle frowned slightly. ¡°Even if that¡¯s true, they can still shred my soul. It''s well within the power of a Hierophant to rend me like that. Or they could lock me in a reliquary or something similar.¡± Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Natalie said. ¡°They are Priests of the Tenth God. Destroying a Soul that can be saved is as bad as Necromancy in their eyes. Besides, Cole and I wouldn¡¯t let them seal you away. The Temple has no love for you, but a Paladin and Stigma bearer do. That offers you protection.¡± Natalie could see that sink into Isabelle slightly, opening cracks in the old monster''s fear. Pressing forward, Natalie asked. ¡°So why did you react like that earlier? You lashed out and seemed ready to kill someone.¡± Shutting her eyes, Isabelle didn¡¯t speak for a long moment. Just when Natalie was about to prod her again, she spoke. ¡°Different bloodlines of Vampires develop¡­ flaws. Different from the larger breed differences like Strigoi, Moroi, or Strix. These are personality defects, or quirks passed down with our blood''s power. My line is known for obsession and avarice. Even more so than our fellow Strix.¡± Shifting in what Natalie could only some was uncomfortableness, Isabelle explained. ¡°Being stuck in this half-hell of memories has eroded me in some ways. My ability to handle my worse nature isn¡¯t what it once was. So when I thought the Temple was taking away my only chance to survive. That they were taking away my student and¡­ my friend, the Monster won over the Woman.¡± It seemed to physically take something from Isabelle to say all this. To admit weakness and even affection was going against instinct and practice centuries in the making. A little stunned by this admission, Natalie took a second to formulate her answer. ¡°Thank you for telling me.¡± Isabelle jerked her head in what might have been a nod. They sat silently like that for a little while until Natalie mustered up the courage to ask her next question. ¡°Why are you afraid of moving on?¡± A twitch contorted Isabelle¡¯s face for the smallest moment. ¡°Why would I fear losing everything I am? Yes, why on Vardis would I fear that?¡± Sarcasm dripped from the last sentence, and Natalie resisted the urge to bite back with her own venom. A decision that was rewarded when Isabelle let out a pointless breath. ¡°Forgive my words. This is not easy. Tell me, Natalie, do you know what happens when a soul enters the Beyond?¡± ¡°They are judged and pass either into the Hells or the Heavens. Where they stay until the Gods decide it¡¯s time for them to be reincarnated.¡± Was Natalie¡¯s answer. Repeating old temple-school lessons. Isabelle sneered with contempt. ¡°Ah, so typical of the Pantheon. They tell the sheep a nice faerie story. No, the truth is much more complicated. Allow me to illustrate it the best I can.¡± With a gesture, Isabelle pulled a sphere of blood from the red lake. The sphere split into two and then pressed against each other. Creating a section where they overlapped and mixed. The higher sphere changed color, turning silver-white. In contrast, the low one became oily black. The area where they mixed was hard to look at. Simultaneously being a mixture of countless colors and shades of grey. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Pointing at the silver sphere, Isabelle explained. ¡°That is the Light. The Pantheon, Seraphs, and the Heavens compose it.¡± Then, pointing at its oily twin. ¡°That is the Dark. Realm of the Fell Gods, Demons, and the Hells.¡± Gesturing at the mixed area, she said, ¡°And that is the Grey. Home to the Sidhe, unaligned Spirits, and other things. But they aren¡¯t important for this lesson.¡± Now Isabelle manifested a small doll in her hand. It looked like a crude representation of Natalie. The depicted Vampire raised an eyebrow at this creative choice but stayed silent. Holding up the painted doll, Isabelle said. ¡°This is a soul. Now let me demonstrate death.¡± She threw the doll into the two spheres. It was sucked into the middle area and bobbed up and down between the Light and the Dark. Natalie watched as the paint and detail were stripped from the figurine. Flakes of paint and splinters floated up into the Light or down into the Dark until nothing of the doll¡¯s appearance remained. Just a crude body of wood without identity or detail. The doll was spat out and then into Isabelle¡¯s hand. ¡°This is life.¡± the doll was slowly carved into a new form before Natalie¡¯s eyes. Paint was added to the emerging figurine. Clarifying its new identity. A new woman with features completely unlike Natalie. Isabelle tossed the doll into the spheres, and the whole process repeated. ¡°That is the cycle of reincarnation.¡± the old Vampire said as the third doll variation entered her hand. ¡°All that makes a person is fed into the Beyond. The stripped soul spat out once it¡¯s been consumed to be used again.¡± Isabelle squeezed the doll then, and it changed. Its hair became white, and its eyes turned red. Painted blood trailed from its mouth and hands. The doll depicted a Vampire soaked in sins. Isabelle tossed the Vampire doll into the model afterlife. When the doll entered the twin spheres this time, it didn¡¯t stay in the Grey. It plummeted into the Dark and stayed there. No worn figurine escaped the Darkness. All was consumed. Isabelle stared at the sphere of oily shadow for a long moment before saying. ¡°That is damnation. To have a soul so laden with darkness, it is consumed utterly. Anointment isn¡¯t much different, becoming part of the light instead of the dark.¡± The spheres splashed into the lake, sending red ripples over Natalie and Isabelle¡¯s feet. Looking at her protegee, Isabelle said. ¡°Now, do you understand why I fear death? I fear the total obliteration of who I am. At best, I¡¯ll be stripped of my identity and recycled into the farce of life. At worse, I¡¯ll be devoured by things made of sin and suffering. Neither fate is something I¡¯m keen to experience.¡± Natalie swallowed nervously. Ever since her transformation, her throat had always been a little dry. Now it was practically a desert. Reminding herself that Isabelle was biased against the Pantheon and not above a little truth-twisting. Natalie tried to find words. They did eventually come, but not as easily as they normally would. ¡°Everything dies eventually, Isabelle. Even if the cycle isn¡¯t¡­ pleasant. Delaying the inevitable by staying in this half-life of yours seems horrid. Wouldn¡¯t¡­ wouldn¡¯t it be better to take the leap than stay locked in memories of your own death?¡± An actual smile split the Countess¡¯s face. ¡°Not everything has to die. I proved that, didn¡¯t I?¡± In that smile was a hint of maniacal obsession. A flicker of madness different from the rage Natalie was used to. That rage was lunacy born of blood and trauma. While this¡­ this madness was all Isabelle. Leaning back against the padded headrest of the chair, Natalie let out a sigh. It would be easy to just be rid of Isabelle and be done with it. But more than Cole¡¯s love stopped Natalie¡¯s worse desires. If Natalie could save Isabelle. Either by helping her move on or resurrecting her as a better person. Then maybe if she could save another cursed monster in love with a Paladin¡­
Cole walked through the Sun Gate, the stunned guard trailing after him. ¡°A Vampire! There is a bloody Vampire out there!¡± Nodding, Cole grunted. ¡°Yes, I must get to the Temple and inform people.¡± The Guard surprisingly put a hand on Cole¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡­ you are the Paladin, right? The one who is hunting the Heart-Stealer?¡± A little annoyed, Cole nodded, and the Guard released a relieved breath. ¡°Sir Paladin¡­ I hate to ask this, but could you wait a moment? The Sun Gate needs to be closed if a Vampire is nearby. I need three other Guards to help me. Part of the protocol and all. I¡¯d feel much better if you stayed with the Gate until they arrived.¡± Exhaling in a tired sigh, Cole agreed. ¡°I will do as you ask.¡± The guard, a broad-shouldered man with a spear and leather armor, went over to a nearby watch post and grabbed a whistle. He blew three shrill bursts before returning to Cole. As he put the whistle away, the guard fumbled with his jerkin. He had a hard time finding the pocket. Seeing this, Cole found his eyes drawn to other curious details. The jerkin was inside-out hence why the guard couldn¡¯t find a pocket. Eyes traveling up, Cole noticed the guard¡¯s tunic was a little tight on him, and its collar was slightly stained. Something the Paladin hadn¡¯t noticed until he was inside the city and in the streetlight¡¯s glow. Cole knew that type of stain; he knew it very well. Freshly dried blood. Unsheathing Requiem, Cole exploded towards the Guard. Bringing the axe head up to the man¡¯s neck faster than he could react. The broad-shouldered guard tried to pull back, but the bite of Requiem convinced him otherwise. Eyes wide, Broad-shoulders asked. ¡°Sir Paladin! What are you doing!¡± In the warm glow of amberlight, Cole saw Broad-shoulders¡¯ tongue. A black splotch covered much of it. A house mark. Cole shot his free hand forward and punched Broad-shoulders in the nose. At the same time, using his right leg to catch the back of his enemy¡¯s calf. Broad-shoulders fell backward, his nose cracking under Cole¡¯s fist and his skull bouncing against the cobblestones. No sooner was the ¡®guard¡¯ down than Cole heard a whistling noise from behind him. He spun just in time for a bolt of fire to slam into his chest. The armor held but barely. Cole winced in pain as the metal in the jack heated up, and the leather burned. Ducking down, Cole scooped a handful of dirty snow and pressed it against his chest. The snow sizzled against the leather and cooled the armor. Cole knew he would have burns, but this would keep them minimal. The whistling noise came again, and Cole dropped to the ground. Just fast enough to see the spear of flame shoot over his head and slam into a nearby wall. Tracing the path of the projectile, Cole saw his attacker. In a nearby alley were three figures. Two charged toward Cole when they realized he¡¯d spotted them. The first was a hulking man with heavy armor and a cruel-looking war hammer. Beside him was a lean woman with a long exotic spear gripped in her hands. Behind them in the alley was the Magi. A scarred woman in red robes. She held one hand up before her, palm open and thumb splayed. The other hand was pulled back, her stance reminiscent of an archer. Something Cole quickly realized wasn¡¯t a coincidence when a lance of fire materialized between her hands like a cocked arrow. Her pulled-back hand twitched, and the fire arrow loosed. Cole barely dodged again by watching her hands. Warhammer charged then, holding his weapon up for a brutal downward strike. While Spear circled around, trying to flank Cole. Cutting himself with Requiem, he turned the enchanted weapon into a pole-axe and reached for the new brace of throwing knives he¡¯d acquired. They were practically useless against the undead, living targets, however¡­ Old muscle memories came alight as he hurled a knife toward Arrow. It was a sloppy throw, but it did its job. The Magi changed her stance and summoned a force barrier to deflect the projectile. Giving Cole a few moments free from potential spells and time to face the two warriors. Spear came in low, trying to put her blade into Cole¡¯s ribs. He batted her lighter polearm aside with Requiem and moved to intercept the charging Warhammer. The large warrior was wearing proper armor and nearly matched Cole in size. But he wasn¡¯t as fast as the Paladin. Enhanced strength didn¡¯t completely translate into speed, but it still let Cole get close to Warhammer. Bringing Requiem¡¯s spiked head to the side of his knee. The armor-piercing spike of the pole-axe did as it was meant to and punched through the steel poleyn knee armor and into the joint. To Cole¡¯s shock, the crippling blow didn¡¯t faze Warhammer. He kept moving forward, his weapon coming for Cole¡¯s skull. Frantically, Cole pulled back, ripping Reqiuem right through Warhammer¡¯s knee and falling to his back. Barely rolling out of the hammer¡¯s arc. Cole got to his feet just to see the strike shatter cobblestones and spray pebbles everywhere. Arrow struck then, launching a barrage of fire at Cole. Spinning, the Paladin pulled his cloak up to take the firebolts. The projectiles lacked any real mass and burst against the fabric, burning fist-sized holes in it. Cursing in frustration, Cole barely noticed Spear come from behind before she put her weapon into his left calf. The blow drove Cole to the ground. Pain and horrible realization filled him. These three were professional killers. Two Paragons and a Fire Magi. Alongside the false guard, they¡¯d been a trap waiting for him. Looking up, Cole saw Warhammer approaching him, weapon held up in a killing blow. Reaching towards one of his pockets, Cole almost wanted to smile. The gold coin he¡¯d gotten from Antony sat in his bandolier. He¡¯d taken it with him in hopes of luring another pursuer. He hadn¡¯t expected the gambit to be this successful. As the war hammer came for Cole¡¯s skull, he mentally apologized to Natalie. He might be a little late getting back to her. *CRUNCH*
Cole had never experienced a hangover. He didn¡¯t like to drink, and his body processed toxins too efficiently for him to ever get properly drunk. Sure, he could probably manage to get drunk with some brutal liquor and effort, but he¡¯d never wanted to. So Cole could only imagine what the legendary pounding headache of a hangover was like. He could, however, guess the after-effects of having your head smashed in with a hammer were similar enough. Doing everything in his power not to wince or groan in pain. Cole slowly opened his eyes. Darkness greeted him, and some experimental movements revealed he was trapped inside something. Letting his fingers examine his prison, he realized it was a burlap sack. Cole counted himself lucky; his killers hadn¡¯t buried him yet. Digging yourself out of a shallow grave was a truly miserable experience. As the headache started to recede, Cole heard voices nearby. A gruff zentland accent complaining a room away. ¡°Pah! It¡¯ll take a week for my knee to heal properly. Crafty bastard ruined my Poleyn.¡± Another voice, this one thickly accented and feminine, replied. ¡°I¡¯m not impressed. The client said he was a Paladin. I know we ambushed him after some sort of fight, but I expected more.¡± A third voice, female and brisk, said. ¡°Did you see the number of scars on him? I¡¯m surprised he could move, let alone fight. I think our Paladin was getting close to being put out to pasture. Honestly, it was better we killed him quick rather than letting a monster eat him.¡± The gruff voice, which Cole guessed was Warhammer, remarked. ¡°Don¡¯t matter much. He¡¯s dead; once the client¡¯s toady confirms the body, we can get our coin and leave.¡± Slowly, carefully, Cole checked his weapons. Reqieum was missing, so were his throwing knives and bandolier. But his spare knife was still in place. He¡¯d lost the hunting knife but not the short blade in his boot. Unsheathing it, Cole slowly slit the burlap sack. Poking his head out, he tried to figure out his location. He was in a warehouse, laying between some crates. Hidden out of view to prevent accidental discovery. While also giving him a little privacy and cover. Slipping out of the sack, Cole let his eyes adjust to the dark and took a deep breath. The smell of dried blood came first. Followed by freshly dyed fabric, sweat, and steel. Looking around his little alcove, Cole found his bandolier nearby alongside his cloak and, surprisingly, the spark-stone. They¡¯d taken his weapons, probably to sell, but left everything else with him. Slipping the bandolier on and refastening the spark-stone to his hand. Cole reached to his neck and was glad to find his amulet still there. Taking a dead man''s religious paraphernalia was apparently too far even for these mercenaries. Getting up into a crouch, Cole peaked over the boxes he was hidden behind. Near the warehouse entrance, past rows of empty shelves were a table and chairs. A lantern sat on it, illuminating his killers. Rolling his neck, Cole let out a slow breath. It had been a long time since he¡¯d killed using stealth and shadows. Skulking out from his resting space, Cole crept over to an empty shelving unit. Cutting his finger, Cole daubed a crude sigil on the wooden rack. In an inaudible whisper, he cast his spell. ¡°A call upon force to set matters onto a proper course.¡± The scrape of a chair pulled Cole from his finished spell towards his target. Arrow was standing up, scanning the warehouse. ¡°Magic, I just sensed magic.¡± she hissed. Cole winced in annoyance. He¡¯d underestimated her aetheric senses. Maybe he wasn¡¯t fully recovered from his braining. Still, he might be able to use this to his advantage. Slipping away from the marked shelf stack, Cole watched as Arrow started to walk toward where he¡¯d left the spell. Warhammer got up as well. ¡°You think he had something enchanted on him we missed? I told you that rock looked funny. ¡° Arrow shrugged. ¡°Maybe, but that ¡®rock¡¯ is a Dwarven luck charm. Not exactly magical.¡± As they approached where he¡¯d been, Cole thanked Master Time the Magi couldn¡¯t read Dwerick. When they got close to the shelf, Cole made a gesture and released a spell. The force of a solid kick slammed into blood-marked wood and splintered the old shelves. Arrow and Warhammer¡¯s attention pulled towards the boxes, and debris crashing around them. Charging towards the lantern and the sitting Spear, Cole held his knife at the ready. To her credit, Spear saw him coming and sprang to her feet. But the sight of a dead man charging forward with murder in his eyes was enough to make her hesitate. Cole¡¯s knife entered her throat and tickled her spine. She died trying to understand what she was seeing. Looking away from the dying woman Cole glanced at the table and was glad to see Reqiuem sitting there in its pole-axe form. Leaving his knife in Spear, just to make sure she died. Cole picked up his favored weapon and doused the lantern. Casting the warehouse into near-darkness. The sun was up, but there weren¡¯t any windows in the structure. Only the door frame and Arrows frantically summoned fire provided any light. Resisting the urge to smile, Cole shut his eyes and moved forward. His newly empowered sense of smell guided him through the dark while his eyes adapted to it. In contrast, Arrow''s magical torch would ruin her and Warhammer¡¯s night vision. Slipping through the shadows, ignoring the panicked shouts from the two surviving mercenaries. Cole let his eyes open enough to check their position. Warhammer was facing where Spear had died, calling out what Cole thought was her name. ¡°Pouri? Pouri! What¡¯s happening.¡± The shouts covered any noise Cole was making as he slipped around behind Warhammer. Exploding from the shadows, Cole brought Reqiuem down on Warhammer¡¯s skull. Repaying his earlier death. Enhanced as the Paragon¡¯s bones were, they didn¡¯t stop the dwarven steel from killing him. As the mercenary died, Cole pulled his pole-axe free and lunged for Arrow. She whirled on him and froze in shock. Giving Cole the opportunity to swing Reqiuem for her fire-cloaked hand. The magic flames she¡¯d been using to see didn¡¯t stop his weapon. Flesh split, and fingers went flying. A blood-curdling scream escaped Arrow as Cole grabbed her other hand and bent behind her. Taking the time to break a few of her hand bones in the process. He¡¯d seen how she cast spells. Using pantomime gestures instead of words or other methods. Ruining her hands would stop her from casting normally, and the pain would interfere with any backup methods she had. Slamming her to the ground and placing Reqeim¡¯s axe into the floorboards next to her head. Cole growled. ¡°I don¡¯t like killing people. I couldn¡¯t risk your colleagues fighting back; I had no guarantees of disabling them. I¡¯m trying to be merciful with you. Please don¡¯t make me revoke that mercy.¡± Arrow shrieked, ¡°FUCK YOU!¡± Sighing in annoyance, Cole asked. ¡°How long till your employee arrives?¡± Seeing the glint of his axe in the near-total dark, Arrow hissed. ¡°Any-any minute.¡± Calling up his Aether sight, Cole saw she was telling the truth. Dying had refreshed him, and the power he¡¯d expended fighting Dietrich had returned. Shivering and twitching as she went into shock, Arrow spat, ¡°What are you? What are you-you fucking Monster!¡± Cole didn¡¯t want to kill to keep his secret, but letting a person like this know about him¡­ That was not acceptable. To assuage his conscience he asked. ¡°How many people have you murdered?¡± The Aether filled with a mix of confusion, uncertainty, and the stink of death. Nodding, Cole made his choice. While morality was always complicated. Mercenaries who had no idea how many people they¡¯d killed weren¡¯t exactly the type Cole would lose sleep over. Picking up Requiem, Cole killed Arrow before she could realize what was happening. Taking his amulet, Cole prayed over her body and freed the soul trapped within. Going over to the other two, he repeated this gesture. Then gathered up his equipment. Burned cloak safely on his shoulders, Requiem at his side, Cole sat in one of the chairs and waited among the corpses he¡¯d created. Ten minutes passed, and Cole heard noise from the door. Getting up, he went to the door and opened it. Finding a short, balding man with a bulbous nose standing on the other side about to knock. Upon seeing Cole, the man¡¯s eyes widened in recognition, which was all the confirmation the Paladin needed. Shooting out a fist, he punched the man in the gut and then knocked him out with a second blow to the head. Searching the unconscious man, Cole noted his clothes were plain, but he carried a large pouch of silver and gold. The Mercenaries payment. Cole didn¡¯t hesitate to take the coin. Morality was complicated, but stealing the money paid to murder you seemed like justice. Checking the balding man¡¯s mouth, Cole found another house mark. With that, he tossed his newest living clue over one shoulder and left the warehouse. Looking back at it and the corpses inside. Cole let out a sigh. He¡¯d have much explaining to do when he delivered the balding man to the Guards. Book II: Chapter 30: Investigation

Chapter 30: Investigation

¡°The Vizier of Ledgers was once a very dangerous Fell God of Greed and Exploitation. Emphasis on ¡®was.¡¯ In 1098 the Vizier attempted to destroy the city of Nicator by flooding it with boiling pitch. Hoping to claim the fifty thousand souls of the city for himself. While the tide of pitch was indeed summoned, the City was saved by the Archmagi Zadith of Ipu¡¯s timely intervention. Leaving the Fell God trapped. Having invested much of his power into opening the Final Gates and receiving nothing in return. Locked from the world by his own spent power, the Vizier quickly weakened and was devoured by his rivals¡± - From the notes of Fire-keeper Umayla.
Awareness came to Natalie suddenly. The taste of blood and the feeling of fine sheets were her first sensations. Followed by the stink of burned leather and filth. Someone had removed her amulet and fed her blood. Rousing her during the day. Opening her eyes, Natalie started to smile. She knew that blood and its taste. Looking up, she expected to see Cole above her. The Paladin was indeed standing next to the bed, dripping red from a cut finger into her mouth. But his appearance startled Natalie. His already ratty armor was ruined, covered in dried blood and other fluids. While a scorched cloak hung from tired shoulders. But that wasn¡¯t what shocked Natalie. His hair was a malformed disaster. The front half of his scalp, from hairline to crest, was bristly short, while longer tufts stuck out from the back and sides of his head. He also had a new scar covering part of his forehead. An almost star-shaped mark as wide as three fingers. Slightly panicked, Natalie looked around the apartment and asked. ¡°How long was I asleep!¡± Sleeping with the amulet was a gamble; it froze her in torpor as long as it rested above her heart. Mimicking what a stake drove through the same organ would do. She¡¯d hoped to sleep till Cole returned but hadn¡¯t expected it to take long. Cole smiled slightly and ran a hand through his hair. ¡°It¡¯s a little past noon the day after I left. Why do you ask?¡± Sitting up, Natalie just gestured at Cole¡¯s appearance. ¡°Because you look terrible! What happened!¡± The smile on his scarred face died. ¡°Dietrich is outside the city. We clashed, but I escaped. Then I ran into a death squad hired by the Heart-Stealer.¡± Gesturing to his forehead, he explained. ¡°One of them killed me with a war hammer. But I resurrected while they were waiting for payment. I dealt with the mercenaries and captured another of our killer''s servants. After delivering him to Cat-eyes, I came back to check on you.¡± Natalie blinked slowly, trying to process everything he was saying. Taking a breath, she said. ¡°Well¡­ that is a mixed brew of news if I¡¯ve ever heard one.¡± Getting up, she went to Cole and hugged him. Her relief was quickly quashed by how foul he smelled. Wishing she could gag, Natalie recoiled. ¡°Oh, Gods! You stink!¡± Pushing him in the direction of the bath, she remarked. ¡°Soap for you and a burn pit for your poor armor!¡± Glancing down at Natalie, admiring her nude form, Cole asked. ¡°Would you care to join me¡­?¡± A laugh escaped the Vampire. ¡°Yeah, maybe after you¡¯ve washed, the water¡¯s changed, and the tub¡¯s been scrubbed.¡± Sniffing his cloak, Cole asked, ¡°It¡¯s not really that bad, is it?¡± Using her not-insignificant strength to shove him towards the bath, Natalie nodded vigorously. ¡°It''s terrible. Utterly terrible.¡± pausing, she examined a strange residue on Cole¡¯s collar and shoulders. Clumps of something gray and foul mixed with dried blood. Poking the spongy material, she asked. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Nose wrinkling at the gunk¡¯s odor, Natalie watched as Cole touched it and winced. ¡°It''s¡­ uh¡­. brain. My brain, to be precise.¡± A disgusted noise escaped Natalie, and she continued to shove Cole into the bathroom. Careful not to touch the splattered brain matter as she did. Stripped and forced into the tub, Cole let the warm water pour over him. A tired sigh escaped him as he let his head rest against the tub¡¯s lip. Cole wasn¡¯t physically exhausted; two deaths made sure of that, but his mind ached with mental fatigue. A hot bath was proving to be exactly what he needed. Glancing down at the water, Cole blinked in surprise. The water was already stained brown with filth. Natalie hadn¡¯t been exaggerating. Killing six frozen ghouls, fighting and dying against Dietrich, then facing the mercenaries hadn¡¯t been clean business. But then again, his activities rarely were. Natalie sat nearby, watching as Cole dunked his head under the water and scrubbed at his horrendous hair. Sighing, she got up and went over to the bathroom cabinet, and looked through it. A small grooming kit was tucked in one corner. Pulling it out, Natalie examined the shears. A twinge of heartache went through her at the sight. Her mother had taught her how to cut hair. Something she would do for her father and Barnabas when their locks got too unruly. Flinching from the memory, she went to Cole and said. ¡°Things with Isabelle haven¡¯t been easy. The Temple knows about her.¡± Eyes wild, Cole exploded out of the bath; dirty water cascaded off of him as panic gripped him. Holding up a soothing hand, Natalie internally castigated herself. It was just like her to avoid one emotional wound by opening another. ¡°She¡¯s safe. The Hierophants have been suspicious for a while now, and when I met with Nyami, Isabelle was with me.¡± Coaxing Cole back into the tub and resisting the urge to ogle his musculature, Natalie explained events and cautiously approached him with her scissors. Absorbing everything that had happened, Cole let his head rest in his hands. He¡¯d been an idiot to assume the Temple wouldn¡¯t notice Isabelle. After his first few visits to Vindabon and they said nothing. Cole assumed she was beneath their notice. A miscalculation Natalie had paid for. Warm hands running through his hair stopped Cole¡¯s self-recrimination. Glancing at Natalie, who was busy trying to figure out how much of his hair was salvageable, he asked. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°Planning how I¡¯m going to cut your hair,¡± Natalie said as she picked what might have been a shard of bone out of Cole¡¯s unwanted mane. A little self-conscious, Cole made a non-commital grunt and let Natalie get to work. Soon the bathtub was even fouler, with clumps of pale blond hair floating in the water as Natalie snipped. Cole found himself relaxing into the grooming. Shutting his eyes and letting some of the tension melt off of him. As she worked, Natalie explained her meeting with Nyami and the ritual she¡¯d experienced. ¡°Nyami says the Temples'' active wards are now aligned to protect against an Alukah or someone using their blood. She also said something about the passive words needing time to reconfigure. If that means anything to you.¡± Remembering not to nod, Cole explained. ¡°The active wards need to be well, activated, to work. Think of a better version of the snare they caught you in on our first night. So if someone using the blood enters the city, it would be easy to bind them. The problem is we would need to know where they are and who they are. The passive wards are supposed to do that for us but with a city as large as Vindabon, altering that type of defensive spellwork takes time. Even with the Seraph¡¯s help.¡± Pausing in her work as the memory of the Temple¡¯s guardian, Natalie asked. ¡°So¡­ there is a Seraph in the Temple? An actual Anointed Soul?¡± Cole managed to shrug without moving his head as Natalie¡¯s shears returned to work. ¡°The Guardian is in the Beyond, close to the Temple and its presence in the Aether. I¡¯m no expert on the minutiae of such things, but from my understanding, Seraphs are often tasked with watching over holy places from the Beyond.¡± Thinking about that, Natalie realized she¡¯d been avoiding another part of yesterday''s events. Her agreement to help Isabelle move on and the elder Vampire¡¯s memories. Sucking in a nervous breath, Natalie shared that part of her experience. Cole went very still in the tub, and Natalie waited with bated breath. Finally, he spoke in a soft voice. ¡°I don¡¯t want her to be in pain. If that means returning her to flesh or freeing her to reincarnate, then¡­ that is her choice to make.¡± Slumping slightly, Cole tried to find his words. ¡°I spent every moment from my creation till I met you devoted to her and her safety. I love her, Natalie. I don¡¯t think that will ever change. But if she chooses to move on, I¡¯ll accept that. I want to hold her in my arms again, but more than that, I don¡¯t want her to suffer.¡± Natalie forgot to breathe; Cole¡¯s admission made her still heart ache. Compassion for him, sorrow for Isabelle, and a twinge of her own confused jealousy mixed together. Pressing his hands to his eyes, Cole whispered. ¡°My memories of that night are vague. Flashes of color and pain, I know what happened, but the details are blurry. I cannot imagine what being stuck there must be like.¡± Setting her scissors down, Natalie wrapped her arms around Cole. Forcing warmth into her flesh and willing it to reach him. A low noise escaped Cole, and he started to weep. They sat like that for a time until Cole¡¯s tears stopped. Reaching up and squeezing her arm, Cole whispered. ¡°Thank you for being in my life. Thank you for helping me be warm.¡± Natalie kissed Cole, and they held each other. Two broken souls finding something in the other. In Cole, Natalie found strength and vulnerability. In Natalie, Cole found passion and peace. Cole finished his bath and dried off, running his hands through newly trimmed hair. Natalie had shortened it to little more than bland bristle. Ensuring his regenerated scalp and surviving hairline matched. There was still the star-shaped scar on his forehead, but little could be done to hide it. The armor was finally laid to rest. Its short and brutal tenure of a service ending in a trash pit. Dressed and somewhat rested, they met with the Temple leadership. The news of Dietrich¡¯s proximity had caused a stir among Hierophants. Morri and Hedwig had left to inform the city. They were all shocked the Scarlet Knight was brash enough to get this close, with only Nyami seeming unbothered by the whole thing. She seemed more eager than anything to test the Temple¡¯s new wards. The Hierophant had been giddy in explaining the recent breakthrough Natalie¡¯s cooperation and testimony had provided. ¡°We¡¯ve solved the mystery of Daywalkers!¡± was her pronouncement. Natalie looked to Cole, who just nodded as if that was obvious. Seeing her confusion, the excited Hierophant explained. ¡°Daywalkers are Vampires who could survive the sun. For the longest time, we never knew how the Duchies created them. They were one of Drakovich¡¯s greatest secrets. But now we know the truth. They are using the Alukah¡¯s blood! This Dieter fellow has had some! Not that it will do much good in the future. With you, we can alter our wards and stop him, or others like him.¡± Nodding politely, Natalie took all of this in. Or at least tried to. The full scope of this revelation and its implications were a little beyond her. And she still got a sense something major had changed. Rubbing her face, Natalie tried not to grimace. Another world-shaking event she was partially responsible for. How wonderful. By contrast, Glynn looked positively shaken by all of this. The idea that a Vampire could infiltrate the city using the Alukah¡¯s blood was sickening. Who knows how many people might have been subverted over the centuries? It was an intelligence nightmare, and informing the Quicksilver Players wouldn¡¯t be pleasant. The old half-elf spoke to the assembled group. ¡°Natalie¡¯s ability to detect Day Walkers and enhance our wards shouldn¡¯t be ignored. Things have not been going well in the south. Her presence and help might turn the tide.¡± Cole bristled at the idea of taking Natalie to the front, but she perked up at the idea. An idea had struck her, something she¡¯d never dared to consider. ¡°Could the Blood Duchies ever be liberated? Like could Drakovich be defeated and the region join the Holy League?¡± Glynn and Cole exchanged looks, and Nyami tapped her chin and hummed. ¡°In theory? Yes, in practice, no. Even if the military power and political will was there, Drakovich has some very dangerous forces he can call upon. The League and the Duchies squabble over the marches but nothing more. If either Empire felt truly threatened, then things might escalate into another Century of Blood.¡± Deflating slightly, Natalie felt Cole¡¯s hand squeeze her shoulder. ¡°The world is changing. One of the Archduke¡¯s greatest secrets has been stolen away. Who''s to say more power will slip through his grasp? We of Master Time know better than most that nothing lasts forever. Stasis is merely a lull in change.¡± Looking at the Hierophants, Cole continued. ¡°Let''s discuss these matters after the Heart-stealer is stopped and Dietrich is dealt with. I¡¯d prefer to lay to rest one batch of problems before unearthing another.¡± Glynn exhaled through his unnaturally angular nose. ¡°Your commitment to stopping this Murderer is commendable but perhaps misplaced. Wouldn¡¯t a better use of a Paladin¡¯s time be hunting the Vampire skulking about the city?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°Master Time has called me to both tasks, and I have a feeling those goals aren¡¯t mutually exclusive. Have we considered that Dietrich was in the city for more than just luring Natalie? The riot, the murders, the demon, all of it is too much. A Scarlet Knight could be just another piece of the puzzle.¡± Nodding, Glynn accepted that, and Cole added. ¡°Besides, I swore an oath to help Captain Iron-teeth. I¡¯m not going to break such a promise.¡± Sighing, Glynn ran his hands through his silky blond hair. ¡°So be it. If we learn more or rouse the City to action, I hope you will lead the hunt. Also, how did you get that mark on your forehead?¡± Self-consciously, Cole rubbed the new scar. ¡°I was ambushed by a Scarlet Knight. I did not walk away unscathed. My healing magic may be shoddy, but I¡¯m pretty good at patching myself up.¡± Which wasn¡¯t strictly true but not fully a lie. Cole and Natalie left the meeting shortly after. For her part, Natalie was a little surprised Isabelle hadn¡¯t been brought up in the conversation, but she wasn¡¯t going to question it. Cole was right; better to deal with their current problems than go looking for more. Glancing back toward the Hierophants, Natalie asked. ¡°What now?¡± Wearing his all-to-common grimace, Cole said. ¡°I want to meet with Iron-teeth and check on him before we meet with Alia and Mina.¡± Squirming slightly, Natalie asked, ¡°Should¡­ should I wait somewhere else. I don¡¯t know if visiting the sick is the best idea.¡± Finding her hand with his calloused digits, Cole squeezed gently. ¡°It will be okay. I have faith in you.¡± That soothed Natalie like a healing salve, and she let herself be led toward the clinic. The couple got more than a few nervous glances from Priests working in the clinic but Cole¡¯s presence seemed to dampen any concerns they had about Natalie. Slipping deeper into the healing halls, they reached a private room, and Cole knocked. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
A gruff voice barked. ¡°Enter!¡± and the couple did. Finding the guard Captain sitting in bed, a bored look on his face. Iron-teeth somehow looked better and worse than before. His beard was properly groomed, and the bags under his eyes were gone. But he¡¯d lost body fat and muscle mass. Giving the Dwarf an almost shrunken look. A common appearance for those who¡¯d undergone magical healing. Repurposing existing flesh was easier than conjuring anything new. Looking at his guests, Iron-teeth set down the book he¡¯d been reading. ¡°Paladin, Vampire, what brings you to my deathbed?¡± Cole raised an eyebrow, and Natalie looked genuinely concerned. Seeing her expression, Iron-teeth smiled. ¡°Pah, I¡¯m looking for any amusement I can find. The healers say I should be ready to leave by the Solstice. But till then, I¡¯m stuck in this white-walled cell.¡± Glancing towards the door, Iron-teeth asked. ¡°How goes the search? Are we any closer to the goat worrier?¡± Nodding, Cole pulled up a chair nearby and started to speak. Iron-teeth pointed to the open door and whispered. ¡°Shut it. If the harpy of a Nurse finds out I¡¯m trying to do my job, there''ll be a blood price to pay.¡± Natalie complied and came and sat next to Cole. Iron-teeth saw this and asked. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten her involved in this? Sure, that¡¯s wise, Paladin?¡± Before Cole could speak, Natalie said. ¡°I want to make Vindabon my new home. I have powers that can help the city and help end this goatshit.¡± Tapping her stigma, she added. ¡°I¡¯ve got a God testifying to my character if that helps.¡± Iron-teeth squinted at the barely visible pattern of silver lines. Eyes widening in comprehension, he swore. ¡°Bugger me! Is that a-¡± Natalie nodded and smiled, careful to keep her teeth hidden. ¡°Yes, so don¡¯t mind me, and let Cole catch you up.¡± Frowning, Cole glanced at the shut door. ¡°Are you certain this is a good idea, Captain? If the healers don¡¯t want you discussing work, then should we-¡± Iron-teeth ground his jaw together so hard the scraping metal drowned out Cole. ¡°A job needs to be finished. People are dying, and the city is suffering. If I can offer anything to end this, I will. I¡¯d rather my bones rust, and my flesh turn to ash than fail my duty.¡± The two stubborn warriors locked eyes for a moment, and Natalie realized how similar the two men were. Both would rather break than fail. Honor, duty, and diligence defined both the Paladin and the Captain, for better or worse. Nodding, Cole explained events. Starting with the captured lackey and the increasing evidence House Kronor wasn¡¯t involved. Before moving on to the bizarre loyalty of Black-tongue and the house mark inscribed in his flesh. Then finishing with the assassination attempt on Cole and his plan to search for the killer at the Ball. Iron-teeth absorbed it all, eyes shut, ears open to Coles''s theories and evidence. ¡°I think the killer is targeting Caretakers, especially ones with¡­ questionable behavior. Something scared him off his usual targets among the servant class. So he stopped until the Werefolk arrived. Probably hoping to use them as a curse-taker.¡± A long sigh escaped Iron-teeth, filled with annoyance aimed at himself. ¡°I didn¡¯t think to look for previous disappearances. I¡¯d assumed if there had been other killings, someone would have noticed. Especially considering how messy the murders have been. But from what you¡¯re saying, the killer has been protected and aided by his family? Oh, that makes this so much worse.¡± Cole nodded and was about to share more thoughts when shouts and footsteps came from the hallway. The door to the room burst open, and two familiar figures entered. An excited Alia followed by a puffing Mina. A second later, a furious-looking nurse appeared behind them and barked. ¡°I said I¡¯d get the Paladin! You should not be back here, you idiot!¡± Mina shied away from the furious nurse who whirled on her. ¡°And you, Mina Vrock! I could expect as much from the City Guard, but you?¡± Getting up from his chair, Cole went to the three newcomers and held up placating hands. ¡°Perhaps whatever business Priestess Mina has with me is urgent enough to require such behavior.¡± Mina looked to the nurse and nodded frantically as she tried to catch her breath. From the color on their cheeks and Mina¡¯s exhaustion, he guessed they ran from the Tower all the way here. Clicking her tongue, the nurse said. ¡°That may be so. Still, you can have this conversation somewhere other than my patient''s room.¡± Cat-eyes shook her head. ¡°No, he¡¯ll want to hear this as well. It¡¯s important.¡± A withering look raked over Alia as the nurse growled. ¡°The patient''s health is what is truly important. Do NOT endanger it in these hallowed halls.¡± As the City Warden rose to the challenge, Mina stepped between them. ¡°This truly is important, Priestess Alicia. I¡¯d argue the news we have would even help the Captain''s condition. And if he starts to feel poorly, I can help him until someone gets you.¡± Alicia narrowed her eyes and looked at Cole and Natalie. Natalie swore she could see the woman¡¯s mind miss a step upon seeing her. The nurse Priestess forced herself to look at Cole, and she let out a bitter breath. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll trust my God.¡± She left them and shut the door behind her with a click. Cat-eyes approached the night table and dragged it into the room''s center. With the triumph of a successful hunter, she slapped a swatch of fabric onto the worn wood. It was a stained handkerchief of old cotton. Before anyone could voice their confusion, Alia pointed to it. ¡°That was in an inner pocket of the guy you grabbed, Cole. I found it when we searched him. You should have seen his eyes. The stupid bastard looked about ready to piss himself!¡± Still not understanding the handkerchief¡¯s significance, Cole, Natalie, and Iron-teeth looked to Mina for an explanation. In lieu of one she picked up the silk swatch and held it up so the Glowstone light shone through it. Alia pointed to a spot in the lower right corner of the handkerchief. On closer inspection, what Cole had originally thought to be dried mucus was an insignia. A snarling lion head wreathed in laurels. The symbol looked oddly familiar to Cole, but Iron-teeth clearly recognized it. In a raspy whisper, he said. ¡°Slag and soot¡­ House Louon?¡± Mina nodded, and Cole felt some pieces fit together. Graf Louon was chair of the city council and the key voice in Cole¡¯s discrediting. He had power, both political and magical. While the first recorded victim was a servant of House Louon. So many disparate threads connected by a simple handkerchief. Squinting at the stained fabric, Natalie asked. ¡°Why would he have this?¡± Alia answered. ¡°Lots of noble houses like to put their symbol on everything they own. Uniforms, sundries, silverware, that sort of thing. Prevents it from getting stolen and sold. I bet our unlucky guest has had this for years. A gift or a ¡®gift¡¯ from his masters. Probably forgot he even had it in his coat until I found it.¡± Playing court Accuser, Natalie pointed out. ¡°He might have bought it from someone else, or he could no longer work for House Louon.¡± Iron-teeth spoke then, a deep grating growl. ¡°The house mark you found was a Lion with a dragon in its teeth, right?¡± when the group nodded, Iron-teeth exhaled sharply. ¡°It¡¯s definitely House Louon, then.¡± Sitting up more, the weary-looking Dwarf explained. ¡°House Louon traces themselves to Galehaut the Gilded. A fact they are quite proud of and proven by those eyes of theirs.¡± A little stunned, Natalie swore. ¡°Jagged edges! So that¡¯s how the killer has a Dragon''s treasure?¡± Nodding, Iron-teeth added. ¡°Aye, it explains his strength and speed. Alongside how he survived those accursed tunnels without getting sick.¡± Now it was Cole¡¯s turn to be confused; looking between his comrades and seeing the realization shared between them, he asked. ¡°Who is Galehaut the Gilded?¡± Clicking her tongue, Natalie asked. ¡°I¡¯m going to assume you know basically nothing about Knightly romances and all that?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°Aside from living one?¡± Natalie playfully swatted him, and Iron-teeth grumbled. ¡°Yes, yes, you can flirt later. Explain Galehaut to him.¡± Thinking back to the books Barnabas used to share with her, Natalie summarized. ¡°To make a very long story short. Galehaut the Gilded was a Knight-Errant of the early Holy League. Who famously slew a Dragon and claimed its power and treasure for himself. Now a solid number of noble families trace themselves to him. Partially because of his heroism, and partially because he left many, many, many heirs.¡± Letting out a deep breath, Cole whispered. ¡°A Dragonslayer, of course.¡± Dragonbloods, scions of a great Wyrm, aren¡¯t the only ones with Draconic strength and wealth. Anyone who slew a Dragon inherited a portion of its might. Gaining skin hard as scales and eyes that could see in dark. Alongside strength, speed, faster healing, and magical potency. Abilities that were passed to the Slayer''s offspring in lesser forms. Iron-teeth grunted. ¡°I thought of House Kronor because they are the only Dragonbloods in the city. But in retrospect, Louon is another clear candidate.¡± Natalie nodded vigorously, excited despite herself at the almost legendary scope events were taking. ¡°Yes, the Cycle of Galehaut says he divided his treasure among his children and lovers. It¡¯s been over five centuries, but one of those heirs might still have some original treasure like the coins you found.¡± Picking up the handkerchief, Alia said. ¡°Yeah, so we know which noble house our killer is from. Now we need to figure out which member is responsible.¡± In a very soft, worried voice, Mina asked. ¡°Could it be all of them?¡± The group looked at her, and she winced. ¡°Not that they are all the killers. But¡­what if they were the ones who pushed the riot? The soldiers you saw, Natalie, maybe they were Louon footmen?¡± A nervous laugh escaped the priestess as she laid out the situation. ¡°So we might be dealing with an actual conspiracy to aid and protect a horrible murderer. A conspiracy that¡¯s gone as far as starting a riot and magically enslaving people. And to stop it we just need to figure out which member of a powerful noble family it is and gather enough evidence to catch him.¡± Looking at the handkerchief in Alia¡¯s grip, Natalie pursed her lips. ¡°I might have a way to help. Do you still have the tracking charm with the blood on it?¡± Alia nodded, ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s back at the tower with everything else. Why?¡± No sooner had she asked than the Werewoman realized Natalie¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Can you do something with the blood to track him?¡± Shrugging non-committal, Natalie said. ¡°Probably not track him, but I could identify him. If he¡¯s at the ball, I should be able to recognize his scent.¡± Iron-teeth caught everyone''s attention then as he struggled to pull himself from his bed. Mina rushed over to him, and the worn dwarf shooed her away as he got to his feet. Sucking in great gasps, the Captain looked to Cole. ¡°Your god has a strange sense of humor Paladin.¡± Leaning against Mina, Iron-teeth pulled down part of his shirt, exposing an ugly scar along his chest. ¡°You say coincidence is their domain? Well, I got this scar fighting in the army. Almost died at the Battle of Milda. Grafling Louis Louon, son of the current house head, was commander at that battle. I saw him fight, and I saw him die. The stupid bastard got lots of my friends killed. Now it seems his accursed family is murdering my people. I¡¯m going to help finish this whole mess, even if it''s the last thing I do..¡± Frowning, Cole loomed over the Captain, who barely came up to his waist. ¡°I¡¯d rather deny them your death, Arkaz. What good can you do working yourself into a grave?¡± Arkaz Iron-teeth bared his metallic mouth and spat. ¡°This is a task fallen to me. Fate, or whatever you want to slagging call it, has put me on this path. I¡¯m not about to leave my part in this unsettled.¡± Exhaling, Cole nodded. ¡°Fine, then let''s begin the end of things¡± Getting Iron-teeth out of the clinic proved no small feat. It took Hierophant Bertram¡¯s intervention to get Priestess Alicia to back down. Even then, she saddled Alia and Mina with a shocking number of medical instructions and thinly veiled threats. They did eventually leave the Temple, with Iron-teeth dressed and walking under his own power. Sheer dwarven bloody-mindedness could apparently compensate for even a damaged heart. They arrived back at the tower with some fanfare. The Guards were happy to see their Captain returned to them. Cole and Natalie stayed back as laughter and words were shared between colleagues. It wasn¡¯t their moment to intrude on, and they retreated to the war room and got to work.
Natalie looked at the swatch of silk and its dried blood splatter. Sighing, she licked the brown stain. Even dead and withered, the blood had an exotic spice to it, making Natalie¡¯s mouth burn slightly. The dragon¡¯s influence, she guessed. Aside from the taste was a smattering of information about the blood¡¯s source. He was young and nervous, with a taste for fatty foods. Natalie got the sense that if she had fresher blood, she would be able to tell more. But even with this days old splatter, she had the scent. Hopefully it would be enough to identify the killer if she got close. Setting the handkerchief down, Natalie made a disgusted sound. When she fed, the pleasure of the act was enough to drown out any disgust she might feel. In ¡®sampling¡¯ this old blood, she was forced to dwell on the blood¡¯s taste and its implications. Internally she compared the acts to eating a good meal and letting old slop sit in your mouth for an hour. Seeing her expression, Cole asked, ¡°Are you alright?¡± Nodding, Natalie ran her tongue over her fangs, trying to dislodge the taste of dead blood. ¡°Yeah, it''s just a little disgusting to do.¡± Smiling, Cole squeezed her shoulder. ¡°Thank you.¡± Natalie almost scoffed. ¡°You¡¯ve literally fought a Demon to end these murders. I can deal with a little discomfort.¡± The door to the room opened then, and Cat-eyes, Iron-teeth, and Mina entered. The dwarf was puffing slightly from the staircase but looked better than he had. Natalie explained what she¡¯d learned from the blood, and the Cat-eyes whistled appreciatively. ¡°Well, if we ever need a new search hound, I¡¯ll make sure to offer you the job.¡± Natalie¡¯s lip curled, and she unleashed the barb prepared for Alia¡¯s next jab. ¡°The perfume you and Mina are both wearing has a nice smell. But I think it suits her better.¡± Cole just sighed; he¡¯d also noticed but hadn¡¯t said anything. Alia went very still, and Mina turned scarlet. Iron-teeth looked at the two women and muttered. ¡°Fire and Iron, I really have missed a lot, haven¡¯t I?¡± Trying to defuse the tension sparking between Natalie and Alia, Cole asked: ¡°The murdered Guard and the impersonator. Have we learned anything about that?¡± Thankful for the lifeline, Mina shook her head. ¡°They found the Guard; he was on the Eighteenth District Watch. As for the person who stole his uniform? No, he got away when you were captured. But we have every Guard and the city looking for him.¡± Iron-teeth nodded. ¡°Aye, we don¡¯t take kindly to the murder of one of our own. Speaking of, follow me.¡± They went with the Captain to his office. The small chamber didn¡¯t look much different from the last time Cole visited. Brushing off Mina¡¯s attempts to help, Iron-teeth went to his desk and found something in one of its lower drawers. A steel badge, dented and scuffed but still recognizable. A lion''s head with a snake in its mouth. Setting it on the desk, Iron-teeth tapped it. ¡°My service medal from House Louon. Awarded to all the survivors of Milda. Part of how the Louons rehabilitated themselves. Turning a stupid defeat into a heroic last stand. The usual aristocratic horse dung.¡± Looking at the medal, Cole said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like the house mark, but it has the same¡­ theme. I can see why you made the connection.¡± pausing for a second, he asked. ¡°I want to try something with our prisoners. Can I use this to help squeeze some information out of them?¡± Iron-teeth shrugged. ¡°Go ahead; I don¡¯t know why I kept the slagged thing.¡± Nodding, the Paladin pocketed the medal and went to meet with the new prisoner. Cole had simply dropped off ¡®Big-nose¡¯ earlier, not bothering to interrogate him yet. Returning to the Temple with news of Dietrich had been the priority. Black-tongue and Big-nose were kept in separate private cells on the tower''s top floor. Passing by the Guard on watch, Cole and his group went toward the first cell. Natalie, Cole, and Alia all paused when they reached the door. A foul smell reached their noses. Alia quickly opened the cell and exposed the source of the stink. Big-nose dangled from the ceiling, suspended by a noose of bedsheets. Urine dripped from his pant legs, and his face was purple. Cursing, Cole shot forward and cut the makeshift rope, Big-nose crashed into the ground, and Mina rushed to his side. It took her only a second to confirm the man was dead, and when she did, Cole left the cell, searching for Black-tongue. Another hanged corpse greeted him in Black-tongue¡¯s cell. Cutting him down, Cole set Black-tongue on the ground and opened his bloodshot eyes. Staring into them, Cole pulled up flickers of his final moments. *A guard entering the cell. A plain man with a nondescript face.* *Words were exchanged, a spike of terror followed by despair.* *The guard left, and with him, the hope of rescue.* *A final prayer and preparation for Death* *Bedsheets turned to dark purpose. Thrashing pain and the howling end* Resisting the urge to throw up, Cole charged from the cell. The bodies were still warm; they¡¯d only died minutes ago. If he hurried, he might be able to catch the infiltrator. Rushing towards the guard post, Cole started to say. ¡°Who else has been on this-¡± The Guard was gone, and the position was unmanned. Revisiting the memory of passing the place, Cole thought about the man on watch. Cole¡¯s eyes had slid right off of him. The Paladin¡¯s mind automatically dismissed him as little more than part of the environment. With a furious breath, Cole punched the wall and cracked the unfortunate stonework. He knew that sensation; he was just used to being on the other side of it. Natalie and the rest joined him, and Cole said. ¡°Someone slipped in here using a stolen uniform and a concealment spell. They told our prisoners something and it was enough for them to kill themselves.¡± Fishing the medal from his pocket, Cole looked at the Lion¡¯s head and resisted the urge to crush the metal disk. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much House Louon knows, but they are desperate enough to try and kill me. Then when that failed, they murdered their own servants to muddy the tracks.¡± Handing the medal back to Iron-teeth, Cole left to free the two trapped souls. ¡°This ends at the Ball. We will expose him and his family for what they are in front of the entire city. Money, power, magic, none of that will matter. The truth will be carved into Vindabon for all to see.¡± Book II: Chapter 31: Before the Ball

Chapter 31: Before the Ball

¡°Quicksilver is an apt title for Uncle Trickster¡¯s servants. It''s shiny, beautiful, ever-shifting, and incredibly poisonous. The Fifth God is a being of wonder and terror. Creating spectacles and stories for those he deems worthy. Driving those he doesn¡¯t insane with lies and laughter. The Players and their kindred orders, like the Amalgam Paupers and the Vermilion Blades, are not to be trifled with. Nations, Armies, Kings, and Gods all rue the day they challenged the Fifth and his servants.¡± - Kit Kent¡¯s infamous ¡®Threat lecture¡¯ to Lord-Mayor Francis of Tameford
:: A hut somewhere outside Vindabon :: ¡°Immortal? That is impossible?¡± growled Dietrich. Scapin scoffed and pointed to the bloody package sitting on the table between them. ¡°You ripped off his arm, and you saw how much blood he lost. Our friend Cole the Paladin is the Homunculus Knight.¡± Clenching his jaw, Dietrich was torn. On the one hand, the whole idea was insane and defied anything close to logic. But on the other, it offered an explanation and excuse for events. Dietrich had never understood how the Paladin faced Petar and won. When he¡¯d frozen Dietrich, Cole had been half-dead from exhaustion. Not someone who could face a cohort of powerful vampires and walk away seemingly unscathed, as Yara had testified. If Scapin¡¯s insane story about Countess Gens Silva and her Homunculi creation was true, then things would make more sense. Looking to his thrall, sleeping by the small fire he¡¯d made for her, Dietrich asked, ¡°Did you know the Paladin was this ¡®Homunculus Knight¡¯ before tonight?¡± Shrugging, Scapin drummed his fingers on the old table. ¡°I had a suspicion, one that my superiors share, but little more than that. Officially the Knight was destroyed by Voivode Suillia, but the appearance of a scarred giant who survived the impossible in the Blood Duchies was too much to be a coincidence. What really confused us, though, was his status as a Paladin. The Homunculus Knight is an abomination in the eyes of the Tenth and his servants. So the idea he¡¯d end up a Paladin of Master Time? Utter madness, until tonight confirmed it.¡± Slowly accepting this impossibility, Dietrich asked. ¡°So what do we do? He escaped us and will warn the Temple. They¡¯ll be hunting us by dawn.¡± Looking out one of the huts'' small windows, Scapin¡¯s smile intensified. ¡°The seed I planted will buy us time. The city is weak; the riot and the war strip it of defenders. The Tenth Temple urgently calling for the remaining soldiers to leave the city on a hunt is exactly the sort of thing the Quicksilver Players will be leery about.¡± Nodding, Dietrich accepted this. While he was no political player, he still was intelligent enough to understand the logic to Scapin¡¯s actions. Dietrich had sharpened his claws on the whelps of Glockmire and their idiotic games. Now he was getting a private concert from a true expert. ¡°My disposal of the Ghouls will also help muddy the waters,¡± Scapin added. Referring to Dietrich¡¯s sprung trap of frozen flesh. ¡°We couldn¡¯t fully erase evidence of our fight, but confusion is sometimes more useful than clean misdirection.¡± Despite himself, Dietrich had been impressed with the necromancy Scapin had used. While the magical art was usually used to preserve dead flesh, the opposite could be done. Scapin had reduced the thirty-four ghouls into sludge and shattered bone with a single spell. Scapin seemed to consider something for a moment before speaking. ¡°Our next step will be decided tomorrow. Argentari, the Quicksilver Player, should make contact at midnight. But no matter what aid he provides, if any, we¡¯ll need other options. The Archduke will want the Homunculus Knight, and I doubt the Players will hand over a Paladin, even one they think is ensorcelled.¡± Letting out an annoyed sigh, Dietrich said. ¡°The Alukah and her immortal protector. This isn¡¯t going to be easy.¡± ¡°You could certainly call for aid Dietrich.¡± was Scapin¡¯s reply. It dripped with false innocence, and the Scarlet Knight glared at him. ¡°Difficult but not impossible. This task has been given to me. With my steel and your guile, we will succeed.¡± was his response. Stroking his goateed chin, Scapin shrugged. ¡°Hopefully. Dawn is coming quickly. Do you think we will be safe here?¡± Dietrich nodded, glancing at the hut¡¯s door and to one of the far corners. ¡°The root cellar will suffice, and the new ghouls will keep watch.¡± Standing in a line before the door were three corpses. A husband and wife and a child. They¡¯d died quickly to reinvigorate Dietrich and Scapin. Their bodies now repurposed as wardens of their stolen home. Standing up from his chair, Scapin looked at the severed forearm on the table. ¡°Perhaps¡­ I might be able to play even this revelation to our advantage.
Dietrich and Scapin stood at a crossroads shortly before midnight. Between them was a bottle of quicksilver capped by a wax seal that glowed faintly. Staring out at the surrounding fields, Dietrich watched for any sign of danger. He didn¡¯t like to be this exposed, with only snow-covered farmland in every direction. ¡°Will they come?¡± he asked, glancing at the quicksilver bottle. Scapin started to say something but stopped and held up a finger. ¡°Listen.¡± Dietrich did, pushing stolen blood into his ears. The sound of hoofs crunching over snow became clear. Looking in the direction of the sound, Dietrich watched as a carriage slowly traveled down the icy road. Nodding towards the carriage, Scapin said, ¡°That answer enough?¡± Ignoring the mockery in Scapin¡¯s voice, Dietrich waited for the carriage to arrive. It was a nondescript vehicle of polished wood pulled by two horses. One white, the other black. As it reached the crossroads, the Quicksilver bottle started to vibrate. Ending when the wax seal on the top cracked with a small noise. The carriage stopped, and the coachmen stepped off the driver¡¯s seat and opened the passenger door. Dietrich raised an eyebrow at the coachmen¡¯s appearance. He wore a gray uniform and a bizarre mask. It was like someone had sculpted a mirror over a face. Giving the impression of features but distorting them with rippling reflections. Two men exited the carriage. Both wore masks, but the identity of one was clear to Dietrich. Portly and tan-skinned Alexo Argentari was unmistakable even with his mirror mask. The old man standing next to him was a stranger, though. His mask was different. Made of some dark wood that drank in the little light of the Carriage¡¯s lanterns. Scapin bowed to both. ¡°Thank you for meeting us on such short notice. The urgency of the matter requires it.¡± Argentari nodded. ¡°Your bodyguard caused a stir last night. The Tenth Temple is calling for a cleansing force to be assembled. Asking any Temple or Noble who can contribute to help hunt your Scarlet Knight.¡± Dietrich forced himself not to bristle at the notion he was Scapin¡¯s creature. Scapin, for his part, just wore his exaggerated smile. ¡°Removing anyone capable of stopping the thief from seizing control of Vindabon.¡± Argentari coolly answered. ¡°That is a possible interpretation of, yes. But the news a Paladin faced a Scarlet Knight just outside the city is more than reason enough.¡± Accepting the point, Scapin reached into his cloak and pulled something out. ¡°True, but can the Paladin be trusted? He¡¯s been subverted by the Natalie girl, and I wonder if he¡¯s even human anymore.¡± The other masked figure shifted at those words but remained silent. Argentari made a noise of derision. ¡°A bold, bold claim. I¡¯m not anywhere close to being convinced of this ¡®pseudo-alukah¡¯ nonsense.¡± Scapin tossed a bundle of cloth onto the ground right by Argentari¡¯s feet. ¡°Maybe this will help my case.¡± Nodding towards the bundle, Argentari signaled for the Coachmen to pick it up. The servant did as instructed and unwrapped the severed forelimb. To his credit, the Coachmen merely jumped in surprise, not dropping the arm. He showed it to his superiors, who made noises of disgust. Scapin pointed at the arm. ¡°Notice the number of scars covering it.¡± Argentari did and then glared at Scapin; the expression could be felt even through his reflective mask. ¡°You give me the severed arm of a torture victim as evidence? Is this some sort of threat, Scapin? I expected more from you.¡± Shaking his head, Scapin explained. ¡°That belongs to the Paladin. He lost it in the fight with Dietrich here.¡± The unknown masked man stepped back like he¡¯d been struck, and Argentari grabbed the limb from his Coachmen. Examining it, he scoffed. ¡°So you maimed a servant of Master Time? I¡¯m still missing the point you¡¯re trying to make.¡± The old masked man leaned down to examine the limb. Growing very still after a second or two. The black-masked man spoke then for the first time then. ¡°I saw the Paladin today. He had both his arms.¡± Looking at Scapin, he continued. ¡°But I recognize these scars. Either this is a very convincing fake for reasons I cannot guess, or¡­ He regrew the arm in less than a day.¡± Scapin nodded and spoke. ¡°Lilu¡¯s kiss is an incredibly dangerous relic. Granting a fraction of an Alukah¡¯s power at an incredible price. Using Necromancy to graft a stolen limb to a strong host isn¡¯t impossible. Something the servants of Master Time would have easily noticed. Your Tenth Temple is subverted and its champion corrupted. Let us deal with the thief before Vindabon falls and the Archduke faces a potential rival.¡± Argentari and Black-mask looked at each other, and Dietrich felt a slight stir of power. A barely perceptible charge in the Aether he only noticed because he was looking for any threat. It tasted of telepathic communication, and Dietrich was fairly certain the two men were conferring in the privacy of their minds. The little mental conference went on, both men occasionally making violent gestures but otherwise being still. Throughout it, Scapin just watched his vulpine grin never wavering. It must have taken an hour before Argentari finally broke with his colleague and addressed the Vampire. ¡°We will accept your offer of aid under certain stipulations. Both of you will agree to be Marked while you are in the city. You will also work with the Players to do this quickly and quietly. We need to remove this infection cleanly, and it pains me to admit your offer proves our best option.¡± Before Dietrich could object, Scapin clapped his hands together. ¡°Agreed! Now when shall we strike?¡± Argentari paused and then said. ¡°There will be an excellent opportunity during the Solstice.¡±
:: In Vindabon, a day later :: Things had not gone well in the aftermath of Black-tongue and Big-nose¡¯s suicides. The Weinstadt Guard Tower had locked down as soon as possible, but the infiltrator had still managed to escape. Slipping literally right past Cole¡¯s nose. A bitter fact the Paladin was loathe to accept. The prompted suicides also raised all manner of questions. The loyalty the two servants had displayed was uncanny. That type of loyalty couldn¡¯t be bought. It was either earned or forced. At Cole¡¯s prompting, the two bodies were delivered to the Temple, where Nyami could properly examine the spells laid upon them. Even in death, the Geases left an imprint. Something a talented Magi specializing in mortuary magic could read. Nyami¡¯s initial impressions weren¡¯t anything revolutionary. The Geases were meant to force secrecy and protect House Louon. They lacked anything as powerful as a self-harm trigger. The Hierophant promised she¡¯d dig deeper, but she was doubtful anything more could be found. Except for perhaps information on the Magi that created the Geas, but even that was unlikely. Outside the Heart-stealer hunt, little was going as planned. The City and Temples had been lethargic and dismissive of Morri¡¯s warnings. They¡¯d doubled the guard around the city gates and ordered more outrider patrols but nothing else. A response Morri had characterized as ¡°Great for Bandit hunting, grossly negligent for a Vampire.¡± In the face of all these setbacks, Cole and Natalie focused on their next objective. The Ball and exposing the killer at it. First, they scoured the Temple archives for information on House Louon. Mina and a reluctant Alia helped the search while Iron-teeth returned to his position. The records of both Temple and City painted the picture of a powerful, respected House that had not fared well over the last half-century. House Louon was originally from Guyenne and moved to Vindabon a little over three hundred years ago. The reason for the move was partially political, partially economic. Louon had lost some petty political squabbles among the Guyenne nobility and much of their valuable land with it. A normally disastrous turn of events offset by their mercantile success in Vindabon. Hence the relocation to the City of Music and Dreams. But in the past few decades, those centuries of prosperity had ended. The House suffered several setbacks and embarrassments. Predominantly caused by a long chain of questionable decisions. Marrying children off erratically. Investing in magical research that turned out little better than a scam. Alienating old friends with aggressive political maneuvers. A pattern that culminated in the disastrous Battle of Milda. Where Holy League forces commanded by Grafling Louis Louon faced a smaller force of Goblin Kozaks. Only to be badly beaten in a humiliating defeat. Since then, the family had stayed relatively quiet. Engaging only in some safe politicking and middling philanthropy. Predominantly funding small clinics in the City''s more destitute sections. All this information was easy for Natalie to find and put together. Less so for her allies. Cole was useful in some matters but lacked the social intelligence to make certain leaps. Mina was too timid and would focus on details, forsaking the full story. Alia was great at noticing some patterns but completely oblivious to others. Leaving Natalie in the interesting position of being the political mind of the group. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I don¡¯t get this,¡± whined Alia for maybe the fifth time. ¡°The dead Grafling walked right into that ambush. He ignored his scout reports and led his army into unfavorable enemy-held terrain. I¡¯m no soldier but isn¡¯t this basic strategy? ¡° Cole peered over her shoulder and examined the report filed by a Temple Priest assigned to the army. ¡°It is strange. The Priest does note that Louis Louon was acting erratic in the weeks before the Battle. Getting into shouting matches with his officers, drinking heavily, something to do with his Wife as well.¡± Natalie plucked the source from them both and scanned it quickly. She¡¯d figured out how to use spent blood to speed up her reading. A curious technique she was proud of learning all by herself. ¡°His wife was a Battlemage assigned to the Army. She also died at Milda. They apparently made a pretty good battle couple in a previous campaign. Which weirdly went well, even with Louon in command.¡± Frowning, Natalie went over to some of the other records they¡¯d gathered and the notes she¡¯d been taking. Double checking the hunch she was developing. ¡°The Grafling was in his mid-thirties when he died. I looked through the death records and every incident involving the Family. The Louons tend to either live long or die before forty. Usually under questionable circumstances or in the shadow of questionable decisions.¡± Mina looked up from her book, eyes wide and curious. ¡°That sort of sounds like an inherited condition.¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°Yeah, a curse or an illness. Something that messes with their minds before killing or getting them killed.¡± Frowning, Cole asked. ¡°Is that the source of all this? Our killer is experiencing some sort of inheritable madness?¡± Natalie and Mina shrugged at the same time. Fast footsteps pulled the group''s attention from that line of thought. A woman in her thirties with short brown hair and a slightly bored expression approached. She was a priestess by her dress, and she smelled vaguely of chemicals. Reaching their little alcove, she asked, ¡°You¡¯re the Paladin and Guards?¡± Cole nodded, and she pulled a scroll from her person. Setting it on the table, she said. ¡°I¡¯m Priestess Rihan, Corpse-tender. Nyami asked me to look at the two bodies you brought in. They were a little interesting.¡± Rihan turned to leave, and Cole asked. ¡°What was interesting about them?¡± Looking at him like he was stupid, Rihan gestured at the scroll. ¡°It¡¯s in the report. Read it, or get someone to read it for you.¡± Cole took a deep breath. The Priests and Priestesses who worked with the dead often chose that path for a reason. A violent lack of social skills or graces was often one of them. ¡°Yes, but I¡¯d like to hear it from the expert. So you can answer any questions I have now instead of me interrupting your work.¡± Rihan seemed to consider that and accepted it. Opening up the scroll, she rattled off the key details. ¡°Death by self-induced suffocation. Blank 1 was mid-thirties, and Blank 2 was late forties in age. Both were in reasonably good health, which was surprising considering their history.¡± Looking up from the scroll, Rihan explained. ¡°They had signs of starvation during their youths. You can tell from the bones if you know where to look. Similarly, they had the organs of older men. With their lungs, in particular, being in rough shape. Which is where things get interesting.¡± ¡°They had signs of long-term exposure to bad mold and other nasty stuff. But something was treating them with surprising efficacy. Considering how much black gunk I found in their lungs, you¡¯d think they would be dead or wheezers. But their bodies showed no signs of that outside the lungs themselves. I¡¯m guessing magical healing and fairly powerful stuff as well was used.¡± Cole and Alia looked at each other, seeing the same thoughts in each other¡¯s eyes. Cole spoke for them both. ¡°Mold? They had mold infections in their lungs?¡± Rihan gave him another annoyed stare. ¡°Yes, that was what I said, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Ignoring her salted words, Cole asked. ¡°Was the infection getting better before they died? Like were their signs of recent improvement?¡± A raised eyebrow that might have conveyed surprise was Rihan¡¯s reaction. ¡°Yes, actually. It was barely noticeable, but I just assumed the treatment was working.¡± Checking her scroll again, Rihan shrugged. ¡°These two both had rough childhoods. Starvation, injury, disease, all of it ending once they were teens. They lived healthy lives except for the mold, which seemed to have been treated shockingly well. So as I said, it''s interesting.¡± A bitter chuckle escaped Cole. ¡°More than you know, Priestess Rihan. Tell me, have you ever seen someone infected with Hellspawn?¡± That actually got the Priestess to drop the scroll in surprise. Picking it up quickly, she said. ¡°Are you implying?-¡± Cole nodded. ¡°Corrupted black mold was part of the infestation I faced in the Warrens. I suspect these two were exposed to it. Whatever treatment they received turned it from a death sentence into a nuisance.¡± Accepting this with muted shock, Rihan set the scroll down and left without another word. Alia frowned at the quick departure and asked, ¡°Where¡¯s she off to?¡± Mina sighed from beside her. ¡°Rihan¡¯s always been like that. Probably off to do more tests. The only reason she isn¡¯t a Magi is it would require too much socializing.¡± Looking at her new girlfriend with confusion, Alia said. ¡°Don¡¯t Magi spend most of their time researching or in magical practice? They don¡¯t seem the most extroverted bunch.¡± Nodding, Mina said. ¡°Exactly. Hopefully, she might have more information soon.¡± The great bells of the city started to ring then, and Natalie got up from her seat. She started to pack up or put back the texts with the efficacy of someone used to juggling dishes. Cole let out a weak groan and got up to help her. Laughing at his dismay, Alia said. ¡°Come on, Sir Paladin. It¡¯s a clothes fitting, not an execution. Go try on outfits with your pretty girlfriend.¡± Natalie finished her work and took Cole¡¯s arm. ¡°I do honestly believe he¡¯d prefer an execution over this.¡± Letting himself be steered away, Cole grumbled. ¡°Only if it was mine.¡± Natalie let out a snort of laughter despite herself. Leaving Mina and Alia to guess at whatever shared joke they weren¡¯t party to.
Cole squirmed as Engelbert Schneider fussed over his dress clothes. The tailor was busy making final adjustments to the dark doublet Cole was apparently wearing to the ball. Forced into the suit, Cole held out his arms and let Engelbert work. Wrist cuffs were changed, and appropriate creases were calculated. Keeping silent throughout the ordeal, Cole stared off into the middle distance, willing it to be over. As Englebert removed a pin, he chuckled. ¡°How can I make you less tense, Sir Paladin? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever had anyone not say a word for an entire fitting.¡± Cole resisted the urge to shrug. ¡°Call me Cole, and I¡¯m not one for parties or pageantry. They are an exercise in excessive nothingness.¡± Engelbert chuckled at that. ¡°If being a Paladin isn¡¯t a long-term career, I think you have a future in poetry. But I will have to disagree with you. Balls and the like are often excessive, but they aren¡¯t pointless.¡± Grunting in acquiescence, Cole moved his legs so Engelbert could adjust the pants. ¡°I suppose you are right. Political squabbles should take place in silk, not steel.¡± Laughing again as he worked, Engelbert quipped. ¡°You assume my thoughts are much loftier than they are. No, no, I think parties aren¡¯t pointless because they keep my wife and I employed.¡± Shifting in embarrassment, Cole tried to find his word. ¡°Yes¡­ I see that is also important.¡± Clapping Cole on the back, Engelbert smiled. ¡°You sure are an awkward one, aren¡¯t you? Pantheon¡¯s writ, when I saw you come into the shop for the first time, I was struck dumb. The ¡®tattered man¡¯ is back again. You aren¡¯t at all what I expected from the night of the riot.¡± A little uncertain how to react, Cole just nodded in agreement. ¡°Master Tailor, do you ever get lost in your work?¡± Pausing his quick stitching, the tailor replied. ¡°Call me Englebert, and of course. I¡¯ve spent more than one night working on something well into the morning. Why?¡± Cole shrugged, feeling the garment settle on his broad shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s similar when I fight or do my duty. I get lost in it. I¡¯m still me, just a¡­ different version.¡± Engelbert considered that. ¡°Suppose that makes sense. Violence is an art, I guess. Never would have thought that till I saw you with those two thieves. Took them down quickly and cleanly. You coulda killed them, right? But you didn¡¯t.¡± Cole nodded, thinking of the night of the riot. ¡°I¡¯m a bringer of rest and defender of the living. Killing those I could spare goes against my purpose.¡± The acrid taste of hypocrisy filled Cole¡¯s mouth even as he spoke. The panicked eyes of the mercenaries came back to him. Shoving that doubt away, Cole looked to Engelbert. The tailor had stopped his work and just stared at Cole. Shaking himself from whatever stupor had him, Englebert chuckled nervously. ¡°I saw it then. I wasn¡¯t serving Sir Cole in my shop; I was standing before the Paladin.¡± letting out another chuckle, he stepped back from Cole. ¡°Anyway, your suit is done.¡± Engelbert guided Cole out of the dressing room and towards the large mirrors set aside for clients to observe themselves. Cole almost tripped upon seeing himself. Gone was the Tattered Man or the Paladin of Death. In its place was a Knight of a Noble Court. Cole honestly didn¡¯t know if he liked or hated it. The doublet and pants were predominantly dark blue with lighter blue sections. The buttons were hidden in the fabric, and the belt was rich leather with a shining buckle. A stylized hourglass in silver thread covered much of the chest, while the pants were tucked into polished black boots. Over one shoulder was a small black cape that covered much of Cole¡¯s right side. It combined military airs and aristocratic extravagance. Reaching up, Cole checked to see the various pockets hidden under the cape. They were small but serviceable for his needs. Engelbert saw the gesture and smiled. ¡°Plenty of pockets like you asked. So what do you think?¡± Stretching slightly, Cole said. ¡°The collar is a little tight, but that¡¯s all I can complain about.¡± Englebert pulled over a stool and got up to adjust the collar. Nodding in appreciation, Cole looked back at the mirrors. It had been twelve years since he¡¯d worn clothes like this. Then his face hadn¡¯t worn so many marks. Reaching up, Cole touched his face for a moment. Feeling the scarred skin and the memories associated with each patch. Pushing through the momentary melancholy, Cole said. ¡°Thank you Englebert. It¡¯s¡­ good.¡± The old tailor just nodded. He knew more was in those words, but they weren¡¯t for him to dig out. He led Cole from the dressing chambers and back towards the shop''s front. He gestured to a nearby chair and said. ¡°Now the eternal constant of serving couples.¡± Cole frowned, and Englebert just smiled. ¡°Waiting on your partner.¡± True enough, it was nearly an hour before the creak of hinges alerted them to Natalie and Philomena¡¯s arrival. Getting up, Cole turned to greet his lover. Any words he might have had were struck from him. An angel in red entered the room. Natalie wore a long red dress and a short white lace mantle. The dress covered her from neck to toe and hugged her curves in a way Cole couldn¡¯t help but notice. It lacked sleeves, but Natalie wore white gloves, and her shoulders were covered by the mantle. The lace giving the faint impression of feathery wings. Her neck held a black choker that covered her stigma and framed her throat with a small blue gemstone. Smiling up at him, Natalie twirled, sending the dress fluttering in a red current. ¡°How do I look?¡± It took Cole a few seconds to remember how to breathe, let alone speak. Frowning, Natalie stepped closer to Cole. Her proximity rattled Cole¡¯s mind free, and he spoke. ¡°Incredible. You look incredible.¡± Looking him up and down, Natalie¡¯s lips pulled in a grin. ¡°You don¡¯t look bad yourself.¡± Cole chuckled and took her hands. Bringing her in for a kiss. It lasted a long wonderful moment until a cough from nearby interrupted them. Philomena had a wide smile on her face, and Englebert looked amused. ¡°That can wait till after the ball. Now can we get you two anything else?¡± The couple shook their heads, and coins were exchanged. They changed from their dress clothing and let their respective Schneider package them up. Natalie was more than a little miffed she needed to take off the dress. The logic of not staining or ruining it before the ball was barely enough to convince her. As they prepared to leave the store, Cole and Engelbert shook hands while Philomena whispered something into Natalie¡¯s ear. Cole didn¡¯t hear it, but the way it got Natalie fidgeting was enough to pique his interest. Leaving the shop with their purchases, Cole took Natalie¡¯s hand and watched her as they walked. It always amazed Cole how full of life she was, even if she was technically dead. Looking at Cole, Natalie licked her lips and tried to say something. She seemed to take a few attempts before finally managing to say. ¡°Forever is a long time.¡± A little confused, Cole nodded. ¡°Yes, yes, it is.¡± Burying her face in the dress box, Natalie took an annoyed breath and tried to explain herself. ¡°Theoretically, the two of us could live for a very long time. You are completely Immortal as far as we know. While I¡¯m the divinely ordained Undead curse-bearer. So¡­ what I¡¯m saying is we will hopefully have very long lives. And I know things change and people change and¡­.¡± Natalie sighed and looked at Cole. ¡°I guess I¡¯m saying I¡¯d like to spend the next century or two with you at least.¡± Smiling down at her, Cole kissed Natalie¡¯s forehead. ¡°I couldn¡¯t agree more¡± a lump had formed in his throat, and Cole tried his best to swallow it down. It was something he wouldn¡¯t admit even to himself. How much the idea of spending an eternity alone scared him. A fear Natalie¡¯s words soothed like a poultice on a cut. Taking Cole¡¯s hand, Natalie smiled, ensuring she kept her fangs hidden by her scarf. As she walked, the words of Philomena echoed in her mind. ¡°Make sure to hire me for the wedding dress.¡±
They returned to the Temple and their apartment. The Ball was tomorrow night, and Natalie was almost vibrating with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Pacing around the apartment, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but smile. Going to a Solstice ball in Vindabon was literally a childhood dream of hers. An impossible idea barely constructed from Barnabas¡¯s stories and her books. Now she had a dress, a wonderful partner, and a grand gala to attend. The only problem was she wasn''t going for the sheer joy of it. A murderer needed to be caught. Something that Cole was focused on while Natalie acted the giddy teenager. He¡¯d managed to get a genealogical text from the Temple. A constantly updated tome filled with information on the great families of Vindabon. Which thankfully included House Louon. Unfortunately, House Louon was a fairly fecund family. Aside from the main branch were three cadets, each closely connected to the original line. All of them had multiple living generations. With the family elders, including Graf Isac Louon, his cousins, and younger siblings. While their various broods of children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren filling out a prodigious family tree. Using the disappearance of Michelle Stine, Cole tried to figure out which members were likely to be the killer. Since she¡¯d been a nanny, Cole assumed the killer had been either an adolescent or a parent. Most likely, a parent since the family madness started in the mid-thirties. Cole made a list of the family members who were in that age range, had young children at the time of the murder, and were still alive. Five names filled out the qualifications, and two more failed the last part. Not as bad as Cole feared, but still enough to make this difficult. Setting the text down and folding up his notes, Cole looked at Natalie. She had picked up the invitation card and was studying it. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± asked Cole. Glancing at him, Natalie voiced the question that had been bothering her for a minute. ¡°Do nobles dance differently than commoners?¡± Getting up from his seat, Cole shrugged. ¡°Slightly; it depends on the event and how pretentious they want to be.¡± Chewing her lip, ignoring the sting of her fangs, Natalie said. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can dance like that.¡± Rolling his shoulders, Cole said, ¡°I can. Let me teach you.¡± Glad she wasn¡¯t using her false-life, Natalie stepped close to Cole and took his offered hand. Cole, for his part, just smiled. Natalie might not be truly blushing, but he¡¯d learned her body language well enough to know she should be. Slowly, Cole guided Natalie through the steps of a basic courtly dance. One hand on her back, the other in hers. The large Paladin moved fluidly, slowly increasing the speed until they reached a full ballroom pace. Natalie felt a large, almost silly grin spread across her face as she kept up with Cole. Just as Natalie was certain she had the basics down, she tripped. Cole quickly caught her and brought them back into the dance. Pouting slightly, Natalie asked. ¡°I¡¯m a supernaturally agile Vampire; how are you better at this than me?¡± Shrugging, Cole changed the dance slightly and said. ¡°Vampires like Balls, in my experience. I¡¯ve been to more than a few in my time. Besides, it''s not that different from fighting.¡± Spinning Natalie in a gentle twirl, Cole was surprised to see the amused smile on her face. ¡°Not so different from fighting, huh?¡± They kept dancing, and Cole added. ¡°Yes, keeping your arms and legs in all the right places while tracking your opponent¡¯s movements.¡± A laugh escaped Natalie as they moved to another style. ¡°I guess the principles of love and warfare overlap,¡± she said, pressing herself close to Cole. Smiling up at him with a hunger that wasn¡¯t for blood, she asked. ¡°I¡¯m sure other¡­ activities are equally effected by your skill. Shall we try a different dance, my love?¡± Letting out an amused breath, Cole kissed her and said. ¡°Only if you take the lead this time.¡± Book II: Chapter 32: The Ball (Part 1)

Chapter 32: The Ball (Part 1)

¡°Faerie sa score score score score sa kindgoms. No jest one thin. Somma kind, somma cruel. Tey all srange. Tat be true fo all tem. We canna make deals withsome, lika with Demons. Call em up and set em ta work. Unlika Demons do, Faerie be vaery on what they want in ekschange. Time, teeth, words, childer, or sometin else. Learn wha you tradin and keep a-deal. Yousa can works good with most of the Side-walkers.¡± - ¡®words¡¯ of Rath-Shaman Boyne
Natalie had started to believe she wasn¡¯t the clueless village girl she¡¯d once been. Her experiences, both good and bad, refined her perspective and granted new understanding. But all that growth seemed petty in the face of an Aristocrat¡¯s extravagance. She hadn¡¯t even arrived at the Ball, and House DeMello¡¯s display of wealth rattled her. Standing before Natalie was a fancifully made carriage of polished white wood, marked with the horse sigil of House DeMello and pulled by one of the strangest creatures Natalie had ever seen. It was both horse and man. Where a warhorse¡¯s neck should be was a powerful torso and striking head, covered in ornate bronze armor. The horse¡¯s flanks were painted with spiraling sigils. Shocked and confused, Natalie looked to Cole, who let out an annoyed sigh and approached the horse-man creature. ¡°Are you to be our escort this evening Master Centaur?¡± The Centaur¡¯s helmed head bobbed, and it, no, he, spoke with a lyrical accent. ¡°The Baroness has tasked me with guiding the Paladin and his consort to her festival.¡± Natalie frowned at the Centaur¡¯s voice. It almost sounded like something a throat could not make; it was more like a musician''s attempt to create a voice. Somehow it reminded her of Glynn¡¯s odd accent. Taking Cole¡¯s offered hand, Natalie entered the coach. The two barely fit into the snug seat, and Natalie enjoyed the feeling of Cole¡¯s well-dressed form pressed against her. An opinion he apparently shared, considering his slight blush. Once they were situated, Cole spoke to their escort. ¡°Thank you for this honor and courtesy. We are ready whenever you are.¡± The Centaur started pulling the carriage, moving them with stoic speed. Natalie knew with Cole¡¯s bulk they were a heavy load, but the Centaur pulled them without issue. Whispering into Cole¡¯s ear, Natalie asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of a Centaur? Where are they from?¡± Answering her whisper, Cole said. ¡°They are Fae. Summoned to our world by magical contract.¡± Natalie went completely rigid, eyes locked onto the Centaur. He¡¯d gone from curiosity to nightmare in a single sentence. Sidhe, Fae, Faire Folk, Sidewalkers, Elderborn, a thousand names for the creatures who¡¯d once ruled the world, beings from the Gray Beyond who brought madness and doom on any they choose to condemn Putting a gentle hand on hers, Cole whispered. ¡°Not all Fae are monstrous. Many of the petty kingdoms have¡­ palatable relationships with our world. It¡¯s not unheard of for Magi and Shamans to deal with them peacefully. Summoning one to pull a carriage, though¡­ that is noble ostentation defined. ¡± Cole was forced to reassess as the carriage headed towards the Second District and its noble estates. He¡¯d spotted five other centaur-drawn carriages on the same thoroughfare as them. This had gone from ostentatious to ridiculous by merit of sheer scale. Reaching under his half-cape, Cole fingers slipped into one of the pockets Englebert had sewed for him, feeling their contents he relaxed slightly. He doubted this was a trap, but rampant paranoia had spared him more than a few deaths. The trip continued without murder or mayhem, with the carriages arriving outside the DeMello Manor. As the Centaur pulled them past the iron gates of the estate, Natalie craned her head up to take in the full vastness of the palace. It sat like a diamond, with one corner facing the road. The other three were dominated by towers surrounding a great dome. Winter gardens flanked the palace, hugging its walls and extending out to give the whole estate a circular footprint. The Centaur pulled away from the entrance, following the inside of the wall on a circular road that surrounded the garden. The Centaur stopped when he was halfway between the front and back of the estate. ¡°My task is done. Enjoy the gardens before the Ball begins.¡± Cole and Natalie glanced at each other before exiting the carriage. Cole nodded respectfully to the Centaur, as did Natalie at his prompting. ¡°Thank you for your aid and protection Master Centaur.¡± The Centaur returned the nod, made a noise like a melodic whiny, and trotted away, leaving the couple in the garden, where snow dusted bushes were surrounded by flowers sculpted from snow. Hand on Cole¡¯s arm, Natalie walked beside him as they headed through the icy garden scape. Pale statues and dry fountains mingled with snow sculptures and colored ice, making the whole area both beautiful and eerie. They were reasonably isolated, with another group of attendees a little further up the garden path. Laughter and conversation floated through the cold night air. Natalie¡¯s sensitive ears caught snippets of it. ¡°Those weren¡¯t real Centaurs! Just illusions, you know how the DeMello Magi is.¡± ¡°Did you hear Lord and Lady Tavis aren¡¯t staying in the same wing of their estate?¡± ¡°Oh yes! They caught Lord Tavis with a scullery maid!¡± ¡°BAH! I don¡¯t know where you¡¯re getting such bad information. They caught LADY Tavis with the scullery maid.¡± The fact gossip wasn¡¯t any different among nobles or commoners amused Natalie. Looking to Cole, who was busy scanning the garden for any threat, she asked. ¡°The party ahead is saying the Centaur wasn¡¯t real?¡± Cole let out an amused snort. ¡°I assure you that Centaur was a creature called from the Beyond, I could feel it.¡± Taking that confirmation, Natalie kept walking, picking up more bits of gossip though she had no proper context for the rumors and half truths, she¡¯d long learned at the Silly Goat to enjoy the idle ramblings of people. That is until they involved her. ¡°Did you hear who one of the guests of honor is?¡± ¡°Yeah! A Paladin! A real-life Paladin! The one who stopped the riot.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s not all he¡¯s doing. You know who his paramour is, right?¡± ¡°Who? Don¡¯t you mean what?¡± ¡°A Vampire? You can¡¯t be serious?¡± Letting out a tired sigh, Natalie licked her fangs. She¡¯d known this was coming but hoped it wouldn¡¯t be one of the first things she heard upon arriving. Mustering up some courage, Natalie pressed forward, comforted by the steady presence of Cole at her side. They soon reached the entrance of DeMello Manor, a great columned antechamber exposed to the outside. Heading towards the vestibule, Cole whispered. ¡°Are you ready?¡± Natalie gave him a bleakly amused look. ¡°When am I ever?¡± Resisting a snort of laughter, he led her into DeMello Manor. The antechamber was guarded by footmen, each armored and standing between the columns, enclosing the vestibule in marble and steel. A dozen other guests milled about the space, Either waiting for friends or waiting in line to be announced. Joining the queue, Cole and Natalie got more than a few strange looks. A number of the younger Ballgowers didn¡¯t even try to hide their stares as they fixated on Cole¡¯s scars. Natalie noticed this and couldn¡¯t help but be grateful he soaked up the attention that might be put on her. For his part, Cole just ignored the prying eyes, he¡¯d gotten used to them a long time ago. A voice from behind the couple pulled their attention. ¡°Excuse me! Are you new to the city? I don¡¯t believe we recognize you?¡± A portly man in his early fifties in an extravagant doublet with ruffles stood there. Next to him was a wiry-thin fellow of similar age with an exasperated look on his face. The tall one let out a sigh and said. ¡°I must apologize for my husband. He¡¯s got the manner and temperament of a wild Boar.¡± The short one snorted ¡°Oh, you know that is one of the things you love about me.¡± before refocusing on Cole. ¡°Now tell me, where in the world did you get so many scars! I¡¯ve got more than a few from my youth, but I¡¯ve never seen someone so marked with honor!¡± Cole just then noticed a line going down the short man¡¯s face that he¡¯d assumed was a wrinkle was, in fact, a long dueling scar. Again the tall one stepped in for his apparent spouse. ¡°Since I¡¯m never going to get through to him, I might as well compensate on his behalf.¡± Holding out a hand, he said, ¡°I¡¯m Mason Von Aegor, and this is my husband, Sir Horace Von Aegor. A silly old soldier who seems to think asking people about their private business is a good way to introduce themselves.¡± Smiling slightly, Cole took the offered hand. ¡°I¡¯m Cole of Atredia, and this is my partner Natalie.¡± Horace waddled over and took Natalie¡¯s hand, kissing it. ¡°Pleasure to meet you both. My word, dear, that is a lovely dress, but aren¡¯t you a little cold in it?¡± Smiling with her lips hidden, Natalie shrugged, sending the mantle of lace fluttering. ¡°The pleasure is all mine and the cold does not particularly bother me¡± The line started to move then, and the quartet walked with it. Horace repeated his earlier question. ¡°So, are you new to Vindabon?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve visited before, but this is our first time at an event like this.¡± Horace laughed deeply. ¡°Oh, then you are in for a treat! The DeMellos are ever the showmen. Whenever they host the Ball, you know it will be a spectacle.¡± Leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper, he added. ¡°From the way I hear it, the summoned Centaurs were just the tip of this glacier. More than one Magi earned DeMello patronage by helping set all of this up.¡± The vestibule gave way to a great entrance chamber lined with suits of armor. Cole and Natalie both found themselves staring at the decorative plate, bad memories resurfacing at the sight. Before they could dwell on those recollections, they were guided along a long red carpet by well-uniformed ushers, past branching halls and other doors, traveling along the velvet path like blood in a vein. Despite herself, Natalie kept stopping to look at some curiosity, be they beautiful paintings and intricate statuary lining the walls, or incredible dresses and suits worn by their fellow ballgoers. Even the servants were impeccably dressed and professionally groomed. The whole thing was a surreal experience, reminding her of Castle Glockmire but somehow more alive and gaudy, like the DeMello Estate parodied the aristocratic opulence of the Vampires. As she thought about it, Natalie realized the opposite was probably true, the Nocturnal Nobility were a parody of the aristocrats around her. ¡°How wealthy is House DeMello?¡± she asked, trying to comprehend the dizzying extravagance around them. Mason answered her. ¡°Very, the DeMello¡¯s started as Horse Lords. They breed and sell the finest mounts in the League. Most merchants and militaries from Harmas to Parilux buy from the DeMello stables. A financial backbone they¡¯ve put to good use in growing their riches¡± Nodding at that, Natalie saw they¡¯d arrived before a grand set of double doors. Every thirty seconds or so, the doors would open, and another group of ball-goers would be issued inside. Seeing this, Cole let out another weary sigh. Turning to Horace and Mason, he said. ¡°Would you go ahead of us?¡± Giving him a strange look, the older couple shrugged and went ahead. Looking to Natalie now that they had a modicum of privacy, Cole explained what was happening. ¡°Every time someone passes through those doors, a herald announces them to the ball. We¡¯ll be known to everyone the moment we pass through.¡± Sucking in a pointless breath, Natalie sighed. On a whim, she let her false-life weaken a little. Red crept back into her eyes, and she lost a few skin tone shades. She was proud of how well she could use the false-life, the ability reaching new heights with her constant practice. Cole took Natalie¡¯s hand and squeezed it. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Red eyes looked up at him, and Natalie smiled, letting her fangs show. ¡°No point in hiding what I am.¡± Stepping to the entrance, Cole took their invitation and showed it to the servants working the double doors. One took the invitation and did a double take upon reading it. The herald recovered himself quickly and gestured for the other servants to open the doors. They slid open without a sound, their hinges oiled to perfection. Following the herald, Cole and Natalie braced for their introduction. The herald stroked his throat, activating whatever magic he used to enhance his voice, and spoke. ¡°Introducing Sir Cole of Atredia, Paladin, Rest-bringer, Demon-slayer, Sun-caller, Champion of the Tenth Temple, and protector of Vindabon.¡± ¡°Accompanied by his consort, Lady Natalie, redeemed Vampire of the Duchies and temple-bound supplicant.¡±
The door opened onto an incredible scene. The ballroom was a huge domed structure of tables and pavilions scattered around a large dancing space. The domed roof of the ballroom was painted like a fantastical version of the night sky. Constellations whirled and danced in a midnight blue sky. Accompanied by choirs of falling stars and conducted by the silver moon painted on the dome¡¯s peak. But the painted roof wasn¡¯t the main wonder of the chamber. A long spear of ice dripped down from the painted moon and extended into a massive ice chandelier. The ¡®chandelier¡¯ hung over much of the ballroom floor, its strange structures of colored ice creating a vaguely familiar pattern. Staring at it, Natalie felt something click into place. The history book Cole had gotten her had included many maps of Vindabon. Maps that matched the chandelier. It was a colossal inverted map of the city made of multi-hued ice. Defying gravity and temperature to hang above the ball like some floating fae city. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. It was so incredible; it kept Natalie distracted from the hundreds of eyes staring up at her and Cole. They stood at the top of a small staircase that led down into the ballroom. Placed to ensure newcomers were on display for the entire hall. After drinking in the ice city and the general opulence of the chamber, Natalie was forced to acknowledge the collective stares of Vindabon¡¯s elite. There was hate and distrust in those eyes, as she expected. But they weren¡¯t the only expressions. Curiosity, wary interest, uncertainty, and even amusement. Natalie tried to shift her focus as they stepped down the entrance stairs by muttering to Cole. ¡°Nice collection of titles.¡± Cole¡¯s lips quirked, and he squeezed her hand. ¡°One of those habits ingrained in nobility. I¡¯m just thankful they weren¡¯t too terribly ridiculous.¡± At the bottom of the steps, they were met by a small group who¡¯d gotten up to meet them. Cole and Natalie were surprised to see the main members of the group. Dressed in rich furs and heavy jewelry were some of the Werefolk. Kistine, her daughter Ametza, and the twins, Jaks and Jokin. Alongside a few other Werefolk, Natalie vaguely remembered from her midnight escape. Standing near to them but still a little separated was Jaerd DeMello and an entourage of young nobles. The boy looked much more presentable than Cole had last seen him, near-naked in the Undercroft tunnels. He looked at Cole with a mix of trepidation, annoyance, and worry. Jaerd stepped forward and took Cole¡¯s hand. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, Sir Paladin, under more pleasant circumstances.¡± After a painful moment of hesitation, he also nodded to Natalie. ¡°It¡¯s also nice to meet you, Lady Natalie. The city has been abuzz about you.¡± Ametza came up then and gave Natalie a hug. The young Werewolf smiled as she squeezed the Vampire in a shockingly strong embrace. ¡°I¡¯d say these are better circumstances to meet under!¡± Surprised by the gesture, Natalie returned the hug. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Kistine answered for her daughter. ¡°The city invited a delegation from the Moot to this¡­ event. Hoping to unruffle some fur on both sides. My family''s connections to you and the Paladin made us a clear fit for the invited group.¡± Their welcoming party led Cole and Natalie towards a table set beneath the Tenth Temple on the ice map. Natalie couldn¡¯t help but look up at the suspended towers and domes of the religious complex. Hanging above them like some ash-stained icicle formation. Jaerd explained. ¡°Seating arrangements match places of influence. As the Paladin and representative of the Tenth Temple, this table is for you and your consort.¡± Glancing at the dozen or so seats available, Cole asked. ¡°Are we expecting more from the Temple or¡­?¡± Ametza and her cousins plopped down into three of the chairs without a preamble. ¡°Guests of the city are divided up between whoever likes them most.¡± she gestured to the other Werefolk who¡¯d joined the Shohgards. ¡°They all have friends among the Merchants and similar. While we have you.¡± Looking at the Werefolk with slight annoyance, Jaerd added. ¡°I¡¯ve also been asked to sit with you, Sir Paladin, if you find that acceptable?¡± Raising a tattered eyebrow, Cole asked. ¡°Why is that?¡± Jaerd shifted uncomfortably, looking every bit the nervous teenager. ¡°Because you are the guest of honor invited by my House; and because you rescued me in the Undercroft.¡± Pulling out Natalie¡¯s seat and guiding her into it, Cole asked the young noble. ¡°What exactly did you tell your mother? Even more uncomfortable, Jaerd whispered. ¡°I said you found me after I got lost in the Undercroft. Something down there didn¡¯t feel right, and I took a wrong turn trying to take a shortcut. I ran into Delia, and we were lost and scared until you found us and helped guide us out of the darkness.¡± Cole let out an amused snort that turned into a sigh. ¡°I won¡¯t contradict your¡­ account if you help me with something.¡± Jaerd¡¯s face lost a few shades of color, and before his imagination could run away, Cole explained. ¡°I¡¯m ignorant of the different families and groups of the city. Having someone who can help me navigate this ball would be helpful.¡± Sitting down, Cole looked around to see many, many eyes still focused on his table. Jaerd also sat down, leaving a seat between himself and Cole. ¡°What do you want to know?¡± Glancing around the various tables, Cole said. ¡°House Louon, where are they seated?¡± Jaerd pointed. ¡°Underneath their manor, just over there.¡± Natalie looked at Cole and whispered. ¡°Are we doing this now?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°Do you still have the scent?¡± She nodded, and Cole smiled. ¡°Then why not?¡± Ametza leaned over and asked. ¡°What are you two up to?¡± Helping Natalie to her feet, Cole looked in the direction Jaerd had pointed. ¡°Ending something that has gone on for far too long.¡± Interested, Ametza left her mother and cousins to follow them. Jaerd also tagged along, suddenly wondering if he¡¯d set off something he probably shouldn¡¯t have. The Louon pavilion was nearly on the other side of the ballroom, and getting there quickly proved to be an obstacle. Waves of ball-goers crashed up against Cole and Natalie. Offering introductions and platitudes to them both. Natalie tried memorizing the faces and names bombarding her like sea spray while Cole let them roll off him. Eventually, they were slowed down by the sheer weight of people. The couple bogged down in a mire of questions. ¡°How long have you been a Vampire?¡± ¡°Who made that Dress?¡± ¡°Was the Demon scary?¡± ¡°Where did you two meet?¡± ¡°When did you start courting?¡± ¡°Are those scars real?¡± ¡°Why are you in Vindabon?¡± Cole found himself treading conversational water as the tide rolled in around them. Answering with sentences both vague and curt. Natalie, for her part, was adapting quite well. The whole thing reminded her of a busy night at the Silly Goat. Except instead of food orders from tipsy town folks, it was personal questions from over-primped aristocrats. Slowly mastering the deluge, Natalie answered some questions. ¡°I was turned less than a year ago. We started courting when Cole came to my hometown hunting a vampire. He brought me to Vindabon because I would be safe here. Oh, and the dress is from Schineder and Schineder, lovely tailors and dressmakers.¡± Cole¡¯s stoic disregard and Natalie¡¯s polite answers helped them escape the social swamp and push toward their chosen shore. The whole thing made Cole¡¯s tattered skin crawl. Countless smiling faces, each hiding an agenda. At least with the nocturnal nobility, you knew they were all predatory monsters. With these living aristocrats, Cole had to give them the benefit of the doubt. They surfaced from the social press and stood near House Louon¡¯s pavilion. Two tables and a throng of people were sheltered beneath a small tent holding the house colors. Members of the House and whoever they were conversing with. The Louons were easy to tell apart from their fellows. Each had the angular face and lean build of their patriarch, but more importantly, they shared the same golden eyes. Not all were as vivid as Graf Louon¡¯s, but each House Member had gilded irises. Natalie sucked in a breath and frowned. This close, she could smell the Louons. They each had the same spiced aroma she¡¯d scented in the blood, confirming what she and Cole suspected. Entering the pavilion, Cole went towards the Graf, who was currently speaking with a few fellow aristocrats, judging by their gaudy clothing. Still, on Cole¡¯s arm, Natalie kept sniffing the air, trying to match the blood¡¯s flavor against the similar smells around them. It was annoyingly difficult. Maybe twenty of the Louons were nearby, and they all smelled practically identical. Their individual odors were masked by their inherited power. Graf Isac Louon ended his conversation and turned to Cole. His gilded eyes flashed with contempt. ¡°Paladin, what brings you to my pavilion?¡± Cole smiled and decided to play auroch among glassware. ¡°An apology and a question.¡± Louon raised an eyebrow and glanced towards Natalie, his lips becoming a hard line upon noticing her. ¡°You are apologizing for what exactly, Paladin? Undermining the council''s authority?¡± Cole¡¯s smile tightened ever so slightly. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not offering an apology. I¡¯m demanding one for your efforts to get my Love executed. She risked her life to help this city, and you repaid that effort with the worst kind of cruelty. One delivered through a pen stroke.¡± Red eyes wide, Natalie looked at Cole with shock. She hadn¡¯t expected him to do something like this. And judging by how he squeezed her hand, Cole hadn¡¯t planned to either. Meeting the shorter noble''s golden eyes, Cole let his smile become cold. ¡°As for the question, I have a couple related to a woman once in your employ. By the name of Michelle Stine.¡± The Graf became very still, his dilating eyes the only thing that moved. Around him, his family members weren¡¯t as controlled. Some looked worried, a few confused, and one, in particular, looked downright shocked. So much so that he didn¡¯t even notice the wine glass slipping through his fingers until it hit the ground with a tinkling crash. Cole turned to the wine dropper and nodded in recognition. ¡°You were at the Weinstadt guard tower.¡± The spindly noble looked much the same as when Cole last saw him. When he¡¯d been offering his house¡¯s assistance in patrolling for Werefolk the day of the riot. Stepping away from the Graf, Cole held out a hand to the noble. ¡°And who might you be?¡± The man looked at Cole¡¯s hand as if it was a poisonous snake. But he still puffed out his chest and said, ¡°I am Grafling Liam Louon. Heir to House Louon.¡± Natalie frowned and let her mind travel back to the genealogy of House Louon. Liam, the man before them, was the son of Louis, the previous Grafling who¡¯d died at the battle of Milda. Just in the age range to be a young adolescent when Michelle Stine disappeared. He was too young to be the killer, but he clearly knew something. Cole wasn¡¯t even thinking in that regard; his attention was on Liam¡¯s eyes. They weren¡¯t golden, not even a little. They were mundane hazel. Graf Louon stepped between Cole and his grandson, his polished shoes shattering glass. Teeth bared, the old noble growled. ¡°Step away, Paladin. You are so far out of line you can¡¯t even imagine.¡± The Paladin didn¡¯t flinch. He didn¡¯t know what magic the Graf could call up, but Cole didn¡¯t particularly care. He was close; he could feel it as a cold pulse in his chest. Leaning forward, Cole whispered into the Graf¡¯s ear. ¡°How long have your family members been going mad? How long has one of your kin been murdering innocents out of some delusion?¡± Eyes wild with shock and rising wrath, the Graf stepped back from Cole and looked to one of his relatives. Graf Louon made a curt gesture and pointed at Cole. Then stepped away. The new relative, a man in his thirties with a lean, dangerous look, stepped up. A wild smile on his face. He slipped off a silken glove and tossed it onto the ground between them. ¡°I am Sir Leoric of House Louon. I challenge you to a duel for your insults. Paladin or not, you consort with monsters and impinge on my family name. Let you be humbled before everyone here!¡± A loud cough came from behind Cole and the Louons. The growing crowd parted to make way for Baroness Patrizia DeMello. The noblewoman was clad in a dress both majestic and ridiculous. It was a mix of blues, greens, and pinks. Like someone had captured northern sky-fire and woven it into a mass of flowing fabric. Cole found it bizarre, and Natalie found it impressive. Looking over the scene, the Baroness made an overly dramatic sigh. ¡°Sir Paladin, I was so pleased to invite you to my ball as a guest of honor. But now I am questioning that decision; you are here for less than an hour, and you¡¯ve already managed to provoke a duel. Tsk tsk, I would expect better of you.¡± Cole bowed to the noblewoman. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Baroness. That was not at all my intent. I¡¯d hoped to use the Solstice and New Year spirit to wash away some stains. I did not expect House Louon to react so¡­ explosively.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow at Cole¡¯s words and gestures. The man could be so obtuse in some social situations. Then in others, he¡¯d have all the grace and polish of some noble courtier. As Natalie thought about it, Cole probably had been once. The Baroness tittered in amusement. ¡°That is more of what I was expecting, Sir Paladin. Still, I cannot have you offending my other guests or them offending you. Escort me to my table, and Sir Leoric will drop this matter of honor. Everyone can go their separate ways, and the party can continue.¡± Looking over the golden-eyed Louons, each staring at him with contempt, confusion, or worry, Cole nodded to the Baroness. ¡°A just compromise.¡± Clapping her hands together in a gesture both childlike and authoritative, the Baroness turned to Natalie. ¡°My, and aren¡¯t you a lovely thing! I can understand why the Paladin is infatuated with you.¡± A little uncertain about what to do, Natalie mimicked a curtsey she¡¯d seen other ladies perform. It got an amused laugh from the Baroness who found her son and took his hand. ¡°Oh, and I see my darling Jaerd has been close by. So sweet of him to stay close to his savior.¡± Cole just nodded. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s been a good host.¡± Beaming at that, the Baroness led Cole and Natalie away from the Louon pavilion. They reached the high table, where the most powerful citizens of Vindabon sat. Or at least where they should have. The nearby dance floor attracted people as a violinist started a low crooning melody. Smiling broadly, the Baroness DeMello gestured to the polished hardwood. ¡°Ah, wonderful! A dance to lighten the mood. Take your darling Vampire and enjoy Sir Paladin.¡± Cole twitched slightly at her word choice but took Natalie¡¯s hand. ¡°Would you like to dance?¡± Smiling, not caring that her fangs were on display, Natalie laughed. ¡°I¡¯d love to.¡± Leading her onto the dance floor, Cole whispered, ¡°Shame it can¡¯t end the same way our last dance did.¡± Beaming, Natalie swatted his arm playfully before settling her hands on him. The lone violinist was joined by a full orchestra, and they played a lovely tune perfect for a beginning dance. Arm wrapped around her waist, hand in hers, Cole danced with Natalie. Beneath the crystalline streets of the icy city, they whirled and danced. Opposites but somehow the same, red and blue spinning beneath a sky of paint and frost. The moment lasted a wonderful eternity, only ending as the song did. The fast melody was replaced by a slower tune, and Natalie let herself melt against Cole¡¯s chest. Hearing his heart through the cloth and enjoying its drumbeat. Natalie looked up as they passed close to the orchestra, seeing a familiar face among the performers. It was the busker from the first day they arrived at Vindabon. Dressed in fine clothes and playing the same fiddle as before. Cole saw where her eyes went, and he couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°I told you he was more than what he wanted people to think.¡± Natalie answered his laugh and let her eyes sweep across the ballroom. The dance floor was a shifting maelstrom of fabric and pageantry. It¡¯s multi-hued complexity, hypnotic and wonderful. It reminded Natalie of soapy water, a rainbow sheen of color swirling in a living current. To her amusement, she saw Ametza dancing with a nervous looking young noble. Nearby the Werewolf¡¯s cousins danced with another set of twins. Twin brothers clad in furs dancing with twin sisters clad in lace. An interesting juxtaposition that spoke of mending wounds. As the slow dance ended, Natalie prepared for the next song. It didn¡¯t reach her ears; her mind was suddenly pulled by the incredible smell behind her. Twisting to look, Natalie was shocked as a spray of blood splattered over her face. Spiced, strong blood. Shutting her mouth and clenching her eyes, Natalie hissed at the urge to lick the ambrosia covering her face, chest, and hair. Cole pulled her close to his chest and wiped at her with his half-cape. Blinded by the blood, Natalie didn¡¯t see what was happening. Cole stared at Sir Leoric, eyes burning with cold rage. The Louon Knight had stalked over to them and tossed a glass of blood onto Natalie. Sneering at them, the knight spat. ¡°Monsters like your whore killed my mother. You might dress her in silk and lace, but she¡¯s still a blood-drinking leech. See how she reacts to spilled blood! Paladin or not, you insult this city and its people by protecting such a creature. I challenge you again, leech-slave! I call you out as honor and dignity demand it!¡± Natalie was shivering and twitching, trying to ignore the blood that had gotten into her mouth. It was potent, unbearably potent. Even well-fed as she was, it roused her thirst. Looking up at Cole, Natalie blinked away the blood and saw the fury in his eyes. With one hand, he finished wiping the blood off Natalie¡¯s face. Moving her to the edge of the dance floor, he found Kistine. The old Shaman had gotten up from the table at the noise and came to investigate. Ametza was nearby, having left her suitor. The Werewolf¡¯s teeth were bared, and a bubbling growl came up from her throat. Cole looked at Natalie and the two women before whispering to his lover. ¡°This needs to be addressed. Can I leave you with Ametza and Kistine?¡± Recovering slightly, Natalie gave him a weak smile. ¡°The killer is a cousin to whoever''s the blood that was. It probably belongs to the knight, judging by the taste.¡± Cupping her chin, Cole frowned. ¡°You can tell?¡± Natalie shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I could normally, but with blood as potent as that¡­ Well, I can get more details. Like Sir Leoric is sick. Something is wrong with his blood; it''s not just potent, it''s¡­ I can¡¯t describe it. It¡¯s just wrong.¡± Kissing Natalie¡¯s forehead, Cole said. ¡°I love you.¡± Natalie resisted the urge to return the kiss because of the blood smeared on Cole¡¯s lips. ¡°I love you too. I¡¯ll be okay; go ruin the bastard.¡± Smiling, Cole squeezed her hand and then turned back to the watching crowd. Finding the shocked Baroness, he bowed. ¡°Baroness Patrizia DeMello. As this is your home and your event, I ask you to judge this duel. It¡¯s stakes and manner I leave in your capable hands.¡± The Baroness grimaced and glanced between Cole and Leoric. She could tell there would be no point in trying to de-escalate this. Sighing, she waved a hand. ¡°Dueling blades until first blood. Let''s get this idiocy over with.¡± Book II: Chapter 33: The Ball (Part 2)

Chapter 33: The Ball (Part 2)

¡°The connection between blood and magic is well documented. But the nature of this relationship is still contested. Personally, I believe it¡¯s because nothing is a more potent symbol of life and its power than blood. The shedding or sacrifice of blood invokes that connection and effects the Aether as a Magi¡¯s will might. Interestingly but not surprisingly, the source of the blood also plays a role in this. Animal blood is weaker than human, and Dragon blood is fantastically potent¡°- From the Grimoire of Anasiar Sparrowhawk, Battlemage of Queen-Elect Josefa II.
Cole rolled his shoulders and stood at the dancefloor¡¯s edge. People were clearing away, and a troupe of servants had materialized. Bringing a sack of flour and a rack of blades with them. Looking at the weapons, Cole reached into one of his pockets and felt the metal disk tucked there. He¡¯d prefer to use that over a dueling blade but would respect the Baroness¡¯s wishes. Glancing at the noblewoman, Cole saw her expression was caught between annoyance and amusement as if she couldn¡¯t decide whether having her party interrupted was worth the assured spectacle of the duel. Her eyes met Cole¡¯s, and he offered a slight bow. The show of supplication seemed to settle the issue, and she smiled. Sir Leoric Louon stood on the opposite side of the polished dancefloor, a cluster of his relatives grouped around him. When Cole confronted Graf Louon, he did not expect things to escalate this quickly. Admittedly he had no one to blame but himself; his plan of butting into the Graf¡¯s business and insinuating what he knew wasn¡¯t exactly the height of subtly. A bold act spurred less by logic and more by a desire to spite the murderer and his protectors. They¡¯d evaded justice for too long, hiding behind decorum and noble privilege, and Cole was sick of it. A newly familiar figure sidled up next to Cole, the old knight Horace from the vestibule. The heavy-set noble looked practically giddy at the prospect of the duel. A hog-like chortle escaped him as he clapped Cole on the back. ¡°I should have guessed you were the Paladin! My word Sir Cole, you really know how to pick your battles.¡± Surprised by the familiar gesture, Cole looked at the retired knight and his marked face. ¡°You were a duelist, correct? Is there anything I need to know about Vindabon¡¯s customs?¡± Beaming, Horace nodded. ¡°Aye, I was! It¡¯s why I came over to speak with you. I was worried you wouldn¡¯t know how to duel at all.¡± Cole raised an eyebrow at the short man, and he raised a conciliatory hand. ¡°I¡¯ve known many an excellent soldier who was a terrible duelist. The skills of true combat don¡¯t always translate well. So it occurred to me a slayer of Demons and Undead might suffer similar problems.¡± Nodding in appreciation, Cole let a slight smile play across his lips. ¡°I¡¯m no novice to dueling. But my experience is a little more vicious than what I expect is normal in Vindabon.¡± It was Horace¡¯s turn to raise an eyebrow. ¡°Oh, you¡¯d be surprised, especially with something like the red challenge Sir Leoric gave you.¡± Memories of defending Isabelle¡¯s honor flashed behind Cole¡¯s eyes. The Duchies preferred to settle matters with a contest of champions. Which usually meant pit fights between favored monsters. Cole knew the games of living aristocrats could get ugly, but he doubted they matched the sheer madness of their undead counterparts. ¡°A red challenge? That was what the spilled blood was?¡± Cole had assumed Leoric¡¯s tossing a goblet of blood onto Natalie was an insult about her nature. Not some classical form of challenge like a thrown gauntlet or glove. Horace nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a Guyvenne custom, signifying a desire to shed lots and lots of blood. Something to do with an old King offering a cup of blood in exchange for a barrel full.¡± Pointing to the servants at work setting up a circle of flour in the dancefloor center, Horace explained. ¡°The flour marks the arena; stepping on or across it will mean you forfeit. As for the weapons the Countess has selected? Dueling blades aren¡¯t pretty. Any Priest worth their prayers can heal most wounds from them, but they tend to leave scars. Not that you¡¯d notice.¡± Horace grinned and added. ¡°I still want to know how you got all those scars. I¡¯ve never met someone so badged by battle.¡± Licking the inside of his cheek, where the skin had once been split, Cole paid for the knight¡¯s aid. ¡°Fighting monsters and being tortured by them.¡± Unlike so many others, Sir Horace didn¡¯t recoil at the truth. His eyes just hardened, and he patted Cole¡¯s shoulder with an almost fatherly air. ¡°Truly honorable marks, then. Signs of your survival in the face of evil. Sir Leoric is rather skilled, but I do believe he¡¯s bitten off more than he can chew.¡± Cole almost smiled at the strange compliment. ¡°How skilled?¡± Horace scratched at his mustache and shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve personally never seen him fight, but he is House Louon¡¯s champion. As a scion of a Dragonslayer house trusted with defending its honor with steel, he¡¯s got to be one of the best in the city, if not half the League.¡± Flexing his arms and legs, Cole filed that information away. Career duelists were never anything to dismiss, but they usually had certain flaws. Possible openings Cole might exploit. Seeing Cole¡¯s readiness to fight, Horace clapped him on the back again and stepped away. ¡°He might be fighting for his family''s honor, but you are fighting for the woman you love. Oh, I know who¡¯d I bet on if Mason let me.¡± The servants had finished creating the circle of flour, and the Baroness now stood near it. In a voice strong and clear, she addressed her guests. ¡°Great and good people of Vindabon! We have the honor of witnessing a great duel on this Solstice Eve! Let us pray for a noble match between two knights, one blessed by Master Time, another by dragon blood!¡± Raising her hands to either side of her, she called. ¡°Who will act as Second for our combatants?¡± ¡°I will stand beside my cousin!¡± proclaimed Grafling Liam Louon. The young noble, twenty five at the oldest, looked nervous but determined. Two figures stepped up on either side of Cole, the twins Jaks and Jokin. ¡°We¡¯ll stand with the Paladin if the Lady will let us!¡± Cole let out an amused breath and looked at the Werewolf brothers. Both wore lupine grins and seemed ready to start a brawl. Nodding to them, Cole approached the rack of weapons; opposite him, Leoric did the same. The dueling blades were long thin foils, designed to pierce and stab. Running a hand along the rack, Cole picked up an estoc and tested its balance. Nodding, he squeezed its leather grip. Leoric picked a wickedly thin rapier and gave it a few experimental slashes in the air. Both men settled on their choices and went to opposite sides of the flour circle. Their respective seconds stood nearby; the twins glared fangs at the Grafling and his family behind him. Looking at both combatants, the Baroness let out a slight sigh. ¡°Now is the final moment for either of you to back away from this.¡± Leoric¡¯s eyes boiled with hate, and he spat on the ground. Earning a wave of gasps from the surrounding crowd. Cole just let out a breath and said. ¡°Thank you for your concern Baroness, but this has been long overdue.¡± She looked at Cole with slight confusion, and Leoric twitched slightly. Letting out a huff, the Baroness nodded and gestured to the dueling circle. The two duelists entered the flour arena at the Baroness¡¯s signal. Silence spread across the ballroom as the combatants paced, circling each other, watching for any opening. Holding the estoc up in a classic guard, Cole asked. ¡°Do you know what your family has been hiding? Are you culpable or just ignorant?¡± Leoric ignored Cole¡¯s words even as they got a confused murmur from the crowd. Only answering them with his own grievance. ¡°My mother was a good woman. She didn¡¯t deserve what those Monsters did to her!¡± Cole nodded, ¡°No, she didn¡¯t. I¡¯m sorry for what a Vampire took from you. It isn¡¯t right, and I would gladly put the responsible Undead to rest if you wish. But your pain is no excuse to attack someone trying to go beyond their worse nature.¡± Leoric lunged then, fast as a bowshot and just as deadly. Cole sidestepped the strike, avoiding the singing point of the rapier. The Louon Champion spun and slashed at Cole, who leaned just out of reach of his enemy''s blade. Careful to stay in the circle, Cole danced away from Leoric. ¡°How long has it been going on? Whatever ailment is effecting your family must be fairly new. Within the last few generations, I suspect. Is it some taint in the blood or a curse?¡± Cole kept his blade up in the same guard. He knew the basics of fencing, but his opponent outclassed him in this martial art. Leoric launched another dizzying array of cuts and thrusts faster than any mundane human could ever hope. But his opponent rarely fought mundane humans; Cole was used to the claws and swords of true Monsters. Evading the Louon Knight¡¯s blade wasn¡¯t easy, but neither did it truly test the Paladin. Cole was confident he could win a straight fight against Leoric, but that wasn¡¯t what this was. It was a duel to first blood, something that favored the Knight¡¯s aggression and speed over the Paladin¡¯s strength and endurance. Cole could only dodge for so long; eventually, he¡¯d make a mistake, and he¡¯d lose the initiative against House Louon. His accusations and claims would be hollowed out by his loss. That was how the nobility worked, be they living or dead. Fortune favors the fortunate. The current game of dodging and looking for an opening that might never come was not a winning proposition. So Cole did what he always did when faced with a losing game; he changed the rules. Lunging forward with all his speed, Cole tossed his estoc towards the ceiling. An utterly mad move that forced Leoric¡¯s eyes to follow it out of sheer confusion. So when Cole rushed in, fist clenched, Leoric didn¡¯t have time to react. Cole¡¯s knuckles connected with Leoric¡¯s nose in a cartilage-crushing blow. Leoric¡¯s head snapped back, and he stumbled from the impact. Red blood spewed down from his broken nose in a crimson torrent. Shaking his hand, Cole danced back on the balls of his feet. Despite himself, he smiled. ¡°First blood,¡± Cole said, eyes scanning the assembled Louon clan. After a long moment of silence, applause erupted from the crowd. Baroness Patrizia DeMello stepped into the arena and proclaimed. ¡°As adjudicator of this duel, I proclaim Paladin Cole, the victor!¡± the applause turned to polite cheers, and the Baroness continued speaking, barely audible over the crowd. ¡°Now! Let us return to the night¡¯s fes-¡± ¡°NO!¡± barked Leoric, his hands wet with his own blood, a snarl on his face. Pointing his rapier at Cole, he spat. ¡°That is no honorable strike! You besmirch the art of dueling with such idiocy!¡± Gasps echoed around them, and the Baroness stepped back from the drawn blade. Cole stepped closer, ensuring the edge was pointed at him and no one else. ¡°First blood, I broke your nose, and you bled. I won, Sir Leoric.¡± The knight¡¯s face twitched, and a hissing shriek bubbled up from his throat. His golden eyes seemed to almost glow with feral intensity. In those eyes, Cole saw madness, the type of unhinged rage only the deranged can express. Nodding to himself, Cole whispered. ¡°There it is; there is the failing of House Louon.¡± Leoric charged, exploding forward faster than even during the duel. Cole sucked in a breath and called up his power, channeling it into his right hand. Stepping forward, Cole met the thrusting rapier with his palm. Cold steel broke the skin and met frozen blood. The blade snapped as all of Leoric¡¯s force met Cole¡¯s magic. The Paladin was pushed back slightly; the force of the impact made his shoulder throb. Letting the broken half of the rapier clatter to the ground, Cole swept in low, letting the cold flow from his right hand to his left. Flesh and bone hardened, turned into something greater by the Cold of Entropy. So when Cole¡¯s fist met Leoric¡¯s gut, it was a frozen hammer. The strike would have disemboweled a mundane and was still enough to knock Leoric to the ground. Wretching, the ¡®knight¡¯ started to spew a mixture of blood and bile onto the polished floor. The blood was unnaturally bright, apple red in coloration instead of proper crimson, but that wasn¡¯t the strangest part of Leoric¡¯s disgorgement. Varnish sizzled under the pool of filth, sending up plumes of foul-smelling smoke. Frowning, Cole rolled his incapacitated opponent onto his side to ensure he didn¡¯t choke on his vomit. Looking around at the crowd, he said. ¡°I don¡¯t do this out of cruelty but precaution. Sir Leoric has shown himself to be violent and untrustworthy.¡± Before anyone could ask what he meant, Cole stomped down on Leoric¡¯s leg, shattering his lower leg bones. A guttural shriek escaped Leoric, and the crowd gasped in horror. Stepping over his fallen foe, Cole looked over the assembled scions of Louon. ¡°Ann Eder, Josef Aigner, Lana Klammer, Jonathan Winkler, Elza Farman, Magith Stall, Vittora Malvo, Klaus Kress, Antonio Kukala, Verna Hockmen,¡± he said, eyes glowing with holy power. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°They had names and families; they had time yet to spend. A petty Monster stole their lives.¡± Letting his gaze sweep across the Louons, Cole saw their emotions in the Aether. Shock, confusion, worry, and in a handful, guilt were the dominant effusions. But there were two outliers, the Graf and the Grafling. Isac Louon burned with outrage, a black flame that danced around him in an orbit of aristocratic disdain. At the same time, his grandson Liam stunk of hate and lust. A foul mixture Cole recognized from the street altar murder. Eyes widening, Cole let his gaze settle on the young aristocrat and his hazel eyes. Liam was breathing heavily, tapping his fingers against the air, never looking away from Cole. Jerking his head back in understanding, Cole let out a breath. Liam was a cousin to Leoric; he was young enough to have had Michelle Stine as a nanny. His parents had died young, probably due to the family curse. He¡¯d been in Weinstadt shortly after one of the killings and had stirred up anger against the Werefolk. Cole had foolishly discounted him as a suspect because of his age. Liam couldn¡¯t be much older than Natalie, and the killings started ten years ago. It was hard to imagine a child killing someone. Still, it wasn¡¯t impossible, especially if the child was cursed and belonged to a family that would protect him from consequences. Letting out a breath, Cole stepped towards the Heart-stealer and asked. ¡°Why are you doing this? Why are you stealing these lives?¡± Liam¡¯s mouth twitched, and he thrust his hand forward. A white-hot cord of power wrapped around Cole¡¯s throat, and he stumbled backward. Gagging, Cole clawed at his neck, trying to remove the searing noose killing him. Nothing physical was there, just magic shaped into a burning garrot. Struggling against the murderous power, Cole started to call up his blessings to counteract the noose. Before he could, a pair of growls came from either side of him. Jaks and Jokin shot forward and tackled Liam to the ground. The twins were strong even in their human forms, and the Heart-stealer didn¡¯t stand a chance in direct combat. Gasps, mutters, and shrieks escaped from the crowd, and Cole recovered enough to see things had descended into a standoff. Some of the Louons had called up power; hands crackled with flames, skin shone like scales, and a few even sported reptilian claws large as daggers. A sharp whistle cut through the tumult, and a crack of displaced air rang in Cole¡¯s ears. Four heavily armed centaur warriors materialized, each holding a spear or battle axe. The centaurs flanked the Baroness, who held a silver horse-whistle between two fingers. A positively stormy expression covered the noblewoman¡¯s face. With a gesture, she commanded the centaurs to approach Cole, the twins, and Liam. ¡°What is the meaning of all this, Paladin?¡± she hissed, eyes ablaze with affronted fury. Sucking in breaths, Cole glanced behind her to see Natalie watching with a worried expression. Her face had hair had been cleaned, but her dress was stained by blood. Giving her a smile, Cole looked towards the Baroness. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lady Patrizia, but I can¡¯t set aside my mantle even during such an august celebration.¡± Eyes darting to the pinned Liam and the werewolf twins, the Baroness asked. ¡°Are you saying¡­?¡± Cole nodded, ¡°I¡¯m hunting a Monster, Baroness. Just one that happens to be alive.¡± The listening crowd looked at Liam, who struggled beneath the werewolves. The implications settled like fresh snow, only to be disturbed by a pulse of force. Jaks and Jokin were tossed off Liam by an invisible strike. Graf Isac stood over his grandson, golden eyes glowing with power. Gesturing at the Paladin, he spat, ¡°You accuse my grandson of being a monster? You who cavort with the Undead and serve the God of Grief?¡± Actual sparks of power danced around Isac¡¯s hands and eyes as he spoke. ¡°I knew you were not to be trusted, Paladin! Holy oath or not, you are clearly corrupted; look at you, sleeping with a walking corpse and attacking my grandson!¡± Gesturing to the crowd, the Graf continued his speech. ¡°My nephew dishonored himself true, but this brute desecrated the dueling arena and crippled him!¡± pointing at Cole, he leveled his accusation. ¡°How long have you been fighting evil, Paladin? How many battles have you lost to be so scarred? What broke you so terribly you could ignore the Monster in your bed but see one in my grandson?¡± Natalie slipped closer to Cole, sniffing the air, eyes never leaving Liam as she did. The Grafling had gotten to his feet and was rubbing his cut lip. A tiny trickle of red flowed down his face, and Natalie could smell it. Fresh and this close, there was no mistaking it; it was the same blood as on the tracking spell. But that wasn¡¯t all she learned. When Leoric spilled his guts, the sick scent of his blood had only increased, an almost rotten spice that some instinct told Natalie never to taste. A sickness her ever-adapting nose could smell faintly on the Graf, but not his Grandson¡­ Reaching Cole, she found his hand; it was painfully cold, even to her undead skin. ¡°It¡¯s him; Liam is the source of the blood, I¡¯m certain now.¡± The Graf made a disgusted noise and gestured with a glowing hand at Natalie. ¡°See! The monstrous bitch whispers poison in his ear! House Louon has stood against this city''s enemies for centuries, and now the Duchies sends a leech to discredit us. She¡¯s wormed her way into the Temple and now seeks to slither among us patricians!¡± Another noble stepped forward, a tall, barrel-chested man with striking green eyes; his clothes were ornate, and he carried a serpent headed-cane. On second glance, Natalie realized it wasn¡¯t a serpent but a dragon. Pointing the cane at Isac, he said. ¡°Normally, I¡¯d agree with you, cousin, but this is the Tenth Temple we speak of. If anyone could detect or resist a Vampire¡¯s whispers, it''s them. Even if the Paladin was bewitched, his fellows would not be.¡± The Baroness nodded, ¡°Lord Kronor, you speak reason.¡± The Dragonblood noble returned the nod but then gestured at Natalie. ¡°Still, I wouldn¡¯t trust a Vampire¡¯s testimony. Either way, this is not a matter to be resolved on such a fair night. Let us end this fuss and go back to our party.¡± Isac¡¯s eyes narrowed, but his power faded. ¡°I agree; my family came here to celebrate with our equals, not fight.¡± All eyes fell upon Cole, and he sighed; he wanted to argue but realized it would be pointless. ¡°I apologize for bringing this mess to the Baroness¡¯s party, and I will refrain from pursuing it for now.¡± pointing at Liam, he growled. ¡°But, if you flee the city, I will take it as an admission of guilt.¡± The Baroness clapped her hands and said, ¡°Good, it¡¯s settled then. I will have someone clean up the dance floor, and we¡¯ll serve dinner!¡± Rolling his shoulders, Cole looked up at the ice city above them and winced. His estoc stuck out of sculpture, the dueling blade protruding from the city-palace like some steel spire. Natalie followed his glance and let out a snort of laughter. Almost on cue, the estoc slipped from its hole and fell onto the empty dance floor with a loud clank. A hundred sets of eyes went to it, and Cole rubbed his face in embarrassment. Taking Cole¡¯s arm, Natalie guided him back to the table, the annoyed werewolf twins flanking them. They settled back at the tenth temple table, and Ametza said what was on everyone but Natalie¡¯s mind. ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± Kistine smacked her daughter¡¯s hand, ¡°Language, we¡¯re trying to convince these folk we aren¡¯t savages.¡± Ametza narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger back at the dance floor. ¡°They had a duel and nearly a brawl not five minutes ago.¡± Ignoring her daughter''s words, Kistine folded her hands in her lap. ¡°Curses aside, Ametza¡¯s words are valid. What have you dragged everyone into Paladin?¡± Cole looked at a very nervous Jaerd, who sat with them. ¡°What do you know about Liam Louon?¡± Jaerd scratched at his first whispy hints of facial hair. ¡°He¡¯s a little older than me, so not much. Just that he¡¯s the heir of his House, his parents died when he was young, and he¡¯s kinda weird.¡± Frowning, Natalie said, ¡°Weird? Elaborate on that, please.¡± Blanching a little bit at the Vampire¡¯s attention, Jaerd shrugged. ¡°Just weird, like we rarely see him at events, even though he¡¯s the Grafling. Heirs are usually trotted out at every event and opportunity to show off and learn. Not Liam; he¡¯s seen maybe once or twice a year. Then when he does come, he¡¯s never very social; I don¡¯t know anyone who calls him a friend.¡± Letting out a considering hum, Cole said. ¡°I betrayed my stance tonight, so there is no point in continued secrecy.¡± Looking over his small coterie, he explained, ¡°The killings in Weinstadt, Liam Louon is the lead suspect.¡± There was silence until Jak broke it. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that inbred little whelp is why the riot happening? Because of him, we lost family!¡± Jak started to get up from his seat, a vein pulsing in his forehead. As his mouth split open in a snarl, Natalie swore his teeth were growing. Ametza grabbed her cousin and forcibly shoved him back into his chair. ¡°Idiot! We can¡¯t go over and take his hide, no matter how much we want to. We¡¯re not in our territory; we can¡¯t settle this with blood price.¡± Steepling her fingers, Kistine looked to Cole. ¡°My daughter is again right, so your actions confuse me, Cole. You gave up the element of surprise for what?¡± Shrugging, Cole straightened his clothes and watched as his estoc was collected by an annoyed-looking servant. ¡°We knew the killer was probably a Louon; I didn¡¯t know it was Liam until after Leoric attacked me. Then well¡­ I could have handled it better, but honestly, I¡¯m sick of letting him hide behind his family¡¯s petticoats. He¡¯s killed at the very least thirty people and has never been suspected till now. Better to smash the whole thing open and let the sunlight in than keep chasing him in the shadows.¡± Natalie wrinkled her nose and asked. ¡°You knew before I told you about the blood? How did you?¡± Cole explained his reasoning and how the twisted emotions in the Aether had been the final link. The sense of queasy nervousness settled over the group, and Kistine nodded her head in weary understanding. ¡°He started killing people when he was a boy?¡± ¡°Yes, must have been ten or eleven when the murders started a decade ago,¡± was Cole¡¯s response. Jaerd corrected, ¡°Nine, he¡¯s nineteen. Liam just looks older than he should.¡± Natalie fidgeted and found her glass on the table. Dipping a napkin in the water, she worked to clean more of the blood out of her dress. The smell reminded her of the sickly spice she¡¯d sensed earlier. ¡°Leoric¡¯s sick; something is wrong with him. His blood tastes bad, and whatever rot is in him got worse when he lost control.¡± Setting the pink-stained napkin down and grimacing, Natalie added. ¡°It¡¯s hard to describe, but something spoiled in his blood. Not literally, just the magic of it.¡± scrunching up her face in concentration, Natalie tried to find words for the alien sensation her undead body had felt. ¡°Blood is innately magical, right? Well, whatever magic is in Leoric¡¯s blood is foul. It¡¯s powerful, and that should be appetizing, but instead, it¡¯s disgusting.¡± Glancing in the direction of Louon''s table, she added. ¡°Liam¡¯s blood, though? It¡¯s definitely powerful but not rotten.¡± Absorbing this information, Cole frowned. ¡°If the rot is the curse activating, does that mean Liam¡¯s not yet tainted by it? But that doesn¡¯t make any sense! Why would a normal child start murdering people?¡± Kistine cleared her throat. ¡°I don¡¯t know what curse you speak of, Paladin, but a murderous child is not¡­ unheard of.¡± Cole looked at her in confusion, and Kistine sighed. ¡°Maybe thirty years ago, when I was young, I heard a story. Another Werefolk Clan ran into trouble with one of their pups. The boy¡¯s father was dead, and his mother was¡­unstable. I think the boy was six when the first incidents started. Cruelty to his fellow pups, something about a burned wagon, and a few ugly hunts.¡± Trying to pull up the sordid old story, Kistine stared off into the middle distance. ¡°By the time he was thirteen, two of his generation had gone missing. Believed snatched by some predator while on practice hunts. When they found the third body, they knew the truth. The boy was raping and murdering his kin.¡± Shock rippled around the table, and Kistine played with one of her bangles. ¡°They executed the boy when he was fifteen. Alongside his mother, the scars they found on the boy warranted that. Last I heard, that pack dissolved out of shame and infighting. A horrible mother and her broken son¡¯s legacy.¡± Kistine finished her story just in time for the first dinner course to arrive. No one particularly felt like eating.
The table did manage to find their appetite by the second course. Helped by the array of delicacies arranged by House DeMello. Cole, Jaerd, and Kistine had the unenviable task of teaching the young Shohgards table manners. At the same time, Natalie simply envied their ability to eat. As Ametza ate the dessert pie with mocking sluggishness, she asked, ¡°Slow enough, Mother?¡± Kistine rolled her eyes and sipped some of the red wine they¡¯d been given. Natalie smiled at the eternal conflict between mother and daughter, remembering some of her own clashes. Surprisingly the memories didn¡¯t come with the usual twinge of pain. Something that shocked her at first. Looking at her empty plate, Natalie pursed her lips. Maybe time did heal all wounds, or at least provide enough new ones to bury the old. Cole saw her absent expression and squeezed her hand. ¡°You okay?¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine, actually.¡± She smiled when she looked up at the ice city and across the beautiful ballroom. ¡°I could have done without the insane knight throwing blood on me, but other than that, this has been wonderful.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± Cole responded, simple words complimented by a genuine smile. Rubbing his hand, Natalie returned his smile. ¡°But as I think about it¡­ having my honor defended in a duel is part of the gallant story, isn¡¯t it? So I guess even that worked out.¡± A few ugly memories flickered across Cole¡¯s mind, but he forced them down in place of the beautiful present. Feeling her hand in his, Cole let out a long calming breath. Things hadn¡¯t gone exactly as planned, but they could have gone much worse. The temple bells started ringing then, signaling it was nine at night. Once they stopped, a great heavy knock sounded on the ballroom doors. Jaerd set down his fork and sighed. He and everyone else in the room got to their feet. The few outsiders, like those at the Temple table, mimicked the action a few seconds later. Leaning over, Cole asked Jaerd, ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Eyes never leaving the ballroom door, the noble whispered. ¡°The second group of guests is arriving.¡± on seeing the confused expressions around him, he muttered, ¡°Plebians¡­¡± and then explained. ¡°Accepting food from another house is a sign of peace and tacit submission. It¡¯s some old custom from Iskandar¡¯s Empire. Under those rules, you can arrive after the meal to illustrate your superiority.¡± An annoyed sigh escaped everyone at the table who wasn¡¯t Jaerd. The reaction of any outsider to a foreign land¡¯s convoluted politics. The great doors opened then, and the herald announced the first newcomer. ¡° Esteemed Maestro of the Council, gilded adept of the high office, word-smith archaic, patron of the arts, and lesser Magi. Niece to Elector-Prince Yoseph Franz and heir to his titles, Lady Isibeth Franz.¡± An imperious woman with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose entered the chamber. Clad in a gown of black and gold, she was an icon of noble grace. Stepping down the polished stairs, dress trailing behind her; Lady Isibeth was flanked by knights in heavy plate. Their thick steel contrasted with her gossamer dress. Soon others were announced. Members of the Elector-House, foreign dignitaries, political rivals, and even Jaerd¡¯s older sister. Whose presence was, according to him, ¡°some statement about his family¡¯s power.¡± As the latecomers settled in, the rest of the party-goers started to sit down. Just to be interrupted by another knock at the door. Everyone looked at the doors in confusion. After a long moment, they swung open, and a very nervous-looking herald stepped to the top of the staircase. He held a sheet of paper in shaking hands. As his mouth opened, Natalie felt a familiar tug on her soul. Eyes wide, she hissed. ¡°No¡­¡± Despite his obvious fear, the herald announced the new arrivals in a high clear voice. ¡°Now presenting¡­. Sir Francesco Scapin, ambassador from the Blood Duchies. Alongside Sir Dietrich Freymond of the¡­Knights of the Scarlet Song.¡± Two figures strowed out onto the landing. The first was clad in fine red cloth and a floppy beret accented with a gray feather. He had a small goatee and a smile that never waivered, a smile that showed his fangs. Just behind him was a wall of red steel and barely restrained contempt. Scarlet eyes quested across the crowd until they found Cole. The two Knights locked eyes, and Dietrich smiled. Book II: Chapter 34: Falsehood and Knighthood

Chapter 34: Falsehood and Knighthood

¡°Binding a Demon to a consenting host is on parchment, a much easier task than binding one to a resisting body. In truth, finding anyone willing to share their flesh with Hellkyn is difficult. Even if you do find one, most willing hosts are subsumed by the Demon. Others of particularly strong will or careful binding can dominate and rule the Demon. Becoming something close to a Demonblood. Yet the rarest configuration is where the Demon and host reach a state of equilibrium. These willing hosts are incredibly powerful and provide a groundwork for transcendence.¡± - Grimoire of Davi Helltongue (Copy saved from an Inquisition pyre.)
¡°This is a trap; we are walking into a trap like fools,¡± Dietrich spat, as he and Scapin walked down the halls of DeMello Manor. Scratching the arcane brand placed on his left hand as he did. Scapin just smiled and nodded. ¡°Of course, it is, which is why we are springing it. Better to know the danger and work around it than stumble blindly.¡± Grimacing as he looked around the opulent manor, Dietrich snapped. ¡°The Players will let us capture the girl; once she¡¯s subdued, they will break us with the brand. We are being used as a catspaw.¡± Again Scapin smiled and nodded. ¡°Not the optimum outcome but still a serviceable one. Our enemy will be killed or sealed away, removing them from the game. Keeping her from becoming a true threat and perhaps granting new opportunities to retrieve her or the power.¡± Slipping on his gauntlets, trying to ignore the itching on his hand, Dietrich grit his teeth. ¡°That is not our goal Scapin; returning her to the Archduke is.¡± Scapin shrugged. ¡°Very true, and if I get my way, that will happen, but failure is always possible. I like to plan things, so there is a gold trim even if it all goes to ash. Now let''s make our preparations.¡± Scapin pulled up his sleeve, and his skin melted into gritty soot. Revealing a hollow in his flesh holding two vials. Dietrich wrinkled his nose at the act but plucked his vial from the ¡®pocket¡¯ and downed it in one. A thrum of power pulsed through his body, and Dietrich felt the binding brand melt off his hand. The marked skin and magic faded to ash and a whisper. Bracing himself, Dietrich waited for the brand to reappear elsewhere on his flesh as it would normally. It did not; untensing slightly, he looked to Scapin and gave the barest nod. They reached the end of the hallway and were announced by a very nervous herald. Arriving into the ballroom with as much flair as Scapin could muster. As hundreds of shocked faces looked up at them, Dietrich sought his rival. He wasn¡¯t hard to find, partially because of his scars and the Alukah¡¯s pull on Dietrich¡¯s blood. Guiding his eyes to where Cole and the tavern girl stood. Both knights met each other''s eyes, red and blue boring into each other. Careful not to show his fangs, Dietrich smiled. If he could return to court with the Alukah and the Homunculus Knight, he¡¯d be elevated to new heights by the Archduke. Maybe Scapin¡¯s brash planning had some merit after all. Scapin, for his part, bowed to the crowd and swept off his ridiculous hat. ¡°Good people of Vindabon! I come with dire news and important aid. A criminal of the Duchies has hidden among you. She is a traitorous monster who stole an ancient relic and seeks dominion over your city.¡± Eyes across the hall swept to Natalie, who recoiled slightly from the attention. Elsewhere a whistle blew, and a quartet of Centaurs appeared at the staircase¡¯s bottom. Greeting Scapin and Dietrich with polished bronze. Dietrich reached for Lex and clenched his fist upon remembering the sword¡¯s absence. He hated not carrying his prized blade, but if things went to plan, it wouldn¡¯t be out of his grasp for much longer. Trotting down the staircase, hands up in surrender, Scapin reached the Centaurs and let one of their lances press against his chest. Giving the appearance of total vulnerability. As he did, another quartet of Centaur¡¯s trotted forward, flanking a woman in an extravagant dress. Pointing at Scapin, she opened her mouth to give the execution order. Waving his hands, Scapin shouted. ¡°Wait, wait, wait! Do you think I¡¯d risk the wrath of Vindabon¡¯s elite without good reason? The traitor we hunt will doom both the League and Duchies unless we act.¡± The noblewoman in the dress hesitated, giving Scapin the opening he needed. ¡°Natalie Striga, formerly of Glockmire, stole an ancient Vampire relic for her own purposes. A relic of the first Vampires, of the Alukah!¡± Dietrich had descended the staircase some but still was high enough to see the Paladin and Alukah. He watched their shock and concern, which only grew as Scapin spoke. ¡°It is a remnant of Lilu, second of the Alukah. Granting incredible powers of manipulation and domination at the expense of sanity. A Vampire using Lilu¡¯s kiss can ensnare the minds of even a Paladin or Priest! Bewitching them without even the Gods noticing!¡± The gazes upon Natalie grew shocked and warry. Scapin looked at the noblewoman and offered a deferential nod, even with the lance poking his chest. ¡°Only the Undead are immune to the Kiss, and it cannot be used against large numbers of potent people. So my associate and I were forced to crash your ball, Baroness DeMello. It provided the best opportunity to take the traitor and her minion.¡± Cole¡¯s jaw was clenched so hard Dietrich could see the veins in his face bulging. Stepping forward, the Paladin roared. ¡°You lie and scheme! I am under no compulsion, and Natalie fled your lands not as a traitor but as a refugee! Cease your filth, and let me end your stolen existence!¡± Pointing at the Paladin, Scapin nodded as if he¡¯d been expecting this. ¡°Yes, yes, play your role, creature. I know what you are and what the traitor has done to you. All those scars must hide the stitches and bite marks wonderfully.¡± A new voice spoke up, a lean man who danced between middle and old age. His sharp goatee and oiled hair gave him the look of some predatory bird. ¡°The Paladin is under her thrall! She uses him to discredit my house and sow discord! Even our enemies admit so!¡± The Baroness looked at the new voice and snapped. ¡°Graf Louon, that is quite enough.¡± Glaring at her, the Graf gestured towards the Paladin and Alukah. ¡°No, I think not, Baroness! You¡¯ve invited a monster and her thrall into your home! A monster dangerous enough to make her ilk come looking for her!¡± With liquid grace, Scapin slipped under the Centaur¡¯s lance and past the blockade of fae. Arriving closer to the Baroness and giving a deep bow, Scapin spoke even as the Centaur¡¯s leveled their weapons again. ¡°If there had been a better option, wouldn¡¯t I have taken it? Instead, I came willingly, if unexpectedly, under your power.¡± Murmurs spread through the crowded hall, and the Baroness raised a sculpted eyebrow and turned to the Paladin. ¡°Is there any truth to what this¡­ creature says, Sir Cole?¡± Of all the things Cole might have done, he made the worst possible choice; he hesitated. Scapin came up from his deep bow and cut off the Paladin when he tried to answer after his moment of hesitation. ¡°Interesting, it seems something of the Paladin remains in you. Maybe the traitor''s claws aren¡¯t as deep as they feared.¡± The subject of all this stepped towards Scapin, ignoring her protector''s warning hand on her shoulder. In a hissing voice, she spat, ¡°Jagging Vampires, all you know how to do is twist the truth and hurt people! You took my family and my home from me! Now you¡¯ve come to take what little I¡¯ve regained? For what? to appease the evil bastard you call master?¡± Graf Louon sneered. ¡°See! She doesn¡¯t even deny what she¡¯s done. The Tenth Temple, and Pantheon know who else, are under her sway.¡± Natalie started to snap back. ¡°The power forced upon me isn¡¯t what that goat-fucker says it is. I¡¯ve been entrusted with something by Master Ti-¡± Scapin laughed, cutting her off. ¡°WE took your family and home? Oh please, traitor, spare us the drama.¡± Whirling about, looking at the crowd, Scapin practically yelled. ¡°You want to know what this evil creature seeking ¡®refugee¡¯ among you all has done? She stole, lied, and whored her way into Lord Glockmire¡¯s graces. She even sold her father and mother to the Larder to get her foot in the door.¡± Natalie looked like she¡¯d been physically struck, actually stumbling back a step. Scapin looked at her, the smile on his face finally replaced with a look of disgust. ¡°I¡¯m a monster; I won¡¯t pretend to be other. But to offer your own kin up for the chance to become a Vampire? That is beyond even me.¡± Pointing at her with a single accusatory finger Scapin proclaimed. ¡°You sold your Parents to a lesser Vampire just for the chance to be turned. Then you wormed your way into the Lord¡¯s circle, murdered him, and stole the relic. Enslaving a Paladin of the Tenth God to your will in the process. Now you parade around your thrall and make him think he loves you. For these crimes, I name you as you are! Traitor! Thief! Monster and Kin-slayer!¡±
Natalie felt like the world was closing in around her. The world was becoming a bloody tunnel, with only her and Scapin in it. His words struck her heart like salt in a wound. Pure crimson hate washed over her, and Natalie fought desperately to keep above the monstrous violence brewing within. Natalie, the Vampire, was furious at the challenge and threat. Natalie the Human was outraged by the lies and slander. Both sides agreed that only ripped flesh and spilled blood would settle this. Forcing down these worst instincts, trying to stop the fury from boiling up, Natalie looked around the ballroom. She escaped the tunnel of red, but in its place, she found naught but hateful and disgusted gazes. In those eyes, she saw what they thought of her, what they now believed because of a monster¡¯s words. Looking behind her towards the rest of the table, Natalie hoped to see something else in her new friends. In the werefolk, she saw only doubt. People she had lived with for weeks wondered if these words had any truth. In utter terror, she looked towards Cole, afraid of what she might find there. He wouldn¡¯t meet her eyes. A vein pulsed in his forehead, and his expression was some unreadable form of intensity. In a very, very small voice, Natalie whispered his name. ¡°Cole?¡± He didn¡¯t respond; he didn¡¯t even look at her. With her last lifeline cut, Natalie Striga fell into the red. A scream of despair and rage exploded out of the Vampire. Drowning out the human and anything that wasn¡¯t the desire to kill.
Cole was trying to speak; he was trying to move. He couldn¡¯t do either; invisible wires wrapped around him, burning his flesh and stopping him from doing anything other than twitch. Pulling up his power, Cole peered into the Aether for an answer. He saw two things of note; both made his stomach drop. A faint miasma extended out from the Vampire Scapin. Barely detectable even to Cole¡¯s aetheric senses, it wafted over the crowd and seeped into them. The miasma stunk of suspicion and fear, infecting any who it touched. It was a spell and an incredibly subtle one. The type of slithering manipulation only the most dangerous Moroi could use. Then contrasting the miasma was a swarm of burning chains issuing from Graf Louon and wrapping around Cole. He was trapped, and the crowd was being swayed. Pulling up more of his power, Cole tried to freeze the chains. In the mundane World, Graf Louon twitched in surprise as icy power dulled his spell. Struggling against the chains, Cole tried to break free. They were weakening, but not fast enough. ¡°Cole?¡± Fighting with everything he could, Cole tried to turn his head. Aetheric chains snapped and popped as his physical and mental strength fought the spell. But it wasn¡¯t enough; he¡¯d hesitated earlier in the face of Scapin¡¯s lies. Now he hesitated because of Louon¡¯s power. A keening scream exploded next to him, and Cole could only watch as a thing of blood and hate shot forward. Skin waxy, fingers turned into black claws, eyes alight with fury, Natalie looked every bit the monster she feared becoming. But that was just her mundane form. Still peering into the Aether, Cole saw the Alukah rise. A titan of black blood and screaming faces roiled in the spirit domain. Its body was a mountain and a tide of red-soaked darkness. An incredible mass of power that blotted everything out. The Alukah¡¯s body shot forward. People screamed and leaped out of the way as it literally flew towards Scapin. A red fog billowed from its hands and feet, suspending it like some bloody wraith. Cole could just watch as the Alukah slammed into Scapin, raking claws across his belly. The manipulative Moroi lept back to survive the strike. Even with that frantic dodge, gray intestines spilled out of him, and a genuine shock appeared on Scapin¡¯s face. Dietrich charged forward then, bringing an armored fist up strike the Alukah. It batted the blow and Dietrich aside. Scapin jumped away, putting himself among a group of ball-goers who shied away from the disemboweled Vampire. Frantically fleeing, Scapin grabbed a guest, a stunned-looking woman of maybe forty. Throwing her in the path of the rampaging Alukah. The ancient Vampire didn¡¯t hesitate and was about to cut through its living obstacle when the world froze. ¡°No¡± A word echoed in the minds of everyone in Vindabon. Accompanying it was a wave of cold, cold power. Every living thing in twenty kilometers shivered in response. The chains binding Cole exploded like ice thrown into a fire. Freed, he stumbled forward, pushing through the familiar power that washed over him and everyone else. A frozen corpse hung mid-air, a few centimeters away from the stunned woman. Its black claws outstretched in what should have been a lethal strike. Frost covered the body and everything else in the ballroom. The body was suspended by two pieces of ice, one extending down from the frozen city, the other up from the floor. Giving the impression of a morbid stalactite pillar. Silver-blue light danced over the frozen corpse, forming a maze-like pattern across its exposed flesh. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°No¡± was all Cole could say. ¡°No, no, no, no, no, NO!¡± he ran towards the frozen corpse of Natalie and felt pure terror. Was this how it ended? Losing one love to fire the other to ice? A voice whispered in his ear, a cold caress that made Cole¡¯s heart skip a beat. ¡°Look¡± Following his God¡¯s order, Cole did, peering into the Aether. He saw the mountainous tide of black blood before him. It was being pushed back, squeezed into Natalie by a glacier that dwarfed even the Alukah. She wasn¡¯t dead; the Stigma had fulfilled its purpose. When the Monster had taken control, the Stigma had activated and sealed it. Saving Natalie and the woman she¡¯d nearly killed. But that wasn¡¯t all Cole saw; the miasma had been broken with a cold snap of power. Its presence felt and rejected by everyone within the hall. Getting to his feet, Scapin looked around, seeming to sense his manipulation had been exposed. Sighing, he flexed his hands and said. ¡°Ah well, it was worth the chance.¡± Cole reached into his pockets and pulled out two things. First was a razor-sharp disk big as his palm and incredibly heavy. The other was a bottle of green fluid. Cole uncorked the bottle and downed it in one. Then he squeezed the sharp disk, letting his blood coat the object. In a voice more like a growl than anything else, he chanted, ¡°Blood begets blood. Iron begets iron. A piece of my life for the power to bring death.¡± The disk twitched, and the compressed runes along its inner rim glowed. With the groan of stressed metal, it started to unfold. Blood dripping from it, Requiem formed in Cole¡¯s hand, creaking as it grew into its full halberd form. Twirling the weapon between his hands, Cole focused on the two Vampires. ¡°The death, the cruelty, the evil, it ends NOW.¡± Letting his gaze sweep across the assembled people, he barked. ¡°Natalie Striga is blessed by Master Time. Marked with a sacred Stigma! Do you really think she or anyone else could fool a God? These monsters have slithered into this city and spread poison. You felt my God break Scapin¡¯s power. Now, will you do what¡¯s right or keep drinking the Vampire¡¯s lies?¡± Hundreds of people looked upon the Paladin, for there could be no doubt that was what he was, and made their choice. Many ran, heading for the far walls of the chamber and its exit. Others did not; they stood to fight beside their champion. Three werewolves peeled off their clothes and transformed. An old shaman called up power and summoned her spirits. A handful of Magi whispered spells, cloaking themselves and others in arcane protection. Eight Centaurs leveled their weapons at the Vampire. While a few dozen others unsheathed concealed weapons or cast what little spells they had. Dietrich had gotten to his feet and approached Scapin. The two looked at the surrounding army for a single beat. Then the Scarlet Knight plunged a hand into his companion''s chest and yanked. Ash exploded out of Scapin as an impossibly large weapon disgorged from his chest cavity. It was an executioner¡¯s sword, a huge ugly weapon of dark steel. Scapin stumbled back as Dietrich dusted off his weapon, and seemed to unfold. Like his flesh and skin were being peeled. Where Scapin had been was a ring of ashen flesh and bone. Black blood started to drip down from the edges of the ring, all the edges of the ring. Defying gravity and meeting in the ring¡¯s center as a curtain of dark ichor. A wave of power pulsed out from Scapin, and Cole sucked in a breath. Shouting loud enough to be heard over the fleeing crowd, he bellowed. ¡°RUN! GO TO THE IVORY TOWER AND THE TEMPLES! TELL THEM AN ASHBORN IS IN THE CITY!¡± The curtain of black blood started to flex as something pressed on it; a skeletal hand pushed out of the black pool. With a sickening squelch, a misshapen skeleton was birthed by the Scapin-ring. Its bones were obsidian and gray effluvia boiled off of it. No part of it was proportioned right, like a morbidly creative child had been asked to draw a skeleton. As the bones twitched and shuffled towards Cole, a dozen more hands pushed out of the black pool. Gripping his halberd tight, Cole heard Kistine suck in a breath behind him. ¡°Is¡­ is that a?¡± Cole completed her thought. ¡°Yes, that is a Grief Demon.¡± The first Demon snapped its attention on Cole and stumbled towards him. Wooden flooring decayed and warped under each of its steps. Squeezing Requiem, Cole sucked in a breath. ¡°MAGNI MORTAE MUN-¡± Dietrich blurred towards him, cutting off the battlecry with a brutal downward slice. Barely catching it on his weapon, Cole glared at the Scarlet Knight. ¡°I thought your order was better than this, Dietrich?¡± The barest twitch of rage hinted on Dietrich¡¯s face but was hidden as he whispered. ¡°Exceptions must be made, especially when dealing with something like the Homunculus Knight.¡± Cole¡¯s eyes widened in shock, and he barely parried Dietrich¡¯s next strike. The blow knocked him back slightly, and Cole nearly tripped over a knocked-over chair. As he stumbled, Dietrich charged forward. But two massive furry bodies met him. Jaks and Jokin smashed into the Scarlet Knight. Cursed fangs sank into his leg and shoulder. Cole recovered and dashed to join them just as Jokin let out a gurgling wail. Dietrich had grabbed the werewolf¡¯s lower jaw and yanked. The jaw skidded along the ground, and Jokin fell back, howling in pain. His brother hesitated to look and paid for it. Dietrich kicked him hard enough to break bones and sent the werewolf flying. Cole swung Requiem at Dietrich¡¯s shoulder, hoping Jokin¡¯s bite had weakened that side. It had not, or at least not enough to make a difference. Dietrich folded his arm in a hand-to-hand block and caught Requiem on his plate mail. To the credit of whatever Dwarven smith that forged Requiem, the halberd punched through the plate. But it stopped when meeting the stone of Dietrich¡¯s blood-enhanced flesh. The great executioner sword Dietrich wielded swung for Cole¡¯s head. Forcing power into his skull, Cole braced for impact. The world spun as Cole was knocked to the ground. Freezing blood ran down the side of his head, and the world rang like a bell. He¡¯d avoided having his skull split thanks to the cold armor, but the impact had concussed him. A voice both distant and close roared. ¡°GET AWAY FROM MY FAMILY!¡± Two wolves made of shining fog lept over Cole¡¯s prone form and attacked Dietrich. An eagle made of the same substance swooped down and went for Dietrich¡¯s eyes as he tried to knock away the ephemeral lupines. The sound of wings and bells reached Cole as a Spirit Dove flew towards him. It passed right through his head, and took the concussion with it. Looking over to Kistine, Cole saw she had her wounded nephew, pouring healing magic into his shredded mouth. Cole didn¡¯t know if a Werewolf could regenerate losing a jaw, but he hoped they could. Across the ballroom, a dozen other fights were taking place. Ametza fought two Grief Demons, her claws glowing with moonlight. Nearby, Lord Kronor had unsheathed his cane sword, and it blazed with wyrmfire. Elsewhere a middle-aged Magi died as a Grief Demon sunk its boney fingers into his flesh, withering the man like a dried grape. Gritting his teeth at the scenes of horror, Cole refocused and charged Dietrich. The Scarlet Knight had torn through one of the Spirit wolves and struck the Eagle with a hex. But the remaining wolf slowed him enough for Cole to strike. Requiem went for Dietrich¡¯s knee, hitting the joint cleanly and splitting the armor but not the flesh. For the second time, Dietrich¡¯s body resisted the edge. Cole danced back as Dietrich shredded the second wolf. Only the eldest Wyrmoi could hope to manage this level of reinforcement, not a weakened outcast like Dietrich. Eyes widening in understanding, Cole spat. ¡°The blood, you have more of the Alukah blood.¡± Dietrich didn¡¯t answer with words, just a brutal cleaving strike that made Requiem¡¯s haft groan. Cole exhaled, looking at the Scarlet Knight and the Ashborn hell-portal behind him. This was the exact situation a Paladin was required. Whenever he faced a threat like this, his powers grew. Cole decided to roll the dice. Sucking in a huge breath, Cole pulled on more of his power, letting the cold of Master Time permeate his being. Hoarfrost grew along his clothes and weapon. His skin grew paler and gained a hint of blue, while a silver fire burned in his eyes. A long slow breath escaped Cole, a cloud of ice swirling out and over the head of Reqiuem. The weapon glowed slightly, and silver sparks danced around it. Dietrich glared at the Paladin and his halberd. Holding his blade up, he growled. ¡°I underestimated you both times before. That ends now.¡± Dietrich dragged the blade along his palm, cutting through the armor and smearing his oily blood on the blade. The dark substance started to boil and spread along the blade. Dietrich muttered words in a language painful to hear and flourished his sword. The black blood wriggled and writhed over the weapon. It stunk in the Aether, smelling of violence and efficient cruelty. Speaking more to himself than to Dietrich, Cole whispered. ¡°Death is the strength of mortals.¡± The Homunculus Knight and the Scarlet Knight charged each other. Requiem and Lex clashed in a scream of steel. Whatever spell Dietrich laid upon his blade stopped the Cold of Entropy. As he dodged the black blade, Cole knew this fight wouldn¡¯t be settled through magic frost or flame. Steel would be the deciding factor. Breathing hard, Cole felt the potion he¡¯d taken at the fight¡¯s start finally activate. The world slowed slightly, his perception of time and reaction speed changing thanks to the arcane drug. As Dietrich swung, Cole kept up with the Scarlet Knight. No more near-misses or harrowing parries; they fought as equals. Blades clashed, mettle was tested, and the Knights matched each other blow for blow. Cole felt strange: a numb clarity filled him. The brisk sharpness of winter married to a soothing cold. As he batted aside a vicious strike from Dietrich and warded him off with a slashing counterstrike, Cole realized he¡¯d never fought this well in his lifes. As Dietrich thrust forward with a rib-splintering strike, Cole dodged and sent Requiem¡¯s butt into his enemy''s jaw. The Scarlet Knight stumbled from the blow and spat out a tooth. Resisting the obvious jest about Dietrich¡¯s missing fang, Cole pressed his attack. Swinging the spiked head of his halberd for Dietrich¡¯s hip. It hit, punching through armor and flesh, striking the bone. Dietrich roared in pain and smacked Requiem away with his sword. Glancing down, he saw where the Cold of Entropy was growing on his flesh. Dietrich wiped his blade on the wound, hissing in pain as something steamed off his exposed flesh. Resetting his stance, he growled at Cole. ¡°You are better than before.¡± A voice right behind Cole answered Dietrich. ¡°Yes, he is; it¡¯s getting annoying,¡± Cole screamed as a dagger entered his kidney. Stumbling forward, he looked to see Scapin reform out of ash behind him. Reaching for his back, Cole found the knife sticking from him. Even with his obscene pain tolerance and the numbing Cold, that sort of wound was enough to put Cole on his knees.¡± Scapin materialized another knife out of ash and approached Cole. A spirit hawk swooped down and raked the Ashborn¡¯s face. Slashing out with lightning speed, he destroyed the hawk¡¯s body and whirled on Kistine, who sat next to her unconscious nephew. Twirling his dagger, Scapin sighed. ¡°Interfering in a fight is poor sport.¡± Dietrich barked, ¡°Hypocrite! You spoiled my victory against the Paladin!¡± Shrugging, Scapin advanced towards Kistine, who frantically tried to call up another spell. ¡°Never said I wasn¡¯t one.¡± Kistine threw a bolt of moonlight at Scapin; he dodged it, and his smile intensified. ¡°I¡¯ve not tasted a Werefolk shaman in decades.¡± Jaks struck then; the Werewolf slammed into Scapin like a battering ram. The Ashborn Vampire exploded into a cloud of soot and reformed a few meters away. Continuing his charge, Jaks swiped at Scapin again and again. Every strike came close to hitting but slippery monster, but Scapin kept dodging by a hair''s breadth. Cole focused his power on the dagger in his kidney, pulling the wretched thing out and trying to numb the pain into something he could handle. As he tugged the wickedly barbed knife from his flesh, Cole noticed something about Scapin. Every time he dodged, a little ash would fall away from him. Ash that was moving and forming together nearby. Before a warning could be shouted, a second Scapin materialized and drove a dagger through Jak¡¯s heart. Kistine screamed ¡°NO¡± as her nephew collapsed. Forcing himself to his feet, ignoring the horrible pain, Cole ripped the dagger free and most of his kidney with it. But it was too late; as if to ensure there wasn¡¯t any speck of hope, the two Scapins brought their knives down on Jak¡¯s neck. The Werewolf¡¯s head rolled away, returning to its human shape as it did. Kistine and Cole just looked at the head for a long moment. Then with a shriek, the Sharman grabbed one of her bangles and snapped it. Looking at Cole, she growled. ¡°Do your duty!¡± Silver fog issued from the snapped talisman and struck Cole. Kistine slumped forward, whatever magi she¡¯d used taking its toll. Power pulsed through Cole, and the pain in his kidney faded. Shocked by the strength flowing into him, Cole jerked forward and looked up slightly. Lines of blue light caught his attention, spindling webs of energy crisscrossing the frozen city. Cole could feel the complicated spellwork keeping the city intact above them. In fact, he almost could touch it¡­ Sucking in a breath of realization, Cole reached up with an empty hand and squeezed. Lines of power extended from his hands and touched the spell. Magic warped, and he yanked downwards. A model city block hurtled downwards and smashed a Grief Demon sneaking up on Ametza. The boulder-sized ice chunk splattered the Helkyn with a crunch. As it started to reform, Cole forced some of his power along the line of magic. Arcane frost slithered from the ice chunk and cocooned the Demon. Its body shattered, and its tattered essence went screaming back to the Hells. Driving Requiem into the floor, Cole held up both hands and got to work. Dietrich lept out of the way as another ice chunk plummeted towards him. The Scarlet Knight was momentarily startled when the falling ice followed him. Grinding along the frost-slicked floor like a miniature glacier. Cole watched as Dietrich slashed the ice in twain, his cursed weapon splitting the boulder easily. With a gesture, Cole moved the two halves apart, on opposite sides of Dietrich, then brought them together. Dietrich drove his sword into one and caught the other with a gauntleted hand. He didn¡¯t, however, react in time to the carriage-sized glacier dropping on his head. A deafening crunch filled the ballroom-turned-battlefield, and splinters of wood shot everywhere as Dietrich was crushed. Focusing his attention elsewhere, Cole bombarded Grief Demons and protected his allies with sheets of falling ice. Seeing this, the two Scapins charged or, more accurately, slithered toward Cole. They didn¡¯t seem to walk or run but slid along the ground on ash plumes. Gripping Requiem, Cole went to meet them. He pulled down a quartet of ice rocks around him, and the Scapins dodged them easily. Making a fist, Cole crushed one rock and launched showers of shrapnel at his enemy. One dodged, the other didn¡¯t. Scapin was shredded by the hail of ice, torn into clods of ash, while Scapin moved closer to Cole. Pulling downwards, Cole unfolded the remaining ice rocks, painting the floor around him with a centimeter-thick layer of solid ice. Scapin saw this and lept over the ice, his body partially dissolving into a cloud of ash as he did. Cole made a rude gesture and summoned up a spike of ice from the frozen ground. The Ashborn Vampire was fast, and the spike only hit his semi-ephemeral leg, tearing it off. Scapin kept coming, materializing knives in both hands and grinning madly as he moved for the kill. Cole swung Requiem, and Scapin leaped over the strike. Just as the top of Cole¡¯s summoned spike broke off and hurtled towards him. The hunk of ice slammed into the back of Scapin¡¯s skull and sent him sprawling to Cole¡¯s feet. His form was a shifting morass of vampire flesh and ash, looking like some kind of corporeal Wraith. Cole rammed Requiem¡¯s spiked head into Scapin¡¯s ¡®center¡¯ and pushed Cold through the weapon. The Ashborn melted into a pile of frozen soot, which was quickly encased by the ice below it. Heart thundering like a warhorse¡¯s hoofs, Cole leveled his weapon at the shredded Scapin, which was in the process of reforming. A sharp pain behind Cole¡¯s eyes told him this new power was not without a cost. Sparing a glance for Kistine, seeing her twitch and shake on the floor, Cole worried how much of the cost would fall on her. The reformed Scapin walked to the ice''s edge and pointed at Cole with a dagger. ¡°You are much stronger than before. It seems the Tenth God¡¯s hypocrisy might be worth something after all.¡± Squeezing Requiem, Cole practically growled with frustration. They knew; someone in the Duchies knew. They¡¯d told Dame Lorena first, now Dietrich and Scapin. The Homunculus Knight was no longer dead. A breath filled with stress escaped Cole; that would be another challenge to face. But for now, the mutant Vampire before him was his current concern. The crack of ice pulled Cole¡¯s attention to where he¡¯d buried Dietrich. The boulder he¡¯d dropped on the Scarlet Knight fractured and moved. Chunks of it exploded out, and it took Cole an effort of will to stop them from hitting anyone. A furious Dietrich climbed out of the crater Cole had made. His armor was utterly destroyed, and patches of frost clung to his skin. He still held his cursed weapon and raised its blunt tip at Cole. ¡°PALADIN!¡± Moving Requiem into a low guard, Cole answered the challenge. ¡°Come then, you both have debts to settle.¡± Book II: Chapter 35: Bone and Blood

Chapter 35: Bone and Blood

¡°The Homunculus was a fraud; Scapino confirmed its true death. We will need to look elsewhere for our goals. Really? When Countess Gen Silva demonstrated her creation, it seemed promising. Its soul had such an interesting texture. Scapin is a liar and schemer who consorts with the worst the cosmos has to offer. But he would not lie to us; self-interest and self-preservation wouldn¡¯t let him. That is a fair point; where should we send him next? A Zanni in Noct-bucaros has heard an interesting rumor about some Legio town in the Dragontail Mountains. That might be worth our time¡± - Conversation between ¡®Columbina¡¯ and ¡®Dottore.¡¯
Natalie woke up screaming. Her memories were a jumble of red hatred and drowning sorrow. Ripped from that waking nightmare, she howled in grief and took a long time to realize where she was. Or, more accurately, realize she didn¡¯t know where she was. Clad in the blood-soaked remnant of her dress, Natalie lay on a field of bones. Stretching in every direction were rolling hills of bleached bones. She¡¯d read about deserts in Barnabas¡¯s books, and the skeletal dunes reminded her of them. It was night wherever she was, and the sky hung over her in a great black shawl. Faint stars glowed and danced on the obsidian skyscape. As Natalie watched, the stars moved, flowing across the sky in odd patterns. Moving in packs that created constellations of wolves and lions for the barest moment before changing. ¡°Am I actually dead?¡± she whispered in a throat raw from screaming. Even if her body could heal the damage, her mind thought it shouldn¡¯t have. As to answer her question, an earthquake started. Bones shook and rattled in a morbid cacophony as one of the charnel dunes started to move. Surfacing from beneath the bone desert was a titan. Millions of bones fell away from the rising colossus like some morbid waterfall. Revealing a nightmarish figure the size of a castle. Pulling back in sudden fright, Natalie tried to understand what she was looking at. It was clearly some great beast, a behemoth of mismatched features that dwarfed even the Alukah in her death-dreams. Shaking off the last scraps of bone, the titan came fully into view. It walked on six lumbering legs and had ragged crow wings large enough to cover a city folded on its back. For a head, it had a cruel beak with far too many eyes, all in different varieties. The compound globes of flies intermingled with beady rodent and luminous owl eyes. None of the legs matched; some were scaled talons, others padded paws or insectoid limbs. Those huge limbs waded through the bones with deafening, moving toward Natalie. She looked around for any sort of cover but realized it was fruitless. The titan had her under its gaze, and she could do nothing to escape it. Sucking in a pointless breath, nearly gagging on the smell of spoiled meat, Natalie laid her head back on the bones. If this was her final fate, to be betrayed and left for some Archdemon of rot, what could she do to stop it? Everyone had abandoned her; the scorn of Vindabon she could survive, and even the Werefolk¡¯s mistrust wouldn¡¯t break her. But had Cole actually considered what the Vampire had said? Why hadn¡¯t he looked at her? Something about that cut at her so deep she lacked words to understand it. She¡¯d used Cole¡¯s trust to fight off the worst of her self-loathing. If a good man, a Paladin no less, could trust her and even love her, then she couldn¡¯t be the Monster everyone feared. Stripped of that crutch at a crucial moment, she¡¯d failed horribly. Giving into her worst nature, both human and vampire. Now staring up at the Archdemon, she would face the consequences of that failure. As it approached, Natalie noticed something else about the titan; its skin was moving.. A teeming mass of insects covered every centimeter of the titan, a living wriggling carpet of chitin and carapace. Flinching away from the sight, Natalie saw one of the titan¡¯s limbs approaching her. Bracing for whatever torment it had in mind, Natalie was shocked when its tower-sized arm stretched over her and reached into a bone dune behind her. Gazing up at the clawed hand big enough to crush a house, Natalie watched as it gently sifted through tons of bones. It plucked a single skull from the pile with a delicacy she couldn''t imagine. Pinched between claws fit to eviscerate a dragon was a wolf skull. Bits of silver mist boiled off the skull, and the titan brought it up to its many eyes. After a long second of contemplation, it craned to look at the sky. The titan¡¯s beak opened, and a mournful howl escaped it. The sound was utterly deafening, like a million million wolves were singing a lament. Covering her ears, Natalie wondered if her eardrums could burst in the afterlife. As the lament finally ended, the titan reared up on its back four legs. A shower of insects dropped from it as it swung one arm back. Like some divine trebuchet, it tossed the skull into the sky. Natalie watched as the skull faded into a pinprick and then, with a flash, became a new star. A pack of its fellows raced to meet it, and together the stars loped across the sky. Settling down onto its six limbs with a ground-shaking impact, the titan looked at Natalie properly. As it did, Natalie heard the faint rustle of delicate wings. The insects covering it started to take flight. Countless wings unfolded, and Natalie was shocked to see the detaching bugs were butterflies. Butterflies of every possible color and configuration. They flew into the sky in an evergrowing tide of beautiful wings. The cloud of butterflies turned in the air and started to descend, coming towards Natalie like a kaleidoscope rainstorm. Shutting her eyes and covering her head reflexively, Natalie expected something horrible. Instead, she was caressed by a winged wind for several long seconds. When the gale ended, she opened her eyes and started in surprise. The desert of bones was gone. In its place was a field of red lilies and a babbling stream of blood. She sat at the stream''s edge atop a flat rock. Next to her was the Angler, legs dangling off the side of the boulder, dipping in the bloody river. One hand still on his fishing pole, the Angler tipped his straw hat at her and smiled. ¡°My apologies Natalie, you caught me in the middle of other business. I hope you weren¡¯t too frightened; the face I wear for the Werefolk isn¡¯t¡­ palatable to most.¡± Looking down at the light sundress she now wore and back at the God, she whispered. ¡°That was you? That¡­ that thing?¡± The Angler nodded. ¡°The Werefolk have an interesting perspective on death, very much sculpted by their more animal instincts. To them, I¡¯m some great Carrion Lord who sifts between the worthy and the not. Either leaving the dead in their bones or sending them to their ancestors in the Eternal Hunt. Very ¡®red, tooth and claw,¡¯ as a poet once said.¡± Digesting this, Natalie remembered her waking memories and jolted in horror. ¡°If¡­ if you were here in that form, does that mean¡­.¡± Smiling sadly, an expression similar to Cole''s, the Angler nodded again. ¡°Jaks, he fought and died defending his pack. Delivering him to his dead mother and kin was my honor.¡± Sucking in a rattling breath, Natalie felt a lump form in her throat. ¡°So I¡¯m assuming I¡¯m not truly dead, and this is just a dream like before.¡± The Angler bobbed his head and gave his line some slack. Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°How? No¡­ why? I lost control; I think I killed someone.¡± The Angler reached out with a wiry hand and tapped Natalie¡¯s neck, sending a cold pulse through her. ¡°You came close, but no innocent blood was shed by your hands. The mark I gave you ensured that.¡± Reaching to the spot on her neck, Natalie said, ¡°The Anchorite called it a collar on the Alukah¡­ what did it do?¡± Pulling on his fishing rod, the Angler set a hand on the rock beside them, and it was covered in spidering frost. ¡°When you gave into the bloodlust, a miracle happened. You were frozen solid, and the magic bewitching the ball-goers broke. So did the snare put on Cole to keep him from helping you.¡± Natalie felt her stomach drop, and a mixture of relief and shame filled her. The Angler let out a disappointed sigh. ¡°Faith is built through a thousand small acts alongside a few great ones. Cole shared his blood, his bed, and his heart with you. What more faith could a man have in another? In fact, that devotion he has for you eclipses even his faith in me. Something I don¡¯t mind as long as you are worthy of it. Tonight I don¡¯t think you were particularly worthy.¡± Hanging her head in shame, Natalie felt hot tears well in her eyes. She could cry in this dead-dream; that was a small blessing. The Angler produced a ragged but clean handkerchief and handed it to her. ¡°But there are extenuating circumstances; you have gone through a lifetime of suffering in little more than a quarter-year. Suffering has left wounds in your soul. Wounds that creature knew exactly how to exploit.¡± Dabbing at her tears, Natalie looked to the God in confusion. Staring out at the river of blood, the Angler elaborated. ¡°The thing you call Scapin has been manipulating people for six hundred years, ninety-two days, six hours, and an eternity. You might have stumbled, but a very well-put snare was placed in your path. Take my rebuke not as cruelty but as a warning and a lesson. Have faith in your loved ones, Natalie, and have a little more in yourself.¡± Repeating the strange sentence, Natalie made a question out of it. ¡°Six hundred years and an eternity? What does that mean.¡± Pulling on the line, untangling it from something in the river, the Angler let out a sad breath. ¡°The longer something flees from death, the more they fear it. Scapin, as you currently know him, fears death very much. So much so that he would share his soul with something even worse than he is. Scapin is a Vampire and a Demon, two creatures of ashen death bound by shared malice.¡± ¡°He¡¯s possessed?¡± asked Natalie, thinking to the vulpine liar who¡¯d unleashed all this madness. The Angler made a so-so gesture. ¡°He¡¯s inhabited. His existence is a knife-edge balance between Vampire and Demon. They cooperate out of mutual goals and assured destruction if they don¡¯t.¡± Narrowing her eyes, Natalie said, ¡°You usually aren¡¯t this forthcoming.¡± The God actually smiled at that. ¡°The first Saint was a remarkable woman. She left some interesting loopholes in her laws. I won¡¯t open the gates but can slip things through the cracks in certain situations.¡± Nodding in understanding, Natalie looked at the bloody river before them. ¡°Did you call me here just to call me foolishness out, or was there another reason?¡± Master Time snorted in amusement. ¡°You really are a bold one; it''s one of the reasons people like you, including me. No, also wanted to offer a warning and my thanks.¡± Something yanked on the Angler¡¯s pole just then, and the old wood creaked violently. The God-in-disguise fought against the pull and hauled on the fishing pole hard. The line snapped, and the Angler sighed. ¡°My warning is the Stigma is not perfect. It will act as¡­ a forbearance against the Alukah¡¯s instincts but only to a point. The thing inside of you is waking up as you grow in strength, be careful it does not snap its collar.¡± Thinking about that, Natalie wondered at the implications as she asked. ¡°I appreciate the warning and the help.¡± Tipping his hat, the Angler continued. ¡°As for the thank you, aside from tonight, you¡¯ve done remarkably well. You did not ask for this burden but shouldered it still. The world owes you, and I owe you for that. Thank you, Natalie, and may it be a long time before we speak again.¡± The dead-dream jerked as if someone had titled the world. Almost sliding off the rock, Natalie let out a hiss of annoyance. ¡°Time to go?¡± The God hadn¡¯t been moved by the bucking ground and just nodded with a smile. ¡°A final gift in the form of words. The Anchorite left you with The Banality of Evil. Let me offer something less vague. Upseting a balance is easier than creating one.¡± Sighing, Natalie felt the world shake again. ¡°You did say less vague, not transparent. I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± As the dead-dream started to crack around her, the Angler snapped his fingers as if he¡¯d remembered something. ¡°Oh, and don¡¯t believe everything Isabelle says. Her truth and the objective truth do not always match.¡± With that, the field of red lilies dissolved with the sound of cracking ice.
Cole raised Requiem and brought down more hunks of ice. Even damaged as he was, Dietrich swatted the boulders aside with his weapon. Scapin just sidestepped them with ease, which suited Cole just fine; they hadn¡¯t been his true target. The ice model of the Fifth Temple hurtled toward the Scapin-gate. It plowed through some of the Grief Demons still issuing from the curtain of blood and hit the Hellportal. Hopefully, that would end the incursion and give people time to evacuate. A wave of numbness that faded as quickly as it came washed over Cole. Scapin started to dissolve, bits of him flaking off, and the Ashborn stumbled forward. Dietrich paid the exchange little heed and charged Cole. He drove the blunt tip of his sword into the floor right before Cole¡¯s ice sheet and ripped upward. Cole was obscenely reminded of a chief making pancakes as an explosion of ice and flooring shot toward him. Cole could stop the ice and even use it to deflect some of the debris but not all of it. Huge splinters peppered him; only his frozen blood kept them from doing serious damage. Before the cloud of debris could clear, Dietrich was upon Cole. The Scarlet Knight leaped up, bringing his sword down like a giant¡¯s cleaver. The splinters sticking from him and Dietrich¡¯s speed kept Cole from swatting the Vampire with more ice. Forcing him to catch the downcoming weapon on Requiem. Even as glutted with power as he was, the strike drove Cole to one knee. Requiem bent slightly; the cold power coursing through it was the only thing keeping the halberd from snapping. As Dietrich landed, Cole tried to entomb his feet in ice, but the Vampire had already kicked off the frozen ground to escape the ice sheet. As he lept away, Cole noticed the patches of frostbite on his enemy were slowly spreading. The power he¡¯d put into the ice that crushed Dietrich earlier was having an effect. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Elsewhere the Hellportal was reforming. Cole threw a few more ice rocks at it but was busy holding off Dietrich¡¯s next assault. Lines of power snapped, and Cole knew Scapin was defending his portal-self somehow. He didn¡¯t dare look to see how. Every scrap of his attention was needed to ward off the flurry of blows coming his way. Dietrich was fast, incredibly fast; he barely stepped on the ice as he slashed at Cole. Pushing off it with enough force to crack the glacial surface as he danced around the Paladin raining blows. But Cole wasn¡¯t completely on the defensive. Ice whirled around him in a ring of frozen death. Razor shards kicked up by Dietrich¡¯s attacks were used to defend the Paladin. With every attempted strike, Dietrich made it harder to for him to hit Cole. The effort, though, was exhausting; and the ache behind Cole¡¯s eyes was worsening. Though, Dietrich was slowing down, his attacks becoming ever more desperate. The Cold of Entropy was seeping into him; whatever protection his cursed sword provided wasn¡¯t enough. The duel was becoming a matter of attrition, something Cole excelled at. If he could outlast Dietrich, then victory would be his, but that was a big if. Already, Cole had obsidian lines running along his arms and chest, where Dietrich¡¯s sword had licked him. Only the mantle of Paladin and Cole¡¯s skill kept the strikes from crippling or killing him. Then even with all his marshaled power, Cole was stuck on the defensive. He was outclassed both in experience and raw physical strength. He could only hope to win the slow stalemate. A hope buoyed by the sound of cracking ice. The column containing Natalie cracked, the frozen body within falling to the ground. Pushing Dietrich back with a barrage of cold crystals, Cole felt a surge of hope tempered by trepidation. Had Natalie awakened, and if she had¡­ would it be her? Looking at the frozen body, Cole¡¯s stomach dropped as he saw an ashen Scapin reformed and dragging her towards the hellportal. ¡°NO!¡± roared the Paladin as he left the ice sheet, Dietrich hot on his heels. Rolling under a scything blow, Cole started to pull down more ice but hesitated. He couldn¡¯t risk crushing Natalie. Cole paid for that worry when Dietrich caught up and put a sabaton into Cole¡¯s back. The Paladin tumbled forward to the ground. A brutal stomp came down on Cole¡¯s leg, and he felt something crack. Looking up, Cole watched as another Scapin strowed out of the reformed Hellportal and went to help himself with moving Natalie. Roaring in pain, Cole flipped onto his back, lifted an arm, and focused on his wounded palm. A patch of frozen blood clung to his skin, unnoticed by his foe, who saw the act as a plea for mercy. Dietrich loomed over him, bringing his executioner sword up to kill Cole. Pausing in consideration, Dietrich growled. ¡°I suppose crippling you would be better; I don¡¯t know how you regenerate, but it''s clearly activated by death.¡± As the huge sword came down, ready to take one of Cole¡¯s arms, the Paladin rolled the dice again. He¡¯s weaponized his blood many times, creating bolts and whips out of it. But using it that way while the Cold of Entropy flowed through him would be something new. ¡°Sanguine Spear Strike and Sever,¡± he spat the incantation, shaping his will into a new spell. A black lance erupted out of Cole¡¯s palm, bringing with it a wave of light-headedness. It shot forward with a sound like cracking ice and impaled Dietrich. The obsidian spear went through Dietrich¡¯s diaphragm and spine. A wheeze escaped the Vampire as he fell forward onto the lance. Cole braced his arm as Dietrich collapsed onto him. The executioner¡¯s sword clattered to the ground, and Dietrich reached for Cole¡¯s throat. Spots floated in the Paladin¡¯s eyes, and his reaction was slow. A lot of blood had gone onto the spell, and it showed in his token resistance to Dietrich¡¯s grapple. One hand found Cole¡¯s throat, the other his collarbone; both started to squeeze. His collarbone snapped like kindling, and darkness competed with spots in Cole¡¯s vision. Dietrich could have ripped open Cole¡¯s throat, but instead, he was trying to strangle him into unconsciousness. Even with his immortality exposed, the lack of details kept Dietrich from finishing him. As far as Dietrich knew, Cole would return at full strength the moment he died, something the Scarlet Knight couldn¡¯t risk happening. Even as his vision faded, Cole focused on his sanguine spear while desperately trying to remember the anatomy knowledge Isabelle had implanted in him. With a final effort, Cole resculpted the blade, letting some of his frozen blood flow to where it impaled Dietrich. A cruel spike grew from the spear into Dietrich¡¯s withered chest cavity. Striking the Vampire¡¯s heart. Dietrich had half a second to realize what was happening, and then torpor took him. It was no stake to the heart, but the hooked spear was enough. The Vampire went limp, and Cole sucked in a few cold breaths before mustering the strength to push Dietrich off him. Snapping off his sanguine spear inside Dietrich, Cole pushed himself to his shaking feet, grabbing Requiem as he did. Ignoring the grinding feeling of broken bones and trusting the Cold to preserve him. Raising the halberd, Cole looked to the portal where the two Scapin¡¯s had stopped their efforts to drag Natalie to look at him. Letting out an annoyed sigh, the ashen copies called up their blades, one saying, ¡°You just don¡¯t know when to give up, do you?¡± Cole jerked his head in the negative and charged the Ashborn. The two Scapins dropped Natalie and split to either side of Cole. Cursing in annoyance, Cole followed one with his eyes and noticed much of the ballroom had been evacuated. The Demons had been banished, and no more were coming from the portal. The Centaurs and other combatants had left, probably to escort the guests. Leaving Cole, the Vampires, and the Werewolves alone in the ballroom. Ametza, in her lupine form, was crouched over her mother and two cousins, one living the other dead. Letting out a breath of frustration, Cole reached up to the model city and bombarded both of Scapin¡¯s bodies. They dissolved into ash and slithered around impacting ice. Cole tried to ignore the spreading throb behind his eyes and turned one of the boulders into shrapnel, trying to repeat his earlier trick. The targeted Scapin dodged, and Cole repurposed the ice chunks into another whirling ring. He¡¯d lost concentration on his earlier one, but he suspected creating another miniature blizzard would be useful. One Scapin came for Cole then, a dancing blur of soot and malice that slid along the ground. Squeezing his fist, Cole crushed the orbiting ice into sharp hail, spinning it faster around him. He¡¯d never faced an Ashborn before; the demonically possessed Vampires were exceptionally rare, and Cole only knew about them from Isabelle¡¯s library. The Paladin didn¡¯t have any tried and true strategies for fighting Ashborn. Only instinct and crude ideas guided him. Scapin leaped for him, and Cole sped up the whirling ice. The Ashborn was shredded by the hail, crossing the spinning ice as a malformed cloud of soot. Cole smiled and swung Requiem into the cloud. Vampires turned into mist or blood and were weak against anything disrupting that form. Their bodies were naturally amorphous and could be scattered, disorienting the Vampire. Cole cut through the ash cloud and tore a frozen clump from it, but the rest kept coming. Cole barely shut his eyes in time when the rest of Scapin slammed into him. A cutting ash cloud filled his mouth and nose. The Cold of Entropy quickly froze the ash, and Cole was in no danger of suffocation, but he was disoriented. Coughing out the gritty foulness, Cole barely had time to react when his spinning ice collided with something else. On well-trained instinct, he swept out with Requiem and felt something clang off it. Blinking away the ash, Cole saw Scapin¡¯s dagger tumble from where he¡¯d blocked it. But right before it could hit the floor, it stopped and shot for Cole, moved through the air by an unseen force. Cole squeezed Requiem and shrunk it to axe size. Parrying a dagger with a halberd wouldn¡¯t be smart. As he batted the flying dagger away, Cole had a terrible realization, where was the first Scapin¡¯s dagger? He got his answer when his legs buckled beneath him. Feeling fled from his lower half, and Cole¡¯s face slammed into the ground as he failed to catch himself. The ice ring fell apart, and Cole felt the loaned power of Kistine fade. Trying to flip himself over, Cole looked to the Hellportal and saw its outer edge thin, as a huge amount of ash sloughed off it. Ash formed into three Scapins and approached Cole, Dietrich, and Natalie. A bubbling growl came from nearby, and Cole saw Ametza getting ready to fight. One Scapin grabbed the length of frozen blood impaling Dietirch and yanked it free with a disgusting noise. Dropping the sanguine spear to the ground, Scapin looked at Ametza. ¡°I have what I came for. I suggest you help your surviving family instead of dying.¡± Ametza glanced at Cole, conflicted emotions clear even on her werewolf face. Cole gave her a slight shake of the head, and she looked away. He wasn¡¯t about to let herself pointlessly sacrifice herself; the Shohgard pack had given enough. Seeing her tacit submission, Scapin approached Cole; the Paladin reached for his weapon and debated killing himself. Glancing at Natalie, Cole exhaled; he couldn¡¯t risk being separated from her. Better to stay alive as long as possible if it kept them together. Scapin gripped onto one of Cole¡¯s useless legs and started to drag. The other two Scapins did the same with Natalie and Dietrich, hauling all three toward hell. Pausing, the Scapin pulling Cole went over and kicked Requiem from the Paladin¡¯s grip. Cole was too weak to even stop that. As his weapon skidded away, he prayed. ¡°I can survive if they take me; just save her. Please just save her.¡± A soothing cold passed over Cole¡¯s wounds, and a voice, his voice answered. ¡°I already have.¡±
Natalie was cold and hungry, incredibly cold and hungry. A gnawing thirst roiled within her, and all she could think about was how good warm blood would feel. Twitching, she felt something crack; the cold around her faded slightly, and she moved again. Another crack, and she could open her eyes. Moving slowly, she felt hunks of ice fall away from her as she got to her feet. Looking down at her unnaturally pale skin and tattered dress, Natalie sucked in a breath. Blood, ash, steel, fear, and hate, filled her nose, smells that only made her hungrier. Pulling her eyes away from her hands, Natalie saw she¡¯d awoken on a battlefield. The ballroom had turned into a scene of chaos and destruction. Shredded tables, shattered flooring, frozen blood, and even a few bodies were scattered about. At the center of it were three Vampires and a hole in reality. Natalie blinked upon seeing the Vampires; they were identical to each other; they were Scapin. At the feet of two were familiar figures, a twitching Dietrich and a crippled Cole. The Paladin was barely propping himself up on an elbow, and upon seeing her, he smiled. Looking at the Scapins and recovering Dietrich, Natalie hissed. ¡°Get away from him!¡± One of the three Ashborn¡¯s bodies stepped forward and snorted in laughter. ¡°You¡¯ve lost fledgling; you¡¯re shaking with hunger and without allies. Surrender and come with us; throwing yourself upon the Archduke¡¯s mercy is your only option.¡± Natalie hadn¡¯t even noticed her body was twitching, rigor mortis, and undeath fighting for control. She was starving; whatever the Stigma had done to stop her had nearly emptied her blood reserves. Reaching out with her mind, Natalie felt the two Vampires before her. They were both weak; she could sense their exhaustion and stress through the Aether. Twitching her head slightly, Natalie smiled, showing her fangs. She could sense their state because they were still connected by stolen blood. Scapin and Dietrich weren¡¯t glutted on the stuff like Petar had been, but Natalie was much stronger than before. Black blood flowed from Natalie¡¯s nailbeds and formed long, wicked claws. ¡°You are right; I am hungry; I need blood and a lot of it.¡± Slowly walking towards the two monsters who¡¯d hunted her and ruined the evening, Natalie added. ¡°Do you know why the Alukah never sired more of themselves?¡± The three Scapins looked at each other in confusion, and Natalie kept talking. ¡°Because they couldn¡¯t, anyone they sired became a degenerate creature. Lesser shadows of themselves who shared the Alukah¡¯s blood but not their true power.¡± Dietrich finished rising and limped over to his sword. Picking it up with stiff fingers, he growled. ¡°Now is not the time for a history lesson, girl. Surrender and spare yourself my wrath.¡± Looking around at the spilled blood, Natalie realized she recognized some of the bodies. Most were just ball-goers she¡¯d spoken with. One she knew personally, Jaks, whose headless body lay by his aunt. Hands twitching in rage, Natalie snarled. ¡°Do you know what the Alukahs did to the Monsters they sired when they proved a disappointment?¡± The Aether around Natalie started to roil and seethe like boiling blood. Hands out in front of her, Natalie snarled the end of her story. ¡°They ate them.¡± Reaching out to the stolen blood, Natalie gripped it and pulled. One of the Scapins dissolved to ash, and Dietrich fell to one knee. This close, Natalie could do what she¡¯d done to the Feeder; she could drain the two leeches in front of her. Stolen blood was ripped from Scarlet Knight and Ashborn, snaking through the Aether along immaterial veins. Returning to its true owner alongside much of the thieves'' own reserves. Glutted on the reclaimed blood, Natalie shot forward and went for Dietrich¡¯s head. The Wyrmoi warrior had already lost to Cole and was barely standing after her attack. He tried to bring up his executioner sword to block, but Natalie moved fast as any Moroi. Her claws took his hands off at the wrist. Before the greatsword had even hit the ground, Natalie had sprung onto Dietrich. Clawed hands shot forward and into Dietrich¡¯s chest. His armor was gone, a casualty of Cole¡¯s wrath, and Natalie had stripped him of any power to harden his flesh. Natalie ripped past Dietrich¡¯s ribs and gripped onto the Scarlet Knight¡¯s lungs, one in each hand. Dietrich had collapsed to both his knees, and Natalie stood over him, squeezing his internal organs. ¡°You saved my life and my father¡¯s life. If it wasn¡¯t for you, I might still be in that cell in Glockmire, so I won¡¯t kill you.¡± Yanking back, Natalie ripped out both of Dietrich¡¯s lungs. ¡°But you did hurt my love and the people I care about. So I will make you pay and let the Temple decide your fate.¡± Dietrich fell back, torpor taking him as his body shut down in response to the grievous injuries. Dropping his withered lungs to the ground, where they exploded into ash, Natalie turned to the two remaining Scapin. Both looked stunned, smiles finally wiped from their faces. Red eyes narrowing, a cruel smile on her face, Natalie said. ¡°As for you? I don¡¯t know what will kill you, but I have some ideas¡± One of the Scapins ran for the strange fleshy portal. Natalie reached out to the stolen blood and pulled again. Putting her reclaimed power into the act. The second Ashborn body melted into soot. Seeing this, the final Scapin fell to his knees and held up his hands. ¡°I surrender myself into the Temple¡¯s custody. I¡¯ll go peacefully and tell you whatever you want to know.¡± Natalie stalked up to the surrendering Ashborn and cut its head off with a dismissive claw swipe. She didn¡¯t even bother to look at the dissolving body. Instead, she focused on the hellportal which was rapidly shrinking. Before, it had been large enough for two men abreast to walk through. Now it was barely large enough for Natalie to squeeze through. Running towards the portal, Natalie reached out and slashed with her claws. The ring of ash and withered flesh collapsed, and a bucket''s worth of Vampire blood splattered onto the ground. The mess of filth started to form a torso and head. Scapin¡¯s face was sculpted out of ash and blood, looking up at Natalie with a patronizing smile. ¡°You both have gotten so much stronger; it¡¯s shocking, really. I guess next time, I¡¯ll have to plan better to avoid another mess like this.¡± Natalie shook her head. ¡°There won¡¯t be a next time; I¡¯m going to kill you.¡± Scapin laughed, a hacking thing like a chronic pipe smoker. ¡°You can¡¯t kill me, little Alukah. This is just a piece of myself I can discard. Even your Paladin couldn¡¯t do the deed. I walk in two worlds, little Alukah; I¡¯m immortal.¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°A Demon and Vampire working in concert, right? With these ash puppets of yours being just extensions. I guess you combine a Vampire¡¯s shapeshifting with a Demonic possession. You take control of ash, probably dead Vampire ash now that I think about it, and use it as extra bodies.¡± Scapin¡¯s smile wavered slightly. ¡°Oh, you are a clever thing, aren¡¯t you? The Paladin teaching you these things? How do you pay with your body?¡± Letting out an annoyed breath, not rising to the bait, Natalie smirked. ¡°When I took back what you stole, I saw the thread of power. Veins in the Aether branching out from the portal body and into those puppets. I can feel more veins going from here to wherever you really are. In fact, I¡¯m gambling; I can do more than feel them.¡± Lighting fast, Natalie pounced, sinking her fangs into the portal-Scapin¡¯s neck. Reaching out through the vein connecting this Scapin to his real body, Natalie drank. Power flowed down the artery and into Natalie. Portal-Scapin started to scream and thrash, his soul and power being pulled from him. Whatever was at the other end of the vein reacted, trying to sever the connection. Natalie wouldn¡¯t let it; she let her own power flow along the aetheric string and reinforce it. A wellspring of power opened to Natalie, and she drank greedily. The Ashborn became more and more desperate to break the connection as the Alukah devoured its soul. With a scream only Natalie could hear, the Ashborn ripped part of its own soul off, amputating a spiritual limb to save itself. Only at that great cost did it free itself from Natalie¡¯s hunger. The portal-Scapin dissolved into ash, and Natalie got up, wiping the foul grit from her mouth. Calling up false-life, Natalie spat into the ash pile and went over to Cole. The stunned Paladin looked at her, a slight wariness in his expression. Sitting down next to him, Natalie wrapped her arms around him. After a second of hesitation, Cole returned the gesture, and they embraced. When the city garrison, Temple battle priests, and ivory tower magi-knights arrived five minutes later, they found the couple still in each other''s arms. Book II: Chapter 36: Aftermath and Abomination

Chapter 36: Aftermath and Abomination

¡°DEATH! DEATH! DEATH! HE IS UNTOUCHED BY DEATH! Yet he is sworn to it, mind, body, and soul. With death, he is armed and armored; in death, he finds love! Champion of Death, untouched by it but bound to it. Paradox of silver and scars, I see you! I SEE YOU!¡± - Scribbled words on Jude the Sibylline¡¯s cell walls.
Cole had passed out at some point, still holding onto Natalie, leaving her alone when the defenders of Vindabon finally arrived. Looking up at the soldiers, priests, and magi entering the ballroom, she asked. ¡°What took you all so long?¡± At the head of the relief force was a worried-looking Morri; he was clad in black mail and held a mace that dripped hoarfrost. Glancing around the ballroom wincing at the carnage, he approached Natalie. ¡°Where is the Ashborn?¡± Natalie pointed towards the body of Dietrich. ¡°Cole got the Scarlet Knight, and I managed to banish the Ashborn. Dietrich isn¡¯t dead, at least I don¡¯t think he is; we might be able to get some information out of him.¡± Morri gestured for some of his subordinates to check the incapacitated Vampire; Mina was among them. Approaching Natalie, Morri got down on one knee, grunting as he did, and put a hand on Cole¡¯s forehead. The unconscious Paladin twitched, and Morri grimaced. ¡°It¡¯s bad, he¡¯s paralyzed from the waist down, and that''s just the worst of his injuries.¡± Looking at Natalie, he said. ¡°That sort of injury isn¡¯t easy to heal¡­ he might never recover full use of his legs.¡± Natalie hesitated, trying to figure out what expression to show. She didn¡¯t want to lie to Morri, and neither did she want to expose Cole. ¡°He¡¯s stronger than you think; Cole will be alright.¡± Morri frowned and seemed to consider saying something but apparently decided against it. ¡°We¡¯ll get him back to the Temple and start sorting this mess out.¡± Looking around the ballroom-turned-battlefield, Morri asked. ¡°What exactly happened? The city wards reacted to something, and a few minutes later, we got word of some sort of incident here. I¡¯ve gotten conflicting stories from different evacuees. Tell me everything you can.¡± Natalie narrowed her eyes and looked to the werefolk, where Priests examined the unconscious Kistine. ¡°Why didn¡¯t the wards work? You said if another Vampire using my blood got into the city, you could activate the binding spells?¡± A look of intense weariness washed over Morri. ¡°Something interfered with the wards. We tried to trigger them when we realized something was wrong, but¡­ well, when we get back to the Temple, you will see for yourself.¡± Carefully lying Cole down on the ground, Natalie got up and said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything I know, but I must do something first.¡± The Vampire walked over to Ametza, who stood vigil over her unconscious mother, wounded cousin, and fallen kin. Ametza was still in her lupine form, watching as a pair of Priests fussed over Kistine and Jokin. Another Priest had collected Jaks¡¯ head and placed it with his body and was freeing the soul. After a moment, the Priest looked at the body with unmistakable confusion. Approaching cautiously, Natalie spoke up. ¡°He¡¯s already been freed; Jaks soul was released by Cole¡¯s power, I¡¯m guessing.¡± Ametza looked at Natalie, tears flowing down the Werewolf''s muzzle, exhausted pain clear in her eyes. Natalie bowed her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, those Vampires came looking for me. I¡­ I¡¯m the reason¡­.¡± A slight growl escaped Ametza, cutting Natalie off, and after a moment, the growl faded into words. ¡°What Ash say, False?¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°I¡¯m the host of a stolen relic, but its nature and the events around it are radically different. I¡­ I lost my family; I didn¡¯t sell them.¡± Ametza nodded slightly and looked to her mother, deep amber eyes shut and more tears dampened fur. Slowly stepping forward, Natalie hugged the huge werewolf. The size difference was ridiculous; Natalie barely came up to Ametza¡¯s gut. Still, Natalie offered what little comfort she could offer. A low mournful howl escaped Ametza, a wolven note that stirred up memories of a dream. Slowly breaking the embrace, Natalie looked at her friend and said. ¡°I¡­ I spoke with the Carrion Lord.¡± Ametza started and looked at Natalie with an expression the vampire assumed was shock; it was hard to tell on a wolf''s face. Baring her neck to the werewolf, Natalie ran a hand along her Stigma. ¡°I speak with Master Time when I sleep sometimes. When I was frozen, I saw him¡­ in another form. He was a scavenger-god in a desert of bones.¡± The werewolf looked like she¡¯d been physically hit, and the nearby Priests stared at Natalie with undisguised awe. Forcing herself to meet Ametza¡¯s eyes, Natalie said, ¡°Jaks has joined the Eternal Hunt. I saw Master Time¡­ or the Carrion Lord, take him and send him to the stars. He said Jaks was with his mother and the rest of the fallen pack.¡± It was hard reading a werewolf''s expressions. Still, Natalie was fairly certain she saw Ametza¡¯s face flit between shock, doubt, anger, confusion, grief, and finally, solemn acceptance. Ametza bowed her head, and the growling voice of a beast said. ¡°Thank¡­you.¡± Natalie looked away, ¡°They came looking for me. I¡¯m so so sorry, Ametza, for Jaks and¡­ everyth-¡± A huge lupine claw came out and poked Natalie in the forehead with enough force to make her stumble. ¡°Stupid¡­ Leech.¡± Ametza pointed at Dietrich and the Priests, wrapping him in blessed chains. ¡°He and Ash killed Jaks¡­ blood price falls on them¡­ not you.¡± Both vampire and werewolf looked at the Scarlet Knight, and Ametza growled. ¡°Want to rip him¡­ tear him¡­shred him. But¡­ I won¡¯t¡­ won¡¯t give into beast. Let¡­. let Temple do that for me.¡± The very definition of lupine smiles played across Ametza¡¯s muzzle, and she looked away from Dietrich. One of the Priests treating Kistine caught their attention and said. ¡°This woman, she is a Shaman, correct?¡± Ametza nodded, and the Priest let out a shaky breath. ¡°I¡¯m Priest Andrei of the Second Temple. Sworn to Mother Earth and the world¡¯s wonders. I¡¯ve worked with Shamans in the past, and I think I know what happened. She broke a contract with one of her spirits, sacrificing the bond to call on a lot of magical power. It''s a dangerous technique that can cripple a Shaman who uses it.¡± Ametza sucked in a deep breath, her size giving the expression a bellows-like quality. Carefully she moved over to her mother and examined the bangles on her wrists. Ametza shut her eyes in exhaustion and started to turn back into her human shape. Seeing this, Natalie quickly looked for Ametza¡¯s clothes. When she couldn¡¯t find any, the vampire grabbed a reasonably intact tablecloth and brought it to the werewolf. Wrapped in the makeshift cloak, the now-human Ametza gave Natalie a nod of acknowledgment. ¡°The spirit she used was Many-Eyes-Many-Threads. One of Mother¡¯s more powerful and unpredictable spirits. I think she broke the bond to help the Paladin. Many-Eyes is a spirit of spiders, manipulation, and secrets.¡± Morri joined them, looking between the vampire and werewolf. ¡°I need to know everything that happened here. Can you two please tell me know.¡± Ametza¡¯s face twitched, and she growled. ¡°If you tell me how two fucking Vampires broke into the city''s grandest event, then sure.¡± Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Morri looked around the ballroom. ¡°Follow me to the Temple, and we can talk there. I can get my colleagues to treat your mother and cousin. We¡­ can also prepare the fallen for interment.¡± The werewolf looked ready to argue, but Natalie put a calming hand on her shoulder. She¡¯d never seen Morri look this disturbed; events had rattled the old Priest, and he seemed unwilling to elaborate in public. ¡°We¡¯ll tell you what we know. I was unconscious for much of the fight, but I think Ametza can fill in the gaps.¡± Morri nodded, and they prepared to leave the DeMello estate. Waiting as Cole was loaded onto a stretcher and taken with them by two soldiers. The estate was quiet as they left, seemingly evacuated of anyone not wielding spell or steel for the city. Outside the estate was a different matter. Confusion, rumor, and general panic seemed to infest the crowd clambering for information. Cole was placed into a coach. Natalie, Ametza, and Morri followed, sitting across from the unconscious Paladin in the large carriage. As the carriage door clicked shut, Morri let out a tired breath. ¡°Now, will you tell me what happened?¡± Ametza and Natalie looked at each other, and the vampire started. ¡°Well, we figured out who the Heart-stealer is¡­.¡±
They arrived at the Temple just as the two women finished their story. Filling in details for each other and trying to give the Hierophant a clear image of what happened. Morri just listened in silence, rarely asking for clarification or fine details. As the carriage rolled to a stop, Morri rubbed his face with a tired hand and opened the door. A pair of healers helped move Cole into the Temple, taking one of the side entrances close to the clinic. Natalie and Ametza watched as Cole and Kistine were taken for treatment; neither had gained consciousness. Jokin had woken up and refused to leave his brother''s side, tears pouring down his face. The werewolf¡¯s jaw had regenerated, but it looked pink and misshapen, clearly not finished healing. Ametza went to her cousin and hugged him, leaving Natalie and Morri alone. Offering a silent prayer to the grieving family, Morri gestured for Natalie to follow him. After a moment''s hesitation, she did, following the armored Hierophant towards the arch sanctum. As the great doors of the religious chamber swung open, Natalie covered her nose; a foul smell filled the normally pristine room. She looked to Morri with a wordless question, and he grimaced. ¡°Burning feathers, one of the worst smells in the world.¡± Other than the smell, something was most definitely wrong with the arch sanctum. A palpable feeling of shock and pain oozed through the Aether. Even without a Paladin¡¯s ability to peer into the Aether, Natalie could feel the emotional discharge. It was so potent and concentrated she doubted any but the most magically blunt people would notice. Nervous looking Priest wandered around the chamber, checking runes carved into the floor and casting spells in a constant low hum of magical power. At the arch sanctum¡¯s center were Nyami and Glynn. The two Hierophants engaged in fierce conversation. Reaching the edge of the central ritual space, Natalie¡¯s gasped upon seeing what had become of it. A shadow was painted onto the floor. A stain on the stone and metal that wasn¡¯t effected by light. The shadow was splayed across the ritual circle in the same space where Natalie had added her blood to the city wards. Stretched and distorted, the shadow depicted a humanoid figure in pain, with arms and legs bent as if they¡¯d been thrashing. But those signs of torment were only secondary features, for the shadow had wings. ¡°The guardian seraph?¡± Natalie whispered. ¡°Something happened to her?¡± Morri nodded. ¡°The city wards are badly damaged, and the Guardian was wounded. Something attacked her and ripped a hole in our armor. We should have the wards repaired within a few weeks but for now¡­ Vindabon is susceptible to attack.¡± Eyes never leaving the angelic shadow, Natalie asked. ¡°What could have done this?¡± Glynn ended his conversation with Nyami and answered. ¡°An Archdemon or Fell God, only something that powerful could do this. The Final Gates have been opened slightly, and the Anchorite felt it. We need to be ready for a Demonic incursion; if the Dark is acting so overt, then this might not be the end of things.¡± Morri responded. ¡°An incursion already happened; the Ashborn used itself as a medium to open a Hellgate. Or at least that''s what the ball¡¯s survivors say.¡± The quarter-elf looked momentarily sick and was ready to ask for more details, but Morri cut him off. ¡°The Paladin and other capable people repelled the attack. I¡¯ll inform you all later; right now, I need to speak privately with Natalie.¡± Frowning, Natalie followed Morri as he retired to his offices. The former Rest-bringer looked like he¡¯d aged twenty years in the last six hours. A palpable air of stress leaked off him, and it unnerved Natalie. She¡¯d not known Morri long, but he¡¯d always seemed resolute and unshakable. Once inside the office, Morri locked the door and cast a spell on it. Natalie¡¯s ears popped slightly as she¡¯d come down a mountain, and she winced in surprise. Nodding to himself, Morri gestured to a chair. Natalie didn¡¯t take it, concerned by his behavior. ¡°What is this about Morri?¡± The Hierophant went over to a lockbox new to the room and picked it up. Setting it on his desk with a grunt. A key and magical incantation unlocked the box, and a puff of icy air escaped it. Opening the cold-enchanted chest, Morri pulled something out. The smell of frozen meat and halted decay reached Natalie¡¯s nose. Morri held a human forearm in armored hands. Shutting the box, he set the arm on its lid and just stared at it. The forearm was large, well-muscled, and horribly scarred. Even blue with frostbite, the pattern of wounds was familiar to Natalie. Stomach dropping, Natalie sucked in an involuntary breath. Morri just stared at the arm and said. ¡°I checked his arm when we arrived to help; it was missing its scars.¡± Looking at Natalie with the cold hardness she associated with Cole¡¯s wrath, Morri growled. ¡°What did you do to him, Natalie? What unholy power did you use to keep him alive?¡± Natalie just blinked for a second and snorted with laughter. Nerves turning fear into bitter humor. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything, Morri; his nature was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.¡± Stepping closer and examining the severed limb, Natalie realized something. ¡°He said he lost the arm fighting Dietrich; how did you¡­.¡± Morri slammed a mailed fist against his desk. ¡°What is he, Natalie? What is Cole?¡± Glaring at the old Priest, Natalie snapped. ¡°That is not my story to tell. Ask him when he awakens.¡± Returning her glare, Morri snarled. ¡°How do I know you aren¡¯t lying? How can I trust you, or even him, if you¡¯ve been hiding a secret like this!¡± Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Letting out a disgusted noise, Natalie gestured vaguely toward the clinic. ¡°Because the evidence is literally carved into him! Have you known anyone in your life with that many scars? Anyone who could still move or function while being so mutilated? And even if it wasn¡¯t, shouldn¡¯t your own God''s favor be enough evidence? No one can fool a God, not even the greatest powers in the world. So do you really think he or I could manage it?¡± Morri¡¯s face twitched, and he returned to staring at the limb. Noting how cold had been used to preserve the forearm, Natalie repeated her earlier question. ¡°How did you get this, Morri?¡± The Hierophant didn¡¯t answer, and Natalie pieced it together. ¡°Oh¡­ Dietrich gave it to you. You¡­ you knew what would happen.¡± Flashes of Ametza¡¯s crying face, Cole¡¯s broken body, and Jak¡¯s headless corpse danced behind Natalie¡¯s eyes. Long talons of black blood grew from her fingers, and she snarled. ¡°You goatfucking jagger! What did you do!¡± Morri reached into his desk and pulled out two things, a plain black mask and a sheet of paper. The paper had a drawing on it of Natalie. The drawing was surprisingly well done, depicting Natalie with haunted eyes, her hair down, and dried blood on her face. Tapping it, Morri explained. ¡°The League keeps certain means of communication open with the Duchies. A method to ensure diplomacy and de-escalation even during times of war. Through one of those means, a known agent of the Archduke contacted the Priests of Uncle Trickster. Claiming a dangerous traitor possessing a powerful relic was hiding within Vindabon.¡± Letting her claws shrink away, Natalie snatched up the drawing and looked at it closer. Something about it itched at the back of her brain. Looking at Morri, eyes wild with anger, she thought of Scapin¡¯s words back at the ball. ¡°Those lies¡­ Scapin sold those to the Temples¡­ And you all actually bought them?¡± Morri shook his head. ¡°I did not; it seemed impossible with your Stigma. But¡­ the arm raised some questions. The Vampire''s argument swayed my fellows in the other nine temples. Not enough to hand you over, but enough to set a trap. I protested but was overruled, and the Gods were strangely silent about this, something my colleagues took as consent.¡± Slumping into his chair with a clatter of armor and creak of joints, Morri looked to Natalie. ¡°The plan was to let the Vampires into the city and use the ball as an opportunity to expose the truth.¡± Shocked by this admission, Natalie practically screamed. ¡°How stupid could you all be! It''s your fault all those people are dead!¡± Morri hung his head and answered. ¡°Yes, it is, but we weren¡¯t complete fools. There was some dissent among the Hierophants. A faction of us agreed to the plan but decided to¡­ improvise. Once the two Vampires were deep inside the city, we would activate the Wards and bind them. With them in our custody, the truth could be ascertained, and if needed, we could use them to capture you.¡± Eyes widening in understanding, Natalie cursed. ¡°Jagged hearts¡­ the wards were broken then. You couldn¡¯t capture them!¡± The Hierophant nodded. ¡°Everyone lost, the temple, the vampires, the league¡­ This was a calamity, and I expect the Temples will suffer for our foolishness, as we should.¡± With a weary sigh, Natalie looked at the severed forearm and said. ¡°Who else knows about that?¡± Morri glanced at the limb and winced. ¡°A Hierophant of the Fifth Temple. Troupe Master of the Quicksilver Players in Vindabon. He was who made contact with the Vampires and informed me of what was happening.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie grunted. ¡°We¡¯ll need to speak with him soon, but we should wake up Cole first. If his secret is exposed, he should get the opportunity to share the whole truth with you and whoever else.¡± As she shook her head, Natalie realized something, her silver clip was still in her hair. Which wasn¡¯t abnormal; she only took it out to sleep. Glancing down at the drawing, Natalie realized the depiction of her had its hair down. A very odd choice if the artist hadn¡¯t seen her like that. Especially with the blood on her face and the destroyed expression. Natalie had only looked like that once¡­ That chain of thought reached its conclusion, and Natalie nearly dropped the drawing. ¡°THE BONES! THERE WEREN¡¯T ANY BONES!¡± Morri was startled by her outburst, and Natalie slapped the drawing on the table. ¡°Scapin, the smarmy Vampire with the smile, he¡¯s the one who gave this to you, right?¡± Nodding, Morri looked taken aback, and Natalie bit her lip so hard a droplet of black blood welled up. ¡°That bastard has been following us since Glockmire! It was him in the cell, the one Cole killed. When he died, he didn¡¯t have bones; he just dissolved into ash. I thought it was strange then but didn¡¯t think much else of it. I¡¯d cleaned off the blood when Cole woke up, and Dietrich isn¡¯t the type to draw and¡­.¡± Realizing she was rambling, Natalie looked at Morri. ¡°We need to get Cole and heal him quickly; this is important.¡± Confused and a little alarmed, Morri said. ¡°The healers are working on him but considering how wounded he is? A severed spine, broken leg, ruined kidney, and so much lost blood aren¡¯t easily treated.¡± Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Natalie sighed. ¡°You want to know what Cole is? Well, help me with this, and you¡¯ll get a better understanding.¡±
It took much arguing and pleading to get Cole¡¯s unconscious body free from the clinic. The healers were loath to let such an injured patient leave them. It took Morri¡¯s influence and Natalie¡¯s tacit threats to skulk about the clinic in all her undead glory to get them to relent. Cole was lifted onto a wheeled medical cart by a quartet of workers and left in Natalie¡¯s care. Returning to the apartment proved to be a challenge but not an insurmountable one with a Vampire and Priest working together. The Temple had pully lifts to access the higher levels. Natalie¡¯s enhanced strength was enough to haul even Cole up a story. Once in the apartment, Natalie got Cole into the bathtub. His suit had been cut away by Dietrich and the healers, leaving him clad only in drawers and bandages. The Paladin barely stirred through the ordeal and didn¡¯t respond even when Natalie filled the tub with warm water. Morri watched this with morbid curiosity, concerned about what the Vampire was planning. Once the tub was filled enough that Cole¡¯s head barely stuck out of the water, Natalie turned to the Hierophant. ¡°He told me how to do this in case he was brain damaged or paralyzed. I even practiced it once on his insistence, so let me be clear I don¡¯t want to do this, and I¡¯m only doing it because I see no current alternative.¡± Then without warning, she pressed Cole¡¯s head under the water. Shocked, Morri ran forward, and Natalie held up her free hand and glared at him. ¡°He trusts me, and Master Time is at least willing to help me, so find a chair and wait.¡± Cole didn¡¯t trash or fight back; he simply lay in the water as a steady stream of bubbles came up from his mouth. When the stream stopped, Morri reached for his mace. Natalie gave him a withering glare. ¡°If I was trying to murder the man I love, do you think I¡¯d do it in front of a powerful Hierophant? Even one as incompetent as you?¡± Morri looked stunned by her razor words but didn¡¯t contest them. Natalie knew they weren¡¯t strictly fair. Morri had done his best to mitigate a situation somewhat beyond his control. But his best hadn¡¯t been good enough, and people had died. Morri deserved a little salt in his wounds; it was the least Natalie could do for Jaks and the others. Holding Cole down, Natalie touched his neck and nodded. Letting go of him and letting his head surface above the water, Natalie gestured for Morri to check Cole¡¯s pulse. The Hierophant stripped off a glove and obliged. His eyes widened when Cole¡¯s death was confirmed, and silver fire blazed in his pupils. ¡°You¡­ what have you done!¡± Natalie was tired; she¡¯d been through a lot this night. Slumping against the tub, she let a hand rest in the warm water and said. ¡°Do you know how the Duchies break in new Vampires?¡± Morri looked at Cole¡¯s corpse, trying to understand what was happening. His instincts were at war with the information he¡¯d been given. ¡°They feed a loved one to the new Vampire. Binding them to the court with guilt.¡± Nodding, Natalie played with the water absently, ¡°When I was turned, Cole came to rescue me. He fought past Strigoi, Rattlers, Varolac, and everything else the Feeder could throw at him. He lost eventually, worn down by fight after fight, and they tossed his unconscious body into my cell. I¡¯d just been turned, and I lost control. I killed him, Morri; I devoured his blood and sat in that wretched cell for hours, hoping to die.¡± The water in the tub started to turn pink; Morri saw this and frowned. He knew what Natalie was saying, he knew what she was implying, but it couldn¡¯t be possible. Streams of cloudy red worked up from beneath Cole¡¯s bandages, dying the water a disgusting hue. Staring off into the middle distance, Natalie murmured. ¡°But I didn¡¯t die, and he came back. He came back to me, and we both escaped.¡± after a moment¡¯s hesitation, she smiled. ¡°Master Time has a strange sense of humor, doesn¡¯t he?¡± Staring at Cole¡¯s corpse, hand still on his neck Morri rasped. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Letting her hand slosh in the blood-tainted water, Natalie said. ¡°He¡¯s the God of Death, and he made an Immortal his champion.¡± ¡®Ba-dump,¡¯ Morri pulled his hand away in shock. At Natalie¡¯s insistence, he put his hand back on Cole¡¯s throat and felt. ¡®Ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump.¡¯ He knew what to expect and where Natalie¡¯s story was leading, but still, the word fell from his mouth. ¡°Impossible.¡± Cole twitched like a dreamer awakening. Natalie slipped her hand deeper into the water and found the Paladin¡¯s hand. Whispering to Morri as she did. ¡°Apparently not.¡± The Homunculus Knight awoke with a spluttering gasp; coughing up water, he thrashed in the tub, returning to life. With a great groan, Cole sat up and opened his eyes. He saw Natalie and smiled, his teeth pink with his own blood. Then as he blinked away the sleep of death, he realized Morri was with them. Looking at the Hierophant and back at Natalie, he tried to decipher what was happening. Resting a soothing hand on his broad chest, Natalie explained. ¡°They found the arm you lost outside Vindabon. Morri had questions, and I figured seeing you return was the best option.¡± Blinking away spots, Cole nodded jerkily. Morri stared at him, trying to process what he¡¯d just witnessed. ¡°Cole¡­ what are you?¡± Cole laughed, a gesture that turned into a cough. Spitting up some water, he ran fingers through his damp hair. ¡°I¡¯m an abomination, a Homunculus created to defy the natural order of things.¡± Turning his attention from the stunned Hierophant, Cole squeezed Natalie¡¯s hand. ¡°I''m so sorry; I didn¡¯t mean to-¡± Natalie cut him off. ¡°I¡¯m okay; Master Time explained what happened. When I woke up, I was back in control.¡± Cole released a relieved breath and said, ¡°Would you mind grabbing me some clothes? Discussing all this while I¡¯m near naked in a tub would be¡­ odd.¡± Nodding, Natalie ran to grab him some garments while Morri looked at Cole. The Hierophant grabbed Cole¡¯s head then, and the room''s temperature dropped a few degrees. Pulling back like he¡¯d been burned, Morri muttered. ¡°Your spine and your kidney! They are healed!¡± Glancing at Morri¡¯s hand, Cole raised an eyebrow. The old rest-bringer sat down in a chair nearby and shrugged unabashedly. ¡°I needed to check to make sure you were actually alive. That this wasn¡¯t some elaborate trick.¡± Leaning back in the tub, Cole put shakey hands on the lip. He was healed mostly, but the amount of damage he¡¯d suffered was extensive. It would take a few days to fully recover if he didn¡¯t drown himself again to speed things up. ¡°How long was I gone?¡± He asked, curious to see how much stress he¡¯d put Natalie and Morri through. Taking a second to understand the question, Morri stroked his mustache. ¡°You were dead for a few minutes at the most. Fire-in-iron, it''s strange to say that.¡± Frowning, Cole stretched his muscles and tested the damage. His serious wounds were gone; only blood loss and minor injuries plagued him. ¡°I don¡¯t usually resurrect that quickly. Drowning is faster than most methods, but even then¡­.¡± Head in his hands, Morri muttered. ¡°A homunculus? I¡¯ve encountered a few of those in my time, but none like you.¡± Cole made an amused snort. ¡°I¡¯m something of a unique project. Isabelle wanted to play god and create life, and she succeeded.¡± Frowning, Morri asked, ¡°Isabelle? The Vampire Ghost you carry with you? She created you?¡± Natalie returned then with some clothing. Taking it gratefully from her, Cole dried off and got dressed. Too tired to care about social niceties as he stripped out of his soaked drawers and slipped into the clean fabric. Natalie tried desperately not to notice how nice Cole looked nude and glistening from the bathwater. Both lovers had found their libidos¡¯ augmented by each other''s proximity and passion. The three of them sat down in the main room and explained their parts of the story. Cole briefly explained his origin and nature. Then, he described the fight with Dietrich and Scapin, offering a few guesses about their plan and nature. Morri went next, admitting his culpability in events and how Cole¡¯s severed arm had made him doubt things. Cole reacted to the story with cool indifference, not matching Natalie¡¯s anger but instead trying to see the larger picture. For her part, Natalie skimmed over her meeting with Master Time, leaving out the more personal details before telling Cole her theory about Scapin. Digesting this poisoned feast of information, Cole leaned back on the couch and mused. ¡°The Gods didn¡¯t interfere with the plan to let the Vampires into the city? None of the ten temples got so much as a sign?¡± Morri shook his head in the negative. Cole massaged his aching skull, thinking to Kistine and hoping she would recover. ¡°So either whatever damaged the wards was powerful enough to intercept all ten God¡¯s messages or letting the two infiltrate the city was necessary.¡± Nodding, Morri remarked. ¡°I know which option I prefer. I¡¯d rather this be the Gods playing a long game of Legions than a Fell God unleashing its wrath.¡± Exhaling with exhaustion, Cole said. ¡°If Scapin was really that Vampire in the oubliette, then that solves one of my problems and opens another box. It explains how the Duchies knew about me but doesn¡¯t answer what he was doing in Glockmire and why the rest of the Court didn¡¯t know.¡± Morri offered. ¡°When I met him outside the city, he claimed to be of the Ashen Door. Maybe he was additional security for the Alukah? It would make sense for Dietrich and his subtle counterpart to work together to retrieve it.¡± Frowning, Cole shook his head. ¡°If protecting Glockmire¡¯s treasure was his purpose, then he¡¯s supremely incompetent. I can imagine a Scarlet Knight not noticing a brewing coup but an Ashen Agent? No, something else was in play. The puzzle keeps getting bigger, and we are missing too many pieces.¡± Natalie interjected then. ¡°Ashen Agents? I¡¯m guessing some kind of Vampire spy?¡± Cole nodded, and his partner let out an annoyed sigh. ¡°Lovely, just lovely.¡± Standing up then, Cole helped Natalie get to her feet. ¡°Interrogating Dietrich will be crucial. But before that, I need to settle another matter.¡± ¡°What would that be?¡± asked Morri, pulling himself up with the clatter of mail. Frowning, Cole said. ¡°Liam Louon is the Heart-Stealer and justice for his victims is long overdue. The Graf and others in House Louon know what Liam is and still protect him. That debt of stolen time must be settled..¡± Morri grimaced. ¡°The city is still in shock. Even if you have adamant evidence, tonight would be a poor time to attack one of the city''s most powerful families. It would be tossing rocks into an already disturbed pond. ¡± Cole seemed to consider that for a moment. Then a hard look came across his face. ¡°I fought a Scarlet Knight and an Ashborn to defend this city. I¡¯ve literally died multiple times to fulfill my duty and keep its people safe. Right now, I don¡¯t particularly care what is convenient for the nobility of Vindabon. People have been murdered, and the killer needs to answer for that.¡± Nodding, Morri shrugged. ¡°Fair enough; I can see the merit in striking when the iron is hot.¡± They moved toward the apartment door, but when they reached it, Cole turned to look at Morri. ¡°The Temples of Vindabon owe weregild to the Shohgard pack, and everyone else harmed tonight. I don¡¯t care what shape it takes but make sure those scales are settled.¡± There was a brittle hardness to Cole¡¯s voice that only Natalie detected. As they left the apartment, she pulled him aside, gesturing for Morri to give them privacy. After a moment''s hesitation, the Hierophant left them, offering a warning as he did. ¡°I¡¯ll keep what I learned tonight secret for now but eventually, the Hierophants of at least this temple will need to know.¡± Cole offered a grunt of acknowledgment and grit his teeth. Cupping his cheek, Natalie whispered. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± The cold steel in Cole¡¯s expression melted away, and he relaxed into her touch. ¡°Its¡­ it''s been a long evening. Twice I thought I¡¯d lost you tonight. And I failed; I failed Jaks, Kistine, and everyone else who suffered for my weakness. If things had gone slightly differently, then¡­ I don¡¯t want to imagine what might have happened.¡± Natalie headbutted Cole lightly, driving her forehead into his chest with almost feline exasperation. ¡°Because of me, a pair of extremely dangerous monsters infiltrated Vindabon. The city wards are damaged, and we¡¯ve probably made enemies of most of the nobility. I lost control and exposed myself as a monster. Jaks is dead, Kistine might never wake up, and now your secret is exposed. On top of all that, my dress is ruined, and we¡¯re never getting invited to another ball.¡± Rumbling in confusion, Cole looked at Natalie, and she smiled up at him. ¡°If we are going to stew in our self-loathing, we might as well do it together.¡± A snort escaped Cole, and he leaned back against the temple walls. The cold stone was a balm on his worn body. As he did, the temple bells started ringing. ¡®BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!¡¯ Cole counted the deep notes and let out a breath of surprise. ¡°It¡¯s midnight.¡± Natalie got up on her toes and kissed Cole. They shared that kiss for a long moment. Natalie broke it with some old words. ¡°Yesterday was cold; today was dark; tomorrow will be neither with you.¡± Cole answered in the second part of the solstice poem of Lovers, ¡°Yesterday my heart was empty; today it is open; tomorrow it will be filled with you.¡± They kissed again as the last echoes of the temple bells faded away. Book II: Chapter 37: Secrets within Secrets

Chapter 37: Secrets within Secrets

¡°Gods? Why would we need Gods? You, petty creatures, need shared delusions powered by your own belief to feel safe and secure. The beings you call Gods are mere symptoms of your weakness and desire to submit. My kind are not burdened with such failings. We do as we please and challenge any who¡¯d stop us. Dragons know no Gods. We know only power!¡± - Excerpt from an interview with Zamug the Ever-Shining.
Mina was utterly exhausted, she¡¯d been at the temple when the wards fell, and the experience had been physically painful. Her aetheric senses rattled by a Seraph¡¯s suffering, the scream of an angel shaking her very soul. Then before that could even settle down, she and every other combat-trained Priest had been commanded to arm and prepare for battle. A battle she and everyone else missed. Now back at the Temple, after helping transport the captured Vampire and heal survivors, Mina wanted nothing more than to sleep. She¡¯d found a secluded corner in one of the main halls of the temple, where she could be easily found if need be but might otherwise be undisturbed. Leaning back on the bench, trying to get comfortable even in her chainmail, Mina looked at the two items beside her. Her mace, a well-crafted tool for breaking bones, and beside it, an ash-stained axe. She hoped to return it to its owner or Natalie as soon as possible, but that might take some time. Last Mina had heard, Cole had been gravely wounded, possibly even paralyzed, fighting the two Vampires. Morbidly, Mina wondered if Cole would ever be able to fight again. Even a talented Hierophant specializing in healing might not be able to fully fix that kind of damage. Footsteps from nearby caught Mina¡¯s attention. Yawning and trying to force down the exhaustion, she looked to see who was coming. Natalie turned a nearby corner and smiled when she saw Mina. Getting up, the Priestess waived to the Vampire and asked. ¡°How are you?¡± Natalie shrugged and scanned the hallway, looking for something. Her eyes fell on Cole¡¯s axe, and she shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve been worse, but not by much. I see Erik was right, and you have Requiem.¡± Frowning, Mina looked at the axe with dawning understanding. A snort of tired amusement escaped her. ¡°He named his weapon? Seriously?¡± Defensively, Natalie snapped. ¡°Yeah, what''s wrong with that?¡± Mina rubbed her eyes, thankful she¡¯d taken off her gauntlets beforehand. ¡°Nothing, just a little¡­ never mind.¡± Another voice, this one a low steady rumble, said. ¡°I only named it at Natalie¡¯s insistence.¡± Shocked, Mina watched as Cole walked around the corner. Blinking in confusion, Mina whispered more to herself than anyone else. ¡°Morri said you were paralyzed.¡± An annoyed snort left the Paladin, and he walked over and picked up his axe. ¡°I was, not anymore.¡± A dozen questions filled Mina¡¯s head, and she tried to figure out which to ask first. But as she gave Cole another look, she thought better of it. While he was awake and moving, a certain weariness was visible in the Paladin¡¯s movements. Cole normally walked with a calm, almost graceful air, at least as graceful as such a huge man could be. Now he lumbered as if his balance and body were compromised. Cleaning the axe with a rag pulled from a pocket, Cole buckled the weapon to his belt. Turning to Mina, he asked. ¡°I know who the killer is, and I¡¯m going to catch him. Are you awake enough to help me?¡± Blinking rapidly, trying to process his words, Mina felt like she¡¯d been doused in ice water. Bracing herself, she muttered. ¡°Well, I am now.¡± After another moment of thought, she asked. ¡°Which Louon was it?¡± Cole unfolded his cloak, which Mina hadn¡¯t noticed he¡¯d been carrying over one shoulder. Slipping the black cloth over his shoulders, he said. ¡°The Grafling, but his family helped protect him.¡± Looking down at her armored self, Mina sighed. ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯m ready to go; what''s the plan?¡± Cole picked up her mace and handed it to her. ¡°We get Iron-teeth and the rest of the guards. Then we go to Louon Manor and ask them to surrender their wayward scion.¡± Natalie and Mina exchanged worried looks, and the Priestess carefully asked. ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s a good idea? If we don¡¯t have perfect evidence, we might ruin any chance of catching the Grafling.¡± Considering that, Cole made a noise almost like a growl. ¡°I suppose the city won¡¯t take my word for it even after tonight¡¯s events?¡± An undignified snort escaped Natalie, and she hid her smiling face. Recovering slightly, she frowned and approached Cole, putting a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Are you really alright? Tonight has been a lot. I know you like to smash through noble goatshit, but this seems¡­ ill-advised.¡± Cole sighed and rubbed his face. ¡°I fear if I wait any longer, then Liam and his whole cursed family will slip through my fingers. Aristocrats are like eels, slippery and coated in slime.¡± After hesitating, he shut his eyes and admitted what else was at work. ¡°Graf Louon backed the Vampires at the ball; he¡¯d sell out his city if it meant protecting his family. That sort of person cannot be allowed to operate freely, especially when they are partially exposed. Cornered animals and all that.¡± Shrugging, Natalie glanced at Mina and said. ¡°Well, if Louon is guilty of siding with Scapin, so are the Temples.¡± Mina spluttered. ¡°I¡±m sorry, what?¡± Cole muttered. ¡°I think it''s more complicated than what we see. The servants of Uncle Trickster are key to these events, and they never do anything for a single reason. If I gambled, I¡¯d set good coin on their being plans within plans. If they really thought the Tenth Temple was subverted, then they wouldn¡¯t have told Morri everything. It¡¯s a bigger bloody picture, and we are just looking at one part of it.¡± Mina repeated her question, this time with a little iron in her voice. ¡°What are you two talking about?¡± The Paladin and Vampire glanced at each other and then explained to Mina what had happened. By the time they finished, the Priestess had settled back onto the bench and was utterly stunned. Looking up at her two allies, Mina asked. ¡°How could the Temples be so stupid?¡± Cole nodded in agreement. ¡°I don¡¯t think they were. We just aren¡¯t seeing everything. Still, a meeting is due with this Troupe Master, but that might take some time.¡± Considering his words, Cole added. ¡°The Duchies hold the Temples in contempt and also fear them. The Priests of the Pantheon, in their eyes, are simultaneously deluded fools and incredibly dangerous zealots. A contradiction, I know, but typical of Vampire society.¡± Natalie chimed in then. ¡°That makes a strange sort of sense. They don¡¯t want to admit weakness, and acknowledging the Priesthood¡¯s power would be tantamount to doing so. Neither do they want to act like the only group capable of consistently killing them is harmless.¡± Mina let out a snort of grim humor. ¡°The enemy is simultaneously all-powerful and hopelessly weak.¡¯ Yeah, that sounds like something from my studies on cults and corruption.¡± Retracing their conversation back to Cole¡¯s earlier words, Mina asked. ¡°Why do you bring this up?¡± The Paladin shifted his cloak and said. ¡°It¡¯s a subtle weak spot a clever Priest can exploit. Ego and pride define many Vampires. Give them a chance to prove their genius, and they will leap for it. Even the cannier of their kind might fall into that trap.¡± Frowning, Natalie sighed. ¡°It¡¯s so stupid; last I checked, I wasn¡¯t a megalomaniacal idiot. So why are all the other Vampires such melodramatic egotistical bastards?¡± Cole¡¯s lip quirked in amusement. ¡°Empathy, humility, and traits we associate with being a true person don¡¯t grow easily in a Vampire¡¯s mind. What they had as a person can be maintained and even cultivated. But if those traits are ignored or actively discarded, they can wither shockingly fast. It¡¯s part of the curses¡¯ malice, refining a Vampire into a better predator.¡± Natalie seemed sobered by those words, and Mina asked. ¡°How do you know so much about them? This isn¡¯t the sort of thing you learn hunting a Vampire, is it?¡± Cole and Natalie shared a look, and the Paladin sighed. ¡°Morri knows, so there is no point in hiding it from you. But I do ask you to keep this to yourself. I was¡­ raised in the Duchies in a Vampire¡¯s court. I got to know how they work from a very intimate perspective.¡± Mina got the sense there was more to the story, and Cole wanted to use a word other than ¡®raise,¡¯ but she didn¡¯t press the issue. ¡°Well¡­ that¡¯s something, and it certainly answers some questions and summons a few more.¡± Shrugging, a gesture that sent his cloak flapping, Cole said. ¡°I think we should at least meet with Iron-teeth and get people to watch the Grafling and his family. I don¡¯t want him fleeing, or at least I don¡¯t want him to flee successfully.¡± Natalie nodded and asked Mina. ¡°I have something I need to check in the archives. Could you chaperone me while I¡¯m there?¡± Frowning, Cole looked to Natalie, but before he could say anything, she cut him off. ¡°I don¡¯t think being outside the Temple tonight would be smart of me. Scapin¡¯s lies might have stuck in some people, and¡­ well, the Alukah did surface at the Ball.¡± The Paladin nodded, gave his lover a kiss, and left them. Natalie let out a surprised breath once he turned a corner and muttered. ¡°He really must be not well; he usually fights me on things like this.¡± A little worried, Mina asked. ¡°What exactly happened at the Ball? What do you mean the Alukah surfaced?¡± Natalie sighed and started walking to the Temple Library. ¡°I really should just start writing things down so I can give my account to whoever wants it.¡±
Natalie finished her abridged version of the night''s events just as they arrived at the Library. Mina looked exhausted, not as bad as Cole, but still not great. Part of Natalie felt almost a little guilty for her comparative energy. She was ¡®bright-eyed and bushy-tailed¡¯ as her father used to say thanks to her earlier meal. Feeding on the Scapin and Dietrich had been a gamble. Vampire cannibalism could be incredibly dangerous. But Natalie¡¯s readings about the Alukah¡¯s offspring and her own desperation pushed her to play the card. The Library never shut, but it wasn¡¯t staffed at this late hour, especially on the solstice. With Natalie¡¯s help and insistence, Mina removed her armor and got comfortable in a reading chair. They were near a fireplace that Natalie was reasonably certain was an illusion giving off light and heat. Even if it wasn¡¯t real, it was enough to put Mina to sleep. Which had, in part, been Natalie¡¯s plan, not out of any malicious intent but because she saw how worn the Priestess was. Natalie couldn¡¯t talk Cole into resting, but she could trick Mina into taking a lighter duty. Natalie slipped through the dark shelves of the library, her vampire eyes letting her work easily in the shadows. A genealogical text, a tome on dragon slayers, and another on dragonbloods all made their way to Natalie¡¯s table. The confrontation with the Louons had raised many questions, and Natalie hoped to answer them. As she flipped through the old books, Natalie settled into a steady rhythm of research. She¡¯d never considered herself the scholarly type before, but her recent experiences had changed that. It wasn¡¯t that different from collecting and organizing town gossip, except that nobody got upset with you. That thought stirred up some of her worries. Natalie didn¡¯t know how the city would react to the night¡¯s events, and a knot of worry had settled inside her. Over the past few weeks, Natalie had gained some hard-won acceptance in Vindabon, which might have dissipated all in a few terrible moments. Grumbling to herself, trying to push the worries away, Natalie almost looked forward to facing Scapin again. The lying goat-botherer had lots to answer for. Till then, researching her questions was a good distraction. The genealogical text was the first Natalie went through. It was the same that had served her earlier, and she wanted to double-check a hunch. Lord Kronor had referred to Graf Louon as ¡®cousin,¡¯ and something about that stuck in Natalie¡¯s mind. Natalie didn¡¯t take long to confirm it wasn¡¯t just the dragonblood noble being elegant; Graf Louon and Lord Kronor were indeed cousins. Graf Isac Louon¡¯s mother had been a Kronor. Flipping through the text, Natalie pulled up some of her mental notes. Kicking herself for not asking Cole to grab the pertinent papers from the Guard Tower as she did. Still, if her memory was good (and it usually was), then the timeline lined up. The misfortunes of House Louon started roughly fifty years ago. Right around that time, the Graf and his siblings reached adulthood. Isac Louon hadn¡¯t actually been the heir apparent. He had two older siblings, both dying oddly in their early thirties. Natalie guessed they were the first two to suffer the family curse. Tapping the book and marking her page, Natalie went to the text on dragonslayers. It proved remarkably useless, being mainly a collection of stories about dragonslayers. The only thing she did find of note was references to the healing properties of ¡®wyrmbane blood.¡¯ How a dragonslayer¡¯s ichor could be used in medicine. That fact had caught Natalie attention; the Louon¡¯s blood had been incredibly powerful. Had she been sensing the magic at work? It seemed the most likely explanation. Moving onto the book on dragonbloods, she was slightly surprised to see references to healing blood as well. In theory, it made sense, but she¡¯d gotten fairly close to Lord Kronor, and he had none of the nauseating spice the Louons¡¯ blood had. Leaning back in her chair, Natalie ignored the temple bells ringing and mused on all this. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. It seemed obvious that something had gone wrong with House Louon, probably caused by their intermarrying with House Kronor. While she was no Magi, common sense and Vampire-instinct said mixing the blood of a Dragon and Dragonslayer might not have been a good idea. As Natalie reviewed the night''s event,. She remembered that Liam, the killer¡¯s eyes, weren''t golden like the rest of the family. She¡¯d seen references to dragonslayers and dragonbloods, both inheriting ¡®echos¡¯ of draconic features like the gold eyes. So why didn¡¯t Liam have them? Returning to the genealogy book, Natalie looked for Liam and then for his mother. She found the deceased Battlemage and noted her family name. Flipping through the tome, she found Grafinling Margret Louon-Frieda¡¯s noble House. The family tree of House Frieda wasn¡¯t as well documented as Louon or Kronor. Still, the House did have an interesting origin. House Frieda claimed descent from Galehaut the Gilded, the same Dragonslayer House Louon traced themselves to. There were enough generations removed, so Natalie didn¡¯t think Liam was inbred. Still, you could never tell with aristocrats, or at least that¡¯s what Barnabas used to say. Still, the whole thing smelled bad, and Natalie was reasonably certain it wasn¡¯t just the cat-urine-treated books. Finishing up her notes, Natalie shut the tome and exhaled, driving dust from her nose. Much to her incredible annoyance, she couldn''t sneeze anymore and was forced to blow her nose violently when exposed to dust, mold, or anything else nasty in the air. Threads of thought suddenly snapped together, and Natalie stood up so quickly that she knocked her chair over. Moving inhumanly fast, she returned to the sleeping Mina, waking her up with a shake. Mina¡¯s eyes blinked open, and she almost screamed. Natalie winced; she realized looming over a training Rest-bringer in the middle of the night wasn¡¯t the smartest idea. Backing away, Natalie held up placating hands and forced false-life into her body, in an attempt to look less like a red-eyed corpse coming for Mina¡¯s blood. Mina had a hand raised, and a faint silver glow emanated from her palm; breathing heavily, the Priestess let her hand drop. ¡°Do. Not. Ever. Do. That. Again.¡± Natalie had the sense to look abashed. ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t think.¡± Blinking away sleep, Mina looked around the empty library and asked, ¡°What time is it?¡± Shrugging, Natalie said, ¡°A little past two, I think? But that doesn¡¯t matter; I need to ask you a few things.¡± Pulling herself out of the comfortable chair, adjusting her under-armor padding, Mina asked, ¡°What?¡± Natalie held up the notes she¡¯d taken and asked. ¡°The two people with House Marks were sick, right? Like something was seriously wrong with them, but they were being treated?¡± Mina nodded, a little confused but glad she wasn¡¯t being attacked by a Vampire. ¡°Yes, they had mold infections, probably from the tunnels. Why are you so excited about that?¡± Plopping down in a chair nearby, Natalie set out her notes on the table between them. ¡°Dragonslayer blood has been used to treat demonic taint; it''s part of the stories. House Louon has also been doing charity work with healers, helping the poor get medicine. It¡¯s all connected!¡± Squinting at Natalie¡¯s papers, with only the phantom fireplace to provide illumination, Mina muttered. ¡°You are rambling; what do you mean?¡± Clicking her tongue in excitement, Natalie laid out her theory. ¡°We¡¯ve been wondering why the house marked were so loyal. Well, I think the Louons were treating them. Using their blood as medicine, keeping the hellspawn mold at bay. Fear of having your body and soul devoured by a demonic parasite is the sort of thing to get people to cooperate.¡± Pausing and thinking about the killer¡¯s victims, Natalie added. ¡°Especially if you have loved ones also infected and needing treatment.¡± In a flat, almost sick tone, Natalie added. ¡°It¡¯s the perfect way to control people. It feels like something the Vampires would do.¡± A shiver of revulsion played across Mina¡¯s face. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t the infected just go to a Temple for help? We would gladly heal them!¡± Natalie chewed on her lip; she¡¯d gotten better at doing the old nervous habit without hurting herself. ¡°What would you do with people utterly ravaged by the spores? Like people Cole and the guards encountered in the warrens?¡± Mina frowned and made a face. ¡°In cases like that¡­ well, ending their suffering is the only option.¡± Nodding as she¡¯d expected that, Natalie leaned back and thought about Cole¡¯s nightmarish encounters in the warrens. ¡°The Cultists had no love for the Temple. Something that demon probably helped inflame. So¡­ I think the Louons offered an alternative, hope, and healing in exchange for service.¡± Thinking about that, Mina sighed. ¡°Well, if that were the case, it would explain why Liam Louon knew about the shrine in the tunnels. Fixed-stars, Natalie, this is worse than we thought. If the Louons have known about the Demon and used it to recruit lackeys, then¡­ Oh, Gods, that''s utterly insane. Who¡¯d be crazy to even try something like that?¡± Natalie gave Mina a flat stare. ¡°A family whose elders are all nuts thanks to mixing two incompatible bloodlines?¡± At the Priestess¡¯s perplexed expression, Natalie explained her theory about House Kronor and the Graf¡¯s mother. Mina let out an exhausted sigh and muttered. ¡°Wonderful; what do we do next?¡± Looking at the worn Priestess, Natalie sighed. ¡°I have some ideas, but I think you need to sleep. Preferably somewhere other than the library.¡± Mina shrugged and sighed. ¡°Fine, fine, can I trust you to stay in the Temple and not cause any problems?¡± Natalie nodded and privately thought. ¡®Yeah, I won¡¯t even need to leave the Temple to conspire with another Vampire.¡¯
Back in the apartment, Natalie sat across from Isabelle¡¯s skull. She¡¯d fed a drop of her blood to the ghost and was waiting for her to awaken. It didn¡¯t take long; Isabelle materialized in a nearby chair with a thoughtful look. The elder Vampire studied the younger one for a moment before asking. ¡°So, how was the ball?¡± A bitter laugh escaped Natalie; she really needed to write things down to spare herself from repeating things. Recounting the night''s events for what felt like the hundredth time, she explained everything that happened. When Natalie finished, Isabelle just sat in stunned silence. Part of Natalie decided seeing the arrogant old monster speechless was her reward for surviving the night. But it couldn¡¯t last, and a low, angry hiss started to bubble in Isabelle¡¯s throat. ¡°HOW ARE THEY SO STUPID?¡± she snarled, doing an excellent impression of a feline with its tail caught in a door. Shrugging, Natalie said. ¡°The Temple overestimated their capacity and paid for it.¡± Shaking her head with annoyance, Isabelle corrected her student. ¡°No, not the Temple, the Duchies! Sending two Vampires to infiltrate the city hoping to capture you and Cole? Do they think it''s a coincidence the League has resisted our kind for centuries? Stupid, stupid ash stains! To be a Vampire is to defy the gods and their petty rules! But we can never forget the Gods¡¯ power and how viciously they enforce those rules. This whole thing was idiotic beyond belief! All it will do is-¡± Isabelle stopped herself and considered something. ¡°This Scapin, you are sure he knew about Cole and was the one in the oubliette?¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°Reasonably so; it''s the only thing that currently fits the evidence.¡± Crossing her arms and resting her head in a palm, Isabelle mused on something before speaking. ¡°There are certain¡­ shadow treaties between the League and Duchies. The two empires have decided they prefer familiar enemies over new threats. Neither side truly pushes the other out of fear of upsetting the balance of power. The Sultanate and Tzardom would both gleefully attack if either empire weakened.¡± Frowning at all this, trying to keep the details straight, Natalie asked. ¡°Are you implying someone is trying to push the League and Duchies into a full-scale war?¡± Isabelle tented her fingers and nodded. ¡°I am. This sort of overt sloppy provocation isn¡¯t how the Ashen Agents act. They¡¯d have hired mercenaries or used the city government against you. Never acting so openly or flagrantly. This seems less like the Duchies trying to grab you and more like someone trying to get you for themselves and then blame the Duchies.¡± ¡°What about Dietrich then?¡± asked Natalie. ¡°He¡¯s a Scarlet Knight and loyal to a fault. I have a hard time seeing him work against the Archduke.¡± The elder Vampire snorted in derision. ¡°The Scarlet Knights are supposed to be smart enough to follow orders, not question them. A talented liar with the right documents and signets could talk a Scarlet Knight into watching the dawn. Dogmatic loyalty comes with a cost.¡± Gnawing on that worrying suggestion, Natalie sighed. ¡°Well, thank you for the insight, but that''s not what I wanted to discuss. Isabelle, what do you know about Dragonbloods and Dragonslayers?¡± Isabelle raised a single pale eyebrow and asked. ¡°What could you possibly want to know about them?¡± Natalie explained the mess with House Louon and her theory about the mixed bloodlines. Isabelle, at first, seemed disinterested, but as Natalie kept speaking, she perked up. A keen intensity seemed to boil off Isabelle as her labyrinthian mind dissected the information. Leaning back in her chair, Isabelle smiled. ¡°Oh, this is an interesting puzzle; thank you for sharing it with me.¡± Before Natalie could respond to the atypical show of good grace, Isabelle had gotten up and was pacing around the apartment. Occasionally passing straight through furniture, her ephemeral body uncaring of the obstacles. ¡°A magical ailment caused by the intermingling of anathemic inheritances? Yes, yes, that has precedent. So remind me, the killer is the only one without golden eyes, correct?¡± Natalie nodded, and Isabelle beamed. ¡°And his mother was a very distant relative of the same dragonslayer stock?¡± Again, Natalie nodded, watching as the undead genius reached her conclusion. ¡°House Louon introduced an ailment to their family through their own greed. I expect they thought mixing the two bloodlines would enhance their powers. Instead, they incurred the dragon¡¯s wroth. Dragons are creatures of power and dominance; it''s what defines them. They are magically linked to the idea of power, much like spirits, seraphs, and demons are linked to their own concepts.¡± Pausing to look at Natalie, Isabelle disassembled her ideas into something more understandable. ¡°The two ancestries are at war with each other, their magical echos in contradiction. Dragons are inherently vain, egotistical beasts who dismiss mundane mortals as petty nuisances.¡± Natalie resisted the urge to comment on the irony of a Vampire calling someone vain and egotistical. Instead, she let Isabelle continue the lecture and tried to absorb as much as possible. ¡°So when a mere mortal slays a Dragon, it clashes with their entire worldview, contradicting the godhead every Dragon is connected to. So to rationalize this, the draconic godhead gifts the slayer with power, reasoning that if they are strong enough to slay a dragon, they must be something more than mortal. A dragon trapped in petty flesh if you will. The godhead seeks to ¡®correct¡¯ this mistake and give some of the dead dragon¡¯s power to the slayer.¡± ¡°But when that inheritance meets with a true dragon¡¯s blood? Things get interesting then; they¡¯d war for metaphysical dominance, tearing at the person''s body, mind, and soul in a constant internal struggle. The hybrid might reach a balance, but that would eventually collapse. Probably when the strength of youth finally faded.¡± Rubbing her head, Natalie tried to rephrase everything Isabelle had said. ¡°So dragon blood and dragonslayer blood fight inside the person. They can handle it when they are young and growing, but once they become true adults, the balance falls apart, and parts of them start to break?¡± Isabelle actually smiled. ¡°You were paying attention! Good, good, I have more hope for you, my student. As I think about this, some bitter parallels exist between these ¡®Louons¡¯ and your mother¡¯s family. Both selectively bred themselves like livestock, trying to improve themselves with each generation.¡± Natalie grimaced; the Strixscion breeding clan wasn¡¯t something she was eager to think about. Trying to return to the slightly more pleasant topic of brutal murders, she asked, ¡°Was Liam an attempt to correct this mistake then?¡± Nodding, Isabelle sat down again, apparently finished with her excitement. ¡°It makes sense; they probably hoped to change the balance with new blood of the same source. But considering your killer lacks the family features and has been killing people from a young age, I suspect they went and did the exact opposite. They just went and made it worse with this poor wretch. Honestly, when they put him on the gallows, I hope someone examines the corpse. There is so much to learn from such an unusual specimen.¡± Exhaling in annoyance, Natalie remarked. ¡°The only problem is getting him there. If the Louons have been insane enough to protect him all this time, I doubt they¡¯ll stop now. We need proof strong enough that no one can countermand it.¡± Tapping her lips with consideration, Isabelle snapped her fingers. ¡°Ah, yes! My darling recently fought a Demon, correct? A Demon you think these petty wyrmbane spawn were aware of?¡± Natalie answered. ¡°Yes, we think they were using the offer of treating its corruption to control people,¡± A snort of bitter laughter escaped Isabelle. ¡°Besieging a fortress by attacking its walls is idiotic. It''s so much easier to slip through the pipes or fly over the walls. The Louons will be expecting accusations about their murderous scion. So don¡¯t strike them there. Expose this foolishness with the Hellkyn and breach their defenses.¡± Slowly nodding in understanding, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Oh¡­. OH! Yes, I see your point. That just might work; I¡¯ll suggest it to Cole when he returns.¡± A flicker of fragility showed in Isabelle. ¡°His nature¡­ is it really exposed?¡± Grimacing, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Probably, if the Duchies know he¡¯s alive, then time is limited even more so with this ¡®Troupe Master¡¯ aware of things. I don¡¯t think the Homunculus Knight will stay dead for much longer.¡± A low hiss escaped Isabelle, and she seemed to consider her words. ¡°You aren¡¯t the first person to discover Cole¡¯s truth after my death. Those others didn¡¯t react nearly as well as you did. I fear my darling Cole has some very deep wounds in this part of his soul. He hides them well but being rejected and cursed as an abomination is painful. Cole has tried to find himself a life twice outside of being a Paladin. Both times failed horribly because of what he is.¡± A little stunned, Natalie whispered. ¡°He never¡­ he never said anything like that.¡± Isabelle let out a sad noise. ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain he represses the memories to an extreme degree. He used to talk to me, sharing himself even when I couldn¡¯t respond. I¡­¡± The elder Vampire let out a pained sigh. ¡°I hope you can provide more help than I could, especially with what might come next.¡± Natalie tried to reach out for Isabelle¡¯s hand, an almost unconscious gesture of empathy. Her hand passed right through Isabelle, and a choked laugh escaped the ghost. ¡°I appreciate the sentiment, but such gestures are meaningless until I get a new body.¡± Wincing, Natalie said. ¡°Thank you for your help.¡± Isabelle managed a jerky nod and rasped. ¡°Thank you for¡­ for speaking with me. Thank you for being a friend, Natalie.¡± The ghostly Vampire dissipated then, fading back to her skull sepulcher. Leaving Natalie alone, waiting for Cole to return. A conflicted sigh escaped Natalie; in some ways, it had been easier to hate Isabelle. Now that they had a connection¡­ well, little in Natalie¡¯s life was simple, including this relationship. Getting up, Natalie found her new carving tools and a block of wood she¡¯d bought on her date with Cole. Finding a clean space, she got to work carving a wolf. She didn¡¯t know what Werefolk funerals were like, but she¡¯d make sure Jaks had a grave gift from her.
Isabelle floated in a lake of blood, staring up at a pitch-black sky, trying to wrestle with her feelings. The cold scheme to wrestle Natalie¡¯s body from her was becoming less and less doable. Not because Isabelle wasn¡¯t progressing in worming her way into the young Vampire¡¯s mind. No, the problem was Isabelle¡¯s resurgent conscience. Cole had resurrected the withered old thing, and now Natalie was busy nursing it back to health. Leaving Isabelle in the worst possible state a Vampire could be in, she was hesitating. When isolation and fear had kept her at the brink of madness, Isabelle had never doubted the idea of stealing Natale¡¯s body. The younger vampire had been a threat, taking Cole from her and endangering her survival. It hadn¡¯t even been a question if she should do this before. But the insidious little tavern wench had reversed the deck on Isabelle. Natalie wasn¡¯t the one being sculpted as Isabelle saw fit. Instead, Isabelle was slowly being influenced by Natalie. The whole thing painfully reminded Isabelle of her early days with Cole and how she¡¯d nearly locked Cole away in some dungeon out of fear. Centuries of cold, clinical aloofness had been undermined and ruined by the stupidly kind man. The weakness he¡¯d exposed in her was utterly terrifying, enough to make her consider abandoning her magnum opus. Now the same conundrum faced Isabelle, would she keep her armor of ice intact and achieve her goals? Or would she let another lesser being slither into her heart, doing untold damage in the process? Floating up on a pillar of floating blood, Isabelle came to her feet and paced around her prison. She¡¯d defied the gods in creating Cole, survived the Archduke¡¯s wrath, and even escaped death. Now the only thing standing in the way of her triumph was a dull throb of guilt. If she wanted to truly take Natalie¡¯s body, then she¡¯d need to destroy the girl and warp her darling¡¯s memory. Isabelle could do both, but the question was, would she? Shutting her eyes, wishing the endless lake of blood beneath a dark sky would disappear, Isabelle made her choice. ¡°Natalie likes to prattle on about compromise. Well, I guess I should offer her one.¡± Book II: Chapter 38: The Rotten Truth.

Chapter 38: The Rotten Truth

¡°Soulthief! Painmaker! Hellkyn! I call you and decry you! Leave this innocent and face me, you wretched cyst of suffering! In the name of the Eternal Fire, I call you from your host and cast you back to where you came! RAGNI IMMORTAE PANNA! I am a child of the flame, and with its holy light, I scourge and rebuke you!¡± Attributed to Mobad Varaz of the Sacred Dawn.
The Saint Eustace Clinic served the poor people of the Karlhof district, providing magical and mundane healing to anyone who needed it. The clinic was one of many charity houses within Vindabon, providing a little succor to the city''s lower class. On the morning after the Solstice, in the shadow of the DeMello Ball, the little clinic would find itself the focus of much attention. The clinic occupied a plot of land near the center of Karlhof, the twentieth district of Vindabon and one of its poorest. The three-story structure had the type of quaint beauty well-kept places tended to gain. Its brick walls were painted with images of Saint Eustace and his pilgrims. While the open hand of healing cast in bronze hung above the front door. Further adding to the sense of serene care the clinic tried to embody. Contrasting this theme was the squad of armored guards standing at the clinic¡¯s front step. Led by a huge man covered in scars and cloaked in black. As morning crept towards noon, the tattered man banged his fist on the clinic door for the third time. Finally, the sturdy wooden entrance creaked open as a tired-looking Nurse answered. ¡°By the Pantheon! It''s not locked. You can come, right-oh?¡± the nurse trailed off as the towering stranger loomed over her. She was short, plump, and slightly frazzled, contrasting the scarred giant before her. Paladin Cole pulled down his hood and asked. ¡°Is this the Saint Eustace Clinic?¡± The nurse blinked in surprise, coughed, and said. ¡°Aye, it is¡­ What can I do for you, Mister¡­?¡± Captain Iron-teeth stepped forward then, holding up his badge to the nurse. ¡°We are with the Guard, miss; we need to look around the clinic.¡± Confusion and worry played across the nurse¡¯s face, and she glanced at Cole. ¡°What is this about? If any of our patients has done something, then speak with our patron; surely we can solve this without you disturbing the sick?¡± Cole asked. ¡°Your patron?¡± he knew the answer but just wanted to get confirmation. The nurse nodded. ¡°House Louon, they pay for the clinic and everything inside it. They are our liege and patron.¡± The Paladin sighed; Iron-teeth and Natalie had both tried to explain the complicated system of patronage supporting Vindabon¡¯s public works. But he¡¯d only managed to grasp it was some mutated form of shared feudalism that kept the city functioning. Still, the details mattered little; the clinic was a good lead. At Natalie¡¯s suggestion, he and the guards were looking into the Eustace clinic. She¡¯d come to him when he¡¯d returned to the Temple with a theory about the Louon curse and how they might catch the killer. It seemed likely the Heart-stealer murders weren¡¯t the only crimes House Louon was culpable in. If they¡¯d really been aware of demonic corruption and leveraged it to their advantage? Well, people had been hanged for less. Speaking with the cold iron, Cole growled. ¡°People under your care are in danger. This clinic hosts long-term patients, correct?¡± The nurse¡¯s eyes narrowed, and she looked from Cole to Iron-teeth. ¡°Guard, who is this man? He doesn¡¯t seem to be one of yours?¡± Iron-teeth ran a hand through his better-groomed beard and said. ¡°He¡¯s the Paladin, so I suggest listening to him.¡± When revealed, Cole was used to shock and disbelief; he wasn¡¯t accustomed to fear. The nurse moved to slam the door on them; Cole caught its frame and stopped her easily. As she struggled against him, her breathing wheezing with the effort, Cole calmly asked. ¡°Why do you fear me, Nurse¡­?¡± Realizing it was pointless, the nurse stepped away from the door and looked over her shoulder as if debating her odds. Sighing in annoyance, Cole shoved the door open and entered the clinic, shifting the nurse from freeze to flight. She quickly bolted down the hallway, reminding Cole of a scared rabbit. The guard squad followed Cole, fanning out inside the clinic entrance room. Two hallways branched off the chamber. Cole followed the nurse down one, while Iron-teeth took half the squad down the other. Cat-eyes and two other guards followed Cole, looking around the warmly painted building for any possible threat. It became clear the clinic was built in the old imperial style, with a central courtyard surrounded by four wings. The nurse had entered the central courtyard and was resting a hand on a statue in the yard¡¯s center. The statue was of a proud lion sitting on its back haunches. Whispered words of power escaped the nurse, and she turned to face the guards. ¡°You cannot be here; you will harm our patients. Leave now before the patron sends his soldiers.¡± Cole frowned; the lion was probably a communication device of some kind. Cat-eyes wasn¡¯t paying much attention to the nurse, instead looking around the courtyard. It was a well-kept garden, blooming even in winter. Soft winter sunlight came through the glass panels acting as a roof, turning the courtyard into a greenhouse. A display of wealth you didn¡¯t exactly expect in a charity house, especially one in such a poor district. ¡°Some of your patients might be in danger. I need to examine them to protect the city and everyone within it.¡± rumbled Cole, approaching the nurse slowly as he did. Eyes narrow, the nurse spat. ¡°So you can kill them? I know what a butcher you are, ¡®Paladin.¡¯ I lost my family in your massacre! Good people died because you didn¡¯t care enough to help them.¡± Cole was slightly taken aback; her words didn¡¯t make sense. That is¡­ unless¡­ Cursing to himself, lept forward and put his hands on either side of the nurse¡¯s head. She was burning hot, running a fever so bad Cole was surprised she was still standing. This close, he could hear her wheezing breaths, further deepening his suspicions. Shutting his eyes, Cole called on his power and looked into the Aether. Strands of black tar clung to the nurse, worming through her body and soul. A web of corruption hung in the Aether, connecting the nurse to a great weave of rot that infested the clinic. Turning his head and looking around, Cole saw other nodes of corruption throughout the charity house. The local Aether was filled with emotions. Quiet resignation and weary melancholy floated about while bursts of sickly joy and warped love slithered along the tendrils of corruption. Reaching out, Cole touched one of the strands of darkness, feeling the nature of the densely packed magic. It recoiled from his touch and withered away, brittle enough to snap from his small influence. But as it disintegrated, the cloying stink of abuse disguised as love roiled through the Aether. An obsessive, dominating parody of family that would gladly consume anything and anyone unlucky enough to be ensnared in it. The nurse pulled away, using Cole¡¯s distraction to free herself. Stumbling backward, she slumped against the lion statue, hacking coughs escaping her. Between wheezing breaths, she rasped something in an arcane tongue. It was one of the common spell-dialects, and Cole knew enough to realize what she was doing. Stepping back, he yelled to the guards. ¡°Send someone to the nearest temple! This place is a mess of demonic corruption.¡± The guards paled, not reacting until Cat-eyes found herself and barked orders. A long-limbed guard bolted from them, heading for help. Unsheathing his axe, Cole growled. ¡°Find Iron-teeth, get him and everyone else to pull back. We need to quarantine this place and wait for Priestly reinforcements.¡± Cat-eyes shot back. ¡°What are you going to be doing during all this?¡± The lion statue¡¯s eyes started to glow with green witch-fire. The sound of scraping stone filled the greenhouse-courtyard as the statue came to life. Gesturing at the lion, Cole said. ¡°Dealing with that.¡± Wetting Requiem with his blood, Cole extended it into a pole-axe and sharpened its spike side the best he could. He¡¯d never fought animated stone before and would need to learn how to do so quickly. The magical art was favored in the far-east, and this was the first time Cole had seen an example outside the Gargoyles of Parilux. Cat-eyes and the other guards retreated quickly as the stone lion stalked towards Cole. Leaving him, the nurse, and the clinic¡¯s guardian alone in the courtyard. A strange grating growl bubbled up from the lion as it padded forward on marble paws. Its jaw opened up, revealing sharp teeth and a cavernous maw. The lion lunged for Cole; he rolled away from it and struck out with Requiem. The armor-piercing prong of the pole-axe worked well enough and cracked into the lion¡¯s flank. But the statue spun, ignoring Requiem stuck into its side and pulling both weapon and wielder. Cursing, Cole yanked on the pole-axe and sent a spray of stone chips flying as he dislodged the weapon. Barely evading a swiped paw in the process. As Cole tried to reset his posture and gain ground, he noticed flickers of green fire leaking from the lion¡¯s wound. Emerald flames danced out of the cracked stone like a broken kiln. The flames suddenly intensified, and the lion opened its mouth in a roar. A teeth-shaking noise that transformed from a bestial call to a blazing inferno. Green fire shot out of the lion¡¯s mouth, spraying toward Cole in a jet of flames. Spinning, Cole escaped the flames, the edges of his cloak briefly igniting with jade fire. Surprised by the attack, Cole noticed the fire did not linger wherever it landed, dissipating after a few seconds. Still more than enough to cook him alive, but someone had clearly not wanted the guardian statue to burn down the building it was supposed to protect. As the stream of flames ended, Cole rushed forward and dodged huge claws, driving Requiem into the lion¡¯s jaw. The weapon¡¯s beak found the stone mandible and sunk centimeters into it. Yanking back, Cole put all his enhanced strength into the effort. Marble buckled, and the jaw snapped off the statue. Roaring in fury, the lion swiped out with a paw the size of Cole¡¯s head. It tore strips from the Paladin¡¯s cloak but didn¡¯t find his flesh. A breath of relief escaped Cole as he escaped. The sheer weight in each of those blows would be enough to pulp him, but only if they connected. Thankfully the lion was slow, or at least in comparison to its living counterparts. Green fire dribbled out of the lion¡¯s ruined mouth like burning saliva, leaving flaming puddles on the ground as it paced. Both combatants circle each other, looking for an opening. That low bubbling growl started to rise in the lion¡¯s throat, and another jet of flame shot forth. Without a lower jaw, the fire was an inaccurate spray, giving Cole the option to backstep instead of dodge. Before the cloud of flames could fade slightly, the lion pounced, leaping through the flames and coming for Cole. Cole gripped Requiem with both hands and thrust its pike tip forward, feeding blood into it as he did. Requiem met the lion¡¯s mouth and sunk a handspan into the stone. The weight of the pouncing Lion knocked Cole back, where he stuck Requiem¡¯s extended haft into the ground. Dwarven steel groaned but held as the lion¡¯s own momentum impaled it on Requiem. Cole had learned this technique from a goblin monster hunter and had hoped it would work on the lion. It worked¡­ to an extent. Even with its head filled with Requiem¡¯s head, the lion lashed out with its paws. Letting go of his weapon, Cole rolled forward, avoiding the claws but getting battered by the statue¡¯s forearms. This close, Cole pressed each of his hands on either side of the stone lion''s chest. In one was the spark-stone; in the other was the power of Master Time. Arcane fire and divine cold poured into the stressed stone as the lion thrashed and tried to escape its impalement. Huge marble back legs came up, trying to shred Cole, morbidly reminding the Paladin of a cat playing with a mouse. Rolling out from underneath the lion, Cole looked for anything he could use. Nearby a meter-tall stone carving of Saint Eustace sat on a plinth. Wincing, Cole ran to it and prepared to commit blasphemy. Disoriented by the length of metal sticking through its head, the lion tried to swipe out at Cole but missed. Running forward, Cole grabbed the statue and forced cold into it, hoping the preserving property of his power would be enough. Holding the icon at the base, Cole whirled on the lion and swung the statue like a club. Bringing it down on the side he¡¯d been heating up. Stone shattered, and the entire right flank of the lion collapsed into shale. Grinning in triumph, Cole prepared to strike again with his improvised weapon, only to realize the statue of Saint Eustace had also broken. Wincing, he set down the carving¡¯s stump and decided to press his attack. The lion¡¯s right leg had snapped off, and the statue tried to stay upright. Cole trammeled its efforts by grabbing onto Requiem¡¯s shaft and yanking. Pulling oh his weapon like a butcher dog with a bull¡¯s nose ring Cole knocked the stone lion to the ground. It thrashed, trying to right itself, but Cole didn¡¯t let it. Green fire leaked from its cracked head, darkening the stone and giving the lion a second mane. Avoiding its panicked thrashing, Cole forced cold into his halberd and let the frozen metal and heated rock fight. Pulling up with a grunt of effort, Cole ripped Requiem free of the lion, shattering its head into hundred of chunks. The green fire finally flickered and died as the statue stopped thrashing and became inert stone. After giving it a solid shove with his boot to ensure it was truly destroyed, Cole shrunk Requiem into a pole-axe and approached the shocked nurse. Cole guessed she didn¡¯t flee out of fear of getting caught in the fight. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Icy breath escaped Cole, and he growled at the nurse. ¡°You are tainted, I don¡¯t know how bad it is, but I¡¯ll do my best to save you.¡± Fear and anger burned in her eyes, and she spat at Cole; he dodged the globe of mucus and had a sudden sense of deja vu. The Demon was dead, but its influence still remained. Just as you might kill a spider, its web will survive until destroyed. The nurse was a fly caught in the web, struggling against Cole¡¯s attempts to free her. Reaching down, he gripped her head again, ignoring her protests and swipes. Seeing into the Aether, dissecting what he knew, the situation became clear. She¡¯d been infected by the shadow spores, probably spread by one of her patients. The second-hand spores hadn¡¯t been enough to fully enslave her, but they could alter her mind slowly. Increasing her distrust in anyone who might threaten the Demon and binding her emotionally to the cultists and anyone else infected. This was why Cole had been so insistent the guards slay the Demon when they ventured into the Warrens. If it had survived, they would have been subjected to the slow mutilation of the mind like this woman. With the Demon gone, the effect wouldn¡¯t worsen, but neither would it heal on its own. Leaving the poor woman with alien compulsions and bad lungs. Her body and mind would not fully purge the corruption without outside help. Thankfully she wasn¡¯t completely beyond saving; she hadn¡¯t been compelled down into the warrens or reduced to a slavering cultist. Divine intervention, mortal compassion, and a little luck should be able to save her. But before Cole could think of helping the nurse, he needed to stop her from trying to kill him and investigate the rest of the clinic. Putting Requiem into the ground, Cole reached into his pocket and plucked out a bottle. Uncorking it, he pushed the foul-smelling mixture under the nurse''s nose and waited for her to pass out. It didn¡¯t take long, she was hyperventilating, and the dwale potion worked quickly. After facing numerous living opponents and lacking a clean way to incapacitate them, Cole had invested in the sleeping vapors. It was miserable stuff to wake up from, but Cole figured it was better than a concussion or broken limb. Gently placing the nurse on the ground, Cole sighed; he hadn¡¯t even learned her name. Picking up Requiem, he checked the courtyard for any other surprises; upon finding none, he checked the rest of the clinic. Reaching the entrance to the main ward, he found two staff members waiting for him with kitchen knives. They were dealt with easily enough, knocked down and knocked out by Cole¡¯s fists and potion. Their minds revealed more of the taint, and Cole felt a vein bulge in his neck. Natalie¡¯s plan was paying well, but he almost wished it hadn¡¯t. The Louons had used a center of healing under their patronage to house the corrupted. Using them as assets to control their servants and, as Cole thought about it, maybe even dispose of bodies. It was a fundamental perversion of everything a charity house should stand for and the ultimate example of aristocratic malice. Isabelle had always said mortal nobles could match their vampire equivalents in depravity; it pained Cole how right she was. Cole entered a large ward with six beds and a collection of amenities. It seemed a mixture of communal living space and treatment center. Each of the beds was occupied by sickly-looking people of varying ages. An eight-year-old was in a bed next to a woman who must have been in her seventies. All of the patients looked at Cole with undisguised fear. It hurt Cole¡¯s heart to see those expressions; they called up old memories and familiar insecurities. Still looking into the Aether slightly, Cole saw how each patient was wrapped in black tendrils of oily darkness, connecting them in a leeching web that had survived its maker. One of the patients, a woman, no, a girl aged by illness and stress, spoke softly. ¡°Why did you kill our family?¡± It reminded Cole disturbingly of the rat-child he¡¯d faced in the warrens, but that wasn¡¯t what really worried him. How did the clinic staff and patients know so much about the warren raid? On a hunch, Cole asked the girl. ¡°Who in your family did I kill?¡± She opened her chapped lips and seemed to ponder the question, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. A racking cough escaped the girl then, and Cole stepped closer, looking around for anything to help her. But before he could become truly concerned, the girl stopped and looked at Cole with slightly glazed eyes. The look of a mind worn down by illness. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t remember. You¡­ killed my family. I felt them die; I saw you kill them.¡± Her words started uncertainly but became steadier as she spoke. Cole nodded in understanding; the mind was an incredibly adaptive thing. It could fill even the most egregious holes if given time and enough prodding. These people hadn¡¯t truly lost family in the warren fight; they¡¯d lost fellow infectees. The Demon¡¯s web instilling emotions and impressions in their already malleable minds. A clatter of footsteps behind Cole made him turn in time to catch a sword strike on Requiem. The source was a man in shabby clothes with a broken nose. Hate burned in the man¡¯s eyes, and Cole felt a flicker of shock go through him. His attacker was the false guard of the night he¡¯d been ambushed by the mercenaries. His nose had been poorly set, and bruises covered his face, not all of them Cole¡¯s handiwork. As the imposter swiped out with another strike, he yelled. ¡°They killed you! They smashed your fucking head! How are you alive?¡± Cole sucked in a breath as he parried the sloppy strike. He¡¯d hoped and assumed the imposter was unconscious while the mercenaries carried him away. No such luck, and now the house-marked thug presented a new risk. Swiping out with the flat head of Requiem, Cole snapped the imposter''s wrist and forced him to drop his sword. As the weapon clattered to the floor, Cole slammed his shoulder into his attacker, sending him sprawling out of the ward doorway. Following him, Cole shut the door behind him and placed a boot on the man¡¯s chest, Requiem at his throat. ¡°That uniform you wore when you ambushed me, where did you get it?¡± The house-marked glanced around frantically and hissed. ¡°The mercenaries gave it to me! Said to wear it and watch for you!¡± Letting out a breath, Cole shut his eyes in annoyance. If the imposter had killed the guard, then Cole would feel clear to execute him, but that wasn¡¯t the case. This whole situation was putting Cole in a very dangerous position. If the Louons had even an inkling of his nature, then matters could get very bad. Thankfully that didn¡¯t seem to be the case, judging by events at the ball. Still, Cole needed to check. ¡°I¡¯m a Paladin of Master Time, those Mercenaries injured me badly, but I¡¯m not exactly normal. So it''s understandable you thought I died; who did you tell about my wounds?¡± A slight stretch of the truth, but if it could mask his secrets, that was well worth it. Unfortunately, the thug wasn¡¯t buying it. ¡°I know what I saw! Your brains were splattered all over the fucking cobblestone! I told my masters, but they didn¡¯t believe me! You broke my nose, but they beat me like a dog for lying. But I didn¡¯t lie! I saw you die!¡± Sighing, Cole debated the ethics of his actions. Revealing his secret to the city would be disastrous; it was bad enough that the Temple knew. But it was likely this thug was just another unfortunate soul ensnared by the Demon and the Louons. Executing him in cold blood was beyond what Cole would do. But¡­ other options were still available. Cole pulled Requiem from his prisoner¡¯s neck and slammed his fist into the imposter¡¯s forehead. Bouncing his head skull between the cold stone and Cole¡¯s fist. Knocking him out and almost certainly concussing him. Magical healing could be used to avoid the worst of such an injury, but if the man¡¯s memories were a little jumbled, then¡­ well, it would be convenient. Dragging the unconscious man to the courtyard, Cole took a moment to examine him in the Aether. There were no overt signs of the Demon¡¯s taint, none of the black tendrils or spiritual rot. But as Cole looked deeper, he saw metaphysical scars etched deep into the man¡¯s soul. Old wounds leaking the pus of corruption and slowly healing. They were hard to see even with Cole¡¯s senses, and the Paladin got the sense if he hadn¡¯t been looking for them, they would have gone unnoticed. He wondered if black-tongue and big-nose had similar wounds he hadn¡¯t noticed. Glancing back at the clinic ward, Cole made an educated guess. House Louon was ¡®salvaging¡¯ people from the warrens, finding the desperate and ill hiding below the city. Treating the warren-folk with their magical blood and cultivating them as useful servants. Those strong or useful would be healed enough to act as house-marked. While others would stay sickly but alive, acting as hostages to ensure loyalty. As he considered the nurse, Cole also wondered if the ward patients would act as infection vectors, spreading the ailment to others the House wanted to keep loyal. The shadow spores would instill paranoia against the Temples, and the Demon would be content with the steady stream of infected. The whole thing was utterly insane but contained a certain brilliance. House Louon had discovered demonic corruption beneath their home city and found a way to use it to their advantage. Creating this clinic as a ¡®workshop¡¯ to manufacture and maintain slaves while hiding it behind benevolence and tradition. Who would look at a charity house treating the chronically ill with any serious level of suspicion? Especially when the patients and their families were under subtle psychic conditioning to never raise the alarm. The clatter of armor and footfalls pulled Cole from his worries. Cat-eyes had arrived alongside a squad of guards and a trio of Priests. The Priests were each dressed in heavy furs and had numerous totems and fetishes hanging from their clothes. One wore a short bow on her back, and the other two had spears. Followers of Aunt Huntress, if Cole would guess. The leader of the three, the Priestess with the bow, looked at the shattered lion statue and the two unconscious people in the courtyard. Eyes narrowing, she sucked in a breath and said. ¡°How bad is it, Sir Paladin?¡± ¡°Bad,¡± answered Cole. ¡°This whole place is infested with demonic corruption. Leftover spoor from the Demon I slew. I think these people can be treated, but their minds have been effected. Look into the Aether if you want to see for yourself.¡± The lead Priestess shut her eyes and made a humming noise in her throat. When she opened her lids, green light danced in her eyes. Sucking in a surprised breath, she hissed. ¡°Empty quivers and broken bows! I¡¯ve never seen anything like this.¡± Holding out a hand, the Priestess introduced herself. ¡°I am Priestess Reyna, Sworn to Aunt Huntress and her stewardship of the wilds.¡± Cole answered the grip, and they clasped wrists, an old-style greeting sometimes favored by the traditional. Nodding over her shoulder, Reyna added. ¡°And these are Zoe and Ori, my Huntet. What can we do to help Sir Paladin?¡± Huntet, a Saint-speech term for a group bound by nature and purpose. A telling term saying these Priests weren¡¯t anything to disregard. Looking around the clinic and then at the guards, Cole asked. ¡°Is the building secured?¡± Cat-eyes nodded. ¡°Iron-teeth has half the fucking Karlhof guard in this neighborhood. Anything less than another Demon won¡¯t be getting past them.¡± After a moment of hesitation, Alia added. ¡°There¡­ isn¡¯t another Demon, right?¡± Cole shook his head, and the City-warden looked physically relieved. Returning his attention to the Huntet, Cole inquired. ¡°How are your purging wards and healing spells?¡± Reyna looked to her fellows and said. ¡°Are wards are strong, and we can heal well enough. What do you have in mind?¡± Gesturing around the clinic, Cole explained. ¡°I want to free these people from the Demon¡¯s web without hurting them. The web is brittle but entrenched; I can destroy it, but I want to ensure there is no backlash. Can your Huntet place purging wards around each patient and a larger containment ward around the building? Then stand ready in case anything goes wrong?¡± The lead Priestess nodded. ¡°We can do that; I assume you are planning an exorcism of some kind?¡± Cole smiled ruefully, ¡°Of some kind, yes.¡± Then, after a moment''s of consideration, he added. ¡°Alia, can your squad watch the Priests? I don¡¯t think the patients are capable of harming anyone, but I don¡¯t want our friends from the Eighth Temple getting distracted.¡± Cat-eyes nodded and sent two guards with each of the Priests as they spread out to place warding spells around the clinic. Alia stayed next to Cole, who had crouched in the courtyard''s center and started his preparations. Absently kicking a piece of the stone lion¡¯s head, she asked. ¡°So what are you doing? Will you use the Priest''s emotions to smash this ¡®web¡¯ or something else?¡± Shaking his head, Cole took a small pouch out of one of his pockets. He¡¯d not known exactly what to expect at the clinic, so he¡¯d grabbed an eclectic collection of tools he thought might be useful. Including a stick of chalk, he now used to draw a six-pointed star on the cobblestone center of the courtyard. Making sure it was aligned in the four prime directions, Cole nicked his thumb and smeared a drop of blood into all six triangle points of the star. Gesturing at the sigil, Cole explained. ¡°No, I¡¯m going to do a modified exorcism ritual. The Demon¡¯s influence is wormed into their minds and souls, but it hasn¡¯t fully subverted them like the cultists in the tunnels. Removing the tendrils of power without hurting them will be difficult but within my power. I¡¯m going to expose the corruption, and together with the Priests, we will free these people.¡± Sitting in the center of the six-pointed star, Cole shut his eyes and focused on the Aether. He felt the Priest¡¯s wards snap into place around the clinic. The magical protections cut the building off from the wider city and isolated the infected patients within aetheric ¡®bubbles.¡¯ Giving Cole a clean space to work and hopefully help these people. After maybe fifteen minutes, the last ward settled into place. The Priests were fast; the Eighth Temple had sent some of their best at his request. Cole reached out to the tangled web of dark tendrils that filled the local Aether. They were brittle but so enmeshed they could slip through the wards. The magical defenses not recognizing them as foreign to the infected patients. Something that was about to change. Calling up his cold power, Cole poured his soul into the Aether. The exorcism started as lances of silver light shot up from the six-sided star, one for each drop of blood he¡¯d put into the sigil. Cole¡¯s power flowed from him into the ritual mark and up through the shafts of light. The magic snaked out and connected with the web of corruption, catching it in six different places and pouring a God¡¯s essence into the web. In the Aether, strings of power hardened and were covered in metaphysical hoarfrost. Woven malice cracked and fell apart, the brittle strands collapsing like a frozen spiderweb. The wards isolating the clinic from the local Aether and Cole¡¯s own ritual preparations ensured the exorcising power spread through the entire web. Seeping out from Cole like holy fire, Master Time¡¯s might dissolved the threads bit by bit. Moving along the lines of darkness, leaving frozen, broken, magical effluvia in its wake. Cole felt when the first patient was touched by the power, their soul bathed in the numbing cold of a God. Panic, confusion, and worry boiled off them at the alien touch. Deeply entrenched corruption froze, withered, and died, leaving the infected soul like an old scab flaking off a wound. The patients'' emotions dulled and settled as the soothing cold lulled them into a dreamless sleep. By this time, Cole was less in control of the magic; another mind guided it, using him as the tool of influence. Despite what these poor people might have believed, a God was watching over them. As pieces of the metaphysical infection fell away into the Aether, they were snapped up by whirling clouds of emerald light. Shifting things of claws, fangs, beaks, and horns. The purging wards of Aunt Huntress ran down and destroyed the scraps of taint. When the last patient was freed from the corruption, the divine influence faded. With a relieved breath, Cole opened his eyes to the mundane and let his power fade away. To his amusement, his breath came out in chilly clouds, and the ground around him was stained with frost. Standing up, Cole nearly stumbled, Alia rushing forward to catch him, and then quickly backed away. She rubbed her hands in annoyance, trying to dissipate the cold that came with touching Cole. ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked while rubbing her hands in hopes of warming them up. Cole nodded and rolled his shoulders. ¡°Using power like that sometimes leaves me light-headed and off-balanced.¡± Putting her hands in her armpits, Alia nodded and said. ¡°I¡¯m assuming everyone is okay since you aren¡¯t freaking out?¡± Cole started to say something but instead went over to the unconscious bodies of the nurse and imposter. The tendrils that had infested the nurse were gone, and the deep wounds in the imposter were cauterized by the cold. ¡°Yes, everything should be fine. These people will need more treatment, but they aren¡¯t in any true danger at the moment.¡± Cat-eyes nodded and looked up at the courtyard glass ceiling. ¡°Well, what now?¡± An uncharacteristically cruel smile split Cole¡¯s face. ¡°Now? We go ask House Louon why they were hiding Demonic corruption and then tear the bastards down.¡± Alia snorted in grim amusement. ¡°Sounds fun.¡± Book II: Chapter 39: House of Lies

Chapter 39: House of Lies

¡°My eyes¡­ why doesn¡¯t he have my eyes? YOU! YOU SLATTERN, WHAT DID YOU DO? WHO DID YOU SLEEP WITH! Grafling Louon, please! She¡¯s just given bir-AGH SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP! Wha-Father? What are you- Boy! Be calm; this is what we hoped for. That is your son and the future of our house. Leave and let me speak to my daughter-in-law. We have much to discuss. My liege¡­ she¡¯s exhausted, the birthing was difficult, surely this can wait. No, it cannot.¡± - Memories of a Midwife.
Healers, Priests, and guards swarmed into the clinic, checking the unconscious patients, making plans for their care and protection. Leaving Cole sitting on a bench near the charity-house, a bored Cat-eyes next to him. Iron-teeth was helping coordinate the various responders, something that was clearly stepping on his Karlhof counterpart¡¯s toes. A large man with a pugilist¡¯s face and hands who wasn¡¯t pleased to have his territory impinged on. Sucking in breaths of the cold winter air, Cole focused on recovering after his earlier expenditure. The effort hadn¡¯t used much of his power, but channeling a God''s will was never easy. How little it taxed Cole¡¯s soul actually shocked him. He¡¯d been miserly with his Paladin abilities until relatively recently. Doubt and angst trammeled him until sheer necessity forced his hand. Now facing these greater challenges and responsibilities, Cole was forced to rely more on his divine gifts. Gifts that were steadily but consistently growing in potency, variety, and efficiency with use. Watching as another gaggle of healers arrived, Alia Cat-eyes asked. ¡°So what now?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°We wait a little longer; our next step should be clear shortly.¡± Alia leaned back on the bench and sighed. ¡°I assumed we¡¯d just leave here and go fuck up the Louons, not sit around for what, half an hour now?¡± An amused breath escaped Cole. ¡°Believe me, I¡¯d like that as well, but I want to check something first.¡± They sat in silence for a little longer before Alia said. ¡°So¡­. I heard some crazy shit happened at the ball. Is it true Natalie ate someone, and you miraculously recovered from being paralyzed?¡± A deep groan of annoyance escaped Cole. ¡°She fed off the two Vampires that attacked, letting us capture one and forcing the other to flee. As for me, well, I heal quickly.¡± Alia raised an eyebrow. ¡°When I saw Mina this morning, she seemed really spooked by you. Sure, there isn¡¯t more to it?¡± Mina didn¡¯t know about Cole¡¯s nature, but she was smart enough to notice the oddities. He wondered if she¡¯d eventually discover the truth. ¡°There is more to it, but I¡¯m not going to tell you. By the way, how is it going with Mina?¡± Cole was picking up some tricks for verbal sparring from Natalie and figured if Alia was going to pry, he could answer in kind. The Catblood shifted slightly and shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it''s too early to tell, but¡­ I think it''s good.¡± Nodding, Cole said. ¡°Good, I¡¯m glad. Thank you for winning me the bet.¡± Alia snorted and remarked. ¡°Oh yeah? What did you win from Natalie?¡± A rueful smile split Cole¡¯s face, and Alia just stared at him as dawning comprehension. ¡°Fire-in-iron, did I help you take a tumble?¡± Cole shrugged a little sheepishly. ¡°More you decided the details of said tumble.¡± Cat-eyes balked at that and shook her head. ¡°So¡­ what¡¯s it like¡­ y¡¯know, with a Vampire.¡± Cole just looked at her for a long moment before saying. ¡°Alia, I consider you a friend, but not that good of a friend.¡± She snorted in amusement. ¡°Fair enough.¡± The clatter of hooves and crunch of boots caught both their attention then. A troop of soldiers led by a mounted knight was marching down the street. Each soldier wore chainmail covered by a gold-colored tabard. The knight had fine plate armor and an ornate helmet shaped like a snarling lion-head. His mount was a Hippogryph, the huge beast¡¯s wings twitching as it walked, clearly eager to fly. Getting up and unsheathing Requiem, Cole rolled his shoulder and started walking down the street. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Alia got up and joined him. They¡¯d been expecting a Louon response to the nurse¡¯s message, but this was a bit¡­ much. Cole stopped maybe twenty paces from the column of soldiers, twenty house guards, and their commander. The knight raised his visor, revealing the hawkish features and golden eyes of a Louon. In a sharp voice that carried, the knight barked. ¡°What is the meaning of this False-Paladin? Why are you here, and what is going on?¡± Rolling Requiem in his palm, Cole said. ¡°I know what your family was doing at the Saint Eustace clinic. Soon the whole singing city will know as well. Would you preserve what honor you have, Sir Knight, and help me end this madness?¡± The Knight¡¯s eyes flashed with anger. ¡°I know not of what you speak, False-Paladin. What madness has your undead harlot poured into your mind now? What slander do you hope to smear on my house now?¡± Ignoring the taunt, Cole answered. ¡°Taking those infected by a Demon''s corruption and using them to create loyal servants. That takes a particularly twisted mind to even imagine, let alone do. Are you merely stupid enough not to notice this festering evil, or were you party to it?¡± The house guard shifted slightly at Cole¡¯s words, more than a few looking past Cole to the crowd of carriages, wagons, and healers surrounding the charity house. It occurred to Cole then that maybe some of these soldiers had family within the clinic. Putting their minds at ease would be the right thing to do and might be tactically prudent. ¡°The clinic''s patients are no longer in danger. The illness effecting them was a product of the Demon beneath the city. I destroyed it and broke the lingering power. House Louon has kept these people hostage, treating their sickness but not curing them. That ends today; the Pantheon burned away the last remnants of the Demon¡¯s corruption, and now they can truly heal.¡± Uncertainty, confusion, and doubt showed in some of the soldiers; seizing on this, Cole brandished Requiem at the knight. ¡°So answer me! Did you not know what your House was doing, or were you culpable in this evil?¡± The Knight answered. ¡°You truly are deluded; you spew nonsense and pretend the gods act through you. No one will believe your slander.¡± Shaking his head in disgust, Cole said. ¡°I think people will. I think they will listen to the truth and stand with me when I tear down your House and expose it for the mire of twisted insanity it is! Tell me, knight, do you fear middle age? Do you lay awake wondering when your mind will betray you? Or has it started too already, and that is why you play along with this madness? Your mind already warped by the curse of Dragon and Dragonslayer?¡± The Hippogryph Knight unsheathed his sword and charged Cole then. Six hundred kilos of furious beast and rider galloped towards the Paladin. An act that shocked Cole; he¡¯d not expected the Louon Knight to attack. Or at least not attack with such brazenness; trampling a Paladin in front of a street worth of witnesses isn¡¯t the sort of thing a House trying to be subtle would condone. Cole quickly extended Requiem into a halberd and braced it on the ground. But before dwarven-steel could meet monster flesh, the hippogryph spread its wings. The charging hoofbeats were drowned out by the whoosh of giant pinons. The hippogryph leaped forward and into the air, its hooves lashing out for Cole¡¯s head. Ducking quickly, he and Cat-eyes dropped to the city street as the monster flew over them. Getting up and spinning to look, Cole watched as the hippogryph took to the air and flew up above the buildings of Karlhof. Its huge wings frantically pushed it to the sky. The monster banked in the air once it was maybe thirty meters up and soared towards the city center. Heading for the noble districts and their manors. Cat-eyes also watched the fleeing noble and spat a glob of phlegm in his direction. ¡°Fucker could have killed us!¡± Cole nodded. ¡°I think he hoped to. No matter, we can add that crime to the tally. I think he¡¯s heading to the Louon estate, probably trying to warn the rest of his family.¡± Alia frowned. ¡°Will that be a problem? They could destroy evidence or get the story straight?¡± A bitter laugh escaped Cole. ¡°What story? That a powerful family with magic, money, and connections discovered evidence of Demonic corruption and did nothing? At best, they could plead ignorance and say they were stupid enough not to notice a literal demon infection in people under their control. As for the evidence, that is a valid concern but at this point¡­ not as much as it could be.¡± Stepping towards the shocked soldiers who seemed uncertain what to do, Cole scanned them, peering into the Aether and looking for familiar signs. He¡¯d spent much time looking at Black-tongue and Big-nose in the Aether. While he was poor at recognizing spells, he was familiar enough to see the magic of house mark geases on maybe five of the twenty soldiers. Letting his power dim, Cole saw the soldiers looking at him with undisguised fear. ¡°House Louon will fall today; that isn¡¯t a threat or speculation, but a fact. The question is will the lot of you fall with them? I know some of you are under a Geas and cannot tell me what I need to know. But it''s within the power of my Temple to remove those spells. Work with me and I will see you are treated with mercy and maybe even clemency depending on the situation.¡± None of the soldiers responded, each wary of being the first to speak. Finally, one in the back asked. ¡°Can ya cure werewoofs?¡± Other soldiers winced, and a few gave the speaker dirty looks. Pushing past his fellows, the soldier in question came to stand before Cole. He was young, barely out of his teens, with buck teeth. Nervously he came before them and asked. ¡°Tah curse of the Wolf, can it be cured?¡± Cole shook his head but elaborated. ¡°Completely? No, it cannot. But the Werefolk have long learned to manage and live with the curse. They have spells and potions that dull the beast and let a person survive the initial transformation with their mind intact. The wolf''s blood may be a curse, but it is no death sentence.¡± The speaker¡¯s jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard. Pulling off his helmet, he tossed it to the ground and stalked toward Cole. Scratching his scraggly beard, he said. ¡°Me brother was bit, and the Louons¡­ they said he would become a monster. They¡­ they killed him.¡± One of the other soldiers lunged forward, sword ready to end the speaker, but Requiem knocked the strike away. Grabbing the attacker, Cole knocked him to the ground and kicked him in the gut, forcing him to gasp in pain, revealing the tattoo on his tongue. Cat-eyes got some strong rope and bound the house-marked soldier while Cole turned his attention back to the speaker. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked the very nervous-looking man. Stepping away from his fellow soldiers, many of whom were looking at him with derision or confusion, the speaker said. ¡°Lam, me name is Lam. Me brother was Ian, and we fought for the Louons; we¡­ we thought we were fighting for the city.¡± Placing a strong hand on Lam¡¯s shoulder, Cole asked. ¡°You were in the riot, weren¡¯t you? One of the soldiers who fought the Werefolk.¡± Glancing back at his fellows, who seemed caught between fear and duty, Lam answered. ¡°Yeah, a lot of us were. They said if the people had any chance of driving out the monsters, they needed good steel backing them. Or¡­ well, silver in a lot of cases.¡± Lam seemed to get lost in memories for a second, his eyes unfocusing, and tremors started in one hand. Recovering himself, he said. ¡°We fought the monsters, but we didn¡¯t protect nobody. It was no fight, it was butchery. My brother was bitten by a wolf, and I dragged him away from the fight. We¡­ we felt your light but I was looking away from you, I was trying to bandage my brother.¡± His words came faster and less certain as if Lam was trying to rush through the memories, unwilling to stay on any particular one for long. Giving the house guard a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, Cole turned to the rest of the soldiers. ¡°Work with me and help get justice for Vindabon and yourself. The Louons used you all and have discarded you. Your officer¡¯s flight illustrates that much. The House of Liars has shown you no loyalty; why should you give them yours?¡± By now, Iron-teeth and other guards had broken away from the charity house to figure out what was happening. Cole gestured to them and then at the soldiers. ¡°Take these men into protective custody. They can tell us much of Louon¡¯s dealings, or at least the smart ones will. Also, send a runner to the Eighth Temple and ask if anyone is skilled enough to safely remove lesser Geases.¡± The soldiers of House Louon looked uncertain at this, and Cole offered them a cold glare. ¡°You are all victims in this mess, but you are also perpetrators. I am offering you the chance to make things right, do not refuse it.¡± Twenty armed men trained for war quailed at the Paladin¡¯s wrath and let themselves be disarmed and collected by the city guards. As this happened, Cole went to Iron-teeth, who was directing the mass arrest and said. ¡°I¡¯m borrowing Cat-eyes for what''s next; I¡¯ll send a message when it comes time to take Louon Manor. But other things are required before that.¡± The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Iron-teeth raised a bushy eyebrow. ¡°What is coming next? I¡¯ve done as you requested, Cole, but I¡¯d like to know more. I could understand your woman¡¯s theory about the Demon corruption among the servants. Still, I¡¯m confused about what you are doing now?¡± Cole nodded in acquiescence. ¡°The faith you¡¯ve shown in me is appreciated. I found where Liam Louon lives, an apartment in Weinstadt. We couldn¡¯t search it until we had a proper cause, which this whole mess here gives us. But now that House Louon is realizing everything is collapsing, they might try and destroy any evidence. Before that can happen, I need to investigate, preferably with the help of a skilled tracker vested with the city¡¯s authority.¡± A hard smile showed behind Iron-teeth¡¯s beard. ¡°Clever, alright, go ahead and find something we can use to hang the bastard.¡±
It didn¡¯t take long for Cole and Alia to arrive back in Weinstadt; they were both fast and knew the city well. Finding Liam Louon¡¯s apartment didn¡¯t prove particularly difficult either. Weinstadt wasn¡¯t exactly overflowing with luxury buildings suitable for an heir to a powerful noble house. In fact, it had exactly one building meeting those standards. The Prinzhof was a miniature palace built by a rich merchant for himself and his fellow low-born plutocrats. Despite this origin, it had apparently attracted a few members of the old families wanting lodging outside their traditional territories. Cat-eyes told Cole all this as they approached the building. Despite her laid-back attitude, she was surprisingly knowledgeable about the Thirteenth District¡¯s minutia. Which Cole realized was honestly to be expected for a City-warden. Arriving at the doors of the Prinzhof, the duo was met by a surly looking watchman who probably had some Orc in his ancestry judging by his underbite. ¡°Who are you, and what do you want?¡± he growled, setting down a well-worn pipe as he did. Alia held up her badge and explained. ¡°I¡¯m City-warden Cat-eyes with the Watch, and I need to see the apartment belonging to Liam Louon.¡± The doorman exhaled a cloud of smoke and said. ¡°Come back with permission from the Court, Council, or the Louons. Till then, kindly bugger off.¡± Looking at Cole, Alia said. ¡°Your turn.¡± Silver light started to pour from Cole¡¯s eyes. ¡°I am Paladin Cole, sworn to Master Time, and I need to see that apartment. House Louon has been hiding Demonic corruption, and everything belonging to them is suspect. Let us pass, now.¡± The doorman started to bridle at Cole¡¯s attitude, but as the Paladin¡¯s words made it through the doorman¡¯s thick skull, he paled and stepped aside. ¡°Uh¡­ its¡­ it''s on the third floor. I don¡¯t have a key.¡± City-warden and Paladin entered the building and started for the staircase. Barely noticing the extravagance of the surrounding building as they did. Alia was focused on the hunt, and Cole had had more than enough aristocratic conceit. As they climbed the stairs, Alia asked. ¡°So I¡¯ve jumped into this mess willingly, but now that it''s getting messier, could you answer some questions?¡± Cole nodded and said. ¡°Ask away.¡± Running a finger along an immaculately polished hand railing, she said. ¡°So the Louons are sick with some kinda mind-breaking illness that is probably caused by them being half Dragonslayer, half Dragonblood right? And this madness is why this Liam-fuck has been killing people since he was an eight-year-old?¡± Cole bobbed his head in confirmation as he glanced around, wary of any traps or tricks. Scratching her head, Alia continued. ¡°And because we don¡¯t have enough evidence that doesn¡¯t rely on a Vampire or your weird magic, we need another way to catch the Heartstealer. Which was using their connections to the Demon to basically call a hunt down on them? Since it''s pretty much anything-goes for dealing with Demonic corruption and all that terrible shit.¡± Again Cole nodded. ¡°Do you have a question, or are you just trying to ensure you¡¯re follow along?¡± Alia snorted. ¡°Yes to both. I was getting to asking if the Louons knew about a Demon beneath the city and were willing to use it; why didn¡¯t they make a deal with it to cure their illness?¡± A bitter laugh escaped Cole. ¡°Everything the Louons have done has had a logic to it, a cruel psychotic logic, but there has been a tangible benefit. Mad as they may be, there is no benefit in consorting with Demons. Any help it might provide would come at a steep cost and certainly not be what they wished for. The Demon is a poison; they used it to ensure loyalty and probably dispose of people, now that I think of it. But they wouldn¡¯t use it on themselves, or at least I doubt they would.¡± Accepting that, Alia added. ¡°So Liam Louon is probably double-crazy because of his mother, and that''s why he¡¯s been terrible since childhood? So why is his family protecting him instead of I dunno locking him up or getting rid of him? If I were the head of a powerful family that couldn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass about morality, I¡¯d smother the little shit and be done with it?¡± Cole frowned and looked at Alia with a slightly worried expression. She shrugged. ¡°Just in theory, putting myself in the enemy''s boots and all that.¡± Shrugging as they reached the third-story landing Cole said. ¡°I don¡¯t know, possibly because he¡¯s the heir? There might be other reasons. Hopefully, we learn them here.¡± Alia cursed as they arrived at the apartment door. ¡°Jag-me-stupid, this is too complicated. Not even including the attempted framing of the Moonmoot and the stuff with the riot. I can¡¯t wait to go back to cut purses and street gangs.¡± Cole grunted in agreement. If he was being perfectly honest, he¡¯d much prefer simple ghouls or even a feral Strigoi out in the wilderness than this morass they¡¯d gotten caught up in. At the door to Liam¡¯s apartment, the two looked for locks or traps. Cole peered into the Aether and Alia finessing the lock. No spells or tripwires were apparent, so Alia picked the lock and swung the door open. The glow stones of the apartment activated on their entrance and shed cool light over a bizarre scene. Liam¡¯s home was simultaneously one of the single most clean and messy places Cole had ever seen. The main room was a large rectangle centered around a dining table and parlor of sorts. The floors were polished to a mirror finish, and the wooden furniture practically sparkled. But the main table was heaped with garbage. Filthy clothes, old dishes encrusted with stains, a collection of ill-treated books, and interspersed between all this was a hoard of knick-knacks. The stink of garbage was contrasted by a nauseating smell of perfume, neither scent quite canceling out the other, simply adding to the discordance of the room. Alia spoke for both of them as she glanced around the room. ¡°What the fuck?¡± Stepping over to one wall, Cole found a bookshelf, its volumes were placed poorly, and it looked like half-a-dozen texts would tumble out if someone sneezed. Reaching up, he ran a finger along the top of the bookshelf; not a speck of dust was to be found. Alia covered her nose with a handkerchief, trying to ignore the morass of contradicting smells. Muttering, ¡°How didn¡¯t we notice that through the door?¡± Cole answered. ¡°Air-cleaner spell attached to the door and every other one I saw in the building. Just another amenity to add to this place''s appeal.¡± Alia walked over to the table and peered at the books. A snort of grim amusement escaped her as she checked them over. ¡°I¡¯ve got a text on Werewolf attacks and another on soporific medicine. If that isn¡¯t telling, I don¡¯t know what is?¡± Making a noise of agreement, Cole went over to the fireplace and crouched down. A few hunks of ashen wood sat on the log set, but the actual stone hearth was shockingly clean as if it had only seen one or two fires since its last scrubbing. The mantelpiece, by contrast, was covered in junk, the various accreta of life placed without care. In the middle of it was a small statuette of a lion. Quickly, Cole grabbed the palm-sized statue and crushed it, reducing the figurine to pebbles. Alia turned at the noise and raised an eyebrow at the act. Dropping the statue into the fireplace, Cole shrugged. ¡°Better safe than sorry.¡± Resuming her search, Alia went over to what passed for the apartment¡¯s kitchen, little more than a series of cabinets and a sink. The cabinets held salt, spices, and other necessities of dining. Except for the actual food, there was no ice box or anything resembling a pantry. Noting this, Alia said. ¡°You think he just ate elsewhere or what?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°Maybe he had food delivered here; seems like something a noble would do.¡± Looking at the sink, Alia bent down and looked below it. The wash basin was built over a storage space that reeked of whatever perfume the apartment was infused with. It didn¡¯t take her long to find an uncorked bottle of perfume in the cabinet. Corking it with a noise of disgust, Alia¡¯s sensitive eyes caught something else deep in the space. Reaching in, she pulled out a small purple bottle. Returning to Cole, she held up the half-filled bottle. ¡°Dream-sap, probably what was used to drug the victims¡± Making a noise of disgust, Cole said. ¡°Good work; let''s check the bedroom next.¡± The sleeping space was much like the rest of the apartment. Heaps of clothes and refuse sat next to a perfectly made bed, its sheets crisp and clean. Leaning down, Cole sniffed the sheets and nodded. ¡°Same soap as used at the Laundry yard; he probably had been watching Antony even before the Gryp game.¡± Taking another breath, Cole frowned; he caught two other scents beneath the soap. The first was sweat tinged with arousal and fear; the other smell was dried blood. Disgusted, Cole followed the scent. The sweat was clearly coming from the actual bed, but the blood was from below it. Pulling on the mattress, he found his target, an old leather belt. It was frayed beyond belief, and the buckle was rusted. The stink of blood, both fresh and old, oozed off the belt. Cole carefully held it with two fingers; even for a Knight used to fighting walking corpses, something about the belt felt distinctly unclean. Setting it on the floor, Cole felt a slight coldness in his chest, his power reacting to something in the belt. Alia looked at it, her nose wrinkling as her own animal instincts set off by the strip of leather. Rubbing his jaw, Cole looked at her and said, ¡°If I pass out, throw some water on me; if the water freezes, go get help.¡± She looked at him strangely, and he shrugged. ¡°If this thing is so emotionally charged, we can both sense it, then it''s going to be bad when I peer into the Aether.¡± Alia rolled her shoulders and cursed. ¡°Fuck¡­.¡± Cole snorted in grim amusement. ¡°Pretty much.¡± Then before he could doubt his choice, Cole dived into the Aether and stared at the belt. The first thing that became apparent is there was nothing magical about the belt. No spells had been weaved upon it, neither had it witnessed any great arcane feats. The closest magical thing to it was how long it had been in proximity to someone with arcane potential and how much of that person''s blood had soaked into it. The second thing that became apparent was how much pain the belt had caused. The Aether was soaked in suffering; a lifetime of torment and horror was infused into the belt. So much so that flashes of events danced around it. Currents of pain forming pantomime shapes. Focusing on the aetheric projections, Cole tried to decipher them. As the metaphysical backlash struck Cole, he regretted the decision. *A naked child on his knees, a middle age woman screaming at him* *The belt cut young skin, its whip-crack accompanied by high-pitched screams.* * Hands raw from scrubbing, back flensed by leather, mind broken by fear * * The woman lies dead, hand clutching her chest, eyes bulging with a final scream* *A knife drips with blood. It is held in small hands. A hunk of meat lies on the floor, a stolen heart.* *A maid screaming at the child, the knife finds her flesh, and she dies in pain.* *A washerman lies against his tub, drunk; he barely feels the blade part his skin* *The belt in the child''s hands, now a teenager. The belt does as it always has, no longer prompted by an external voice* Reality returned to Cole as cold water splashed onto his face. Spluttering, Cole realized he¡¯d fallen to the floor, and Cat-eyes had dumped a hastily filled pitcher of water on him. Blinking away the visions, Cole felt nauseous. He¡¯d touched many tragedies in the Aether, but this¡­ this had to be the worst. Sitting up, Cole groaned, and Alia helped him to his feet. Concern writ large on her face, she asked. ¡°What happened?¡± Tongue leaden, mind foggy, Cole grunted. ¡°Liam Louon is a lot more damaged than we thought.¡± After a few long breaths, he explained what he saw in the Aether, and Alia¡¯s tan face lost a few shades. ¡°That¡­. that¡¯s horrible,¡± Shut muttered, a nauseous look on her face. Cole nodded. ¡°It certainly explains some things. I don¡¯t think Liam had a chance, even without the family curse. That sort of abuse is¡­¡± Pausing, Cole looked down at the blood-stained belt and frowned. Something that Natalie said floated back to him. How Liam¡¯s blood didn¡¯t have the sweet rot in it like his cousin did. Leaning down, Cole grabbed the belt and folded it gently, thoughts working through his head. Glancing around the apartment, he tried to assemble all the pieces. Something was nagging at his mind, but he couldn¡¯t understand it, so he laid out the situation. ¡°Liam was killing noble servants, people he saw as bad caretakers. Reenacting his trauma with Michelle Stine over and over. Then something happened; he was probably found out. But instead of getting him help or disposing of him, his family moved him to Weinstadt. Protecting and caring for Liam while also keeping the House at a distance. So he moved onto murdering people in Weinstadt, timing his new killings to the Moonmoot as a cover.¡± Frowning, Alia asked. ¡°You think his nanny was the one who beat him with the belt? Why didn¡¯t anyone notice or stop it?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°His parents both died violently in an incident that nearly ruined the House. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if Liam was just handed off to a nanny and ignored while the family tried to right the ship. But that is just a guess; maybe someone under the effects of the curse hoped to punish Liam for his father¡¯s failings.¡± Shaking her head, Alia looked at the belt in Cole¡¯s hand and muttered. ¡°I¡­ I almost feel bad for him.¡± ¡°That proves you are a good person.¡± Responded Cole, before adding, ¡°I think it''s probably why the Gods have been so unwilling to interfere in this, only acting once the threat became bad enough. The Gods have difficulty with moral complexity, and this situation is anything but clear. House Louon is effected by a curse none of its members deserved, driving them insane and to terrible acts. Liam suffered a nightmarish childhood and is a product of that trauma. The Gods have difficulty assigning blame in cases like this.¡± Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Alia snapped. ¡°That¡¯s ratshit! These fuckers had every resource and advantage at their disposal. My people deal with an inherited curse, and we don¡¯t protect our kin if they go bad! We make sure they can¡¯t hurt anyone; we take that responsibility onto ourselves.¡± Cole nodded soberly. ¡°Yes, which is why mortals decide these things, not Gods. They¡¯ve given us guidelines of morality, and it''s up to us to interpret them. House Louon isn¡¯t just cursed; it is a curse upon this city.¡± Cat-eyes grimaced at that but nodded in agreement. ¡°So, did we find what we needed here?¡± Glancing around the apartment, Cole answered. ¡°I¡¯d hoped to find more adamant evidence, but what we found will do. Understanding our enemy is important, and I think we know what led to the Heart-stealer¡¯s existence. Let''s check the other rooms and then move on.¡± There was a bathroom and a storage space also in the apartment. Nothing about them was abnormal aside from the contradicting cleanliness and filth. The storage room, in particular, was a mess, filled with the debris of life in great piles of old paper, mementos, and other forms of junk. As Cole was ready to leave the room, Cat-eyes stopped her search and stared at one of the walls. Without saying anything, she left the room, went into the hallway, and then the bedroom. The storage room and bedroom were next to each other, separated by a wall. Cole followed Cat-eyes and watched as she stared at the opposite side of the wall and then returned to the storage room. Looking at him, she gestured at the wall. ¡°The storage room is missing space. I think there''s a hidden room.¡± Frowning, Cole went over to the wall and put a hand on it. Now that she¡¯d pointed it out, Cole could notice the discrepancy. ¡°Good catch; how¡¯d you notice?¡± Joining him in looking for a latch, Alia explained. ¡°I¡¯ve known many criminals who¡¯ve used stuff like this. Spotting fake walls and drawers is a skill you pick up.¡± Shutting her eyes, Alia let her hands trace along the wall. It was paneled wood and was spotless, so when Alia¡¯s sensitive fingers caught on something, she smiled. Fitting a sharp fingernail beneath the discrepancy, Alia flipped open a hidden latch and exposed a keyhole. Pulling out her lock picks, she started working on the hidden door. Cole pulled out his amulet and used it to shine a light on the project as Alia worked. Finally, with a click the lock opened and a handle popped out of the wall. Cole grabbed it and pulled, sliding part of the wall into its fellows like an eastern folding screen. As the paneled wood slid away, the stink of chemicals poured out of the hidden room. It stunk like a mortuary and as Cole¡¯s summoned light poured into the space, the comparison became even more apt. A large set of shelves took up the hidden room, shelves filled with glass jars. Jars holding pickled human hearts. As Cat-eyes and Cole stared at the grotesque display, the City-warden muttered. ¡°Well, how is that for evidence?¡± Book II: Chapter 40: Besieged

Chapter 40: Besieged

¡°Good magical defenses are much like their mundane equivalents. Layered, interlocking, and capable of adapting to new situations. Similarly, there are varieties of magical defenses, with wards being the most basic. Wards are, in essence, ¡®walls¡¯ in the Aether, creating blockades that magic cannot pass through easily. Requiring subversion, destruction, or manipulation to bypass. Of course, there are as many types of wards as there are spellcasters. Still, for our purposes, the analogy of curtain wall or armor plating is probably the most useful.¡± - Lecture on Arcane Defenses by Preceptor Tomlin of the Urdam Ivory Tower.
It took two hours to assemble the city council. Pulling them from whatever dealings or distractions they had on New Year''s Day proved no easy task, but the guard proved capable of it. Once assembled, the council session didn¡¯t take nearly as long Cole feared. Declaring House Louon enemies of the city took approximately five minutes. The testimony of a Paladin, two Guard Captain, and several respected Priests wasn¡¯t even what really swayed the council. They made up their minds when forty-six human hearts preserved in briney fluid were presented to them. That sort of sight tended to leave an impression, especially when the hearts in question were collected from the home of their superior¡¯s heir. As the council''s shock faded and pragmatism started to show, Cole knew the fall of House Louon would shake the political bedrock of Vindabon. The decision to decry House Louon would open up countless opportunities and surely set off a shadow war that would keep the nobility and their low-born rivals busy for years. Cole frankly couldn¡¯t care less about such things; if another monster rose up in the wake of the Louons, he''d destroy it too. With the signed and sealed Council writ, Cole and the City Guard marched on Louon manor. A small army of guards from across the entire city, alongside contingents of Priests and Magi from their various institutions, had been assembled to bring about the collapse of Louon. Upon seeing the assembled force, Cole initially thought its size and diversity had more to do with a desire for political capital than any real necessity. But upon arriving at Louon Keep, Cole realized he¡¯d been mistaken. Keeping a large manor within Vindabon was the ultimate symbol of power and influence. Demonstrating a family had the wealth and connections to take up a city block''s worth of land for their own use. Most manors were sprawling estates like what the DeMello¡¯s had. Still, other families like the Louons let their tastes fall into a more¡­ practical style. Louon Keep was not a palace; it was a castle. With high walls slitted by murder holes and the only entrance a heavy portcullis. Cole frowned, looking up at the manned walls of the keep and tasting the aetheric power swirling around the castle. It seemed House Louon still had other troops loyal to its cause. But that wasn¡¯t what really bothered him; the powerful series of wards covering the Keep had his attention. More than stone and steel protected the Louons, they had complicated magical defenses encircling their home. Captain Iron-teeth stood next to Cole, shading his eyes from the winter sunlight and scanning the battlements. ¡°I¡¯m counting at least thirty men-at-arms and a similar number of archers. We know the Louons have Magi among them, so we can count on them causing problems.¡± Exhaling softly, Cole asked. ¡°I take it the whole family is within the Keep? Or have the Guard found any stragglers?¡± Nodding, the Captain explained. ¡°We think the Hippogryph Knight¡¯s warning was enough to get them all inside. They moved fast; I think they had plans in case of something like this.¡± Looking back at the assembled steel of Vindabon, Iron-teeth sighed. ¡°Y¡¯know, if you told a younger me I¡¯d be part of an army tasked with bringing down a Louon, I¡¯d have drunk a cask of ale in celebration. Now¡­ now I can only think about how many people will die in this foolishness.¡± Grunting in agreement, Cole watched as a city herald passed by them. A puffed-up woman wearing a panoply of livery that proclaimed her status and importance to all. A large ivory scroll case was tucked under one arm, the city¡¯s official writ. The herald stepped through the blockade of soldiers and approached the keep¡¯s gate. Attackers and defenders watched as the Herald unfurled her scroll and proclaimed the charges in a magically amplified voice. ¡°Graf Isac Louon! On orders of the City Council, and with the power vested in them by Elector Prince Yoseph Franz, you are ordered to surrender yourself into city custody. House Louon is hereby accused of consorting with the Outer Dark and instigating civil discontent with the goal of hurting the city and its friends. Grafling Liam Louon is also ordered to surrender to the Tenth Temple as part of the investigation into the Heartstealer murders. Accept this ruling and throw yourself upon Vindabon¡¯s mercy!¡± The Louon answer came in the form of fire. Someone on the walls tossed a sphere of white-hot flame at the Herald. She didn¡¯t even flinch as the fireball exploded a meter away from her. Hundreds of soldiers shied away from the blast, looking back to see the Herald unharmed. Only a few didn¡¯t flinch from the spell and saw what had happened. The fire wrapped around the air, smashing into an invisible defense surrounding the Herald. Fading away into sparks that didn¡¯t even touch the plume of the Herald¡¯s hat. Cole watched this happen but barely paid attention. His mind was focused on the abomination that just manifested behind him. Something had walked through a wrinkle in reality and manifested among the besiegers. A thing that stunk of ancient death and filled the Aether with its leviathan presence. Muscles taught with stress, Cole didn¡¯t turn when a genial voice spoke behind him and Iron-teeth. ¡°Now, now, that was very rude. Don¡¯t they know the Heralds are under my protection? It''s one of the little ways I keep my city nice and civil.¡± Iron-teeth spun to look at the newcomer, and Cole forced himself to do so as well. An average man of middle age and fine clothes leaned on a walking stick a step behind Cole. Iron-teeth frowned at the newcomer and asked. ¡°Are you one of the Magi the Ivory Tower sent to help?¡± The Lych¡¯s mouth quirked in a smile. ¡°In a manner of speaking, yes, yes, I am.¡± looking at Cole, the elder monster snorted in amusement. ¡°So you can see past my new facade, Sir Paladin? Interesting but not unexpected, Number Ten wouldn¡¯t want me tricking one of his favorite tools.¡± Nodding his head in courtesy, Cole rasped. ¡°First Preceptor, are you here to protect your Herald or something else?¡± Iron-teeth glanced at the Lych, and his mouth fell open in shock. He¡¯d read Cat-eyes and Mina¡¯s report about the First Preceptor. The Lych ignored the stunned Captain and stepped past the two, watching as his Herald retreated, bowing to him as she did. ¡°I could stop such trifling spells if I were in Parilux and still asleep; that is, if I still needed sleep. No, I came to observe Henricus¡¯s work.¡± Gesturing up at the walls and the wards protecting them, the Lych explained. ¡°The great-great-grand-uncle of the current Graf was a student of mine. He was a middling Magi but an excellent schemer, which these defensive spells perfectly demonstrate. Nothing original in them; everything about the wards is stolen, but brilliantly so!¡± Nodding to the Magi and Priests who were hard at work trying to decipher and disable the magical defenses, the Lych explained. ¡°They should figure it out in a few hours, but I¡¯ll spare you the time as payment for helping clean up my city. The Keep¡¯s wards are borrowed from the city''s own defenses, not the designs but the actual spells. Henricus found a way to trick the wards into protecting his family keep, extending the Temple and Tower¡¯s work to include Louon Keep.¡± Frowning, Cole tried to phrase out this information. ¡°Could we modify the city defenses and bypass the Keep¡¯s wards that way?¡± The Lych nodded approvingly. ¡°Good question, but no. Henricus was smart enough to create a secondary line of protection. No, these defenses will stand until something powerful enough to destroy the city¡¯s wards break them, or someone inside turns them off. The second option is unlikely, and the first would destroy every ward on the city.¡± Recovering himself slightly, Iron-teeth asked. ¡°I suppose you wouldn¡¯t be willing to break through the wards then?¡± A short laugh escaped the Lych. ¡°There are still two healthy Seraphs within the city, and I¡¯d rather not fight them. Besides, it would leave the city open to all manner of danger. If my prognostications are even close to correct, those defenses will be needed in the coming years. No, it seems to me Vindabon will be engaged in an internal siege for the next few months until someone or something inside that Keep breaks.¡± Pondering everything the Lych said, Cole slowly asked. ¡°The Keep¡¯s wards perfectly reflect the city wards? There aren¡¯t any other spells protecting the estate?¡± Shrugging, the Lych answered. ¡°Nothing of significant power. Why risk detection or even damaging the defenses by trying to add more to it? No, Henricus was brilliantly lazy; he ensured his family could just leech off the city. A parasite protected from everything, including its host. It''s honestly impressive in a cesspit-critter sort of way.¡± Cole understood then why the Lych was speaking with them. He was a bull being led by its nose, guided toward the solution the ancient undead monster had devised. A solution that Cole did not like. Shutting his eyes, fighting the sickening truth of the Lych, he asked. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you would exploit the weakness in the wards and help finish this mess?¡± Another laugh escaped the old monster. ¡°Oh, you are smart! No, I will not. I¡¯ve done enough to help. Swooping in at the very end and solving everything would end this story on a boring note. I¡¯ll let the precocious girl play her role; that would be a much more satisfying conclusion.¡± Then with a pop of displaced air, the Lych was gone, returned to his lair, and divorced from the crisis. Licking suddenly chapped lips, Iron-teeth asked. ¡°What was that about? What weakness in the wards?¡± Groaning, Cole looked up at the walls of Louon Keep. ¡°When the Ashborn Vampire attacked, something seriously damaged the city wards. Particularly the section created and maintained by the Tenth Temple. Right now, the city is only protected from the undead by its physical defenders. None of the magic that would detect and bind the Undead or their magic is working. And if the Louon wards are part of the city wards, then¡­¡± Iron-teeth leaned back in sudden understanding. ¡°An undead could infiltrate and deactivate the Keep defenses. And the Lych is leaving that up to your lass.¡± Cole nodded, and Iron-teeth frowned. ¡°A bold plan, but can Natalie do it? I can¡¯t imagine they wouldn¡¯t notice her climbing those walls. Maybe if we waited for nightfall, but still, it''s a slagging risk.¡± Sighing, Cole answered. ¡°It is, and I don¡¯t want her to take it. But¡­I won¡¯t insult her by denying her the opportunity to do good. Nor will I let her charge into this blindly.¡± Turning from Iron-teeth, Cole looked around the assembled force; it had quickly grown with different families and city powers sending soldiers. Each hoping to carve a little prestige off the corpse of House Louon. It wasn¡¯t just cheaply armored infantry or guild militias, but a cadre of knights and highborn warriors had also joined the siege. Approaching the nobles, Cole watched as the teenage officers scrambled to salute, bow or shy away from him. They clearly recognized him from the ball, even if he didn¡¯t. Cole only recognized one noble by name, clad in fine plate a little too big for him was Jaerd DeMello, a helmet with a horse-hair plume under one arm. The boy blanched at seeing Cole and looked around for a possible escape. Before he could flee like a startled horse, Cole addressed the boy. ¡°Jaerd, I¡¯m glad you made it through the ball intact. How are you and your family faring?¡± A slight twitch of anger went across the boy¡¯s face. ¡°My mother has decreed you are to never set foot on DeMello property again as long as she lives.¡± Nodding, Cole said. ¡°Fair enough, still, I need your help. Possibly that of your friends here as well.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The gathered noblings looked at Cole with fear and interest. These were second sons and third daughters, those who¡¯d not warranted fighting in the Vampire War or other duties. A mixture of family disappointments in the making and over-eager youths looking to prove themselves. The type any soldier learned to fear having as commander. So Cole was going to keep them away from the congealing chain of command and help Natalie simultaneously.
Natalie had not enjoyed her morning. Being left behind at the Temple while everyone else used her ideas to catch a killer had laid a pall over her mood. A mixture of worry, jealousy, and general anxiety had her wearing a path into the apartment floor. Her Vampire side was furious she¡¯d been kept away from things, especially since the schemes in question were her design. At the same time, the nervous village girl in her, was scared witless that her oh-so-clever idea wasn¡¯t so clever and people would die. Two different unfinished wood carvings sat on a nearby table, evidence of her nerves and failure to distract herself. Beside them were half-read and reread books and even a few scraps of paper containing Natalie¡¯s notes. The bed was also marked by her anxiety, with her clothes laid out and organized. In fact, practically everything in the apartment was victim to Natalies attempts to distract herself. She¡¯d almost started organizing Cole¡¯s various potions and poisons but decided against it. Messing with them seemed a great way to cause future problems. So when a knock came at the door, Natalie reacted as well as could be expected. With literally supernatural speed, she reached the door and opened it before the third knock. Erik of Snaaga blinked in surprise up at the wild-eyed Vampire. In testimony to his grit and history, the boy didn¡¯t flinch back and merely set his jaw. ¡°You are wanted downstairs, Lady Vampire.¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie went to grab her shortsword and belt. She was already wearing her hunting leathers out of anticipation that something would go horribly wrong. As she grabbed her few tools of destruction, Natalie asked. ¡°Who wants me and why?¡± Erik grunted. ¡°A runner from the Guards, and I dunno why. They just sent me because I don¡¯t piss myself on seeing you.¡± Turning back to the boy, Natalie cocked an eyebrow and smiled. ¡°You are a brave one, aren¡¯t you.¡± The young acolyte shrugged and gave Natalie an even look. ¡°Lady, you aren¡¯t the scariest corpse-thing I¡¯ve seen, and you aren¡¯t trying to kill me. As far as I¡¯m concerned, as long as the Paladin has you on a leash, you¡¯re not a problem.¡± Normally his words would have annoyed Natalie, but coming from such a hard-bitten child, it was bleakly amusing. ¡°Fair enough, let''s go.¡± The guard runner had scarcely more knowledge; she¡¯d been tasked with getting Natalie and bringing her to a point near the Louon estate. Taking a temple buggy, the two women rode in tense silence. Both were nervous but for a different reason. The lack of information had Natalie taught and fearing the worse, and the poor Runner didn¡¯t enjoy being stuck with a Vampire. They arrived in a service alley between two estates, a slip of clean cobblestones that was blocked off by guards on either side. Natalie passed through the guards and found a strange gaggle of people waiting for them in the alley¡¯s heart. Cole and half a dozen ornately armored nobles of dubious age. Natalie recognized most of them from the ball and winced when they shied away from her. Cole, by contrast, smiled upon seeing her, an expression that turned slightly bitter as he spoke. ¡°Things are going reasonably well, and House Louon is trapped in their keep. But the magical defenses aren¡¯t something we can bypass. They are related to the city¡¯s own wards, and anything that can pass through them can infiltrate Louon Keep.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes widened as Cole¡¯s almost sour tone gained context. ¡°They want me to slip into the keep and turn off the wards?¡± Nodding, Cole said. ¡°There are others in the city who can do this, but convincing them would take time and bribery¡­.¡± He trailed off with a pained look on his face; he clearly wanted Natalie to let another shoulder this burden. Sadly shaking her head, Natalie looked to the nervous young nobles around them. ¡°I need to prove I¡¯m not a monster. I¡¯ll do it.¡± Cole grimaced and let out a resigned breath. ¡°I thought as much, which is why I gathered Jaerd and his friends to help you.¡± Jaerd DeMello had refused to look at Natalie, his eyes glued to the cobblestones. After Cole nudged him, the aristocrat sighed and stepped away from the group, standing at the edge of a clear space in the alley. Squatting down, he put his hands on the cobblestones and started to make strange gestures while muttering something in Old Imperial. Natalie caught the words for hole and prostitute, both of which she knew thanks to swearing customers at the Silly Goat. The cobblestones started to fall away, reforming into a staircase that led beneath the city street. Jaerd held up a hand and muttered fire incantation, cloaking his palm in flame. Gesturing with his magical torch, he said. ¡°Let''s get this over with.¡± Cole, Natalie, and the nobles descended the staircase entering a world of crumbling stone and dark passages. Once they were all down the stairs, the cobblestones started to float up, reforming into the street above them. More than a few nobles looked at the fading entrance with undisguised worry. Scanning their surroundings, Natalie asked. ¡°What¡¯s the plan? I¡¯m assuming there is some hidden path into the Louon keep?¡± Surprisingly one of the nobles answered, a young woman with a long face and straight black hair. Fidgeting with her tasseled cloak, she said. ¡°The undercroft connects the keep and all the other manors. We don¡¯t know if it''s guarded, so Sir Cole asked us to help guide and escort you.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow at that, and Cole added. ¡°A few of our friends here have visited Louon Keep, so they might be able to help give you an idea of what to expect.¡± Accepting that, Natalie and the group started walking through the undercroft. The tunnels were old but decently kept, showing signs of moderate use and maintenance. There were glowstone sconces every few meters, each holding a dusty stone that gave faint light as they approached. Not enough ambient magic seemed to be reaching the stones, and they would need to be replaced. Leaving the tunnels a shadowy place of flickering light and clanking footsteps. The aristocrats started to describe the Louon estate with Cole¡¯s prodding. None of the six nobles knew how to concisely or effectively relay the information, so Natalie was forced to dissect their words. By the time they turned onto a second hallway, Natalie had decided she hated the words ¡®um¡¯ and ¡®maybe.¡¯ While their words left her with a decent mental map of the Keep. Of its main hall and various towers, they knew nothing of the magical defenses protecting the castle. This started worrying Natalie, and she expressed it to Cole quietly. ¡°There is no point in me sneaking into this place if I can¡¯t turn off the wards. Maybe I can provide more information, but I don¡¯t think I can end this mess alone.¡± A pained look came over Cole¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ve been considering this, and I¡¯m loathed to ask more from you, but you have access to a skilled Magi¡­.¡± Frowning, Natalie whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can call upon her this far away.¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°If you can¡¯t, we will reconsider this plan.¡± Eyes narrowing, it occurred to Natalie that Cole could have sent word to have her bring Isabelle¡¯s skull. Consciously or unconsciously, Cole had put an impediment in his own plan. Fear of risking her and Isabelle had kept him from doing the best option. A blindspot that Natalie needed to pay attention to. Shutting her eyes and focusing, Natalie reached across the bridge of dreams and called on Isabelle. The old monster responded, slithering across the gap and flickering into being nearby. Natalie looked at her mentor and grimaced; Isabelle¡¯s projection was uncertain, its edges blurry and leaking vapor. Isabelle glanced around them, eyes staying on Cole for a very long moment. ¡°Something in these tunnels muddles magic entering it. It¡¯s not major, but its Aether is slightly separated from the surrounding. I don¡¯t know how much use I¡¯ll be for whatever reason you called me, since I doubt this is a social summoning.¡± Natalie fed memories of Cole¡¯s plan and events around the Louons along the bridge. Isabelle nodded in understanding, a jerky, unnatural motion thanks to the arcane interference. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to help you; it''s taxing to even speak with you like this.¡± Sighing, Natalie rubbed her eyes; Isabelle wasn¡¯t the only one feeling the stress of the taught connection. Isabelle had turned her attention back to Cole, a somber look on the Vampire¡¯s face. ¡°There is an option we could try, but you¡¯d have to trust me.¡± Grimacing, Natalie mentally asked. ¡°What is it?¡± Shifting slightly, an uncharacteristic nervousness in her halting body language, Isabelle said. ¡°I can partially possess you. Instead of seizing control, I can become a¡­ passenger. It would be disconcerting for both of us, but it would let you borrow my knowledge and skills to a degree.¡± Natalie recoiled at the idea, and Isabelle held up her hands. ¡°I swear on my love for Cole, I¡¯ll end it the moment the wards are down or when you wish me gone, whichever comes first.¡± Chewing her lip, trying not to notice how the nobles recoiled upon seeing her fang, Natalie pondered her options. They had all stopped to watch, uncertain of the exchange between her and Cole, even more so of her strange movements. Looking at Isabelle, Natalie nodded and offered a few mental threats involving Isabelle¡¯s skull and a cesspit alongside her consent. The old Vampire smiled and faded, entering Natalie¡¯s mind with a piercing migraine. Hissing in pain, Natalie stumbled, and Cole caught her. Concerned, he looked at her, and Natalie only saw him through one eye; the other was blind. Blinking in shock, sight returned to her eye, but her sense of smell faded before returning. One of her legs twitched, and Cole was forced to hold her up as Natalie suffered through someone literally rooting around in her brain. After a few more painful seconds of spasms and distorted senses, Isabelle seemed to settle into Natalie¡¯s mind. Cole looked ashen and had been trying to ask her what was wrong, which Natalie had a hard time answering while the world spun and her ears popped. Finally, as the worst of the possession ended, Natalie squeezed Cole¡¯s arm and said. ¡°I¡¯m fine; I just needed to figure out a novel solution with her.¡± Concern was writ large on Cole¡¯s face, and Natalie offered him a tentative smile. ¡°Let¡¯s keep going. The faster we do this, the better.¡± Frowning, Cole started to object, but Natalie held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m doing this, but if anything goes wrong, I¡¯ll run like the wind. I want to help the city, but I¡¯ve no intention of dying for it.¡± Cole didn¡¯t look particularly relieved, but he accepted her decision. The nobles led them on then, well-bred discretion keeping them from asking about whatever they¡¯d witnessed. Any noble knew better than to ask uncomfortable questions, especially during times of crisis. As they approached the subterranean entrance to the Louon keep, the group drew their weapons and moved slower. Checking for traps or guards as they crept through the tunnels. Natalie personally thought the attempt at stealth was laughable, the nobles were all in heavy armor, and their every step echoed. Still, it was better to creep into an ambush than leap into one. No ambush or even traps barred their way; the sheer lack of defenses actually had Cole nervous. Either they were walking into a trap, or there was something else at work. It thankfully turned out to be the latter. Passing beneath a tunnel entrance marked with the Louon coat-of-arms, the group found the undercroft entrance to the Keep. It was blocked by a heavy spell-wrought portcullis. The grate comprised interlocking steel bars, each thick as Cole¡¯s wrist. The holes between the bars were barely big enough to fit a few fingers, while the portcullis¡¯ edges were locked into the wall by some mechanism. Runes of protection and endurance were etched into the metal, and Cole doubted the full force of his power would crack the enchanted steel, let alone shatter the entire gate. It seemed the Louons had invested considerable coins in protecting this supposed secret passageway. Stepping close to the gate, Cole peered into the Aether and saw the rippling wards of the keep just in front of the portcullis. Before he could warn her, Natalie had stepped forward and touched the metal. Reaching out fast as he could, Cole tried to pull her hand away, afraid the magic would scorch her. But his worry was unwarranted; Natalie passed a hand through the wards and touched the gate without issue. Frowning, she looked at the shocked Cole and shrugged. ¡°It feels like entering sunlight, not pleasant, but nothing I can¡¯t handle. The only issue is I don¡¯t know how I can slip past the portcullis. I¡¯ve never tried turning into mist or similar, and I¡¯m not particularly eager to make a mistake learning how to. ¡°I can be of assistance,¡± spoke a voice inside Natalie. She stiffened as the words filtered across her consciousness. It was obviously Isabelle, but it was different from every time she¡¯d spoken to Natalie¡¯s mind before. Instead of it echoing from some unknown source, like a phantom voice in her ear, it was her own internal dialogue. Her flow of consciousness, her very thoughts voicing another opinion. Disgusted and horrified, Natalie put a hand to her head and was ready to remove Isabelle even if it damaged her mind. ¡°Wait, stop! I¡¯m sorry I scared you. I can augment your shapeshifting and help you pass through the portcullis!¡± Shaking her head, Natalie swallowed a useless dry gesture that felt even less right than normal. ¡°I¡¯ve taken up residence in some of your unused brain, like where taste and eating are controlled.¡± Bearing her fangs, Natalie shut her eyes and snarled into her own mind. ¡°Do not speak unless you have to. This is incredibly distressing.¡± A faint sense of understanding and agreement wafted through Natalie¡¯s mind. Turning her focus to the external world, she said. ¡°I think I have another option..¡± Cole looked about, ready to grab her and leave; he knew something was wrong, but not exactly what. Smiling at him, Natalie got onto her toes and kissed him. Some tension bled from him, and Natalie whispered. ¡°When this is done, let''s try the Opera like you suggested.¡± Cole squeezed her close and then, with great trepidation, let her go. In a voice gravelly with stress, he said. ¡°I have faith in you.¡± Smiling, Natalie said. ¡°I know.¡± and then started to transform. Calling upon Isabelle¡¯s loaned knowledge, Natalie let red fog ooze off her skin and cover her. Melting and compressing the vampire as her body took a new form. Flesh, clothing, and equipment were all stored away in the ocean of blood as Natalie transformed. Isabelle¡¯s undisputable mastery of vampire powers showing in the act. Once where Natalie stood was now a mere rat, a black-furred creature that waived a paw at Cole before slipping past the portcullis and disappearing into Louon Manor. Book II: Chapter 41: Downfall

Chapter 41: Downfall

¡°I don¡¯t trust Seers. I¡¯ve known a few good Magi in my time, but no Seer worth spit. Twisting and pulling memories and dreams is dark stuff. Sure, they claim to have a code, but everyone knows you only need a code if someone is breaking it. So listen to my advice, don¡¯t trust Seers.¡± - Sir Homas Drover: Mercenary Captain
The world from the perspective of a rat was a curious thing. Scents and sounds colored the world, creating an ever-shifting tableau. It took Natalie a little time to grow accustomed to this new reality, but her instincts and Isabelle¡¯s silent assistance let her slip into the role of rodent surprisingly well. Skittering away from Cole and the nobles, Natalie kept to the wall¡¯s edge and delved into Louon Keep. Past the portcullis, the hallway stretched for what felt like a great distance to a rat but was, in truth, only a few meters. Ending at a door stinking of greased hinges and old wood. Scampering up to the door, Natalie found a crack at its bottom, a slight chip in the oak her surprisingly elastic body could squeeze through. On the other side, she sniffed the air and swiveled her ears, ready to escape from any threat. When none became apparent, she kept moving forward. With the noble''s directions in mind, Natalie reached a staircase and skittered up it. Hiding in the shadows and following the scents of other vermin. Generations of rats, mice, and similar had mapped their paths. Guiding Natalie up the stairs and into the keep proper. Entering a cold stone hallway, her rodent ears picked up the deafening footfalls of two men-at-arms. Accompanying the thunderous steps were words, a tense and worried conversation. Curiosity and caution warred within her, but the lure of information proved too much. Natalie scuttled between shadows and cracks, approaching the two soldiers. Her rodent ears weren¡¯t meant to decipher the low rumbles of human speech, so it took some effort to understand what they were saying. ¡°He says the Vampire¡¯s got the whole city under her sway! That we are the last holdout in the city!¡± ¡°I heard from Tockmen they attacked the clinic, slaughtered everyone, even wee Addie!¡± ¡°Gods-dammned Vampire! If she¡¯s taken the city, what can we do? I doubt we have rations to hold out for long.¡± ¡°Ya didn¡¯t hear it from me, but the Graf has some magic up his sleeves, something to move the whole bloody manor!¡± A skull-splitting headache forced a pained squeak from Natalie. The two soldiers stopped their patrol and looked toward her. ¡°Hey¡­ Vampires can control rats, right?¡± Natalie bolted down the hallway, escaping into a gap between two stones. Entering the filthy hollow inside a wall. The headache came again, and this time, words accompanied it ¡°Magic powerful enough to move an entire keep is incredibly rare.¡± Shoving down the pain, Natalie rebuked Isabelle. ¡°You almost got us exposed! Wait until we¡¯re alone before you start trying to rip open my mind!¡± What might have been an apology flickered through Natalie¡¯s compromised mind. Followed by, ¡°Any teleportation magic of that scope would require a lot of power and focus. We need to find the main body of Louons; that is where the spell is probably being cast.¡± Nearly tripping over her paws, Natalie withstood the usurpation of her mind. ¡°We need to find the center of the wards and turn them off first.¡± Part of Natalie¡¯s consciousness shrugged. ¡°Having this entire building teleported away with us in it seems a worse outcome than being delayed in turning off the wards.¡± Grumbling at the strangeness of having her internal world twisted, Natalie accepted the logic of Isabelle¡¯s argument. Scampering through the inside of the wall, she found another crack to exit and followed her nose. Everything in the Keep stunk of Louons, but the freshest scents were deeper in the fortress. It was a little tricky to tell, but Natalie guessed the Keep''s great hall was her destination. If the directions she¡¯d been given were in any way accurate, then that was where the scent was leading her. More footfalls caught Natalie¡¯s attention, and she sniffed for a hiding spot. Clambering up nearby brickwork, Natalie reached the lintel above a doorway and scuttled along it. A lip of stone ran high along the wall; Natalie used it to slip past the approaching guards and continue down the hallway. Smiling internally, Natalie noted how right Ametza was; nobody ever bothered to look up. Moving from lintel to lintel, occasionally using light fixtures or cracked stone to navigate, Natalie enjoyed the freedom of movement. It reminded her of her rooftop race across Vindabon, just on a much smaller scale. Still, the leaps and drops seemed even more perilous to her rodent body. A fall of two meters seemed a bottomless void to her weak eyes and tiny body. ¡°Oh, stop being so melodramatic; rodents can survive incredible falls undamaged. This body is light enough; we could fall from a temple spire with nary a bruised paw to show for it.¡± The headache that came with the alien thoughts wasn¡¯t as bad this time, so Natalie decided to try and learn something from her mental guest. ¡°How¡¯d you manage to bring my clothes with us? The Werewolves have to strip naked whenever they transform.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes tried to roll by themselves, a difficult thing to do as a rat. Stomping down on the alien movement, Natalie rebuked Isabelle mentally. The parasite''s mind flinched at the weight of Natalie¡¯s will. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, there isn¡¯t as much spare room in here as I anticipated, and some things are bleeding over.¡± Deciding not to react to the subtle insult in those words, Natalie kept moving, following the scent deeper into the Keep. ¡°When we drink blood, we don¡¯t bloat up like a Mosquito. Our meals are subsumed into our reservoir. A Vampire¡¯s soul is more than our emotions and memories. It is a metaphysical storehouse, and learning how to efficiently store blood in it is a crucial skill. Eventually letting true experts like myself store more than just blood.¡± Then with a sour note, Isabelle added. ¡°A Vampire¡¯s reservoir grows with age and determines how much blood we can store. Limiting the power and efficiency of our fledglings. You break these rules by having the reservoir of Annoch the Binder. That great metaphysical ocean inside you is meant to hold the blood of nations; fitting some clothes into it was easy for someone of my talents.¡± Leaping onto a chandelier and then over to the other wall of the hallway, sniffing the air, Natalie pondered this. ¡°Could I store more things inside of me like this? Like how Scapin hid Dietrich¡¯s sword inside of himself?¡± A series of recollections flitted through Natalie¡¯s mind as Isabelle rifled through her memories of the ball. The experience brought with it violent vertigo, and Natalie discovered that neither rat nor vampire could vomit. Natalie bared her rodent teeth as the world returned to normal and tried to weather the mental disjunction. Isabelle didn¡¯t seem to notice her discomfort, busy analyzing the memories and reaching a conclusion. ¡°It would be possible to store things inside your reservoir, but not without expenditure and discomfort. The more mass you hide in the Beyond, the less blood you can store¡­ which isn¡¯t that big of a concern for you considering your obscene reservoir. But anything you keep inside for any serious length of time would start to degrade, not to mention the effort would be a constant drain on your blood supply. Using your soul as a hidden compartment is an option, but I¡¯d suggest using it only when strictly necessary.¡± With that in mind, Natalie reached her destination, where the scent trail ended. A set of reinforced oaken doors chained shut with glowing iron links. On either side of the door were hulking lion statues, their eyes alight with green witchfire. Sensing this formidable defense, Natalie asked her mental companion. ¡°Should we look for another way into the great hall?¡± Isabelle hesitated, and Natalie felt a flurry of alien ideas and memories pass through her skull. It was like having pages of an occult text flash past her eyes while someone droned on in a foreign tongue. Natalie guessed Isabelle was planning some spell, and this was what it was like to have your own mind do another¡¯s magic. ¡°Something isn¡¯t right. If a powerful teleportation spell is being prepared, it would be clear in the Aether. I can¡¯t sense it or any other arcane working. But I¡¯m not completely blind; I¡¯m fairly certain the keyholder to the wards is behind that door.¡± Twitching her rodent nose at that, Natalie asked, ¡°Can you teach me how to sense magic like that? It seems a useful skill to have.¡± A sense of aloof dismissal passed through Natalie. ¡°Most likely not. You are a savant when it comes to blood magic but are lacking in any other arcane talent. Maybe with my tutelage, you might match an inept Magi¡¯s senses in time. Instead, I¡¯d suggest focusing on your powers as a Vampire. That path is faster and more effective in your case.¡± A little rankled, Natalie returned their focus to the doors. ¡°If those statues are like the ones Cole fought, then I doubt we can sneak past them. Then even if we do, how can we get into the main hall? Those chains look magical.¡± ¡°There is a way; I just need control for maybe a minute at most,¡± Isabelle answered. Recoiling at the idea of relinquishing control, Natalie squeaked in protest. Two stone heads reacted to the noise, the lions looking up toward where she hid. Natalie became very still as the statues got up from their stations, their marble bodies grinding with the movement. Cursing her foolishness, Natalie spat, ¡°Fine! Just make it quick.¡± Natalie was yanked back inside her own mind. Observing what the body did from a distance. No sooner had she relinquished control did the Rat start to melt. The body dissolved into black blood, dripping down the wall and pooling on the ground. The sensation was profoundly disturbing even from a bystander perspective, or perhaps because she was in a bystander perspective. The pool of Vampire blood slithered along the ground, reaching the first statue as its primitive mind tried to react to the new threat. Tendrils of blood slipped past grooves in the stone, and slight alterations were made to the magical loci powering the statue. It ground to a stop, and the blood moved to the next, relying on its sense of the aetherial rather than anything else to navigate. Once both statues were placed in a stupor, the puddle trickled over to the chained door. The gap at its bottom was too small even for a rat¡¯s elastic flesh, but vampire blood could flow through the tiny crack. Ignoring the prickle of power radiating off the chains, chains locking the great hall from the outside, the blood entered the feast hall. Once inside the great hall, the puddle of blood slithered along the bottom edge of the wall until it reached a corner. Placing itself as far away from the creatures within the hall as possible. Once hidden in the shadow of what its feelers thought was a mundane statue, the blood splatter reformed into a rat. Only then did Natalie¡¯s mind regain control over the body. Tiny rodent claws sunk into the carpet, and Natalie spasmed as she tried to recover from the ordeal of possession. The sound of a great roaring voice echoed in Natalie¡¯s sensitive ears. Gripping onto the sensation to ground herself, Natalie tried to decipher the words. ¡°...Our secrets are exposed; the Vampire has ensured that. We must act quickly if we are to preserve ourselves. Together as a family, we can withstand this.¡± Another voice came then, higher pitched with the warble of suppressed tears. ¡°F-father, will we really have to leave everything? S-surely we can find help with the Prince. We''ve been faithful vassals for c-centuries; surely the-they can¡¯t just destroy us on a Vampire¡¯s word?¡± The first speaker, which Natalie identified as Graf Louon, answered softly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my dear, but we must escape. Together we can flee and rebuild elsewhere, it will be painful, but it can be done.¡± In a louder voice that echoed throughout the hall, the Graf proclaimed. ¡°Family is everything! Only together can we survive!¡± Fifty people echoed the words. ¡°Family is everything! Only together can we survive!¡± The obedient call and response turned the message into something sinister. As if to accent that feeling, the sound of clattering metal caught Natalie¡¯s ears as some great vessel was pulled from the hearth and set down. The cauldron stunk of smoke and grease, its odor detectable even among the Louons. Sniffing the air, Natalie focused on the nobles, smelling the stress, exhaustion, and fear that radiated off most of them. Only two didn¡¯t stink of suffering. One old smell, the Graf himself radiated cold determination instead of fear. While another, barely detectable scent showed no sign of stress at all. Trying to decipher the smells, Natalie let stolen blood flow into her nose and let her senses reach supernatural heights. What first stuck out to her was the spoiled stink of the Louons, the curse seeping out of their pores like rotting meat. The curse was in all of them, rank and roiling in the elders, just hinted at in the children. With another breath, Natalie realized there was an exception; the calm scent was clean. Smelling of spiced power but not the curse. It was Liam Louon, and now contrasted with the rest of his family, Natalie was certain. He wasn¡¯t cursed; his blood was clean of corruption. It made no sense, and as Natalie tried to grapple with it, the caldron¡¯s lid was opened. Steam billowed out of the vessel, along with the smell of powerful herbs and alchemical ingredients. ¡°Strange¡­. It''s obviously a potion, but I don¡¯t know its make or purpose.¡± Natalie almost ignored that thought as realization struck home. The words of the Anchorite echoed in her mind, overshadowing even Isabelle¡¯s presence. ¡°Never forget the banality of Evil.¡± Liam Louon wasn¡¯t cursed, he wasn¡¯t corrupted by a Demon, he wasn¡¯t enacting some dark ritual, and he wasn¡¯t tainted, warped, or broken by some eldritch darkness. No, Liam Louon had become a monster because of mundane evil. A cruel nanny had beaten him bloody, and his family hadn¡¯t cared or even noticed. When those foul seeds started bearing fruit, he wasn¡¯t helped or even punished in a way that would stop his crimes. He¡¯d been protected and enabled by his family¡¯s wealth and power. There was no magic or mystery as to why Liam Louon had murdered at least forty-six people, just common evil. This revelation cascaded into another, and Natalie realized the answer to why House Louon had protected their monstrous scion. Going as far as to provoke a riot to cover his actions. Liam Louon wasn¡¯t cursed; his mother¡¯s blood had cured the madness. After fifty years of hiding a debilitating illness that drove their family members insane, the Louons had managed to cure it through careful breeding. Only to have their salvation be insane thanks to nurture, not nature. The irony was as thick and foul as the cauldron''s smoke. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Graf Isac Louon spoke again. ¡°The potion is complete! This ancient tonic passed down the family line will let us escape. We will be freed from our bodies and ready to take new forms away from Vindabon.¡± Natalie was confused; she¡¯d never heard of a potion like that. Isabelle was only slightly helpful. ¡°Some shamans use draughts that let them leave their bodies. Walking the world or exploring the Aether while in a meditative trance. That is the closest I know to what he is describing.¡± Cups were ladled out from the caldron and handed to each member of the Louon family. Natalie watched as the fifty or so people of all ages and generations were given the potion. None had drunk it yet, waiting on their patriarch to give the command. Internally, Natalie asked, ¡°Should we stop this? We don¡¯t want them escaping?¡± Isabelle answered with an internal shrug. ¡°There is power in this room. The Graf and a fair number of his kin are Magi or lesser Paragons. Even with my assistance, victory wouldn¡¯t be guaranteed. I suggest we leave here and try and find a way to deactivate the wards. The Graf is crucial to the defenses somehow, so perhaps we should check his quarters?¡± Natalie was about to agree when she realized Liam was the only one without a cup; he was sitting next to his grandfather, watching as the rest of his family held up the potion in a toast. Something about that sent a shiver up Natalie¡¯s spine, her body tensing at some threat her mind hadn¡¯t yet comprehended. Graf Louon held up his cup and proclaimed. ¡°A family must always stay together; through this, we will never be separated!¡± then, at his prompting, the Louons drank down the potion. For a long moment, nothing happened, Isac Louon holding up his filled cup while his family drank down the draught. It was a girl of six who slumped forward first. The emptied cup clattered as she fell out of her chair. An old woman was next, her bladder letting go as she collapsed. Then like an interrupted puppet show, the rest of House Louon collapsed, their strings cut, and their lives ended. Leaving only the Graf and Grafling to look over the banquet hall of corpses. Natalie and Isabelle were both stunned; neither had even considered this possibility. The Louons were escaping the City¡¯s wrath in the most final way possible. Before better judgment or her mentor could stop her, Natalie started to transform. Her rodent body melted into black blood, which became a cloud of red fog that finally became Natalie. Stepping out from behind the statue, eyes wild with hate unsheathed her short sword. ¡°How could you¡­. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS¡± she snarled, fangs elongating, red mist bubbling off her body. Graf Isac Louon had his cup to his lips when Natalie appeared. At first, he was shocked by her appearance, but quickly annoyance dominated his face. Standing among the bodies of his family, of the loved one¡¯s he¡¯d poisoned, the Graf had the gall to look slightly peeved. As if he¡¯d been interrupted by a poorly timed message, not witnessed committing an atrocity. Seeing the detached annoyance in his eyes, Natalie understood then. She¡¯d wondered how the Graf had maintained his sanity where his siblings, children, and other relatives had not. Well, Graf Isac Louon was nothing close to sane. His madness burned cold and spiteful, in contrast to his erratic kindred. In a clear monotone fit for a royal court, the Graf said. ¡°I would not have my family suffer this disgrace. You and that scarred creature of yours drove me to this. I¡¯ll end you and ensure my House survives.¡± With a sneer, he reached out a hand and called up burning chains that lashed out toward Natalie. Stolen blood flowed into her muscles and nerves, letting her dance between the attacks. The chains swam through the air like boiling metal serpents, and Natalie knew if she were caught, she¡¯d suffer terribly. The Graf was fast, his spell moving like animated whips of magic, but Natalie was faster. Speeding forward, ignoring the chains as they missed her and tore apart corpses, Natalie reached Isac Louon and swiped out with her Mercy blade. In a cut Bruto Shohgard would be proud of, Natalie lopped off Isac Louon¡¯s hands. The insane noble started to scream as stinking blood spewed out of his stumps. The rancid smell had no appeal to Natalie, and she easily ignored the flowing ichor. With the type of combat pragmatism Cole would be proud of, she kicked the Graf¡¯s knee, sending him to the ground with the crunch of broken cartilage. Snarling in rage, Natalie looked at the collapsed monster before her and the blood rapidly leaving his stumps. Glancing around at the fifty bodies around them, she whispered, ¡°No¡­ you don¡¯t get to face the God¡¯s justice yet.¡± The cauldron was still boiling hot its cast-iron sides were enough to cauterize the Graf¡¯s severed wrists. He screamed for the first few seconds, but shock knocked him out once his blood stopped flowing. Shouts and footsteps were coming from outside the hall, and Natalie knew her time was limited. The chains keeping the hall closed off were probably the Graf¡¯s magic and would fade quickly. But till then, it was just Natalie and Liam. The Heart-stealer looked at the scattered corpses with something like befuddled amusement. In a voice so soft it was almost oily, he whispered. ¡°I could never hurt them; no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn¡¯t hurt my family.¡± Leveling her blade at him, Natalie asked, ¡°What?¡± Liam shrugged and leaned back in his chair. ¡°That¡¯s what this was all about. They could never protect me, so I wanted to punish them for that. But I couldn¡¯t, so I found others like them. People who were supposed to protect and care, but FAILED.¡± The last word came out with such venom a gobbet of spit escaped Liam. Natalie almost shied back but kept focused, never letting the shortsword¡¯s tip waiver. The momentary rage that overtook Liam faded, replaced by morbid humor. Getting up from his chair, ignoring Natalie, he glanced over at his dead relatives. ¡°But I was supposed to protect them next. I was to become the Graf and sire better heirs. But before that, I needed to erase their sins. Others like them ate the sins, and I took their hearts, freeing them and this world from their failures.¡± Rubbing his face, Liam hissed. ¡°But now I¡¯m the failure. I was supposed to protect and care, but Grandfather even took that from me!¡± Pointing at Natalie, he whimpered. ¡°I am the failed caretaker, and you''re the monster with the knife. Finish this, kill me, and spare the world another failure.¡± Natalie stood and listened throughout all of this, disgusted by every word. It was a rambling whiney manifesto that fell so painfully short. All this death and destruction came from a single broken soul who¡¯d used all his wealth and power to inflict his pain on others. When Natalie said nothing, Liam stepped towards her and screamed, ¡°DO IT! I SAID DO IT!¡± Natalie didn¡¯t lower her sword or move to do anything. An act that seemed to confuse Liam. Confusion turned to rage as his face split into an ugly grimace like a toddler denied a toy. ¡°KILL ME! DO IT NOW!¡± Shaking her head, Natalie made her choice. ¡°You don¡¯t get a say in this anymore. Only the city, the gods, and I do.¡± Lip trembling, caught between a wail and a sneer, Liam asked, ¡°And what do you say?¡± Natalie shrugged. ¡°You aren¡¯t worth the blood on my hands.¡± Then, with incredible speed, she shot forward and grabbed either side of Liam¡¯s head. Forcing her mind against his, Natalie broke his token resistance and knocked him unconscious. As the Heart-stealer collapsed to the ground, rasping words reached Natalie¡¯s sensitive ears. Isac Louon had managed to regain consciousness, and he was pointing a charred stump at the fireplace. ¡°He¡¯s preparing a final spell! Kill him now,¡± came Isabelle¡¯s warning just as Natalie realized how hot the room was getting. The fire in the hearth was growing rapidly, tongues of it leaping out of its stone enclosure and finding purchase on rugs and wall hangings. Rushing forward, Natalie prepared to take Isac¡¯s head. Eyes alight with hate, Graf spat, ¡°Die with me.¡± Fire exploded out from the hearth and swallowed the Graf. Natalie leaped back as the fire swelled and spilled out from Graf Louon¡¯s screaming body. The fire greedily devoured the aristocrat¡¯s flesh and spread quickly, empowered by a Magi¡¯s final spiteful spell. ¡°We need to run; even you won¡¯t survive a castle burning down around you.¡± Isabelle''s message had an edge of panic, the old Vampire reliving bad memories of her own death. Rushing away from the growing inferno, Natalie reached the doors and slammed into them. The chains on the door proved to be more than just magic and held against Natalie¡¯s push. ¡°Can you take control again and turn me into blood again?¡± Natalie asked, her mounting desperation enough to make relinquishing control a viable option. Natalie felt suddenly hollow, as if something had scooped out her innards and replaced them incorrectly. ¡°No! We don¡¯t have enough stored blood to do that again. Find another way quickly! This heat is taxing us; look at your skin!¡± Glancing down at her hands, Natalie felt a surge of panic. Patches of her skin were missing, sloughing off into ash. Fire was one of the things that could destroy any Vampire, and the closed stone hall was becoming a brick oven. Natalie¡¯s own dulled sense of temperature when not projecting life had hidden the fact she was starting to cook unalive. Clenching her fists, Natalie quashed her panic and went over to the body of Liam. Dragging him away from the fire, she was relieved to see he still lived. His strengthened constitution proved itself against the heat. ¡°Yes! Good idea, his blood will give us the power we need to escape!¡¯ Natalie shook her head and shoved Isabelle back. ¡°Not what I¡¯m trying to do. I think Liam knows another way out of here. He didn¡¯t drink the poison, and judging by his and his grandfather¡¯s ramblings, I think they wanted him to escape to restart the house.¡± Peeling open Liam¡¯s eyes, Natalie looked into them and forced herself into his mind. Cole had said to only use this power in emergencies; well, this certainly counted. Earlier, she¡¯d battered him into unconsciousness with a psychic blow. Now she was pouring part of her consciousness into his mind, a much more delicate act. A sense of vertigo washed over Natalie as she traveled along the bridge of eye contact and entered Liam¡¯s mind. Imagery and ideas flitted through Natalie as her mind tried to interpret the scraps of self she sifted through. It felt like she was falling through a series of paintings, disjointed scenes that whirled past in a blur of impressions. Before it could become too much, a steadying presence gripped Natalie¡¯s tumbling mind and helped guide her to a landing. ¡°Another skill I¡¯ll need to teach you.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t hear as much as feel the sigh accompanying Isabelle¡¯s words. ¡°Finding someone Cole would approve of you practicing on will be troublesome. No matter, a problem for another night.¡± Isabelle¡¯s aid helped Natalie sculpt her perception of Liam¡¯s mind into something understandable, a castle hallway, much like the one she¡¯d snuck through as a rat. Except it was painfully bright and covered in filth. Creating a disorienting parody of reality both clearer and more disgusting than the truth. Gliding along the hallway floor, ignoring a pile of rotting food that wept and twitched, Natalie looked for anything hinting how she might escape the burning Keep. The hallway opened into different rooms, some depicting mundane scenes like Liam walking through a market. Another showed him in the process of ripping out a twitching woman¡¯s heart with his own teeth. No matter the memory involved, they shared incongruous stains and filth. The walls were wet and moldy, and the floors had smears of blood and feces. Clothes or linens had the yellow tint of old sweat, and any food was old and rotten. Doing her best not to focus on the myriad subtle horrors of a monster¡¯s mind, Natalie entered a soiled copy of the great hall. Every seat was occupied by a faceless lump of raw meat in fine clothing; each held an old leather belt in their hand. At the high seat of the table, where Isac had sat, was a poorly taxidermied lion with bulging eyes and dusty fur. Blood dripped from its mouth and pooled in an empty cradle at its feet. Muttering to herself, Natalie said. ¡°Don¡¯t need to be a Dream Seer to interpret all this.¡± Drifting past the meat nobles, Natalie got closer to the bleeding lion. The thick stink of mold and mildew reached her nose, and she focused her attention on the wall behind the high chair. It was covered by a threadbare tapestry depicting a great pit that was also a mouth. The ravening pit stretched out beneath and crumbling city, and dozens of tiny figures tumbled into its gaping maw. Above the hungering beast was a winged lion chained to the collapsing city. More figures, these ones depicted in the colors of House Louon, climbed the chains and tried to reach the lion. As she approached the tapestry, it started to rot away, revealing a portcullis of strange sticky black stone. Instead of a metal grate, it was barred by gnashing yellow teeth. One was chipped with a gap in it. A spindly starved hand stuck out from the gap, grasping for Natalie. Before she could get any closer, intense searing pain suddenly washed over her, pulling Natalie from the mindscape. Burning, horrible pain covered Natalie¡¯s back as she tried to return to her body. Only Isabelle¡¯s careful guidance kept her from losing herself as she surfaced in the world. ¡°A piece of timber fell on us! We aren¡¯t pinned, but it is burning!¡± Blinking away her disorientation, Natalie saw the truth of Isabelle¡¯s words and quickly shoved the piece of smoking wood. A strip of her leathers had been torn away, and part of her back was cooked meat and ash. Biting her lip to stop herself from screaming, Natalie grabbed Liam Louon and threw him over her intact shoulder. ¡°What are you doing? We need to flee! Leave the twisted creature to burn; he certainly deserves it!¡± Natalie dashed through the flames, trying to ignore her surging hunger as the licking flames drained her blood. ¡°I agree with you, but I can¡¯t leave him! I need proof this mess isn¡¯t my fault!¡± Hoping she¡¯d interpreted Liam¡¯s mindscape accurately, Natalie went for the smoldering tapestry behind Isac¡¯s high seat. The image of Galehaut the Gilded leading a band of heroes was a fading tatter, and a swipe of Natalie¡¯s short sword ended its already time-limited existence. As the smoking cloth fell away, Natalie cursed. No gate awaited her, just hot stone. Fear and stress pushed on Natalie, and she forced herself to focus on the wall, hoping to find any sign of an escape. Her Vampire eyes didn¡¯t fail her, and a slight groove in one of the bricks caught her attention. It was similarly placed to where the chipped tooth in the portcullis had been. Reaching out, Natalie hesitated and then adjusted Liam so she could use one of his hands. Shoving his lank fingers towards the stone, Natalie ignored his unconscious attempt to recoil from the heat. The brick wall started to shift at Liam¡¯s touch, melting away into a small passageway. Not hesitating, Natalie pushed into the tight tunnel and found a spiral staircase waiting for her. Taking it while carrying dead weight proved to be a bit of a challenge, but Vampiric grace triumphed. As Natalie descended, the staircase opened onto a landing but also continued downward. Glancing up to ensure the fire hadn¡¯t followed her, Natalie stepped onto the landing. It was a small nook in the rock, barely large enough for her and Liam¡¯s body to fit. In the little alcove, she heard something. Voices raised in argument barely audible through the rock. She couldn¡¯t interpret what they were saying even with her senses, but Natalie thought the voices sounded familiar. Putting a hand on the wall, she started looking for another lever. After a minute of searching, Natalie sighed and let Liam fall onto the ground beside her. Marshaling up her limited reserve of blood, Natalie slammed her fist into the wall. She¡¯d braced herself like Isabelle had taught her to, and instead of being knocked back, Natalie knocked down the old wall. Picking up Liam, she peered through the hole and the cloud of dust she¡¯d kicked up. Her makeshift exit led into a familiar tunnel. Standing maybe a dozen meters down the tunnel were the young nobles and Cole. One of the nobles held a flaming hand and squeaked, ¡°Who¡¯s there!¡± Blinking in confusion, Natalie reminded herself they were practically blind in the dark tunnels. Stepping into the tunnel and setting her prisoner beside her, she called out. ¡°It¡¯s me; I have Liam Louon.¡± Cole rushed down the hallway to reach her. Blood drained from his face upon seeing Natalie¡¯s condition and he quickly wrapped her in his arms. Natalie relaxed into his embrace as he whispered, ¡°What happened?¡± Making a noise like a tired feline, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Lots, little of it good. The whole Keep is probably on fire by now.¡± The noble with the flaming hand, Jaerd, spoke up then. ¡°We just got word of that and were debating returning to the surface.¡± Natalie noticed then one of the group wasn¡¯t a noble or paladin but the same messenger who¡¯d retrieved her from the Temple. She also noticed the runner had scrapped knees, and fresh blood was dribbling down them. A flash of powerful hunger swelled up in Natalie, and she fought to shove it back down. Pulling herself away from Cole, she whispered in a tone she hoped he could only hear. ¡°I used up most of my blood doing all this. I don¡¯t know if being around people right now would be smart.¡± Cole nodded and turned to his fellows. ¡°Take Liam Louon up to the guards and put him in official custody. By the looks of it, he needs healing as well. I¡¯ll follow with Natalie shortly.¡± There was little hesitation from their erstwhile companions. Leaving Cole and Natalie alone in the dark. Wordlessly, Cole pulled on his collar and offered his neck to Natalie. Without a moment¡¯s doubt, she sunk her fangs into him and the red ambrosia pushed away her dark hunger. ¡°Ohhhhh, I have missed that taste.¡± Natalie jerked back in surprise, earning a pained yelp from Cole. Quickly sealing his wound with her saliva, she raged against Isabelle. ¡°What are you still doing in my head!¡± Memories of Isabelle¡¯s aid flicked across Natalie¡¯s consciousness. Particularly every time she would have failed without the older Vampire¡¯s help. ¡°I will leave now; I just wanted¡­ well, I think you can guess.¡± A sudden lightheadedness hit Natalie, and she stumbled forward, Cole catching her. A plaintiff groan escaped Natalie as she felt Cole¡¯s blood work on healing her burnt skin. ¡°I want to sleep for a week. No, not a week; I want to curl up in bed and sleep until the end of the month.¡± Cole was frowning, concerned by what had just happened, he didn¡¯t know fully, but he could guess it had to do with Isabelle¡¯s ¡®aid¡¯ to Natalie. Stroking her dirty ashen hair, he said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Love, but I think the city of Vindabon is owed your story.¡± Book II: Chapter 42: Aftermath

Chapter 42: Aftermath

¡°We didn¡¯t domesticate Griffins; we simply proved to them we were better as partners than food. They are incredibly intelligent creatures, with a sense of honor and loyalty rivaling the greatest Knights. Having a griffin mount isn¡¯t like having a pet or steed; it¡¯s like having a comrade-in-arms.¡± - Knight-Captain Gabriel Mors, Commander of the Redfeather Company.
Louon Manor burned for the rest of the day and well into the night. Its wards containing the blaze and trapping everyone inside. A few soldiers managed to scale the walls or survive the fall off them. But most of the defenders died in Isac Louon¡¯s funeral pyre. A final cruelty to cement the madman¡¯s legacy. Liam Louon was taken to the Temple of Aunt Seeress for healing and memory probing. He¡¯d been badly burned and suffered from Natalie¡¯s ungentle treatment but would survive. At least long enough for the city to kill him. Already plans were in the works to try and execute him for his crimes. The city of Vindabon was eager to end the whole inglorious saga of House Louon and the Heart-stealer with the swing of a headsman''s axe. Before these machinations started, Natalie and Cole were brought before the City Council and Court. Separated, they gave their testimony and answered any questions the great and good of Vindabon might have. Explaining their actions and hoping to shed as much light on the accursed situation as possible. Once Natalie had offered her account, she¡¯d experienced the subtle accusations and threats she¡¯d expected. Her story was doubted at every turn, with one Councilor with terrible mutton-chops going as far as to accuse her of setting the fire. But despite all the posturing and paranoia, Natalie had a surprising ally throughout the proceedings. The Temples were steadfast in backing her, forming a solid political bloc that quailed even her most ardent detractors. It was more than a little surreal for Natalie, a Vampire cursed with a primordial evil, to receive the unflinching support of the Temples. When a Hierophant of Uncle Trickster defended her from an accusation of mind-control, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the Temple¡¯s help was their way of apologizing for nearly getting her killed by Scapin and Dietrich. By the time Natalie was finally released from the questioning, night had fallen hard over Vindabon, and the invigoration it brought her was barely noticeable. She hadn¡¯t slept since before the Ball, and her blood reserves were low; Natalie was worn ragged and would have gladly slept in a coffin if offered. So, of course, as she waited in the halls of the City-palace, too tired to even admire the artwork or be annoyed by the frightened officials scurrying past her, Natalie found another obstacle to her rest. The guard runner from earlier had found her. The lanky woman with now bandaged knees had cautiously approached Natalie as she sat on a bench and waited for Cole to be done. ¡°I¡¯ve been instructed to collect you and bring you to meet with my superior. He is currently with the Paladin and would like you to join the meeting.¡± Rubbing her face, Natalie asked, ¡°What does Iron-teeth want now?¡± The Runner¡¯s face tightened in an approximation of a smile. Reaching into a pocket on her uniform, she held up an amulet, cupping her hand so only Natalie could see it. The amulet was a small shiny piece of silver fashioned in a laughing face, or at least sometimes a laughing face. Whenever Natalie blinked, she swore it was frowning for a half-second. Sucking in a breath, Natalie looked up at the Runner and resisted the urge to growl. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious, after everything that-¡± The amulet was pocketed, and the Runner bowed. ¡°Yes, after everything, my superior needs to meet with you and the Paladin. It¡¯s rather urgent.¡± Sighing, Natalie got up from her seat and moved very quickly, putting her face a hands width from the messenger¡¯s. The Runner bridled slightly but didn¡¯t shy away. In a low hiss, Natalie said, ¡°I am a stressed, exhausted predatorial monster reaching the end of her patience. Please don¡¯t give me a reason to react¡­. poorly.¡± The Runner, no, Quicksilver Player, nodded and started for their destination. Leading Natalie down a series of side passages and up a staircase. The staircase seemed to go on forever, and Natalie was profoundly glad her knees were as strong as the rest of her. At its top, they passed through a large door into the cold night. The full expanse of Vindabon was visible below them, earning a surprised gasp from Natalie. Even though she¡¯d seen the city from the walls, this central view of Vindabon was incredible. The sheer size and scope of the old city were enough to remind Natalie she¡¯d been a mountain villager just a few months ago. Pulling her focus away from the city, Natalie realized where the Player had taken her. They were in a small courtyard of sorts placed atop the palace. One side of the courtyard was lined with stables, while the other ended at the roof¡¯s edge. The whole place smelled of birds and animal droppings, telling Natalie exactly where she was. ¡°A Griffin port?¡± she whispered in surprise. The Player nodded and led Natalie to a small tower that jutted out of the courtyard¡¯s corners. Even with the wind and smells of the city, Natalie knew what the tower was. Her sensitive ears picked up the rustle of wings and coo of birds. Entering the Rookery, Natalie found the bottom floor was an office of some kind. Cabinets filled with paper and parchment lined the walls, and a large table filled the room¡¯s center. An annoyed-looking Cole sat at it across from a corpulent man with tan skin. Natalie¡¯s escort bowed and shut the door behind her, leaving the Vampire, the Paladin, and who she assumed was another Hierophant of Uncle Trickster alone. Cole pulled out a chair for her, and Natalie slumped into it; eyes narrowed, she asked. ¡°Is he the one who let Scapin into the city?¡± Cole nodded, and Natalie let out an exhausted sigh. The Hierophant had the grace to look a little abashed. Bowing to both of them, he said. ¡°As I was saying to Sir Cole, I am Alexio Argentari of the Quicksilver Players. I am here to offer my apologies for¡­ events and to offer my aid.¡± Natalie¡¯s jaw twitched in anger. ¡°I lost a friend to your paranoid idiocy, and I doubt I¡¯m the only one in Vindabon who has. If you are here to say you¡¯re sorry, spare it for Jaks and the others.¡± Argentari winced and nodded his head in contrition. ¡°The die was cast, and despite my best efforts to cheat, the roll was poor. Your distaste for me and my order is more than understandable, but please don¡¯t let it stand in the way of us trying to make things right.¡± Cole reached to Natalie, trying to calm her anger. ¡°Hierophant is offering to help hide my nature and ensure the city is more accepting of you. I was explaining some of what I shared with Morri before you arrived.¡± Nodding, Argentari elaborated. ¡°Keeper Morri and I have arranged for Cole to be recorded as bearing a powerful miracle of regeneration. That, and some fabricated census records, should help obscure the truth from prying eyes. As for you, I should be able to have the city approve you as an official refugee and friend of the city. Meaning you wouldn¡¯t have to hide behind the Temple¡¯s clever bit of legal finagling. You¡¯d be considered a proper citizen of Vindabon and the Holy League.¡± These peace offerings did little but make Natalie more upset. ¡°People died; the Alukah was nearly returned to the Duchies. This isn¡¯t the sort of thing a bushel of roses and an apology can compensate for.¡± The Hierophant shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not, and that¡¯s not what I¡¯m offering. The game is changing, and the two of you are at the center of it. I¡¯m trying to ensure when the pieces stop moving; the board is favorable to the human race. Helping you both and pointing you in the right direction might be key to that.¡± As Natalie gnawed on her lip, having mastered doing so without piercing the skin, Cole considered Argentari¡¯s words. ¡°Tell me why you brought Morri to the meeting with Scapin. That¡¯s been bothering me this entire time. It makes little sense to include him in the negotiations if you thought the Tenth Temple was compromised.¡± A snort of laughter escaped Argentari. ¡°That was a test; I wanted to see how Morri reacted to Scapin¡¯s claims. My subordinates and I were prepared to incapacitate him if he reacted¡­ poorly.¡± Shrugging, the Hierophant added, ¡°Ironically, you saved Morri and stopped us from making an idiotic assumption.¡± Raising a tattered eyebrow, Cole remarked, ¡°How is that?¡± Pointing at Cole¡¯s arm, Argentari explained. ¡°Your severed arm spooked Morri enough he didn¡¯t react how we feared. He didn¡¯t believe his Temple had been compromised, but he was clearly shaken and worried something was happening. That is not how someone like Morri would react if he was under magical influence. Because of that, we decided to hedge our bets and try to use the Ball to incapacitate Natalie and capture the other two.¡± Letting out a sigh, Argentari had an almost wistful look on his face. ¡°It was a good plan and should have worked. Even if Morri sprung the trap early, we¡¯d have had options. The interference of a Fell God went and ruined things, which I guess counts as a victory in its own way.¡± Scoffing, Natalie asked, ¡°How can having a literal God of Evil interfering be a victory?¡± Steepling his hands, the Quicksilver Player smiled. ¡°To effect the world, a God needs to put power into the Final Gates, upsetting the balance until another God responds in kind. And the more power a God puts into the Gates without their debt being settled, the harder it is for them to open the Gates. Whatever Fell God aided, Scapin used a not insignificant amount of power to interfere directly in a rather crude way. That debt will be put to good use by Pantheon.¡± Trying not to growl in distaste for all of this, Natalie snapped, ¡°So that¡¯s it? You gamble, and other people pay the price? And it¡¯s okay because it was a tragedy, not a disaster?¡± Argentari leveled a very cold glare at Natalie, the type of look she associated with Cole doing his duty. ¡°True responsibility is holding the lives of others in your hands and knowing what that means. People died because I failed, this wasn¡¯t the first time, and I fear it won¡¯t be the last. But I do know if I had done nothing, so much more could have been lost. I¡¯d rather people die thanks to mistakes and failure than have apathy and indecision claim them. I can¡¯t speak for you, Natalie, but to me, a person who tries and fails to save lives is better than one who does nothing.¡± Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Natalie looked away. This Priest of Uncle Trickster rubbed her the wrong way. He spoke less like a person or priest and more like a God. Something she had a hard enough time tolerating from an actual deity, let alone a self-righteous spymaster. Something about Argentari¡¯s words itched some part of Cole. Pulling on old paranoid instincts born of a Vampire¡¯s court and refined by years of constant danger. ¡°There¡¯s something more to all this, isn¡¯t there? For some reason, I doubt the Temples or Gods would consent to your failed gamble without a wider context.¡± Argentari nodded in agreement. ¡°I didn¡¯t arrange this meeting here just to be dramatic. Follow me¡± He got up and opened the door, gesturing for them to exit the Rookery. Cole and Natalie exchanged glances but complied, stepping out onto the Griffin Port. The wind had picked up, and Cole¡¯s cloak flapped like a dark banner. Argentari led them towards the stables, summoning up a ball of light in one hand as he did. Entering the structure, Natalie tried to ignore the musky aroma of large animals and their living space. It wasn¡¯t too terribly difficult, considering the distractions and sights around them. Piles of straw and cloth scraps dotted the stables, many of them containing a sleeping griffin or hippogryph. This was the closest Natalie had been to either breed of monster, and she was shocked by the variety of them. Every variety of plumage, hair, and fur was visible among the nests. As they journey deeper into the stable, an occasional aquiline eye would open and watch their progress before returning to sleep. Huge wings fluttered, and talons big enough to rend a person apart twitched in uncertain dreams. At the back of the stable, they reached Argentari¡¯s goal. A sleek griffin with mottled brown plumage and spotted flanks. The monster lay in a pile of fresh straw, with bandages covering parts of its fore and hind limbs. It lifted its sharp-beaked head at their approach and made a noise like a growl and a coo. Argentari increased the brightness of his light and held out a hand. The Griffin sat the edge of its beak in his palm, and a trilling purr escaped its worn chest. As Argentari started to scratch its neck, the Griffin shifted its head, and Natalie gasped. One of its eyes was missing, torn out, and replaced with the pink tissue of magical healing. Once the beast settled, Argentari started to explain. ¡°This is Rieka; she is a Scout Griffin belonging to my Temple. She arrived in Vindabon a little over a week ago, badly injured, with no sign of her rider. Rieka and her rider were sent to Harmas to learn why we¡¯d lost contact with the Players in the city. She returned to us with a single message in her saddlebag.¡± Stepping close to the Griffin, he said, ¡°The message was ¡®Harmas besieged from within. Prince John is compromised. Players all dead.¡± Gesturing for Cole to come close, Argentari pointed at one of Rieka¡¯s wounds, where the bandages had failed to cover all of the damage. Leaning down, Cole looked at the torn flesh and sucked in a breath. ¡°Direbat bites. She was mobbed by them returning from Harmas?¡± Argentari nodded. ¡°We believe so. The presence of a swarm would explain why none of my covert messenger birds have made it in or out of the city.¡± Swallowing down what might have been nerves, Argentari released a shaky breath. ¡°A day after she returned to us, official word came from Harmas that the city was being put under quarantine. The missive claimed a new variant of the plague had been spotted nearby, and the city was trying to protect itself from infection. None of our Seers have been able to make contact, which could very well be because of the simple Aetheric interference, but I doubt it. None of my other subtle means of getting information has worked so far. Rieka seems to have carried the last message out of the city. Something is terribly wrong at the front, and I fear we¡¯ve lost our southern bastion without a proper fight.¡± This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Natalie¡¯s eyes widened, and realization dawned. ¡°This is why you gambled with Scapin. If an entire major city was compromised without anyone noticing before it was too late, then his claims about me had much more weight. How many people know about what¡¯s happening in Harmas?¡± Argentari started walking back to the rookery, and they followed. ¡°Not many; I¡¯ve conferred with City Spymaster and a few Tower Seers of a subtle inclination. But the lack of information and potential ramifications have made me leery of spreading this news far. I¡¯d hoped to learn more from our prisoners before acting, be they you or Scapin and Dietrich.¡± Back in the rookery, Argentari went over to a cabinet and pulled out a rolled-up map. ¡°I have spies within the Duchies, and they have been sending troubling messages from within them. Something has stirred up the Court of Noct-Bucaros like nothing we¡¯ve seen in centuries. Hibernating elders are being roused, entombed legions are marching, and old relics are being unleashed. Right now, the League thinks the conflict to the south is just another petty squabble, but it¡¯s not. We are heading toward a full-scale war, and the Solstice¡¯s events will only accelerate things.¡± Unrolling the map, a crude but accurate military depiction of the Southern Marches, Argentari elaborated. ¡°It''s bitterly ironic, but I think Scapin¡¯s attack on the city might save us. The warning signs have been visible for weeks. We¡¯ve just been unwilling to consider the possibility of things getting this bad. The Archduke likes to snap at us every few decades whenever he sees an opportunity, and that''s what this looked like from the outside. But then you arrive in Vindabon carrying a power the Duchies would raze cities to regain, and then Scapin attacks in possibly the most public and egregious way he could. If that doesn¡¯t wake up the League, nothing will.¡± Letting out a slow, pointless breath, Natalie asked. ¡°Scapin might have tipped the Duchies¡¯ hand and cushioned whatever damage they¡¯ve hoped to inflict. And now that I¡¯m thinking about it, how much do you know about Scapin?¡± Argentari made a noncommittal noise. ¡°Till the Solstice, I thought he was an Agent of the Ashen Door and Day Walker. Someone my order has had dealings with before. He¡¯s facilitated prisoner exchanges and delivered a few messages over the years. I¡¯d never have guessed he was someone or something as dangerous as he proved to be.¡± Cole, for his part, was staring at the map, looking at Harmas and its noted garrison. ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem possible an entire city could be taken by the Duchies without anyone noticing but you.¡± Bobbing his head in agreement, Argentari said, ¡°Oh, I agree; it''s one of the reasons I¡¯ve been so tight-lipped about this. It''s unlikely the whole city or even its leadership is under some kind of influence. The logical thought is a shadow war between spies is being fought within the city. A war my people lost¡­ and that the city is oblivious to. With this supposed quarantine probably a way to keep the city unaware and ill-defended. The message didn¡¯t say Harmas has fallen, but it¡¯s besieged from within.¡± ¡°Why are you telling us all this?¡± asked Natalie, her fingers drumming a beat on the table. ¡°You could have just apologized and offered your help. Hells¡­ you didn¡¯t even need to do that.¡± A low, tired sigh escaped the Hierophant. ¡°Because war with the undead the likes we haven¡¯t seen since the last Red Conquest is coming, and I think the two of you can help the living win it.¡± Pointing at Cole, he said, ¡°You are an immortal Paladin specializing in hunting the undead. A holy knight who has faced Demons, Vampires, and every other form of Undead and come out victorious. On top of that, you were created in the Duchies, spending the first part of your life in a Vampire¡¯s court. You know how they think and what their culture is like.¡± Argentari then pointed at Natalie. ¡°You are the newborn Alukah, capable of detecting and destroying Daywalkers with relative ease. Despite your nature, you¡¯ve earned the trust of Death himself and maintained your morality in the face of everything. The Duchies are your homeland, and you understand what is at stake, what will happen to towns and cities conquered by them.¡± Putting his hands together, the spymaster made his point. ¡°The two of you have the potential to be the deciding factor in this war. Your arrival in Vindabon and everything that has happened since proves this. It¡¯s not even been a month, and the two of you have saved the city multiple times over. This smells of divine providence and shows how much good you two can do. So now I¡¯ve come before you both with as much truth and trust as I can muster. Hoping to earn your cooperation and help..¡± Cole looked at Natalie, uncertainty in his eyes. ¡°I would normally accept this charge, Argentari. But I have other responsibilities. Master Time has charged me with protecting the Alukah.¡± The implication was clear; Cole would do this only if Natalie agreed. Chewing on her lip, Natalie tried her best to think about this logically. She was exhausted, and now Argentari was trying to put the weight of empires on her. A very large part of Natalie wanted him to tell him to go fuck himself. But another deeper urge surpassed even that spiteful temptation. ¡°Can the Duchies be liberated? Can the Archduke be put down and the people freed?¡± she asked, as memories of Glockmire and the people she¡¯d left behind were stirred up. The three sat in silence until Argentari said. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He¡¯s incredibly powerful, and an entire empire of Monsters serves him. It would take a great conflux of fate and effort to bring about the end of the Blood Duchies. But if it is possible, then I think you both will be crucial in making it happen.¡± Natalie touched her neck, tracing the lines of her stigma. The Maze of Moments, Glynn had called it. Marking someone destined for a long, difficult path with a happy ending. Pieces were falling into place, snapping together like a puzzle-painting before Natalie. This was what everything was about. Her life in Glockmire, meeting Cole, becoming the Alukah, and now everything in Vindabon. It was all part of the path Master Time had created. Strangely this realization didn¡¯t inspire the same anger its forebearers had. Every time before, when Natalie faced how much Master Time had orchestrated her life, it hurt badly. This time it felt different¡­ like she was being helped to find a purpose, not manipulated into circumstances beyond her control. Reaching out, she took Cole¡¯s hand and nodded to him. ¡°We will help fight. When the time comes, we will do what¡¯s right.¡± Cole squeezed her hand and whispered. ¡°Well said.¡± Argentari smiled and let out a relieved breath. ¡°You would not believe how relieved I am-¡± Natalie cut him off with a raised hand. ¡°I can¡¯t speak for Cole, but I have no desire to be your subordinate. Frankly, I don¡¯t trust you much, and I¡¯ve fought too hard to gain my freedom. I¡¯ll take your help, advice, and recommendations, but not your orders. Not from you or anyone else.¡± The Hierophant nodded in understanding. ¡°That is more than fair. We can sort out the details later, but I think this has been enough for one night. I suggest we all get some rest before duty or crisis calls again.¡± A low groan escaped Natalie. ¡°I think that is the first thing you¡¯ve said all night I can unequivocally trust and agree with.¡± Argentari snorted and held out a hand. ¡°Thank you both for your time and support. I¡¯ll do my best to be worthy of it.¡± Cole took the proffered hand and shook it; Natalie didn¡¯t. The couple left the Rookery and descended through the City-Palace. Ignoring the looks they got from passing workers and functionaries. Neither noticed the expressions of awe, fear and interest their presence provoked; they were just too damn tired. When they reached the street outside the Palace, they found a coach waiting for them, the Quicksilver Player who¡¯d acted as messenger sitting in the driver''s spot. As she curled up on one of the coach seats, head leaning on Cole, Natalie muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t like him, and I don¡¯t trust him, but it was nice to give us a ride.¡± Cole just grunted in agreement. They arrived back at the Temple and managed to make it into the apartment without any more calamity befalling Vindabon. Sleep came for Cole quickly, and Natalie eagerly entered a long overdue torpor.
:: Three Days Later :: The Moon was a waning gibbous the night of Jaks Shohgard¡¯s funeral. Its silver light shone on the assembled mourners standing before the newly finished grave, A hollow in between the roots of a great tree. Jaks was laid to rest alongside final offerings from friends and family. Natalie left the wolf statue she¡¯d carved for this purpose. While Cole put one of Dietrich¡¯s ruined gauntlets into the pile, signifying Jaks was victorious even in death. Once the final pieces were set down, his body was covered with rocks and earth, a single shining piece of moonstone capping the pile. A simple but clear marker of who lay beneath the sacred forest¡¯s soil. As the moon rose high above the mourners, the vigil began. Close to two hundred people stood in the snowy grove, silently watching over the new grave. The Shohgard Pack was, of course, there in its entirety. Kistine had recovered enough to lead the service, but her desperate empowerment of Cole during the battle had left its mark. Half of her face didn¡¯t move properly, and she needed a cane to walk. A sight that left Cole with tremendous guilt. It felt wrong that he should be healthy and those he tried to protect were not. Another layer of bitter irony to his existence, he was a protector destined to always survive his charges. Members of many other Packs were also in attendance. Werefolk who were kin or friends to the Shohgards. Natalie saw the old Werebear Guorpa Honeydrinker standing nearby, a weary stoop to his broad shoulders. Then, of course, there were a few people from the city who had come to pay their respects. People who¡¯d seen Jaks fight in their defense at the ball, including the girl he¡¯d danced with. Who clung to her sister and didn¡¯t seem to know how to feel about events. Hierophants from every temple also attended; they would be at every funeral of those killed in the attack. A willing penance paid for the price of their decisions. Looking at the elder Priests, Natalie still couldn¡¯t decide if the risk they¡¯d taken was justified or not. Scapin spun a convincing lie, and the worry over Harmas¡¯s fate pushed them into taking the risk. Thinking about the whole mess left Natalie with a headache and anxiety. Especially since Natalie knew she and Cole had agreed to dive headfirst into whatever mess awaited them in the southern marches. At the very least, they¡¯d be entering the frontlines of a war that grew more serious each day. At worst, they faced a rising tide of undeath and dark manipulation that threatened entire nations. In the few days since their meeting with Argentari, the second option seemed more and more likely. Natalie tried not to let all this overwhelm her, but during an hours-long silent vigil, there wasn¡¯t much more to do but fret. So she stood next to Cole, trying to distract herself with the details of different trees and rocks. When midnight came and went, the first of the vigil holders started to peel off, returning to Vindabon or their campsites. Natalie¡¯s sensitive hearing could pick up the sounds of the Moonmoot site being dismantled. The dozens of different Packs and Clans that had come together for the moot were dispersing. Eventually, after another hour, the Shohgards started to leave as well. Cole and Natalie took that as their sign to depart. Farewells were shared with pack members soon, and the couple was left with three people, Ametza, Kistine, and Jokin. An awkward silence festered for a time before Jokin broke it. Eyes red from crying, jaw still pink with new flesh, the surviving twin looked terrible. His words were hoarse and ragged with unspeakable loss. ¡°If you two encounter Scapin again¡­. Kill him for me, and make sure his death is painful.¡± Then before more could be said, he stalked off, grief dripping from him like so much bile. Kistine watched this and let out a rattling breath before shuffling towards Cole. Her cane and daughter guided her over the forest floor. With a surprisingly strong grip, she squeezed Cole¡¯s wrist and spoke. ¡°It¡­.was¡­.my¡­..choice. My family¡­.my sacrifice¡­.something you hon-honored.¡± A brief flash of shame coursed through Cole, but he suppressed it. Taking Kistine¡¯s hand, he squeezed it and bowed his head. Ametza hugged Natalie then, a surprisingly fierce gesture that took the Vampire a moment to return. In a voice heavy with bleak mirth, she said, ¡°Each time I hope to meet you on better occasions, things get worse. So¡­ I hope we next meet under worse circumstances; maybe then things will be okay.¡± A sad smile accompanied Ametza¡¯s words, and the two women shared a bitter laugh. Nodding, Natalie let go of Ametza. ¡°It¡¯s not a bad idea. Yes, let''s meet under terrible circumstances next time.¡± Taunting fate and soothing their pain with dark humor, the Werewolf and Vampire separated. With some final farewells, Cole and Natalie left the Werefolk. Trudging through the dark forest, heading back towards the city. Soon they were alone in the deep wood, the only light Cole¡¯s amulet. Licking her lips, Natalie empowered her ears, checking to see if they were really alone. Aside from a distant doe, it seemed they were. Taking Cole¡¯s hand, Natalie said, ¡°There''s something else about things that¡¯s been bothering me. Not everything adds up; if Scapin was the Vampire in the oubliette, the one who knew about you, then¡­ a lot of his actions don¡¯t make sense. Isabelle seems convinced the attack on the ball was incredibly sloppy, like purposely so,¡± Cole sighed. ¡°You think there¡¯s a third player in this? Not just the League and Duchies but someone else?¡± Natalie nodded. ¡°I could just be seeing clever plots where there are only failed schemes. But¡­ I don¡¯t know, something doesn¡¯t seem right. Like the attack on the Ball was incredibly flashy. Why did Scapin make contact with Argentari? Why not just use the Alukah¡¯s blood to sneak into the city and grab me? Then there''s the fact Scapin knows about you, but the broader Duchies don¡¯t seem to. Dietrich clearly didn¡¯t know until you fought at the barn. You¡¯d think if they knew, they¡¯d tell him before sending him after you and me.¡± They walked in silence for a time, both coming to the same conclusion but neither wanting to say it. Eventually, Cole¡¯s bluntness battered through his trepidation. ¡°Scapin, or whoever he truly works for, is pushing the Duchies and League towards total war.¡± Letting out a worried breath, Natalie elaborated on her thoughts. ¡°I think they also want both of us. My guess is Scapin was in Glockmire looking for the Alukah and happened to stumble across you. Then at the ball, Scapin tried to take us both through the hell portal, but only after Dietrich was badly wounded. I didn¡¯t see the fight, but it seems weird to me that Scapin didn¡¯t interfere with your duel with Dietrich earlier. I think he was putting himself in a position to kidnap both of us and dispose of Dietrich¡± Squeezing her deathly cold hand, Cole made a sound of agreement. ¡°I think you might be right.¡± Leaning against Cole, Natalie asked, ¡°Should we tell Argentari? I don¡¯t like him, but he seems who would be the best to tell?¡± Shaking his head, Cole said, ¡°Not yet, we just have suspicions, and we¡¯ve both been through a lot. We could be jumping at shadows, and¡­ it might be your bias rubbing off on me, but I¡¯m leery of telling Argentari anything we don¡¯t have to.¡± As the forest ended and the walls of Vindabon came into view, Natalie sighed. ¡°So what now?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°We enjoy the time we have until the next crisis?¡± Natalie smiled and was about to agree when her ears caught something. The doe was approaching, its fast heart drawing nearer. Focusing on it, Natalie¡¯s eyes widened; the ¡®doe¡¯ was running on two legs. Turning to the forest, she hissed. ¡°Something¡¯s coming!¡± Gripping Requiem, Cole rolled his shoulders and suppressed a growl of annoyance. ¡°I expected longer.¡± Snorting in amusement, Natalie stared into the forest, letting her eyes peel away the dark. Whatever she was hearing had an incredibly fast heart and was breathing hard. As she sniffed the night air, Natalie identified it as a human woman¡­ or something close to that. There was a familiar taint to her odor. Bursting from the trees was a wiry-thin woman with long red hair and gaunt features. Gasping breaths, she stared at Natalie with wild eyes, a victorious smile spreading across her face. ¡°I¡­ I found you.¡± The woman ran forward, stumbling over the uneven forest floor, only stopped by Cole¡¯s outstretched arm. Gripping her collar, Cole lifted the woman up and let his amulet shine on her. She shied away from the light, and Cole swore. ¡°Jagged hearts! Yara?¡± Dietrich¡¯s thrall twitched and covered her face. ¡°P-please, he said to find you if he didn¡¯t return. He said if he died and you lived, then she¡¯d h-help me!¡± Sniffing the air, Natalie identified the smell. Yara stunk of the Sting, the pleasure venom of Vampires. Her body was detoxing from the drug, and it was not going well. Seeing Natalie this close, Yara started to thrash harder. ¡°Please-please-please-please-please, I¡¯ll do-do anything; just, just help me!¡± Cole and Natalie exchanged looks; they understood what had happened. Dietrich, with his strange sense of honor, had ordered his thrall to find the closest Vampire with a conscience in the event of his death or capture. Tacitly transferring ownership of the wounded woman from himself to Natalie. A noise of disgust worked its way out of Natalie¡¯s throat, and she looked into Yara¡¯s eyes. Knocking the poor thrall out with a psychic blow. As Yara slumped to the ground, Cole let out a sigh and picked her up gently. ¡°We should take her to the Temple.¡± Staring at the drug-crippled woman in Cole¡¯s arms, Natalie jerked her head in an approximation of a nod. Any doubts she¡¯d had about her path melted away. Dietrich was one of the better Vampires of the Duchies, and he still left horrors in his wake. The Blood Duchies needed to burn, and Natalie¡­ well, she was ready to light that match. Book II: Chapter 43: Dead Dreams

Chapter 43: Dead Dreams

¡°Saleem¡¯s experiment with attaching broken souls to a homunculus body is promising but ultimately not useful for my goals. Shredding a soul into pieces and using those pieces to grow new souls in artificial bodies is clever but limited. Resulting in little more than overly complicated asexual reproduction. No, I need to go deeper than that. Recycling a soul is not the answer. Creating a new one from scratch is.¡± - Notes of Countess Isabelle Gens Silva.
Cole fell through ashen skies, his cloak flapping in bitter winds as he plummeted. Arms and legs flailing, he tried to fall properly, not tumble through the air like a maple seed. Finding a balance, Cole hurtled towards the ground, watching the blasted ruins below him come closer. As shock and panic faded into understanding, Cole set his jaw and prepared for whatever his dream had in store. Like in his previous dreams, he wasn¡¯t alone in the sky; in fact, the dusty hellscape of his vision was practically crowded. Hundreds, if not thousands, of corpses plummeted around him. Trying to shield his eyes from the ash and wind, Cole swallowed dryly and looked for anyone he knew among the corpses. The bodies were in better shape than in previous dreams, or at least they were intact. It was hard to tell in the dizzying descent, but Cole thought the corpses looked like natural deaths. Many were old or gaunt, burdened with many years and hardships. The closest body was of an elderly man with a thick beard and a shrunken frame¡ªthe look of someone subjected to too much magical healing. Looking away from the corpse, Cole watched the approaching ground and awaited impact. It didn¡¯t take long; he slammed into an ash mountain with bone-crunching force. Yet the dream didn¡¯t end, leaving Cole buried in soot. His arms, legs, and probably more of him was broken. Cole started to panic as breathing became hard; suffocation was a horrible way to go. The ash started to shift before true terror or asphyxiation could grip him, rolling under Cole like the ocean surface. Uncovering his face and exposing him to the terrible eclipsed hellscape. Other bodies fell nearby, raining down with wet thunks and meaty cracks. Cole watched the old man splatter a few meters away, wincing as the worn body practically detonated on impact. Before the last drops of blood could return to earth, the corpse shifted. Cole watched ash slither along its flanks and fuse with the body¡¯s injuries. A chill went down Cole¡¯s spine as he realized how similar the process was to a Vampire¡¯s regeneration. A parody of that horror, with ash becoming dead flesh, instead of the reverse. More and more ash covered the corpse, solidifying into muscle and skin. Encasing the ruined corpse in a new body, a very familiar body. Cole sucked in a rattling blood-flaked breath as his doppelganger sprung into existence. A bolt of lightning flashed down from the heavens and struck the faux-Cole. Ears ringing with the ensuing thunder, Cole blinked away after images as the faux-Cole started to move. It slowly stood up on shaky legs and started to shuffle toward Cole. Uncertain of what to do, Cole could just stare as his copy crouched down over him. Reaching out to touch his face. As its fingertips brushed Cole, an excruciating shock bit through him, and he screamed in pain.
Eyes startling awake, Cole blinked away his dream as the last bits of a scream escaped his lips. The entirety of the Tenth Temple clinic waiting room was staring at him with undisguised fear. Rubbing his face and hissing a curse, Cole stretched out his legs and yawned. He¡¯d fallen asleep waiting while the healers treated Yara. As the final bits of awareness returned to him, Cole realized he didn¡¯t know where Natalie was. Getting up, he ignored the nervous looks he got and headed deeper into the clinic. Sniffing the air, Cole sifted through the smells of sickness and medicine until he found a familiar lily scent. A side effect of Natalie¡¯s undeath was any perfume or soap she used lasted far longer than it had any right to. Finding the scent, Cole followed it. He¡¯d gotten used to his improved nose, and tracking Natalie¡¯s passage was easy enough. Passing an open hospice room, Cole caught another familiar smell. Not of a person, but of an eventuality he knew all too well. Glancing into the room, he saw a trio of solum tenders moving a wrapped body onto a cart. Seeing him, one of the tenders stepped over to the door and tried to shut it, only to be stopped by Cole¡¯s strong hand. The corpse was wrapped up except for its face, traditionally the last part to be shrouded. Cole recognized the body; it was the withered old man from his dream. The corpse tender looked up at him with undisguised fear, his hands gesturing in funeral cant. Cole winced; some Priests and followers of Master Time took vows never to speak while handling a fresh corpse. Hoping not to disturb the soul still trapped inside the husk. Cole couldn¡¯t ¡®speak¡¯ the hand language of funeral cant, but he knew enough to tell the Priest was asking him to leave. Forced to pantomime, Cole gestured to the body and his amulet, letting a little glow escape the metal hourglass. The Priest hesitated but let Cole pass. To have your soul freed by a Paladin was a great honor; he wouldn¡¯t rob the dead man of such final rites. Stepping over to the body, Cole reached out and touched the cooling flesh of the body. Pouring his power into the remains and breaking the link between body and soul. He released a relieved breath as he felt the man¡¯s soul and departure. Nodding to the Priests, he turned to leave. The corpse-tenders bowed to him and returned to work, shutting the door in his wake. Taking a few steps down the hallway, Cole leaned against the cold stone and let out a shuddering breath. Shoveling through his memory, Cole tried to confirm what he already knew. He¡¯d not ever seen the dead man until his dream. The old man had died just minutes ago, right around the time Cole was sleeping. Just as the implications settled on Cole, a familiar voice caught his attention. ¡°Hells NO!¡± it was Natalie, speaking with that whisper-shout, angry people trying to be quiet used. Sighing to himself, glad to have the distraction, Cole followed Natalie¡¯s hissed curses and rebukes. Finding her and Hierophant Hedwig standing outside another room. Both women glared whole-greatswords at each other, clearly about to start arguing. Clearing his throat, Cole got their attention; both Vampire and Elder Priestess had the sense to look a little embarrassed at his arrival. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he murmured, going over towards Natalie, noting how agitated his partner looked. Hedwig sucked in a calming breath and said. ¡°The woman you brought to us is suffering severe withdrawal from the Sting. She¡¯s not in good physical condition, and the stress will most likely kill her. If she is to survive with all her organs intact, she¡¯ll need to be eased off the Sting, not cut from it.¡± Cole slowly nodded his head. ¡°And you want Natalie to provide the venom to help?¡± Glaring at him, Natalie shook her head. ¡°I know what that stuff does to a person. She¡¯ll be my thrall, my slave! I won¡¯t do that to someone!¡± Letting out a sad sigh, Hedwig nodded. ¡°I admire your conviction and wouldn¡¯t ask if there was another option.¡± Licking her fangs, Natalie glanced around the hallway like a trapped animal. ¡°What about the other Vampires in the city? Couldn¡¯t one of them do it?¡± Hedwig¡¯s eyes flicked to Cole, and she said. ¡°They can be difficult to contact, especially with Cole here. I know at least three enter voluntary torpor whenever a Paladin is in the city. The paranoia of ¡®immortals¡¯ and all that. I could get one of them in a few nights, but I don¡¯t know if Yara has that long.¡± Seeing Natalie¡¯s next excuse, Hedwig shook her head. ¡°You can ask Morri, but I think your prisoner is in a deep healing torpor. Heavy bindings are being placed on him, and the Temple will not permit him to awaken until we are completely certain he cannot escape. The Scarlet Knight will be of little use for weeks at least; if Yara is to survive, you will need to help her.¡± A series of emotions rippled across Natalie¡¯s face before genuine fear won out. Grabbing Cole¡¯s hand, she pulled him down the hallway and into an empty room. Looking up at him, she whispered. ¡°Annoch the Binder was a master of breaking people. He would enslave people and twist them into horrible, horrible things¡­.¡± Licking her lips, mustering up her courage, Natalie whispered. ¡°When the thirst takes control, I get terrible thoughts, of¡­ of being like Annoch. Cole, I can¡¯t do this; I can¡¯t risk a single step on that path.¡± Setting a hand on her shoulder, Cole leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. ¡°You are helping save a life, Nat. That¡¯s nothing like the Alukah.¡± Shying away slightly, Natalie shook her head. ¡°Well, maybe this is how Annoch started, using his powers trying to help people. Maybe this is the excuse I need to-¡± Cole cut her off with a kiss. Natalie resisted for maybe half a second before giving in to the kiss. Ending it, Cole stroked her hair and said. ¡°I very much doubt this path leads to damnation. Even if it does, I¡¯ll stop you well before you reach perdition.¡± Melting against his chest, Natalie asked in a very small voice. ¡°Promise?¡± ¡°I promise,¡± answered Cole, and they hugged. After a moment, a slight chuckle escaped Natalie, and Cole frowned. ¡°What¡¯s funny?¡± Shrugging, she said, ¡°You promising to kill me shouldn¡¯t be so comforting.¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t kill you; I could never do that. But if I needed to, I would seal you and the Alukah away until a solution could be devised.¡± Another bitter laugh slipped from Natalie. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll take that instead. Alright, I think I can do this.¡± Detaching from Cole, Natalie opened up the door and returned to Hedwig. ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Before her own doubts could catch up, Natalie entered the clinic room and approached Yara. The redheaded woman looked horrible, closer to a corpse than Natalie did. Sucking in a pointless breath, Natalie glanced at Hedwig. ¡°So what do I need to do?¡± The Hierophant put a hand on Yara¡¯s head and whispered an incantation; the unconscious woman shifted slightly and moaned. ¡°Give her a half dosage; if you aren¡¯t exact, it won¡¯t be terrible, but the closer you get, the better.¡± ¡°Lovely,¡± whispered Natalie as she exposed Yara¡¯s neck and felt venom build up in her fangs. She knew little about the magic or mutation that produced the different toxins. Still, Natalie had learned enough to tell them apart and call up the right one. The Sting was a terrible thing, a potent narcotic, aphrodisiac, and hypnosis aid all in one. A snakebite might kill a person. A vampirebite would do more; it could destroy them. Sinking her fangs into the exposed skin, Natalie let some of the venom flow into Yara. It was difficult to tell how much she was using, and Natalie was forced to inject the poison slowly. Giving Yara¡¯s heart enough time to push the venom through her veins¡­ and effect the little bit of blood Natalie was taking. A moan of pleasure escaped her as the spiced blood entered her mouth. It was delicious, an utterly enrapturing taste that would have had her shivering with ecstasy if she still could. Natalie started to drink more, letting the venom flow faster. As the ambrosia tried to lull Natalie into a gluttonous stupor, she used all her willpower to pull away from Yara. Stumbling back, not bothering to shut the wound, Natalie hissed in frustration. The taste had been wonderful and irrational anger flowed through her at being denied. Forcing down her instincts, battering the thirst away with naught but will, Natalie looked to the other people in the room. Cole was close by, hand outstretched, concern writ large upon his face. A wave of lust, hunger, and sheer desire slammed into Natalie as her roused instincts mutated her mundane feelings. Mouth stained red, she started to move towards Cole. Natalie wanted him in every way she could and denied one pleasure; she¡¯d settle for another. The world slowed as Natalie lunged for him, her supernatural speed stretching seconds into relative minutes. She could watch as Cole¡¯s eyes widened in shock and his face contorted in fear. The vampire relished the sight; the human recoiled from it. In the time measured in panicked heartbeats, Natalie started, fought, and ended an internal war. She pounced, but not for Cole; Natalie propelled herself at the nearby wall, slamming into it with enough force to rattle the room. Stopping the desire to attack was impossible, so Natalie had foiled her strike. Veering off and smacking into the stone like a feline doped up on catmint. Blinking away red stars, Natalie groaned and looked up to see Cole standing over her, his amulet in hand, ready for an attack. Smiling up at him sadly, Natalie sighed. ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t hurt you.¡± Cole relaxed and reached down to help her up; Natalie scooted away, gesturing for him to give her a moment. Shutting her eyes, Natalie pushed through the last bits of her blood frenzy and stood up. Rubbing ash from her scalp, Natalie looked over towards Yara and Hedwig. The Priestess has put herself between Natalie and the thrall, both her hands glowing with power. One was touched to Yara¡¯s neck, healing the bite, the other ready to support Cole in subduing Natalie. Shaking her head and releasing a tired breath, Natalie said, ¡°It''s not just a drug for the thralls; I¡¯ve never tasted blood that good before.¡± Then after a moment¡¯s thought, she went over to a clean bedpan nearby and spat into it, trying to get the taste of the spiced blood out of her mouth. ¡°Evil, evil stuff. I should be better prepared if I must do that again, but¡­ I¡¯d rather not.¡± Hedwig let her magic fade, a solemn frown on her face. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize how much of a toll this would put on you, Natalie. The few times I¡¯ve seen a Vampire help wean a thrall, they didn¡¯t react like you did. I¡¯m sorry; I¡¯d not have asked if I knew another way to help my patient.¡± Thinking on that, Natalie shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m still young. Staying in control is hard sometimes. The others probably have more experience or¡­ are dulled to the taste. No matter, it was terrible, but I saved someone.¡± They left the clinic soon after, it would take a few days for Yara to be in any shape to talk, and Natalie wanted to be as far away from her as possible. Dawn was coming soon, so they returned to the apartment. Cole was monosyllabic the entire trip, his mind clearly elsewhere. Ratcheting up Natalie¡¯s tension to nerve-snapping levels. She was trying not to think about how she¡¯d almost attacked him in the clinic, but clearly, he was. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Back in private, Cole absently went over to the newly purchased chest containing Isabelle¡¯s skull. Plucking the polished bone from the box, Cole examined it, Natalie silently watching. A flicker of anger passed over Cole¡¯s face, and he put the remains back into the chest and locked it with a little more force than necessary. Slumping into a nearby chair, Cole put his head in his hands. Worried and uncertain, Natalie stepped closer and whispered, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Cole looked up at her with genuine confusion before realization set in. ¡°Oh, Love, I¡¯m not angry with you.¡± It was Natalie¡¯s turn to be confused. ¡°You aren¡¯t?¡± Shaking his head, Cole reached out for her; his hand was trembling. ¡°No, you did really well at the clinic. You stumbled but didn¡¯t fall, which is incredible, all things considered.¡± Cole¡¯s other hand was on his neck, and Natalie looked at his scars. Seeing the collar, he seemed to be trying to wipe away. ¡°Did Isabelle use her venom on you?¡± Letting out a breath, Cole glanced towards the chest. ¡°Yes, but only a little bit. Never enough to fully addict me, but just¡­ a little spice.¡± Balling her hands into fists, Natalie let out an angry hiss, ¡°That bitch.¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°In the Duchies, using a small amount of Sting is considered¡­ kind. The pleasure it brings is a payment for the blood. It¡¯s twisted, but¡­ what isn¡¯t among the Nocturnal Nobles.¡± Scrunching her face up, Natalie sighed. ¡°I get it, but I still don¡¯t like it. So if it''s not my ¡®stumble,¡¯ what¡¯s bothering you?¡± Forcing his hand away from his throat, Cole grimaced. ¡°Isabelle didn¡¯t overuse the Sting, but my captors did.¡± Lips parting in understanding, Natalie was about to accept that offered explanation. But some gut instinct stopped her. ¡°What else?¡± A snort escaped Cole, and he offered Natalie a sad smile. ¡°You know me too well.¡± Letting out a breath, he explained his dream to her. Natalie listened in silence as he described the ashen wasteland and some of his previous visits to them. He¡¯d told her about meeting Master Time and Isabelle in his dreams before, but never before painting the full picture of his falling nightmares. ¡°At first, I thought they were just some manifestation of guilt. But¡­ that¡¯s seeming less and less likely. I¡¯m worried, Natalie; I¡¯m worried about what I am.¡± Rolling up one sleeve to show his now scarless forearm, Cole continued. ¡°Usually, I regenerate a limb with some of the old scars; I¡¯ve never had one fully ¡®cleaned¡¯ like this before. Something is happening, and I don¡¯t know what.¡± Cole clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking. ¡°I¡¯m resurrecting faster than I used to and have gotten stronger than any normal human. I gained strength after using up my soul against Petar and a better nose after helping the Werefolk. This can¡¯t be a coincidence, and now¡­ now with the dead man.¡± Looking up at Natalie from his spot, Cole swallowed down a sob. ¡°Isabelle told me my regeneration was powered by the ambient Aether. She said it works similarly to a curse or other self-perpetuating spell. But¡­ I think there has to be more than that; I think I¡¯m doing something to the dead around me.¡± The words spilled from him like disemboweled entrails, and their effect on Cole seemed only marginally less painful. Pointing at the box containing Isabelle¡¯s skull, he growled. ¡°I don¡¯t even think she knows how I work, Natalie! I¡¯m changing, transforming, I can feel it, but I don¡¯t know where it''s heading.¡± Natalie sat down next to Cole and rested herself on his shaking form. ¡°So am I, Cole. You aren¡¯t alone in this; I¡¯m with you. We might be monsters, we might be cursed, but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t have a good life together.¡± They were familiar words, gifted by Master Time to Natalie, now regifted to Cole. Just as they¡¯d pierced Natalie, they broke through to Cole. Sucking in a shuddering breath, Cole squeezed her knee and whispered, ¡°Thank you, and I¡¯m sorry I broke down like that. Tonight was difficult on you, and I should have-¡± Natalie leaned over and bit Cole¡¯s ear, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to hurt. ¡°W-what was that?¡± Giving him an annoyed stare, she answered. ¡°Stopping you from apologizing for doing the right thing. Yeah, tonight¡¯s been miserable. Hells, the last few¡­ MONTHS! have been miserable. But we can help each other deal with it, so stop worrying and let me hug you.¡± Cole obliged, and they sat together, two damaged souls finding solace in each other. Softly, Natalie said, ¡°Whatever is happening to you, it can¡¯t be too terrible. It¡¯s not like Master Time would make you his champion if you were some soul-eating horror.¡± Cole didn¡¯t answer, and Natalie leaned over to look him in the eyes. Unwilling to meet her gaze, he said. ¡°Master Time gave one of the first Vampires, a nation-eating demigod of blood, his Stigma.¡± Natalie blinked at that and sighed. ¡°Fuck.¡±
The Weinstadt Guard Tower was in good spirits. More than a week had passed since the fall of House Louon, and their Captain was being hailed as a hero across the city. Most of the ill will growing in Weinstadt over their guards'' perceived failure had evaporated. Aiding a Paladin in slaying a Demon and then bringing down a corrupt noble family would have that effect on all but the most jaded citizenry. It was in this high atmosphere that Arkaz Iron-teeth found himself unusually dour. With the stress of the Heart-stealer murders off him, he¡¯d been able to recover from his ailment and return to work full time. Watching over a reasonably subdued thirteenth district and managing the final aftershocks of the whole incident. Sitting in his office alone, Iron-teeth stared at the medal on his desk, his reward for surviving Milda. There was talk about the city awarding him, the Paladin, his inner circle, and a few others medals for their heroics. The city was trying to turn this mess into some grand success. Iron-teeth was disgusted by the whole proposition. Memories of charred meat and dying screams told him this hadn¡¯t been a success. Isac Louon wasn¡¯t the only one to die in the fire; innocent members of his family and all manner of servants had died in the blaze. Looking down at his medal, Iron-teeth got up from his desk and went to the nearby arming cabinet. Pulling out his weapon, a stout dwarven krazkrak, he returned to his desk and smashed the medal with a single violent strike. Bits of metal exploded across the room, and the desktop cracked. Sighing, Iron-teeth set down his weapon and got to work cleaning up after his little act of idiocy. Cat-eyes found him like this, bent down, collecting bits of scrap off the office floor. ¡°Uh, you okay, sir?¡± Grunting in annoyance, Iron-teeth dropped the metal fragments onto his desk. ¡°Yes, just taking care of overdue work. Do you need something, Alia?¡± Shrugging, she said, ¡°I was heading home for the night and wanted to make sure you hadn¡¯t fallen asleep in your office again.¡± Iron-teeth snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not dead or senile yet, girl. I¡¯ll be leaving soon enough. See you tomorrow and say hi to Mina for me. I haven¡¯t seen her for a while now.¡± Cat-eyes twitched slightly at that. Her burgeoning relationship with the Priestess was annoyingly public. ¡°Will do; she¡¯s been busy with the Temple but she thinks she¡¯ll be back with us in another week.¡± Fleeing any more awkward conversation, Alia waived and shut the office door behind her. ¡°G¡¯night¡± Grunting in response, Iron-teeth returned to cleaning up his medal. Iron-teeth let out a weary sigh as the final piece fell into the trash. He¡¯d once dreamed of seeing Louis Louon and his family seeing justice for all the good people they got killed. Now all Iron-teeth could think about was how pitiful the whole situation was. Slipping on his coat, Iron-teeth buckled on his krazkrak and locked up his office. Saying his goodbyes, he left the Tower and headed toward the seventh temple. He had one more stop he needed to make before going home. A stop he¡¯d made every night since Louon Keep burned. The Priests of Aunt Seeress knew to expect him and led him where he wanted to go. They had tried to stop him the first few times he¡¯d visited. But dissuading a resolute Dwarf was like punching through a boulder, requiring unnatural strength. Eventually, the Priests simply decided to let Iron-teeth visit with their prisoner and patient. When he first came, Iron-teeth had expected Liam Louon to be locked away in some moldering dungeon, wrapped in chains and manacles. The truth couldn¡¯t be more different. Liam floated in a clear glass sphere, suspended in a murky fluid, a bubble of enchanted air around his mouth and nose. Every time Iron-teeth saw the sight, it made his insides shudder. Liam had been badly burned, and his skin was a horrifying mass of fresh wounds. Floating in the semi-opaque fluid, he looked like some ancient bog sacrifice to a Fell God. Stepping close to the sphere, Iron-teeth noted the carefully carved sigils marking the glass. Where the Tenth Temple fought the Undead, the Seventh dealt with defilers of mind and magic. Their ¡®prison cells¡¯ would contain all but the most powerful Magi or Seer. A little much for the burned wretch currently inside one, but Iron-teeth wasn¡¯t complaining. ¡°I see you¡¯re still sleeping.¡± the old soldier whispered to the Heart-stealer. ¡°No matter, I¡¯ll keep coming back.¡± Staring up at the withered husk of a man, Iron-teeth shook his head. ¡°I pity you, boy. I despise you, but I understand why you became what you are.¡± Knocking on the glass, Iron-teeth turned to leave. As he did, the ruined body inside the sphere started to twitch. Cracked, burnt lips opened, and words came from smoke-scorched lungs. They were carried through the air bubble and into the wider room by some magic Iron-teeth didn¡¯t care to guess at. ¡°K-k-kill me.¡± Iron-teeth¡¯s escort ran from the room, going to alert someone the prisoner had finally awoken, leaving the captain alone with the heart-stealer. So no one heard what Iron-teeth answered. ¡°The Goblins used to give wounded prisoners they couldn¡¯t ransom to their Witches. Every soldier in my squad carried a mercy dagger, except for me. Not because I didn¡¯t fear capture, I just had something better.¡± Reaching into his pocket, Arkaz Iron-teeth found the small nail he¡¯d kept there for this reason. He¡¯d never had the talent to be a true Runesmith, but his grandmother had taught him a few tricks. Etched on the nail head was the rune for force, and wrapping the actual nail was the rune for penetration. Making two of the most basic runes had tested Arkaz¡¯s abilities. Years ago, he¡¯d created the little charm as a secret weapon and hung onto it out of nostalgia and paranoia. Placing the nail¡¯s point against the glass, Arkaz whispered the activation word and released the magic he¡¯d forced into the runes. With a violent crack, the nail shot forward, piercing the glass and shattering it into a storm of fragments. Arkaz covered his face and ignored the sting of sharp glass as the sticky fluid of the cell flowed out in a wave. As the storm of debris ended, Arkaz looked at his handiwork. The sphere was totally gone; its innards spilled out on the ground before him, including the twitching body of Liam Louon. Leaning down over the Heart-stealer, Arkaz quickly snapped his neck. Ending the murderer¡¯s suffering with a single quick yank of strong dwarven hands. Priests of the Seventh Temple rushed in then, just as Arkaz wiped his hands clean on his coat. Everyone in the room was shocked, Iron-teeth had visited Liam multiple times, and this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d been alone with the Heart-stealer. Looking at them, Arkaz shrugged and said, ¡°He asked for mercy, and I answered.¡± Then, after a moment¡¯s hesitation, a mirthless smile showed the captain¡¯s shining teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t think I have to worry about them giving me a medal now.¡±
Cole had never visited the grand opera house of Vindabon before; neither duty nor interest had pulled him to the institution that earned the city its epitaph. Now as he and Natalie sat in box seats watching a performance, he understood why Vindabon was the City of Music and Dreams. The opera they¡¯d gotten seats for was a relatively new and scandalous performance, at least according to Hierophant Hedwig, who was a clear enjoyer of the art form. It was called The Fall of Antoia, and two hours into the show, Cole knew why it was receiving so much attention. It depicted a sordid romance between a Sidhe Princess and a human bard. Anything to do with the Sidhe was more than taboo, and portraying one in a positive light was tantamount to heresy in some more conservative regions. Still, from the moment the curtain rose, Cole couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the opera. Magic and mundane talents were woven together to create a stunning show. Act two was coming to a close, and doing so with an excellent finale, Princess Antoia and Wil the Bard danced through the air on sculpted light. Both singers harmonized their voices and movements as they twirled along a shaft of moonlight. Antoia¡¯s wings had been sculpted from lace and dipped in some kind of phosphorescent paint so they glittered and sparkled with every movement. Her long dress dripped down from her and rippled in an unseen breeze, as she floated through the air. Wil the Bard, by comparison, was grime stained and shabby. Wearing a threadbare robe and a sculpted mask of white wood. The mask symbolized the stolen Sidhe name Wil used to enter the faerie court. As the couple''s duet ended, Antoia leaned down to her smaller suitor and pulled up his mask, kissing him as the music swelled. Drifting down off the moonbeam, they settled onto the stage just as a troop of Sidhe knights in patina-stained armor exploded onto the stage in a puff of technicolor smoke. At their head, a hulking brute with antlers and a spear of carved bone. With a wave of his spear, green ribbons shot up from the stage and wrapped around the lovers, pulling them apart. Antoia wailed and pleaded with her father, the Stag Lord, but he ignored her. Stomping over towards Wil, the Stag Lord started to sing. Proclaiming the Bard a liar and a thief, unworthy of his daughter by nature and by birth. As his baritone rumble peaked, the Stag Lord lunged forward and struck Wil with his spear. The audience gasped, and a dozen extras covered head-to-toe in green bounded up from offstage, trailing brown ribbons behind them. They swarmed over Wil, wrapping him in the ribbons. Binding him tight and tossing the extra length into the air, where some wire or magic caught them. As the extras faded away, the Stag Lord stamped his staff on the ground, and a peal of thunder mixed with bird song filled the theatre. Clouds of strange multi-hued fog swirled up and around the imprisoned Wil. When the Bard was fully hidden from view, the Stag Lord took a mighty breath and blew, sending wind to push away the fog. Revealing a barren willow tree in place of the Bard. Antoia ran to the tree weeping, wrapping her arms around it and collapsing. As she fell, the curtain came down, ending the second act. Murmurs and light clapping escaped the audience as the intermission started. Leaning back in his chair, Cole looked over at Natalie. She wore a serious frown and looked positively upset. A little surprised, Cole leaned over to her. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Looking at him, she sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t like sad stories, I understand their purpose, but I still don¡¯t like them.¡± Blinking away his surprise, Cole was shocked. ¡°You think this is a sad story?¡± Now it was Natalie¡¯s turn to look confused. ¡°Wil was just turned into a jagging willow tree, Antoia is going to avenge him but lose everything in the process.¡± Shaking his head, Cole let out a chuckle. ¡°I don¡¯t think so; I think this story will have a sweet ending.¡± Crossing her arms, Natalie raised an eyebrow. ¡°I think the ending will be bitter. The play is literally called The Fall of Antoia.¡± Shrugging, the Paladin found one of the Vampire¡¯s hands and squeezed. ¡°I guess we just have to wait and see.¡±
¡°You were right,¡± grumbled Natalie as she finished clapping and leaned against Cole. The opera company had just left the stage, and the applause was thunderous. Careful to not let his strength translate into deafening claps, Cole just smiled and shrugged. As the last cheers faded and people started to leave the Opera hall, Cole said, ¡°We both were. The ending was bittersweet.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie gestured down at the closed curtain. ¡°Antoia changed Wil back and ran away with him. They got married and lived a life together.¡± Cole stopped clapping and said. ¡°Antoia had to give up her connection to the Fae, becoming mortal and unable to ever go home again. A fair price to pay for true love, but still a price.¡± Natalie thought about it. ¡°I guess that does make it a little bittersweet. But I think a happy ending with a touch of sadness isn¡¯t a sad ending..¡± Getting up from her seat, Natalie stretched. A strictly unnecessary gesture for a vampire, but she enjoyed how the act drew Cole¡¯s eyes. The Schneiders had made her another dress, and it fit wonderfully. Smiling at Cole¡¯s sheepish admiration, she tapped his chest and the amulet hidden beneath his clothes. ¡°You always have had a thing for hourglasses, haven¡¯t you?¡± Cole snorted with genuine laughter, pulled himself up, and pulled Natalie into his arms. ¡°I enjoyed the Opera; how about you?¡± Natalie snuggled into him and sighed. ¡°I honestly preferred the street theatre, it didn¡¯t take itself as seriously, and the rawness of it had an appeal. Which did you prefer?¡± Glancing around the opera house and all its filagree and fashion, Cole said. ¡°The Opera. It required more investment than the street theatre, which made its story more rewarding.¡± Nodding in understanding, Natalie detached herself from Cole with great reluctance. ¡°Well, you finally took me to the Opera; what do we do next?¡± Thinking about Harmas, and the war, Cole let out a tired breath. ¡°Enjoy life together and help who we can.¡± Swallowing uselessly, Natalie took Cole¡¯s hand. ¡°Together, that sounded nice the first time you said that. It sounds even better now.¡± Book II Epilogue

Book II Epilogue

Dietrich awoke to three things, the sound of running water, the taste of fresh blood, and incredible pain. Slowly opening his eyes, Dietrich groaned and tried to understand where he was and what was happening. Memories of the Ball and his defeat provoked more groans from him; he¡¯d failed again and wasn¡¯t even spared humiliation in death. The source of Dietrich¡¯s pain became clear as he took in his surroundings; he was suspended over a deep pit by strong chains. Chains that wrapped around him, and pierced through him. His arms, legs, and guts were woven with dwarven steel, trapping him like a fly in a torture spider¡¯s web. Pulling free of the chains would mean ripping himself apart. He couldn¡¯t even pull the bindings out of their mountings. Hanging in the air, he lacked any leverage or grip to use his prodigious strength. That is, if he could even access his power, he was pathetically low on blood, and layers of binding spells dulled his magic. The pit he hung above was like some ancient Jotunn well. Extending both above and below him a great distance. The only entrance was a single archway carved into the pit¡¯s side, leading out onto a slight lip of rock close to where he hung. Water flowed over the archway creating a waterfall curtain that poured off the small promontory into the shaft below. Standing on the rocky outcropping were two familiar figures. Argentari and the other masked man from the crossroads, except he was no longer hiding his face. A low, pained hiss escaped Dietrich, and he growled. ¡°Why do I still live?¡± Argentari let out a bitter snort. ¡°Because we thought you might make a good hostage.¡± Another person would have laughed at the bleak absurdity; Dietrich just hung his head in exhaustion. Hostage exchanges weren¡¯t uncommon between the League and Duchies. They were an intersection of sentimentality and practicality both empires shared. It took roughly fifty years for a Vampire to go from being an intelligent monster to something truly dangerous. Each noble of the Duchies represented a serious investment of resources and time. It wasn''t practical to let centuries of experience and power be lost when they could be traded for over-bred mortals. As a Scarlet Knight of a hundred and fifty years undead, Dietrich should have been a prime candidate for such an exchange. The Archduke repaid loyalty, as did most truly dangerous vampire lords. But Dietrich was dishonored; he¡¯d been captured trying and failing to prove himself. His value as a hostage was middling; there would be no exchange. Bearing his teeth, showing his missing fang, Dietrich growled. ¡°You won¡¯t get anything of value for me. Just take my head and let us be done with this.¡± Argentari laughed. ¡°Oh, you are quite wrong, Sir Dietrich. I just received a generous offer for your safe return.¡± Eyes wide with shock, Dietrich tried to understand why. The other Priest in the prison, an old man with facial hair and hard eyes, spoke. ¡°They want you back to execute you as a traitor.¡± It took Dietrich several seconds to comprehend what had just been said. ¡°I¡­ I am no traitor. I failed my duty but did not break my oaths!¡± The old man shrugged. ¡°Then you are a fool manipulated by a traitor.¡± Bridling at that, Dietrich pulled at his restraints, ignoring the terrible pain. ¡°What lies have you mortals spread! What have you done!¡± The old priest didn¡¯t even blink at the Scarlet Knight¡¯s fury. ¡°We¡¯ve done nothing. At first, we thought the Duchies were simply trying to distance themselves from the mess you and Scapin created. But we dug deeper and found hints of something more. Tell me, did Scapin ever say where he got samples of the Alukah¡¯s blood? ¡± Jaw clenching and unclenching, Dietrich tried to understand what they were saying. ¡°Are you saying Scapin stole the blood?¡± Argentari chuckled mirthlessly. ¡°If my spies have it right, an Ashen Agent stole something of incredible value from the Fifth Eternal Legion, assassinating its General in the process. This assassin supposedly wanted to defect to the Holy League and is hunted as a traitor.¡± Dietrich let a low groan escape him. ¡°They think I joined him. They think I shirked my duty and betrayed the Archduke.¡± Nodding, Argentari added. ¡°It seems your friend Scapin intended to steal the Alukah for himself and leave you to take the blame.¡± Confused and outraged, Dietrich snarled. ¡°Why! Why did he do this!¡± The old priest said, ¡°We thought simple greed at first. An Ashborn is already a rare and dangerous monster. With the power of the Alukah, Scapin could grow into a legitimate rival of Drakovich. So he sends both League and Duchies into war with each other, distracting both empires while he gets stronger.¡± Red eyes narrowing, Dietrich asked. ¡°At first?¡± Argentari nodded at his fellow priest. ¡°I would have assumed the base motive, but Morri here convinced me otherwise.¡± The priest, Morri, glanced at his companion with the barest flicker of annoyance before saying. ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time something like this has happened. The Tenth Temple monitors relics and powers that can extend life or create powerful undead. In the last century, nearly a dozen have disappeared under disturbing circumstances. Someone or something is collecting power and doing a good job deflecting suspicion. Taking the treasure and leaving evidence pointing at a familiar enemy. Just like what Scapin attempted here.¡± Glancing around the pit prison, Dietrich whispered. ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Morri looked to Argentari. ¡°We wanted to know if you were part of this conspiracy. If you were, then we could start extracting secrets from you.¡± The barest hint of what could have been fear slithered through Dietrich. He was in a place of power, a prisoner to two beings whose power and purpose were anathema to him. If they wanted to crack open his mind and soul, they could. ¡°Why do you think I¡¯m not allied with Scapin?¡± Argentari suppressed a snort. ¡°Because I¡¯ve spent the last few weeks putting layers of lie-detecting spells on you. The only way you could be fooling us is if someone had altered your mind and memory. Considering you aren¡¯t psychotic, at least not more so than your average Vampire, I believe you aren¡¯t a traitor to your nation, just a fool.¡± The last scraps of Dietrich¡¯s pride tried to rise to the bait, but they couldn¡¯t manage. He¡¯d been beaten, tricked, humiliated, and dishonored. Dietrich had lost everything. Hanging his head, the broken knight rasped, ¡°Send me to the Duchies; let me face my fate.¡± Morri sighed in annoyance. ¡°No, you don¡¯t get to fall on your sword. Even if you weren¡¯t aware of Scapin¡¯s plan and nature, we still have use for you.¡± A little of Dietrich¡¯s steel returned to him. ¡°I won¡¯t turn Scapin¡¯s lies into truth. You will get nothing from me.¡± Nodding, Morri said. ¡°We probably wouldn¡¯t; Scarlet Knights tend to go insane before torture or memory probing gathers anything useful.¡± The way the old priest talked made Dietrich think he knew this from personal experience. ¡°Then what do you want of me if you aren¡¯t going to try and pull secrets from me?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have adamant proof of this conspiracy, just reasonable suspicions. When we get proof, we want you to deliver it to Drakovich.¡± Morri answered. Shocked, Dietrich balked. ¡°Why would you do that? Why would you share information like that with an enemy?¡± Argentari gave Dietrich an annoyed look. ¡°Because we aren¡¯t the only ones who¡¯ve lost relics. Your master may be a bloodthirsty monster, but he¡¯s not stupid. Many of the worst artifacts of undeath not in the Tenth Temple¡¯s possession are in the Duchies, where they are kept safe and contained. Stopping this third party from gaining those relics and starting a war in the process seems like a good idea.¡± Brooding on this, Dietrich asked. ¡°Until you find this proof, what of me?¡± Morri went over to the small waterfall and touched it, freezing a piece of the waterfall into a sharp stalactite. He gripped it like a lance and aimed the blade at Dietrich¡¯s heart. ¡°Until then, you sleep.¡± Driving the sharpened ice forward, Morri pierced Dietrich¡¯s heart and forced him into torpor.
:: Somewhere in Aenea :: The rolling hills and plains of central Aenea were littered with history. Ruins and relics of multiple civilizations filled the land. A testament to mortal ingenuity and time¡¯s eternal march. Some of these great remnants formed the heart of cities or holy sites. The treasured inheritances of the current rulers of this land. Others were left to decay and be forgotten, becoming little more than a curiosity to any who stumbled upon them. Then, of course, some weren¡¯t so much abandoned as fled. Avoided out of fear of whatever dark things nested there. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. In one of these old places, a tomb of a chieftain to a long-dead tribe, something foul stirred. Hidden beneath snow, dirt, and rock, the tomb had been built to hold the chieftain¡¯s body and that of his descendants. Where generations would be laid to rest surrounded by the beautiful murals a score of artists had labored over. Now those murals and the remains they enshrined were gone, buried beneath ash. Ash filled every chamber and gallery of the tomb. Turning the ancient burial site into a mammoth midden heap containing naught but grey powder and flecks of burnt bone. Now on the first new moon since the winter solstice, the ash started to move. Great slithering tendrils of soot crawled up the stairs of the tomb and reached the slab door sealing it shut. Pressing against the stone entrance, the soot pushed the huge rock a fraction of a finger length. Just enough for a stream of ash to dribble out of the tomb and into the surrounding frozen highlands. Freshly fallen snow was stained black as the ash pile grew. In the dark, barren night, deprived of moon and star, something was birthed from the ash. Grey powder congealed into malformed flesh. It wasn¡¯t a person or even a creature, but little more than thrashing meat. Boneless and formless, it twitched and grasped, looking for its missing pieces. The half-awake mind within the flesh started to process that something was wrong as it flailed uselessly in the falling snow. Where were its bones? It needed bones to function. A crunch of footfalls alerted the flesh, and it wriggled toward the noise. The clatter of something hitting the ground excited it, and the flesh moved faster. After a few agonizing seconds of slug-like slithering, it found the prize, bones, human bones. The flesh started to dissolve back into ash and reform around the bones, rebuilding into a proper body. Becoming Scapin, or more accurately, Scapino. Scapino blinked away ash and looked up at his savior. An unassuming woman with common features and simple clothes. A look of disgust showed on her face, having witnessed Scapino¡¯s boneless plight. Trying to remember how to speak, Scapino rasped. ¡°Thank you, Columbina. The Alukah¡­ she is stronger than we thought; she damaged me. Forcing me to abandon my bones and return to my nest.¡± Columbina sniffed in displeasure. ¡°Pantalone received your plea for help. I was nearby and decided having you in my debt was worth watching that little horror show.¡± Bowing to her, Scapino acknowledged the debt. ¡°I¡­I need to report to the others, but yes, you are right. I owe you for this.¡± Looking over her comrade, Columbina frowned. ¡°What did she do to you? I¡¯ve never heard of a Vampire needing new bones.¡± Touching his face, feeling the new structure and features, Scapino looked at Columbina. While none of the members of the Troupe would ever admit it to each other, there was a level of trust between them. ¡°The Alukah can influence any being with her blood. She drained my ash body and severed my connection to the set of bones I was using. Forcing me to abandon ¡®Scapin¡¯ and reform here, without any bones to model a body around.¡± Columbina made an indecipherable noise. ¡°Well, you seem to have failed rather spectacularly, Scapino. Both Annoch and the Homunculus slipped through your grasp for a second time. I¡¯m certain Magnifico will be interested in whatever excuses you have for him.¡± A slight twitch of fear crossed Scapino¡¯s face. The leader of his cabal was not a being to anger; none of them were. But Magnifico was as old as he was cruel; his displeasure would burn like a cremation fire. Turning to leave, Columbina reached into her dress and pulled out a rusted athame. With a deft motion, she cut the air, and the world recoiled. Reality split, and multi-hued blood dribbled from her incision. Reaching out, Columbina pulled on both edges of her cut and widened it. Stepping into the wound, she disappeared from view. Hidden by undulating walls of pseudo-flesh. Stepping forward, Scapino prepared to follow her into the Troupe¡¯s parlor. As he did, one of his legs dragged behind him. Confused, Scapino looked down to see much of the flesh around the new limb had dissolved into ash. Shocked and concerned, he focused on the limb and the ash recollected around the leg. Entering the rift, Scapino felt a slight pang of worry. How much damage did the Alukah do to him?
Isabelle floated in a lake of crimson, staring up at the moon while waiting for her guest to arrive. She¡¯d called out to Natalie and hoped her student would answer soon. Possessing Natalie had drained Isabelle, and she¡¯d only just reawakened and had little idea of how much time had passed. Thankfully Natalie had responded to her call, waylaying any fears some calamity had struck while she slept. As she waited, Isabelle did what any self-respecting researcher would when left alone; she tried to solve a problem. The mystery of Cole¡¯s enhanced strength and sense of smell was nagging at her. Isabelle thought she knew the mechanic behind it but was not completely certain. Her attempts to build an ¡®improved¡¯ soul had been wildly and disturbingly successful. The evidence suggested Cole¡¯s soul didn¡¯t just repair severe damage like she intended. It improved itself using whatever material was available. The basic structure of Cole¡¯s soul, its aetheric lattice, grew and evolved like a living creature. Something that excited and terrified Isabelle in equal parts. This was not how souls were supposed to work. A person¡¯s life could alter a soul to a degree, but not like this. The normal changes to a soul were like a body gaining larger muscles through exercise or, contrastingly, withering under some ailment. Circumstances and choices could alter the soul and even cripple it, but they couldn¡¯t change the fundamental structure and nature of the soul. If the normal experience was like strengthening muscles, then Cole¡¯s alterations were more like growing new limbs. Fascinating and unnerving in equal measures. It was a painful reminder that Isabelle once played with arcane powers she was talented enough to manipulate but not knowledgeable enough to fully understand. Of course, when creating Cole, she had no doubts about her understanding. Back then, she¡¯d been flushed with pride, and confident in her mastery. Death and other revelatory experiences stripped some of that arrogance from her. Isabelle created something beyond her. An immortal creature capable of gaining strength and powers through death. Something capable of limitless suffering and near-infinite growth. Far surpassing her original goal and entering the territory of Gods. Then as if the universe needed further proof of her hubris, she fell in love with the creature. Letting withered emotions return and push her toward a foolish demise. The mask of analytical scholar and magi started to fall away, and Isabelle let out a pained sigh. Tasting Cole¡¯s blood and touching him through Natalie¡¯s skin had been wonderful. She¡¯d almost forgotten how warm he was, and even now, she wished to feel him again. The whole absurdity of this situation made Isabelle want to laugh and tear her hair out. Here she was, having surpassed both nature and divinity, now pining over Cole like a love-sick village girl. Further proving the universe had a sense of humor, Natalie entered her death-dream then. With an annoyed sigh, Isabelle reshaped her mindscape so she sat in her familiar chair facing her student and rival. Natalie raised an eyebrow at Isabelle¡¯s weary expression. ¡°You called me here; I don¡¯t know what you are complaining about.¡± Waiving off her discontent, Isabelle said, ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about Cole¡¯s evolution. I have no clear answers but a few ideas.¡± Interested, Natalie called up her own chair, a carved thing of some emotional significance. ¡°What can you tell me?¡± Drumming her fingers, Isabelle explained. ¡°Not much; I don¡¯t think it''s dangerous to him, at the very least. His aetheric lattice is expanding and adapting to-¡± Seeing the blank look on Natalie¡¯s face, the old vampire rolled her eyes. ¡°His doll is growing bigger and better carved every time it''s smashed.¡± Natalie seemed torn between annoyance and understanding. She clearly remembered the metaphor Isabelle had used in a previous meeting. ¡°Well¡­ that¡¯s good to hear. Something happened recently, and Cole wanted you to know.¡± Isabelle listened as Natalie described the strange dreams her darling was having. She remembered the ash wastes of Cole¡¯s internal world and her own meeting with a god there. As Natalie described Cole¡¯s vision of the dead man, she winced. This was rapidly becoming more complicated than she had hoped. Once Natalie finished, she waited expectantly for Isabelle to speak. After a few long moments picking her words, she did. ¡°Death is messy, the body ceases functioning, and the soul strains against its broken container. In that time, before a soul truly passes on it¡­ it sheds pieces of itself. Usually, just flickers of soul stuff, but sometimes larger chunks are knocked loose. I fear Cole¡¯s unique nature makes him sensitive to such spiritual debris.¡± Both vampires looked at each other, Isabelle wasn¡¯t telling the full truth, and Natalie knew it. When it became clear Isabelle had no desire to share more, Natalie clicked her tongue in annoyance. ¡°Is that why you summoned me? To give cryptic hints about Cole¡¯s immortality?¡± Isabelle sighed; she was indeed being intentionally vague and cryptic, but not without reason. Cole would not react well to the full truth, and the more people who knew it, the worse it would be for him. It was better the secrets of the Homunculus Knight stayed with her, lest the information spread into dangerous hands. A canny Magi could take her discoveries and use them even less wisely than she had. So Isabelle would play the insufferable genius and protect Cole and Natalie from the truth and whoever might covet it. ¡°No, I asked you here to discuss your offer, to help me move on.¡± was Isabelle¡¯s answer, enjoying the look of shock on Natalie¡¯s face. Before any assumptions could be made, Isabelle said, ¡°I don¡¯t want to truly die, but I acknowledge my current existence isn¡¯t¡­ tenable. Existing in isolation without a body is wearing on me. You are decades away from the power required to create me a body, and I fear what my mind might be like by then.¡± Taking a pointless breath, Isabelle made her proposal. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die, but I¡¯d rather go peacefully than decay away. At the same time, I have things I still need to do. I refuse to let my knowledge die with me. Many of my discoveries could revolutionize the world in the right hands. And¡­ I want a little time with Cole, just enough to love him a little more and say goodbye if I need to.¡± Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, Natalie asked. ¡°What do you want, Isabelle?¡± Pushing down the flair of anger that suddenly boiled within her, Isabelle said. ¡°Twelve days, I want twelve days out of each year, one for each month. Days you give me when you choose, days you will sleep inside your mind and let me experience the living world.¡± Jaw tightening, Natalie opened her mouth to protest, but Isabelle reached out to her with real desperation. ¡°You don¡¯t have to decide now; I just wanted to offer this compromise. I¡­ I am asking this favor of you as a friend. Please, just consider it.¡± Natalie swallowed nervously and looked at Isabelle for a long time. Then in a half-whisper, she said. ¡°I¡­ I will consider it.¡± then, with a ripple of thought, she exited the shared dream. Letting herself relax in her chair, Isabelle smiled. A good plan had the most ways to win and the fewest ways to lose. By that standard, her little compromise was a very good plan. The Bogatyr and the Bog (Part 1)

The Bogatyr and the Bog (Part 1)

¡°God of the Bog, he who preserves, he who provides, we offer this sacrifice in your name. Take this child of Gobavi into your dark embrace, and keep them whole until they might rise again.¡± - Partial Translation of the Gorrick carvings.
:: Years before Cole came to Glockmire :: A goblin stood on the earthwork wall surrounding the village of Walek. Clad in shabby clothes and armed with a long spear, the goblin watched the marshland surrounding his home. His name was Dor, and guard duty had fallen to him this bleak sunless morning. Leaning against the wooden stumps sticking out of the wall¡¯s top, Dor peered out across the endless bog his village bordered. Thick fog covered the soaked landscape, reducing Dor¡¯s vision of the marsh to a vague impression. Not that that mattered much, Dor wasn¡¯t relying on his eyes to tell if a threat was coming. Scratching his pointed chin, Dor glanced back at Walek. The village was a collection of peat-roofed hovels that never seemed to dry out, even when a roaring peat-fueled fire warmed them. Dor absently watched as two of his neighbors loaded a rickety old wagon with peat stacks. Even during the current crisis, the sole resource of Walek was harvested, packed, and shipped. As the last bale of the rich dark earth was loaded, Bolek, one of the workers, gripped the hitched donkey¡¯s bridle and started leading it towards the village gate. Sighing, Dor slid down the earthwork embankment and headed for the gate. He opened the old wooden structure and watched as Bolek and two of his brothers, both armed with spears, guided the wagon out of the village. Shutting the creaking gate, Dor returned to his post, watching as Bolek headed east, away from the bog. All three men and their donkey moved quickly, trying to put some distance between themselves and the marsh. Dor didn¡¯t blame them, the east road was a miserable ill-kept trail, but it was safer than being this close to the bog. As Bolek¡¯s caravan faded into the fog, Dor stared at the mist-wrapped bogland, willing the banks of stinking fog away. The fog didn¡¯t oblige him, not that he expected it to. If Vlatka, the village witch, couldn¡¯t drive off the fog, his idle hopes wouldn¡¯t. When the final donkey¡¯s hoofbeats finally faded away, Dor shut his eyes and listened. He had good hearing, even for a goblin. His large, slightly pointed ears were sensitive, earning him this job as the main watchman. As he listened, Dor focused on the natural sounds of the bog, things he¡¯d known his entire life. The buzzing of insects, the slithering of windblown grasses, and the call of birds. As Dor listened, he noticed an absence, a sound that should have been there but wasn¡¯t. No frogs chirped or croaked, a small thing only someone looking for it would notice. It made a knot of cold, clammy dread fester inside Dor. Ignoring the sensation, Dor slid down the earthworks and ran for one of the village hovels. Banging on the door, heart beating like a drum, Dor felt a new flicker of worry. What if he was wrong? What if he was overreacting and disturbed their guest for no reason? Shoving that doubt down, Dor stood by the door and waited; he¡¯d accept any beatings if he were wrong, better than failing to alert the mercenary. The door to the hovel creaked open, and a giant stepped out of it. Nearly twice Dor¡¯s height, the giant was clad in leather armor and wore a grim expression on his monstrous face. He looked like no one Dor had ever seen, he was bigger than even the few humans who¡¯d visited Walek, and his face was marked like a slave¡¯s back. Vlatka, the witch, said the mercenary was human and not a true giant, but Dor had doubts. Peering down at Dor, the mercenary rumbled. ¡°What is it?¡± Pointing towards the bog, Dor said. ¡°I think they are coming. Don¡¯t know for certain, but the frogs aren¡¯t singing.¡± The mercenary nodded his head and ducked back inside his borrowed hovel. After a few moments, he returned with an axe, not a wood axe, but a true weapon of war. The mercenary followed Dor toward the walls. In a rumbling, accented voice, he said. ¡°Please go alert your shaman; I will hold the walls if need be.¡± Leaving the village''s strange guest, Dor headed towards the witch¡¯s hut. While he¡¯d never admit it, Dor was glad to be given another task. He¡¯d fought on the walls before and had no desire to repeat the experience. Reaching Vlatka¡¯s hut, Dor reached out to knock on it but was stopped by the carved wooden door swinging open. The witch stood before him, hunched over with age and weighed down with talismans; a gnarled staff of swamp wood gripped in equally gnarled hands. She pushed past Dor and started shuffling towards the walls. In a voice like creaking rafters, she said. ¡°You did well, young Dor; go get every spear in the village. This is going to be a big one.¡± At those words, Dor felt like someone had poured the foulest bog water into his stomach. Running as fast as his spindly legs could carry him, Dor banged on every occupied hovel, crying that they were under attack. Soon thirty goblins armed with spears, axes, pitchforks, and other crude weapons were assembled at the base of the village walls. Vlatka, the mercenary, and the village headman Milovan stood on the walls, watching the marsh and exchanging hushed words. Gripping his spear tight, Dor watched them talk and felt a tremor of doubt go through him. If he¡¯d been wrong somehow? Oh, his grey-brown skin would be tanned a few shades darker. Then as if to put his worries to rest and breed a whole new batch, a scream echoed out from the wilderness. Over thirty heads swiveled east in the direction of the scream, in the direction Bolek¡¯s caravan had gone. Dor looked back to the walls, hoping for any reassurance from his leaders, just in time to see the mercenary vault over the wall and leave the village. Shock turned to rage as Dor¡¯s sensitive ears heard the cowardly giant run away. Apparently, his thoughts were shared, Liba, a hotheaded fisherwoman, jabbed her trident at the gate. ¡°That maggot-spawned mercenary! He¡¯s running away after we paid him?¡± Milovan looked down at her; the old goblin frowned and barked. ¡°You gone stupid, Liba? He¡¯s gone to rescue Bolek; besides, he¡¯s not a mercenary.¡± The rebuked fisherwoman spat on the ground but said nothing else. Soon Milovan had them up on the walls, watching for any sign of the mercenary or the caravan. By some stroke of misfortune, Dor found himself partnered with Liba. She was angry at being rebuked and looking for an excuse to express that ire. Liba had always been bad, but she''d been especially nasty ever since her brother died. So Dor just kept quiet and let her pace up and down their section of the wall. Liba was a sure recruit for the Kozaks the next time they came through looking for new sword arms. She had the right mix of cruelty, anger, and something to prove the Tzar and Boyars liked in their fighters. As Dor tried to avoid her wrath, he comforted himself with the knowledge if they were really attacked, he could leave the real fighting to her. Pacing back and forth, Liba hissed her complaints. ¡°I bet the giant is involved with this! We were being attacked for barely a week, then he shows up and meets with Vlatka. Then he¡¯s sleeping in one of our hovels and eating our food. This is a plot, I know it; he¡¯s a bloatfly looking for a handout!¡± Dor just stayed silent, choosing not to voice the fact the mercenary was sleeping in a nearly abandoned hovel they¡¯d been using as storage. Or that he¡¯d paid for what little dried fish and hard bread he¡¯d eaten. Liba was not one for logic in the best circumstances, and Dor had already avoided several potential beatings today. Eventually, Liba whirled on him and asked. ¡°Milovan says he¡¯s not a mercenary; if not, then what is he?¡± Seeing the only escape from her was to leap over the wall or answer, Dor shrugged. ¡°I dunno, maybe he¡¯s one of the boyar¡¯s Boe-kholopi?¡± Liba started to dismiss that, but after a pause, she considered the notion. ¡°A warrior-slave?¡± Dor nodded. ¡°Yes, one sent by the Boyar to help us; it would make sense with the headman and witch accepting him.¡± Before this could be given more thought, another scream echoed through the bogland. Dor and Liba whirled, gripped their weapons, and looked over the wall for any threat. They couldn¡¯t see anything, but they could certainly hear something. A gurgling bellow answered by a foreign warcry, both drowned out by a tortured scream. More roars, groans, and screeches echoed through the fog, slowly dying away as whatever was happening ended. Silence reigned on the mire, and the defenders of Walek waited for any sign of what happened. The low creaking of wagon wheels came through the fog, and the villagers watched as Bolek¡¯s cart trundled into view. The donkey was gone, replaced by the mercenary, who hauled the cart up to the village gate. In the wagon¡¯s back were three bodies, each bloody and ragged. Calling out to them, the mercenary said. ¡°Two of your people still live; please open the gate.¡± A few goblins hurried to oblige, and soon the wagon was within the village. Dor and Liba joined the curious throng watching the mercenary¡¯s arrival. The mercenary¡¯s arms were smeared with some dark substance, and he stunk like the most fetid patch of bog water. His axe hung from his hip, its blade stained and dripping something Dor knew wasn¡¯t blood. Vlatka set into motion, ordering villagers to gather the herbs and potions she¡¯d need from her hovel while she examined the rescued goblins. Bolek and his brother Jug were alive; their youngest sibling Cedo was dead. Both living goblins were pale and clammy. Their clothes and hair were soaked with stinking water, and both showed signs of fighting. One of Bolek¡¯s legs was broken, twisted at a bad angle like something had gripped his ankle and yanked with incredible force. Jug was covered in scratches, the skin on his arms shredded where he¡¯d tried to defend himself. Cedo was missing much of his throat; a final scream etched onto his marred face. Stepping back towards the gate, the mercenary rolled his shoulder and unsheathed his axe. Liba and Dor looked at each other, realizing that this wasn¡¯t over. Liba reacted first, running after the mercenary, a gleam of war-lust in her eyes. Dor hesitated but followed after, planning to stay by the gate and shut it if need be. Sighing, Dor knew what Liba was thinking. If the guest weren¡¯t a mercenary but a trusted boe-kholopi, then fighting at his side would allow Liba to earn the boyar¡¯s attention. Reaching the gates, Dor stood by them, watching the two warriors leave the village''s safety. Ahead of them, at the edge of vision, something moved in the fog, a whole lot of something. Eyes wide, heart beating loud enough, Dor was certain others would hear it; he watched as things materialized out of the thick fog. Withered, hunched-over creatures with peat-black skin and wrinkled uncanny faces. There were a dozen of them; each misshapen in a unique and horrible way. Dor knew what they were; every member of the village knew. They were Vadnuti, Bog Ghouls, the cursed remains of everyone lost in the marshes depths. The mercenary unsheathed his axe and did something to it; Dor watched with wide eyes as the weapon¡¯s hilt extended, turning the war axe into something like a bardiche. Holding his magic polearm ready, the mercenary roared something in an alien tongue. ¡°MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS¡± The Vadnuti answered with a gurgling wail, a sound like a child being drowned in marsh water. Then as one, the twelve ghouls charged the mercenary, loping along the ground with jerky, erratic movement. The mercenary didn¡¯t meet the charge; in fact, he did the exact opposite. Grabbing Liba, and ran for the gate. The fisherwoman was too stunned to protest and was carried by the giant with one hand. Reaching the gate, the mercenary shoved Dor aside and dropped Liba with a modicum of gentleness. Gripping onto the wood of the gate, the mercenary whispered words, and a puff of frost escaped his lips. Dor watched, too stunned to react, as the Vadnuti reached the open gate, scrambling for the entrance and the mercenary''s flesh. The first of the pack, a long-limbed corpse that scuttled along the ground on malformed legs, slammed into an invisible barrier, a handspan away from the mercenary. Stopped by some enchantment laid on the threshold of the town. The Vadnuti crumpled against the barrier, unable to escape as it''s attacking kindred crushed it against the arcane wall. All twelve Vadnuti were stopped by the magic, and the eleven surviving ones limped away from the barrier. Slithering back, the Vadnuti regrouped, watching the mercenary with empty eye sockets. They shrieked that same horrible gurgling cry and loped off into the bog, fading into the murk. The mercenary let out a relieved sigh and stepped away from the gate. Letting a recovered Dor and Lida shut and bolt it. Breathing heavily, the mercenary looked at the two goblins and said. ¡°Thank you for your help; I¡¯m sorry for not telling you my plan.¡± Liba was irate at being handled like a bale of peat and was barely containing herself. ¡°What the gog was that! What did you do, boe-kholopi?¡± The mercenary looked at her with bafflement, clearly not understanding the word. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know what that means. But I reinforced the protective spells your shaman put on the wall.¡± The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Dor looked between Liba and the mercenary. ¡°You can use magic?¡± Looking down at his filth-stained forearms, the mercenary nodded. ¡°Just a little; your shaman¡¯s workings did most of the work; I just made them¡­ harder.¡± Eyes narrowed, Liba asked. ¡°Who are you? Some Sidhe Knight summoned here by Vlatka?¡± The mercenary¡¯s face twitched at the word knight but settled into something like mild annoyance. ¡°I¡¯m Cole, a servant of Master Time, not a Faerie.¡± Liba asked. ¡°Master Time? What sort of title is that? Is he some Western boyar?¡± The scarred human, if he was human, almost smiled at that. ¡°It¡¯s the name of a god, the one I serve.¡± Liba actually spat on the ground. ¡°Then you are a pagan.¡± Cole shrugged and started climbing the earthworks to see over the wall. ¡°To you, I guess I am.¡± Liba shook her head and stalked off, clearly disappointed that this ¡®Cole¡¯ wasn¡¯t her riding horse to glory and fame. Dor glanced towards the village, where the two surviving brothers had been taken to Vlatka¡¯s hut for treatment. Most of the assembled militia had returned to whatever they¡¯d been doing before the call to alarm, clearly believing the threat was settled. Gulping down bile, Dor followed Cole up the earthworks; he was still technically on guard duty. He found Cole peering over the wall towards the gate. Dor mimicked the act, hoping to see what Cole was looking at. He succeeded and instantly regretted it as cold fear filled him. The body of the crushed Vadnuti was gone. Cole sighed and rubbed his stained hands on the wooden palisade. ¡°This is going to be difficult.¡±
No one had left or entered Walek in two weeks; every attempt to leave the village ended in tragedy. At best, forced back behind the walls by waves of Vadnuti. At worst, they disappeared into the bog before Cole could intervene. The witch-warrior, as some of the villagers took to calling him, could tip the balance in any skirmish he fought in, but he couldn¡¯t be everywhere. More than once, a night watchman was picked off the wall. Dragged screaming into the dark for the crime of leaning over the palisade. While the walls kept the surviving villagers safe for now, food was becoming an issue. They still had enough to feed everyone, but that wouldn¡¯t last. Even with eleven fewer mouths to feed, Walek would soon go through their winter reserve. Something that would normally terrify Dor, but he doubted they¡¯d live long enough to starve in winter¡¯s embrace. Every night, Cole, Vlatka, and Milovan engaged in a hushed conference that other villagers were occasionally invited to. The exact purpose of their discussion was unclear, but they were clearly looking for something in the bog, at least judging by the questions Cole asked. The secrecy and worried expression Milovan wore near-constantly did little to improve morale. Liba and a few others were convinced the witch-knight and village witch were preparing some sort of ritual. One that would require a true offering, a sacrifice of blood and life to earn the Three Queen¡¯s aid. Eventually, the day the first cellar ran dry, a decision was reached. Vlatka and Milovan assembled the village, ready to make their announcement. In her creaky voice, Vlatka said. ¡°An ancient evil has besieged us for too long. With the help of our guest, Milovan and I have come up with a plan. We know the source of this foulness and think we can destroy it. It is deep in the bog, and we need good fighters to help us reach the heart.¡± Milovan stepped forward then and pointed to different members of the village. ¡°Liba, Borka, Sana, Elyar, Zorg, and Dor. You will help Vlatka and Cole reach the source of this corruption and deal with it.¡± Dor blanched and, in a weak voice, asked. ¡°W-why me?¡± Vlatka explained. ¡°You have the best hearing; you might give us the few seconds we need before an attack.¡± Nodding, Milovan said, ¡°We will prepare tonight and leave tomorrow morning. If you move fast, you should be able to reach the source and return before nightfall.¡± Another spurt of fear filled Dor¡¯s already panicked mind. The idea of being stuck out in the bog at night was¡­ horrible. Even weighed down with terror, Dor joined the preparations. A lifetime of ignoring his fear had taught him well, and Dor did his best not to let anyone know how scared he was. But as he met with his fellow chosen, Dor realized his efforts might be slightly wasted. All of the goblins except Liba stunk of barely contained fear. Walek had little in the way of weapons and armor, but their ¡®champions¡¯ were given the best the village could provide. Dor found himself clad in weaved armor older than he was, with an iron-reinforced leather cap drooping over his receding forehead. He kept his trusted spear and buckled on a dagger, his sole inheritance from his dead drunkard of a father. Looking over himself and his fellows, Dor felt nauseous; they didn¡¯t look like warriors, just bodies meant to absorb arrows meant for their betters. Looking up at the hulking mercenary, Dor guessed they were properly dressed then. In the village center, Dor and the other goblin ¡®warriors¡¯ watched as Vlatka drew a map of the marsh in the damp dirt. It was a familiar sight, with different landmarks easily recognizable to Dor. He would have drawn a similar map if asked, except for one addition Vlatka was currently pointing to. A crudely drawn skull in the center of the bog. The witch explained, ¡°That is our goal; it is the heart of the curse and the source of our woes. If we can reach it, then Cole and I can destroy it; you all have to just help us get there.¡± Elyar, the youngest of the selected, a skilled bog runner who¡¯d escaped Vadnuti before, asked. ¡°And get back, right?¡± Vlatka smiled, her missing teeth showing in a crooked grin. ¡°That would be good, but even if we didn¡¯t, once the curse is stopped, our village will survive.¡± Cole frowned at that and said. ¡°I will do all I can to ensure we all return from this mission.¡± Tapping the marked curse center, Cole continued. ¡°There is an old evil in this bog; now that it¡¯s awake, it will keep sending the Vadnuti after this village until it''s stopped.¡± Frowning, Dor asked. ¡°What woke it up? You said it''s old, and now it''s awake, so what woke it up?¡± Liba snorted. ¡°Who cares? How do we destroy it?¡± Vlatka¡¯s smile faded momentarily, but she said, ¡°With magic, either mine or Cole¡¯s, preferably both.¡± Crossing her arms, Liba asked. ¡°Why should we trust some pagan¡¯s magecraft? He worships weak gods, so his magic must be weak.¡± Vlatka struck out with her staff, smacking Liba with its gnarled head. The headstrong goblin stumbled back, and for a moment, Dor saw murder in her eyes. It vanished as she regained control and rubbed the struck spot. Glaring at Lida, Vlatka brandished her staff. ¡°Our guest is a pagan but also the Paladin of a foreign God. His God commanded him to aid us; we should not shirk a divine gift, even if it is pagan.¡± Cole looked distinctly uncomfortable; his mutilated face twisted in a grimace. Dor had never heard the word Paladin before and wondered if there was something shameful about the title. Before his wits could win out against curiosity, Dor asked. ¡°What¡¯s a Paladin?¡± Vlatka let out a sigh laden with her disgust for Dor¡¯s ignorance. ¡°It¡¯s like a Bogatyr, except different.¡± That got everyone''s attention. A Bogatyr was a holy knight blessed by the Gods to destroy their enemies. Dor exhaled slowly, finding the faintest ember of hope kindled inside him. If they had a Bogatyr, even one sworn to weak gods, then this quest might not be doomed.
True to the plan, they left at first light. Armed and equipped, the expedition stepped through the gate and left the village''s safety. In the murky dawnlight, the bog somehow looked even more dangerous than the day the Vadnuti charged the gate. Foggy wetlands stretched out ahead of them in a soaked landscape promising all manner of horror. Liba led the group, with Cole behind her, the rest clustered around Vlatka, while Dor followed, his sensitive ears covering the rear. They found the old bog trail easy enough. Even after a month of no use, the path generations of villagers used was still there. Something about that comforted Dor; he¡¯d half expected the bogland to be twisted somehow. But as they traveled along the trail, it was clear they were in the same bog his ancestors had fished and harvested for as long as anyone remembered. Dor was clearly not the only one set at ease by this. Whispered conversation started between some of the other goblins as they skulked through the bog. Their path was the top of a small ridge between two stretches of shallow bog water. A layer of springy moss covered the path, letting the group travel quickly and quietly. Unfortunately, the trail extended only so far, and the expedition was forced into the ankle-deep mire. Liba led them through the shallowest sections, moving between dry outcroppings and avoiding the occasional murky patch of water. Dor¡¯s head constantly moved, trying to pick out any abnormal sounds in the marsh cacophony. The buzz of insects, hiss of grass, and croak of frogs was surprisingly loud. It comforted Dor; they were safe as long as the frogs kept singing. The group clambered over a patch of slick grass and headed for a gap in the reed-choked marshland. Fog-dampened vegetation and uneven footing made for slow going, with Cole hampering their progress. He wasn¡¯t a bog goblin, and his sheer size prevented him from using many of their tricks. Not that he was a complete oaf like Liba seemed to think. Dor noticed the ¡®Paladin¡¯ was quick on his feet and was adapting well for someone twice a goblin¡¯s size. Passing through the space in the reeds, they found a large stretch of open bog, with scant few patches of land sticking out of the water. Dor knew the place; it was a good spot to fish and catch frogs. Stepping out in the water, it came up to every goblin¡¯s waist and Cole¡¯s thighs. It was deeper than any section they¡¯d traversed before, and swirling muck obscured the marsh floor. As they reached roughly halfway between the reeds and the next bit of land, Dor stopped and listened. It was hard to hear with everyone wading through the water, and he wanted to check the frogs. They weren¡¯t singing; nothing was making noise except for their group. Holding his spear out, Dor looked to the group, about to shout a warning, when he saw something that rattled his innards. A pair of withered peat-black arms were sticking out of the water a few strides ahead of him, right about to grab Sana. Dor froze, a scream trying to force itself out of his throat. As the hands struck, Sana screamed for him. The Vadnuti gripped her arms and pulled her down. The group spun to see Sana disappear into the waist-deep murk, bubbles, and roiling mud marking her location. Elyar shrieked and swung at the patch of bubbles with his axe; as he did, something grabbed one of his legs and pulled it out from under him. The bog runner didn¡¯t have time to renew his scream as he was yanked into the mire. As true panic started to grip Dor, Cole arrived in a splash. The Bogatyr, if he truly could be called that, shoved a hand into the roiling mud and yanked. Cole pulled Sana from the muck, tossing her like a bale of peat toward Vlatka. Three stringy crumpled arms lunged out of the water for Cole, his axe tore apart one, but the other two gripped his leather armor and pulled him off balance. Cole tried to recover himself just as another Vadnuti exploded out of the muck, leaping onto the Bogatyr like some overgrown bloatfly. Trapped between the grasping arms and clawing grappler, Cole kicked and cut, slashing out with his axe and limbs. Dor finally broke out of his terror then and stepped forward, ramming his spear tip down into the water where the arms originated. Something in the muck spasmed, and the grip on Cole¡¯s legs slackened. The Bogatyr gripped onto the Vadnuti, clinging to his back, and yanked. Dead flesh gave way, and the Vadnuti¡¯s head sailed away. Freeing himself, Cole gave Dor the briefest nod and sloshed towards where Elyar had disappeared. Freeing his spear, Dor waded towards the group as fast as he could. Finding Liba, Borka, and Zorg hacking apart a Vadnuti pinned by Liba¡¯s fishing spear. As the bog monster ¡®died,¡¯ its body dissolved, melting into damp peat the three goblins kept swinging at for a few seconds. Upon realizing they were victorious, Liba pulled her spear free and brandished it at Dor. ¡°YOU! Why didn¡¯t you warn us!¡± Before Dor could come up with an excuse, a scream came from nearby, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing into the water. A few seconds later, Cole appeared from behind a thicket of reeds; a bloody Elyar slung over one shoulder. Seeing them, he gestured towards the nearest patch of land and barked. ¡°Keep moving!¡± The goblins obliged, Zorg picking up the stunned Sana and carrying her as they rushed through the water. Gurgling screams cut through the air, loud enough to be heard over their panicked flight. The group scrabbled onto the rise in the bog and watched as Cole ran towards them, shapes in the water coming after him. Dor¡¯s eyes widened as he tried to understand what he was seeing. Patches of darkness swam through the shallow water, chasing Cole like hungry dire pike. It was impossible for anything that big to swim like that in a bog, but the shadows didn¡¯t seem to care what was possible. One surfaced from the water, exploding out in a tangle of rot-blackened limbs and howling hate. Not even stopping, Cole swung his axe and knocked the Vadnuti away, sending part of its skull in a different direction. The thwarted Vadnuti fell back into the water and vanished beneath it. Cole reached the patch of ground then and dropped Elyar next to Dor before turning back to the water. The air grew bitterly cold, and Dor¡¯s wet clothes went from uncomfortable to dangerous. A puff of hoarfrost escaped the Bogatyr as he dropped onto his knees and thrust his hand into the water. Ice shot out from where he touched, spreading over the water like fire on dry tinder. The shadows shied away from the ice, but some were too slow; they surfaced as the ice swallowed them. The Vadnuti were screaming masses of flailing limbs, unable to escape the cold. When Cole pulled himself out of the ice, he stumbled back onto the ¡®dry¡¯ ground. Leaving a huge semicircle of frozen bog and frozen Vadnuti in his wake. Sucking in heaving breaths, the Bogatyr slumped back on the damp grass. Dor was suddenly pushed aside as Vlatka reached Elyar. Dor had almost forgotten about his injured comrade and looked down at the rescued Goblin. He regretted it instantly; much of Elyar¡¯s shoulder was gone, the meat torn away, and flashes of white bone were visible beneath the incredible amount of blood. Vlatka took one look at the wound and cursed. Kneeling down the best her old bones allowed her, she put a hand on Elyar¡¯s head and muttered a spell. Elyar slipped into unconsciousness, his eyes rolling back into his head, his panicked breaths slowing. With steady hands, Vlatka unsheathed a knife from somewhere in her robe and slit Elyar¡¯s throat. Hushed words drowned out Elyars gurgles as Vlatka gave final rites. ¡°Queen Crone, take this child of yours. Know his truth and judge him right.¡± As Elyars died and his soul was freed, Cole had recovered enough from whatever magic he¡¯d used to approach. Fury boiled off him like storm clouds, and he growled. ¡°Why did you do that? He could have been-¡± Holding up a hand, Vlatka glared at him. ¡°He was already dead; blood loss or infection would have killed him. My magic couldn¡¯t save him, and we¡¯d lose valuable time waiting for him to die; it was better this way.¡± Anger melted to sadness on Cole¡¯s face, and he said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t rescue him faster.¡± Vlatka shrugged, seemingly off-put by his words. Looking at Dor, she asked. ¡°You! Why didn¡¯t you warn us.¡± Shrinking away, Dor stuttered. ¡°The wa-wa-water, we-we were ma-making too much noise; it wasn¡¯t easy to hear anything.¡± Frowning, Vlatka accepted that excuse and got up from her place by Elyar¡¯s body. ¡°We will leave the body here; we must keep moving.¡± Sana had recovered slightly, and the rest of the goblins were stressed but uninjured. Dor didn¡¯t know how far they had until they reached the heart of the curse, but he hoped they were close. He didn¡¯t know how many more attacks like that they could survive. The Bogatyr and the Bog (Pt 2)

The Bogatyr and the Bog (Part 2)

¡°Curses are bad business, no doubt about that. They be wounds in the Aether, festering hunks of magical power unbound to any will, cept maybe the gods. It takes a lot to make a curse, lotsa magic and emotions, all wrapped up in stinking horror. But once it is born it''s a hell¡¯o time destroying them. Breaking even young curses is hard. As for old ones, forget it. better to just let them sleep and hope they don¡¯t wake up.¡± - words of (self-taught) Exorcist Fergus of Fallstone.
Borka was the next to die; the group was passing through another thick section of reeds, and he tripped. Dor heard a cry and turned his head just in time to see Borka go under. He never came back up; in fact, they never found his body despite minutes of frantic searching. One moment he was with them; the next, he was gone, swallowed by the bog. The goblins clustered together after that. Moving slowly and unwilling to stray more than a few steps from Vlatka or Cole. Borka¡¯s sudden death had hardened something in the Bogatyr, his expression a cold mask of anger. It somehow made Dor even more nervous. Would Cole snap and beat someone for their incompetence? Idly, Dor wondered if it was better they never recovered Borka and spared him whatever punishment the scarred giant would deem worthy for failure. This deep into the bog, there were fewer signs of goblin activity. Any paths carved here had already faded away, leaving the group increasingly forced to wade through deep muck or thick reeds. Even as the sun climbed high in the sky, the fog didn¡¯t clear. It simply blended with the dreary skies and made the world a thing of pale light and twisting shadows. Yet despite the lack of a clear trail or even decent visibility, Vlatka led them onwards. She seemed to know where to go, rarely stopping to correct their course. Dor had no clue how she knew; he just guessed it was part of her magic. For his part, Dor focused all his attention on the sounds around them. If he could give them a few seconds'' warning, it might save someone¡¯s life, preferably his. As they skulked through another deep section of the mire, Dor obsessed over the sound of frogs. Reaching another section of soggy land, Dor paused to listen, detecting a lull in the croaking song. Counting his heartbeats, Dor felt panic build in him like steam in a kettle. When his thundering heart reached thirty beats, and there was still no sound, Dor shouted. ¡°SOMETHINGS WRONG!¡± No sooner had he said that than the gurgling cries of the Vadnuti filled the void left by the frog''s silence. Vlatka hissed some truly acidic curses and gestured for a thicket of reeds. A lifetime of unquestioned obedience showed itself, and the surviving goblins dived into the reeds. Cole followed after them, axe ready and eyes scanning the marsh. The cries grew closer with every second as Vlatka pulled on some reeds and wrapped them around her staff, muttering witch-words as she did. Dor felt something pass through him, a wave of power he felt but couldn¡¯t understand. The reeds around them started to shift, bending and twisting in a great rippling spiral. Hundreds of plant shoots wove themselves together around the group. Nature answered Vlatka¡¯s call, and weaved a dome of reeds around them. Enclosing the group in an upside-down wicker basket fit for a true giant. The shrieks and bubbling wails of the Vadnuti got louder and louder until something slammed into the side of the basket. Dor flinched away as the weaved reeds bent but did not break. More impacts followed, but the Vadnuti couldn¡¯t get to them. Kneeling in the muck, focusing on her staff, Vlatka protected the group from the attacking undead. But Dor could see she was starting to strain, so apparently could Cole. Stepping close to the wall, Cole gestured to the goblins. ¡°Shaman Vlatka, open up a small gap if you could. Everyone else, make sure nothing gets past me.¡± With a jerky nod, Vlatka complied, and part of the reed wall slithered open. Creating a gap just large enough for a goblin to slip through. The gap was instantly filled by a warbling monster with a flattened face. Cole¡¯s axe came down and split its malformed head, only for the Vadnuti to be replaced with another of its kind. This one also died, as did the next and the next. Cole worked like a peat harvester, chopping through monsters like he was carving up bales of peat. As the Vadnuti died, they dissolved into crumbling muck, and soon Cole was almost buried in the dark earth. Liba saw this and stepped forward with her fishing spear, thrusting into the churning mass of peat and Vadnuti, pushing both back so Cole could fight unhindered. Others in the surviving group joined the effort, the act similar enough to their normal work they could ignore the screaming tide of monsters. Dor stepped forward slightly but glanced at Vlatka, putting himself between her and the entrance. He would protect her; yes, that was what he would do. The screams of the Vadnuti decreased and eventually stopped, leaving only a puffing Cole and wide-eyed goblins. Covered head to toe in dark fermenting sludge, Cole wiped his face and looked to Vlatka. ¡°They are gone for now; we can keep moving.¡± Nodding, the witch snapped the reed wound about her staff, and the wicker wall collapsed, unraveling back into normal plant life. Exposing the small mountain of muddy peat left where Cole had held the entrance. Zorg looked at this, and a slightly panicked laugh escaped him. ¡°That was incredible! I bet you could kill them all, Bogatyr!¡± Wearily, Cole pushed out of the reeds, cleaning his axe as he did. ¡°I already have, at least twice. Which is why we need to reach the heart of this curse and destroy it.¡± Zorg¡¯s grey skin became paler. ¡°W-what?¡± Gesturing for the group to follow him, Cole explained. ¡°We can destroy the Vadnuti¡¯s bodies; that¡¯s not particularly hard. But some power deep in the bog remakes them soon after. They are limited in number, but they will keep returning. The force that attacked us was probably most of them, so we bought ourselves time here.¡± Nervously the goblins trailed after Cole. Dor helped Vlatka pass through the reeds; she was initially unsteady on her feet but recovered by the time they reached the deeper water. Dor tried to ignore the ugly look Liba gave him. She didn¡¯t approve of him acting as Vlatka¡¯s guard, apparently. After taking a few moments to clean their weapons and themselves, the group continued deeper into the bog. The fog started to grow thicker and thicker, slowing their pace and forcing the goblins closer together. Watching the swirling mist, Dor asked Vlatka. ¡°Can you do anything to get rid of this fog?¡± Vlatka gave him a withering glare, and Dor shrunk back. ¡°I cannot; besides, it¡¯s not fog. It is ectoplasm, rotten soul-stuff, evidence of the curse¡¯s influence.¡± Then to prove her point, she gestured towards Cole, who Dor realized was still quite visible despite the ¡®fog.¡¯ Squinting, Dor realized the mist shied away from the Bogatyr. Parting slightly as Cole trudged through the marsh. An unnerving sight even if the fog was mundane, which it clearly wasn¡¯t. Dor didn¡¯t know what ectoplasm was, but the way Vlatka said the word was enough to worry him. Forced into a tight knot, the expedition pushed through the fog, following Cole like a boat does its prow. Following Vlatka¡¯s directions as they waited for the next attack, expecting a swarm of Vadnuti to erupt out of the fog at any moment. Moving with as much speed as they could muster, the group reached a point where the ectoplasm was so thick Dor could barely see his hand in front of his face. Cole¡¯s deep voice, muffled by the fog, reached Dor as he stepped closer to Sana. ¡°We have arrived; ready yourselves.¡± The looming bulk of the Bogatyr was a murky shadow just in front of the goblins. He had stopped wading through the bog water and was doing something with his hands. Dor couldn¡¯t tell what, but he guessed it was something magical as the temperature dropped around them. With a noise like a screaming child, the fog parted before them, cut open by Cole¡¯s power. Dor watched with wide, fearful eyes as the Bogatyr ¡®gripped¡¯ onto the fog and pulled it open like a set of doors. The water Cole stood in had frozen over, turning into icy slush, and hoarfrost clung to his muddy body. Glancing at Vlatka he said. ¡°I can pierce this barrier, but not for long; you either succeeded, or we all die.¡± Vlatka nodded and trudged forward, Dor following right behind her, his spear held ready to protect them both. They passed through the gap Cole created and into the heart of the curse. The fog here was faint, a bare wisp compared to outside the barrier, letting Dor see where they were. A peat field of mossy mud and small grasses centered around a great willow tree. The willow tree was dead; no drooping leaves hung from its sickly-gray branches. Instead, the crooked old tree bore strange fruit; corpses dangled upside down from its highest reaches. Not upside down like hung from their ankles, no they defied gravity and fell up into the sky, stopped only by the nooses wrapped around their necks. Thirty corpses hung inverted, swaying in an unfelt breeze, grey slime dripping from their feet. Droplets of which bloomed into clouds of ectoplasm that fed the fog banks surrounding the clearing. Dor forgot to breathe or move and was shoved out of the way by Liba, who stopped her rebuke of him as she took in the sight. Dor saw a flicker of fear and the tiniest hint of guilt cross her face. Despite everything that made Dor feel better, even Liba wasn¡¯t immune to the horrible sight. The goblins entered the clearing, and Cole followed them, the fog snapping in behind him in a nearly-physical barrier. Unsheathing his axe, Cole approached the willow tree; Vlatka and the goblins followed. Something malformed exploded from the ground near Cole, and he knocked it away with an almost contemptuous strike. As the thing hit the mossy ground, Dor saw it was half of a Vadnuti. Its new body was not yet done, and it had attempted to attack Cole without any legs. Before the Vadnuti could react, Liba and Zorg hacked it apart, earning an appreciative nod from the Bogatyr. With Cole and the other goblins to guard her against more attacks, Vlatka reached the horrid old willow. Dor hated being this close to the thing and kept glancing upward at the dangling corpses. They were shriveled and bent, looking like inanimate bog ghouls. Vlatka seemed to pay them little mind, instead focusing on the huge knot bulging up where the tree¡¯s trunk and roots met. The knot was big as a person and clung to the tree like an infected wart. Vlatka drove the end of her staff into the knot, punching through moldering bark and into something wet. The whole tree started to shudder, and Dor looked up at the branches just in time to see the hanging corpses open their empty eyes and scream. It was a gods-forsaken sound, more like a gurgling rasp than proper keening. The boggy ground started to shake and rattle as more Vadnuti pulled themselves out of the peat. Cole lept into action, Liba and Zorg helping him. While Dor and the injured Sana guarded Vlatka. The witch was muttering a string of curses, both magical and mundane, as she drove her staff deeper into the knot. She wiggled the gnarled wood, and Dor swore he saw the staff wriggle like something alive. A cracking sound caught Dor¡¯s attention, and he looked at Sana. Eyes wide with shock, Sana looked down at her stomach; a cruelly sharpened branch had run her through. Sana didn¡¯t even have time to scream as the branch lurched up with another creaking crack, taking the injured goblin with it. Shrieking as loud as he could, Dor yelled, ¡°THE TREE! THE TREE IS ATTACKING!¡± Vlatka looked up from her work just long enough to shove Dor down, saving him from a lashing branch. Mouth agape, Dor watched as the lower branches thrashed, one wicked-looking bough questing for Vlatka¡¯s flesh. The old witch leaped back with unnatural dexterity, flying through the air like a startled frog. She landed beside Cole, who was busy threshing away rising Vadnuti limbs. The monsters were foregoing forming entire bodies and simply attacked with arms and mouths thrust out of the peat. Dor started to frantically crawl away from the tree, but Vlatka¡¯s voice stopped him. ¡°NO! You can finish this! Snap my staff with it in the knot, or we all die!¡± Glancing back at the tree and its whirling limbs, Dor covered his head with his hands and started to cry. A roar of fury forced Dor to look up, and he watched Cole run toward the tree. Branches lashed out at him, and despite his huge size, the Bogatyr dodged them. Avoiding the huge creaking boughs and receiving only small scratches from their sharp twigs. Pushing through the slashing branches, Cole reached the knot and gripped onto the staff. But instead of snapping it, he did something else. Dor couldn¡¯t be certain, but he thought he saw Cole wipe his hands along fresh cuts and smear blood on the staff. Whatever Cole did, it worked, and the willow''s thrashing slowed and finally stopped. With a wet squelch, Cole pulled Vlatka¡¯s staff from the knot and stalked over toward the group; with his free hand, he grabbed Dor¡¯s collar and dragged him as well. The goblin watchman wept as he was deposited in front of the group. Ignoring him, Cole addressed Vlatka. ¡°I put my power into finishing the spell, so you didn¡¯t have to sacrifice your focus to complete it.¡± Vlatka took back her staff, pointed at the tree, and barred her teeth in a tired smile. ¡°Good, good, but this isn¡¯t over yet. The Ur-Vadnuti is cut from its place of power but not destroyed.¡± This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The tree started to move again; the great knot bulged and twitched. Pulling away from the willow like a bloated tick leaving a dead host. The knot burst with a wet cracking sound, sending a shower of slime and wood everywhere. Long grey-black limbs stretched out of the knot, grasping onto the willow tree and pulling the creatures attached to them free. It looked like something had taken a goblin corpse and stretched it. Pulling its arms and legs until they were unnaturally long and thin. Lengthening the torso and neck into impossible proportions while squashing the skull into a tight oval. The monster was slightly taller than Cole, and its body leaked ectoplasm in a constant billowing nimbus. Unsteadily, it shuffled forward, impossible limbs sliding over the mossy ground. Cole unsheathed his axe and worked some magic to lengthen it into a polearm. Glancing at Vlatka, he said, ¡°You did your part; now I will do mine.¡± Then the Bogatyr charged the Ur-Vadnuti, his weapon¡¯s spear edge ready to impale the monster. The Ur-Vadnuti lacked eyes; its sockets were empty pits leaking tears of slimy ectoplasm, but that didn¡¯t stop it from reacting to Cole¡¯s charge. Its mouth opened unnaturally wide, and a warbling shriek exploded forth. Dor flinched away and didn¡¯t see the clash, just Liba¡¯s look of disgust. Forcing himself to watch the fight, Dor started breathing heavily; even if they won, he might not survive this. Cole drove his bardiche forward, and the Ur-Vadnuti dodged, its body moving with oily grace. It answered his attack with a slack haymaker that Cole ducked underneath. Moving low, the Bogatyr swiped out for one of the monster¡¯s legs. It jumped, springing up and landing next to the tree. Ur-Vadnuti reached up and grabbed one of the willow¡¯s largest boughs and snapped it clean off. Oily ectoplasm soaked into the improvised cudgel, and the branching end of the bough started to twitch. Swinging the cudgel, the monster went for Cole¡¯s legs. The Bogatyr rolled forward, using the monster¡¯s reach and size against it. Coming to his feet, weapon returned to its axe form; Cole drove its edge into the Ur-Vadnuti¡¯s leg. The thin limb snapped like kindling, and Cole¡¯s blow cut clean through and continued until it severed the other leg. Yet, to Dor and, apparently, Cole¡¯s shock, the Ur-Vadnuti didn¡¯t fall. It hovered there legless, one arm coming to grab Cole. The moment of surprise was what the monster needed, and its arm wrapped around Cole, coiling about him like a snake with prey. Recovering, Cole pushed off the ground, moving backward, letting his momentum and weight snap the arm. Cole freed himself from the limb just in time for the tree-limb cudgel to strike. The Bogatyr was sent flying, landing a distance away and skidding through the mud. Dor winced at the blow and looked to Vlatka; she¡¯d gotten on her knees and shoved her hands into the mud, muttering a spell. The ground started to shake, and the goblins watched as the mossy peat in front of them bulged and broke. Part of the sodden earth pulled itself up out of the muck, taking the shape of a giant frog. The frog was easily large enough for a man, let alone a goblin, to ride on. Its body was wet mud, its skin was mottled moss, and two bulbous eyes of swirling marsh water protruded from either side of its head. Puffing itself up, the frog swelled its throat and let loose a titanic ribbit. Dor and the other goblins stumbled back, practically knocked over by the sound''s force. As the target of the ¡®attack,¡¯ the Ur-Vadnuti fared worse; its body was blown to pieces. Pieces that were already reassembling themselves in a whirl of ectoplasm. Hands still deep in the muck, trembling with the effort of her summoning, Vlatka cursed. ¡°Gog¡¯s fist! The accursed thing is really the ectoplasm.¡± Dor looked to see what she was talking about. Now that he was searching for it, he saw a great mass of thick fog hanging above the Ur-Vadnuti, a tether of the stuff connected to the stretched goblin corpse. Dragging it about like a leash¡­ or a noose. The giant frog charged the reassembling monster, slamming its huge mass into the Ur-Vadnuti and shredding the monster into pieces. Each of those hunks of Ur-Vadnuti hit the ground and sunk into it. Vlatka pulled her hands from the dirt and leaped backward with frog-like agility. Just avoiding the Ur-Vadnuti as it exploded out of the peat below her. Dor and Zorg both tumbled away from it. Dor watched as the Ur-Vadnuti clambered out of the ground like the giant frog of before. The monster¡¯s mishappen head turned towards Zorg and Dor, its mouth falling open in a horrible shriek. Long spindly limbs reached out for them, and both goblins turned to run. They¡¯d only taken a few steps when Dor realized escape was impossible for both of them. Operating on pure instinct, Dor reached out and grabbed Zorg, yanking on him and sending the bigger goblin to the ground. Dor didn¡¯t look back to see what happened, but he heard Zorg scream. Running for the edge of the clearing, Dor stopped and realized he was trapped; the fog was still thick as goat milk. Finally turning around, he saw Zorg die; the Ur-Vadnuti had wrapped its arms around the goblin and squeezed him till he burst. Fighting the urge to vomit, Dor looked for another escape; he saw none. Only Liba standing over a prone Vlatka and¡­ and the Bogatyr running towards the mud-frog. Without Vlatka¡¯s magic, the spirit¡¯s temporary body was simply inanimate earth. A large mound of peat and moss, much like the bog mounds Dor used to climb as a child. Cole ran towards the mud-frog and ran up its side, using it like a ramp to jump into the air. Bardiche held up above him; Cole swung it through the true body of the Ur-Vadnuti. Frost and grey slime trailed after his blade as it cut through the ectoplasm and split the monster open. The stretched corpse went limp, and the fog started to dissipate. Dor thought he saw screaming faces form out of the ectoplasm as the ephemeral material evaporated away. Despite his victorious strike, Cole landed hard, slamming into the wet ground with an audible crunch. Pulling himself to his feet, Cole shuffled towards Vlatka, clearly favoring one leg. Glancing at the spot where Zorg had died, Dor slowly went to join them. He didn¡¯t know if anyone saw what happened, and if they did Dor was prepared to lie and say he was trying to push Zorg out of the way of an attack. Liba, Cole, and Vlatka didn¡¯t seem to notice his approach; they were busy staring at the ruptured fogbank that was the Ur-Vadnuti¡¯s true body. Leaning on his polearm, Cole said. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect it to be a type of Wraith, but it should be finished. It''s fading quickly, and without the curse to draw power from, it won¡¯t be much of a threat.¡± Vlatka nodded, supporting herself with her staff, strangely mirroring Cole. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen someone cut a wraith¡¯s body. Is that halberd of yours enchanted?¡± Glancing at his weapon, Cole replied. ¡°Yes, but not like that. I can touch and damage wraiths; it''s part of being a Paladin. I don¡¯t like to use it since it can damage the wraith¡¯s soul, but¡­. I don¡¯t think there was much left to damage in that thing. It will fall apart now that I¡¯ve wounded it like that.¡± Still gripping her spear, Liba asked. ¡°Is it done? Are we safe now?¡± Letting out a slow breath, Vlatka said. ¡°For now, we should be. I don¡¯t think I fully broke the curse on the bog, but I ended its hold on that corrupted soul. It should take centuries before something can activate it again.¡± Looking over to the crumpled remains of the stretched goblin, Cole mused. ¡°This was old magic, something from before the Final Gates, I would suspect. What could have woken it up?¡± Liba followed after him, looking at the ruined body with undisguised dread. Vlatka also stared at the body, a frown growing on her face. ¡°I have a few ideas, but we should return to the village. We must know what happened to ensure future generations don¡¯t repeat this mess.¡± Cole nodded at that and leaned down to examine the stretched corpse. He didn¡¯t see the spear thrust, only looking down at the two prongs sticking from his chest with genuine shock. Liba pulled her weapon out of Cole and charged Vlatka, the stunned shaman tried to raise her staff, but the exhausting fight had taxed her. Liba stuck her spear into Vlatka over and over, savaging the shaman¡¯s chest and leaving her to drown in blood. Returning to the collapsed Cole, Liba stabbed him twice more just for good measure. Blood dripping from her spear, Liba stalked over toward Dor. Utterly stunned, Dor tried to understand what just happened. Seeing his murderous companion approach, Dor¡¯s shock was beaten by fear. He looked at the fading wall of fog and prepared to run. Liba shouted. ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill you, coward; I need you.¡± Surprised, Dor hesitated and found Liba¡¯s spear at his throat. Staring into his eyes with undisguised disgust, Liba said. ¡°If I come back alone, it will look too suspicious. You get to live and confirm my story to the village.¡± Dor didn¡¯t say anything, just looking at Vlatka¡¯s body. Liba sighed and spat on the ground. ¡°You can live and help me, or I can kill you. Just tell the villager what I tell you to, and I won¡¯t say anything about what you did to Zorg.¡± The cowardly goblin flinched at that, then after a moment¡¯s thought, he nodded. ¡°I will do it, just¡­ why did you kill them?¡± A slight grimace played across Liba¡¯s face. She pointed her spear at the stretched-out goblin corpse. ¡°That¡¯s what''s left of my brother. I killed him and buried his body here. I¡­ I didn¡¯t expect any of this to happen. I just wanted him gone.¡± Pain and guilt showed in Liba, but she quickly quashed them with hate. Stamping the butt of her spear on the muddy ground, she said. ¡°We will tell the village how the monster killed the Bogatyr, and Vlatka sacrificed herself to seal it away. We¡¯ll say no one should come to this part of the bog and that we were the only survivors of the battle.¡± Still stunned, Dor found himself nodding in agreement. Liba went over to Vlatka¡¯s still-warm corpse and grabbed her staff. Tucking it under one arm, she remarked. ¡°We¡¯ll need a new Witch, and maybe the next one can use this staff as well as she did.¡± That was too much, and Dor vomited. Somehow the act of robbing Vlatka¡¯s body, even with ¡®good¡¯ intentions, was too horrible. Retching until only bile came up, Dor wiped his mouth and asked, ¡°What about the gods? Surely they will punish us for this?¡± Liba snorted. ¡°The gods only care about strength, survival, and results. The Bogatyr and Vlatka saved the village, and then we saved ourselves. There is nothing more to this. Now come on, let''s leave.¡± They passed through the fading fog barrier easily and pressed in the general direction of the village. Once they got through the worst of the mist, Liba knew the deep bog well enough to guide them. As they walked, Liba made Dor practice the story they would tell. With every repetition of the lie, it became easier and easier. By the time the village walls came into sight, Dor could almost believe his own lies. As they got closer, Dor frowned; no one was on watch. It seemed a bad idea, even with many of the village''s best warriors gone. Reaching the gate, Dor stopped in his tracks; it¡¯s bolt was smashed. Liba saw this, cursed, and ran forward. She pushed open the gate and screamed in horror. It seemed not all of the Vadnuti had been destroyed. Three of the monsters pounced on Liba, she impaled one with her spear, but it didn¡¯t seem to care. They knocked her to the ground, and Liba¡¯s screams quickly died with her. Dor stayed long enough to see blood spray into the air, then ran. All that did was prevent him from seeing his death. Undead hands slammed him into the muck and buried his face in the dark, damp earth. Dor struggled, but the Vadnuti kept him pressed into the mud. The monsters started to eat him even before he was smothered to death.
It took Cole a day and a night to resurrect. Closely placed stab wounds were annoying, but his unnatural body eventually healed them. Awakening with the new dawn, Cole pulled himself up and looked over his surroundings. The fog was gone, and the bogland around the old willow seemed almost normal, except for all the corpses. Sighing, Cole went over to Vlatka and winced. The center of a marsh wasn¡¯t the best place for a corpse. Rot had ruined her mortal remains. Checking his equipment, Cole went over to Vlatka and freed her soul. He¡¯d long gotten used to rotting corpses, but knowing the person made it difficult. Finding the other fallen goblins, Cole freed them as well and dragged their corpses to the disturbed ground Vlatka¡¯s mud frog pulled itself from. Cole laid the corpses into the hole and started burying them, his halberd wasn¡¯t a shovel, but its flat side worked well enough. Once that was done, he found the willow bough the Ur-Vadnuti had used and stripped it of bark and branches. With his knife, he carved the first letters of each dead Goblin¡¯s name into the bough and, above that, the triple knot of the Goblin goddesses. Finally satisfied with his crude grave marker, Cole placed it at the head of the burial place. With that done, Cole went over to the stretched goblin corpse. Touching it, he checked to see if any power was still connected to the corpse. A tiny fading wisp still inhabited the ruined body. With an effort, Cole crushed the wisp under his power and purified the corpse. After burying the remain in another hole, Cole looked over the scene and let out a tired sigh. He needed to return to the goblin village; he¡¯d left his pack there and would need to retrieve Isabelle¡¯s skull, at the very least. The secrecy spell on his pack should keep it safe for a little while; the only question was how he would sneak back into the village and retrieve it. Also, finding out why he¡¯d been murdered and getting justice for Vlatka would be nice, but Cole didn¡¯t know if that was possible. Navigating the bog and returning to the village proved to be a bit of a hassle, but evidence of the group''s original passage still existed. Guiding Cole to the marsh''s edge and into sight of the goblin village. The moment he saw the village, he knew something was wrong. A deep cold tug in his chest said as much. Unsheathing his weapon, Cole let out a deep sigh and approached. He found corpses, lots and lots of corpses, none of them intact. The village was filled with the dead, some of which happened to be moving. A handful of Vadnuti attacked Cole but were slow and easily destroyed. As the undead crumbled into peat, Cole set to work freeing the souls of everyone in the village. He took the time to peer into the memories of some of the freed souls, hoping to get some answers as they departed. It was difficult to tell, but it seemed the Vadnuti had exploded out of the swamp in great numbers and attacked the village. They ignored the magical defenses and slaughtered the unprepared goblins. Looking at the gate and the etched marks on it, Cole grimaced. The wards on the village were Vlatka¡¯s work, and they¡¯d died with her. Calling on a little of his power, Cole peered into the Aether, an uncertain thing he didn¡¯t like doing, and examined the destroyed Vadnuti. He¡¯d been around enough undead and magical constructs to guess what had happened. These bog ghouls had been created to help the Ur-Vadnuti fight him and the goblins. But when the source of the curse was destroyed, they followed their undead instincts. Attacking the easiest prey and slaughtering the village. Now with the curse broken and the Ur-Vadnuti destroyed, no more peat-bodied undead would come from the bog. This has been a last spiteful act by a dying horror, one that could have been prevented if Vlatka lived. Going to the shack he¡¯d been staying in, Cole retrieved his pack and set to work. He gathered up the corpses and prepared to light a pyre for them. As he worked, he found the corpse of Liba and, to his surprise, Dor. He¡¯d not known what happened to the goblin watchman and assumed Liba killed him somewhere else in the bog. Shaking his head in morose confusion, Cole lit the pyre and let the village of Walek burn. Leaving the village and its inhabitants to their final fate, Cole offered a prayer and trudged along the eastern road. His mind mulling over the facts and trying to make sense of everything. Sacrifices to fell gods once took place in the bog, creating an old and terrible curse. A curse that slumbered until someone awoke it, probably by mimicking the rituals that first created it. While the Ur-Vadnuti were the remains of whoever was ¡®sacrificed¡¯ in the bog starting all this. The whole thing was a nasty intermingling of old power and new undead. Cole hadn¡¯t said anything to the goblins, not wanting to frighten them, but during his time in the village, the number of Vadnuti increased as they took casualties. Each new victim was reborn in a feral body of shaped peat. Cole guessed that was why he¡¯d been called here; given time, the curse on this bog would have only grown stronger and more dangerous. Vlatka broke the connection between the curse and the undead. Cole then destroyed the Ur-Vadnuti, tearing open its spectral body with his axe. They ended the threat and saved untold lives. For their acts, both the witch and he earned a spear to the back. Cole didn¡¯t know why Liba betrayed them, he could probably guess she was connected to the curse reawakening, but even that was just a supposition. So with few answers and a bitter weight in his stomach, Cole headed east, following the cold tug of a God¡¯s will. Ethical Necromancy

Ethical Necromancy

¡°The plague isn¡¯t natural. It kills too quickly, and our healing arts are only marginally effective. Every victim rises as a grinning ghoul within minutes of death and requires significant effort to destroy. Those who survive the contagion will fall to the undead if not protected. The plague will wipe out entire towns if not dealt with quickly and aggressively.¡± - Excerpt from Keeper Morri¡¯s report to the Tenth Council (Dated 27th of Cometcome, 1435)
:: Three years before Cole came to Glockmire :: Cole didn¡¯t like horses, and horses didn¡¯t like him. In fact, few animals liked Cole; his unnatural existence and lack of a scent made most creatures shy away from him. But horses, without exception, reacted especially poorly to Cole. He¡¯d been bit, bucked, bludgeoned, and nearly trampled by the animals on multiple occasions. It''s why the Paladin chose to walk everywhere; even the most placid nag wouldn¡¯t have him as a rider. His very presence rendered the animal skittish and unpleasant. So when Cole approached the plow horse currently working to till rich Ottostuhl farmland, he expected it to flee him, or worse. Instead, the plowhorse surprised Cole. Even when he was a few strides away, it didn¡¯t react. Merely continuing its labors until the farmer working the plow stopped it with a whistle. Patting the beast''s side, the farmer strode towards Cole, one hand resting on a root-cutting axe attached to his belt. Cole let out a sigh; with his size and cloak, he didn¡¯t exactly look non-threatening. Stopping a few steps short of being in arms reach, the farmer called out. ¡°Can I help you stranger?¡± Looking at the horse, Cole asked. ¡°I take it I¡¯m near Dreza?¡± The farmer nodded. ¡°Aye, you are; the town proper is just a few kilometers up the road. What brings you to our hamlet?¡± Cole pointed at the horse, which hadn''t moved at all from where the farmer had left it. ¡°I¡¯m here to meet with the Burgrave. To discuss his¡­ contributions to the community.¡± The farmer turned back towards the horse and laughed. ¡°Ha! Yeah, Buttercup has served my family for the last forty years; she¡¯s older than I am! Still, she works well and saves us a fortune on oats.¡± The plowhorse was dead, nothing more than old bones animated by magic. Nodding to the farmer, Cole sighed and said. ¡°Thank you for your help; I¡¯ll be on my way.¡± Leaving the field and returning to the nearby road, Cole glanced back to see the farmer return to work. The skeletal horse dragged the plow behind it without complaint. Scratching his scarred face, Cole grimaced; this would be an interesting mission. Walking along the old imperial road, Cole reviewed the events that had brought him to the Ottostuhl gap and into this den of undeath. The Hierophant at Silberberg had asked him a favor when he visited the city. Requesting he go north to the small town of Dreza and ¡®check on¡¯ one of the Temple¡¯s charges. Burgrave Victor Koph, a well-respected noble and talented Necromancer. Koph was apparently a Sorcerer, both a natural savant in necromancy and a learned pupil of Magicraft. An extremely dangerous combination that would require entire cadres of skilled warriors and mages to face normally. As he walked down the well-tended road between freshly plowed fields, Cole wondered if he was walking into a trap. The idyllic agrarian plain surrounded by low mountains seemed almost surreal when juxtaposed with its lord, whose presence was becoming clearer with every step. Normally signs of a necromancer¡¯s lair were ominous, dark things. The Aether and local spirits react to the pain and violation of the dead, giving a region a palpable sense of dread. Instead of hungry crows feasting on discarded corpses or screaming spirits lashed to skeletons, Cole saw signs of a talented Magi helping his community. Necromancy and other spellcraft were put to surprisingly simple uses, like fields guarded by skeletal canines that chased away any bird or rodent brave enough to enter the farmland. Or what Cole was fairly certain was an alarm system created from the remains of crows. Altogether, it created a bizarre landscape, mixing the morbid and mundane in a pleasant, if slightly off, way. Finally, the town of Dreza came into view, a typical collection of rural buildings that just outgrew the categorization of village. Dreza lacked walls, and as Cole came closer, he noticed many of the outer buildings in the town were abandoned. They were still being maintained, but to a canny eye, it was clear no one was using them. Their gardens were overgrown, and no smoke issued from their chimneys, but someone had recently reshingled many of the roofs. If Cole was to guess, these were homes of plague victims, left empty until immigrants or a growing population could fill them anew. Entering the town proper, Cole got more than a few strange looks from villagers going about their business, but no one stopped him. He wondered if this was a testament to the town¡¯s peacefulness or warped sense of normality. As he saw a portly woman lead two skeletal oxen past him and down the road he came, Cole decided it was both. The sound of laughing children caught Cole¡¯s attention, and out of curiosity, he followed the noise. He found a small park, a stretch of grasses and flowers surrounding an old oak tree. In the shade of the old tree was a gaggle of children playing a game of catch. Not an unusual sight, except the ¡®ball¡¯ was a human skull, and the children appeared to be playing keep-away with a decapitated rattler. Cole watched dumbstruck as one child tossed the skull to another just as the animated skeleton almost reached them. Instantly the rattler turned and trotted towards the new skull holder, and she tossed it to a friend repeating the game. One of the playing children spotted Cole and pointed him out to the others. With something new to keep their attention, the current skull holder tossed his prize to the skeleton, who quickly reattached it and walked away. One girl with buckteeth and freckles asked. ¡°Who are you, stranger?¡± as her playmates swarmed around Cole without nary a fear. Frowning at the children, Cole pulled down his hood and received several gasps. Instead of running away as he expected, the children crowded in closer, the lead girl jumping up and down excitedly. ¡°You a patchwork man? The lord said he wasn¡¯t making any more, but I guess he fibbed!¡± Cole¡¯s eyes widened, ¡®patchwork men¡¯ was slang for flesh golems. ¡°I¡¯m not a patchwork man; how do you know about such things, child?¡± The girl squinted at Cole¡¯s scarred face and said. ¡°Really? Look like the one the lord made to fight the troll last year.¡± Another child bobbed his head excitedly. ¡°Yeah! There was a great big troll up in the hills! It was stealing goats until the lord sent his monster after it! The patchwork man wrestled the troll and kicked it right out of the gap!¡± Digesting this, Cole asked. ¡°I¡¯m here to meet with the lord. Can you tell me where to find him?¡± The children looked at each other, wordlessly debating sharing the sought information. With the precocious brashness only a happy child could manage, the lead girl asked. ¡°What do you want with him? The lord is a busy man; why should you get to bother him?¡± An amused snort escaped Cole, and he pulled up his amulet, showing the battered hourglass to the children. ¡°I am a servant of Master Time; I¡¯m here to check on your lord.¡± Putting her hands on her hips, the lead girl frowned at Cole. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to try and hurt him, are you? Cause if you do, then you really will end up a patchwork man!¡± Trying to suppress his laughter, Cole shook his head. ¡°That is not my intent or desire. So could you please tell me where to find him so you can go back to your¡­ game¡± The abused skeleton had found a broom and resumed its task of sweeping the street without children to torment it. Frowning, Cole decided to push his luck. ¡°And do you happen to know who those bones belonged to?¡± The lead girl scrunched up her face. ¡°Probably one of the plague ghouls; lord says it''s not a sin to make a monster out of a monster.¡± Deciding debating ethics with the child wouldn¡¯t be a good use of his time, Cole accepted that and repeated his first question. ¡°Interesting, now, can you tell me where the lord is?¡± Frowning, the girl spat. ¡°I was getting to that! He lives up in the big house that way. You can¡¯t miss it; it''s the only place fit for a lord.¡± Sighing, Cole nodded, thanked the children, and left them to whatever questionable pursuits they would get up to. Following the girl¡¯s directions, Cole headed along one of the town roads until he reached the edge of Dreza and found a well-kept manor house on the settlement¡¯s north edge. It was a stately building roughly twice the size of any other structure in Dreza, with stone walls and narrow windows. The only thing that set it apart from countless other homes of minor nobility was its questionable earthworks. The manor was surrounded on three sides by a large crescent-shaped berm. At first, Cole thought the berm was the remnant of some old defenses, but that idea quickly died. The ¡®berm¡¯ was, in truth, the earthen roof of a huge semi-buried ice house. The type used to store cold foods or bodies¡­. Cole didn¡¯t even need to guess which one the subterranean structure held. Going to the manor¡¯s front door, Cole found a wolf¡¯s head door knocker made of silver. Using it, he announced himself to the manor and waited. After maybe a minute, the door swung open, and Cole was greeted by a withered cadaver. Instinct took over, and Cole had his axe in hand before the corpse could raise its hands in alarm. In a creaky voice, the body rasped. ¡°Wait, wait! I mean you no harm, stranger; I apologize for my appearance. I was the young master¡¯s first success, and he clearly had much to learn.¡± Frowning, Cole looked at the corpse and tentatively asked. ¡°You are a Gangerwight?¡± The corpse nodded. ¡°Yes, I believe that is my technical title, but I prefer to be called Steward Stark, the chief servant of the Burgrave.¡± Cole noted the gentle but present rebuke in those words and said. ¡°I am Restbringer Cole, sent from Silberberg to meet with your master and discuss¡­ well, his work.¡± Stark made a nasal noise Cole assumed was the corpse equivalent of a snort. ¡°Ah, another of the temple minders, I take it? Well, follow me and ask your questions.¡± Spinning on his heels, the steward went deeper into the house, and Cole followed, more than a little unsettled by this turn of events. The manor was well-kept but poorly lit and surprisingly cold. Steward Stark plucked a glowstone from a fixture and used it to light the way as they ascended a wooden staircase. As they climbed, Cole asked. ¡°How did you become the being you are now?¡± Stark made that same nasal noise. ¡°Straight to the point, then? Well, I¡¯ve been in the employ of the Koph family since I was a boy and served three generations of the house. They have always been good lords, and I¡¯m proud to be part of their household. I¡¯ve gladly sworn oaths to die for House Koph, and when the plague came, I got the opportunity to honor those oaths. ¡° Cole winced at that; the great pestilence had sloshed around the continent for nearly a century. Decimating entire nations and raising up the victims as ghouls. Even now, reports of it in the Blood Duchies were worrying the southeastern members of the Holy League. Running one withered hand along the banister, Stark said. ¡°Yes, this was in 1422, twenty-five years ago. The young master just returned from his studies when the plague struck. Only the young master and I survived the pestilence, but the plague ghouls injured me greatly. Surrounded by the dead, my liege¡¯s knack awoke, and he found a way to save me and the village. Once the crisis passed, he offered to free me, but I declined. I will serve House Koph until I am destroyed or dismissed.¡± Frowning, Cole knew there had to be more. No novice in Necromancy, even a savant and Magi, could manage to create a Gangerwight on the first try. Especially one as stable and powerful as this Steward appeared to be. Cole let the abnormality go unaddressed; it could wait till a better time to be discussed. Following Stark down a hallway, Cole waited while the Wight knocked on the door and announced him. ¡°Young master, someone from the temple is here to speak with you, a Restbringer Cole.¡± The sound of shuffling papers, clattering glass, and what might have been shifting furniture issued from the room. Eventually, after a loud thunk and scrape, the door opened, revealing a gaunt man of indeterminable age with sandy-blond hair and a hooked nose. Heavy purple bags hung beneath his spectacled eyes, and an ungroomed reddish-blond beard covered his face. He was wrapped in a comfortable-looking robe, not a monastic or scholarly garb but an actual bathrobe. Only the collection of talismans dangling from his neck and hands contested the image of scruffy aristocracy. Rubbing exhaustion from his eyes, Burgrave Victor Koph suppressed a yawn. ¡°Awwwwhh- Oh, excuse me. Is it really that time of year already? I thought my next check-up was due in a few months?¡± Cole shrugged, ¡°I don¡¯t know; I was in the area, and Hierophant Hedla asked me to visit you.¡± Scratching at his beard, the Burgrave opened the door wider and gestured into the room. ¡°Well, you best come in and find a seat. Stark, would you please get us some tea?¡± The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The undead manservant nodded and left them. Cole followed the Burgrave into what was apparently a horribly organized study. Books, spare papers, and enough bones to make two human skeletons covered every flat surface in the room. The central desk alone carried a dozen tomes, a few arcane diagrams, and a rune-marked skull. Blinking in surprise, the Burgrave looked to Cole and back to the room. ¡°I could have sworn it wasn¡¯t this messy. Ah well, let''s go downstairs to the parlor.¡± Leaving the study, the Burgrave lead Cole back down the stairs and into a posh drawing room. Cole sat down at his host''s insistence and was served tea by a walking corpse. The Burgrave had plopped down on a cushioned seat and was looking at Cole with undisguised interest, a cup of the herbal drink in hand. ¡°You¡¯ve fought many undead, haven¡¯t you, Restbringer?¡± the noble asked, blowing on his tea as he did. Cole nodded. ¡°I have; why do you ask, Burgrave Koph?¡± Waiving his free hand, the Burgrave said. ¡°Please call me Victor and because you aren¡¯t afraid of Stark, but never let your eyes leave him for long when he¡¯s in the room. Most newcomers act like scared rabbits around him, but you watch him like a wary hawk.¡± Raising an eyebrow at that, Cole set his untasted tea on the nearby low table. ¡°You are using the bones of plague victims to do menial labor. I find that objectionable, Victor.¡± Nodding, Victor set down his own tea. ¡°Ah, straight to the point. Yes, my previous guests had objections to that as well. I¡¯ll tell you what I told them; no souls are bound to those bones or any family to claim them. I¡¯m simply putting them to good use while they last. I¡¯m committing no crime in the eyes of the land.¡± Frowning, Cole thought about that. Victor was the local noble and had a fair amount of leeway to decide what was ¡®legal¡¯ in his little patch of the Holy League. He, of course, could be overruled by someone higher up the list of peerage. But that was unlikely to happen; the petty nobles of Ottostuhl prized their autonomy. They¡¯d be leery of setting any precedent of intervention without a literally damning reason. From what Cole had seen of the Burgrave, his necromancy was not technically violating any cardinal tenets of the Temple. Master Time had handed down very specific commandments about the manipulation of souls and the treatment of remains. Victor Koph appeared to be in accordance with them, or at least his violations were pitiful compared to the good he did. Forcing himself to pick up and drink the tea, Cole barely noticed the flavor. He was too busy regretting agreeing to this favor. This job was for a bureaucrat or liturgical scholar, not a Paladin. (even a mediocre one) Gesturing to the tea, Cole had drunk, Victor asked. ¡°How is it? The stuff is violently expensive, but I still have a stock of it from my grandmother¡¯s time.¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m no expert, but it was enjoyable. Now, do you have other bound souls or just your steward?¡± Victor scrunched up his face. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say Stark is bound per se; I¡¯ve offered to free him multiple times. But to answer your question, I mainly work with animal souls. There have been a few exceptions like Stark, but they have been with consent. I even have signed documents testifying to that.¡± Choosing not to remark on how well prepared Victor was in the face of accusations, Cole asked. ¡°What were some of these other exceptions?¡± Victor smiled. ¡°Oh well, one was Mrs. Opperman; she got deathly sick maybe a week before her son¡¯s wedding. She asked me to help her¡­ linger until then. Another was Timok; he slipped while reshingling a roof and didn¡¯t have a proper will. I helped communicate his wishes before the funeral. It''s generally been things like that; Stark is the only soul I¡¯ve kept here for any serious length of time.¡± Nodding, Cole decided now would be a good time to poke this situation a bit. ¡°About Stark, it''s very impressive you managed to create a stable Gangerwight as your first proper bit of necromancy.¡± Shrugging, Victor said. ¡°It wasn¡¯t too terribly complicated, I¡¯m a savant when it comes to this sort of thing, and Stark¡¯s stoic nature helped.¡± Letting out a breath, Cole sprung his trap. ¡°No, it is very complicated. The process of freeing a soul and then rebinding it to its own flesh; while preserving and enhancing said body is very tricky. I doubt any natural knack would guide you through the myriad steps in correctly creating a Gangerwight. At least not without some previous experience.¡± Victor¡¯s hands started to shake, making his teacup rattle slightly. ¡°That is¡­ You are very knowledgeable about how a Gangerwight is created. But I assure you the process is easier than the formulas a necromantical text lays out. Once you get into the flow of it, then-¡± Cole cut him off with a raised hand. ¡°I¡¯ve seen them being created before by Necromancers with far more experience than you. I know the level of concentration and preparation required. It isn¡¯t something a complete novice can do while in a crisis. So how about you tell me the real story of Stark¡¯s binding?¡± Eyes wide, Victor¡¯s gaze flicked to Cole¡¯s belt and the axe there. Tapping his weapon, Cole said. ¡°I know there are shades of grey in everything, even undeath. I¡¯m not going to execute you unless you really really deserve it.¡± Nervously, Victor said. ¡°We were under siege; every house in the town was beset by ghouls. The accursed plague took every good sword arm, and my offensive magic has always been lacking. We needed a weapon to defend ourselves, and Stark was already sick. It took me two weeks, but I got the magic right, and he saved us.¡± Frowning, Cole asked. ¡°Why did you lie to the Temple? It seems like a strange choice. Eventually, someone like me would check and notice the oddity.¡± Shrugging, Victor set down his tea cup. ¡°People react better to the idea my first act of necromancy was accidental. Using a power I didn¡¯t ask for, to do good, is easier to accept than the truth.¡± Cole leaned back in the chair; Victor had accidentally confirmed what Cole suspected. ¡°You aren¡¯t a savant, are you?¡± The Necromancer flinched like he¡¯d been slapped. Nodding to himself, Cole said. ¡°I haven¡¯t been entirely forthcoming with you, Burgrave Victor. You were right; your ¡®check-up¡¯ is due in a few months. I¡¯m not here to inspect your work but to finish a hunt.¡± Reaching into a pocket, Cole pulled out five bone dice. He set them on the table with a clatter and watched the color drain from Victor¡¯s face. Each of the dice was marked with traditional number pips, except for one blank side. The side varied between dice, with each of the five missing one numbered side. The missing one, three, four, five, and six were all present on the table; only the number two die was missing. Victor shut his eyes and let out a very tired sigh. ¡°So they finally got caught?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°I found one of these dice on each member of the Brotherhood. When the absence became apparent, I did some looking and found you. Needless to say, Hierophant Hedla was concerned and asked me to finish my work.¡± Running a hand through his greasy hair, Victor pleaded. ¡°You need to understand; I left once I realized where the Tombstone Brotherhood was heading. I¡­I didn¡¯t want to be part of that. I left and swore never to use what I learned. I know I broke that promise, but I¡¯ve only used the knowledge to help.¡± Victor was rambling, thirty years of guilt spilling out of him. Cole grimaced and asked. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything when you left? Many people died thanks to those five, and you could have stopped them.¡± Putting his head in his hands, Victor pleaded. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to betray them! They were my friends, I thought¡­ I thought maybe after I left; they¡¯d wake up and¡­ and¡­. Jagged edges, I was a coward.¡± Cole sighed. ¡°You were brave enough to leave but not enough to prevent a tragedy. I don¡¯t think you are a coward, just selfish.¡± A bitter laugh escaped Victor, and he bobbed his head in agreement. ¡°What did they do? When I was part of the Brotherhood, we were just dumb ivory students making anatomy corpses dance. I left when talk of soul manipulation went from theoretical discussion to actual plans.¡± Looking at the dice on the table, Cole said. ¡°They were selling their ¡®services¡¯ to anyone who could pay. Flesh golems for corrupt lords, soul offerings for cults, curses, and contagions for anyone with the coin. The Tombstone Brotherhood were all talented Magi, and they put those skills to their worst possible uses.¡± Letting out a tired breath, Victor mused. ¡°Mercenary Necromancers, such a waste of knowledge and skill. Do you know what good can be done with that kind of magic? How many of the world''s problems can be alleviated using necromancy with a modicum of ethics? It''s such a waste.¡± Finally meeting Cole¡¯s eyes for the first time since the dice were revealed, Victor asked. ¡°So what will you do with me? I lied to the temple, destroyed important records, and consorted with arcane criminals. I¡¯m assuming the other members are dead. Will I be joining them?¡± Picking up the dice and putting them in his pocket, Cole said. ¡°Three are dead; two are imprisoned. As for you, well, I think you should come with me to Silberburg. The Temple will decide your fate.¡± The door to the parlor opened then, revealing Steward Stark carrying a hulking greatsword. In his creaky corpse voice, the Gangerwight said. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I cannot allow that. The young master has more than made up for any youthful mistakes. He¡¯s used his power to save this town and make it into something his family would be proud of. I¡¯m not going to let your dogma destroy everything.¡± Both Cole and Victor sprung to their feet. The necromancer put himself between Cole and his servant. ¡°Stark! Stop this! I¡¯ve lied for too long; I must face the consequences.¡± Stark smiled, or the closest expression his withered face could make. ¡°You are a true, noble, young master. Forgive me for taking this choice from you, but it''s my duty as steward to protect House Koph from any adversity. ¡° The Gangerwight knocked his master aside and charged Cole, greatsword held high. Cole dodged the first brutal slash and lashed out with his unsheathed axe. Stark was strong but slow, and Cole got his axe under one of the Gangerwight¡¯s armpits. The axehead sunk half a handspan into dead flesh and stopped. Stark clamped his arm down on the weapon and yanked it out of Cole¡¯s grip. Cursing, the Restbringer leaped back and barely escaped a cleaving strike from the greatsword. Stark was clearly more than a simple Gangerwight. Victor had put considerable effort into turning his manservant into a formidable monster. Unsheathing his knife, Cole danced left, trying to keep closer to Stark¡¯s injured arm. The Gangerwight struck out again, his blows predictable but dangerously strong. Two chairs and a small table died to Stark¡¯s wrath. As the undead steward swung again and again, Cole rolled underneath a strike and got within Stark¡¯s guard. Moving with remarkable agility, Cole gripped onto his trapped axe with his right hand while slipping around Stark¡¯s side to put his dagger into the Gangerwight¡¯s spine. The strike was clean and slipped between Stark¡¯s shoulder blades. It should have paralyzed the intelligent ghoul, but it merely infuriated him. Cole took a violent backhand to the chest and was sent sprawling to the floor. But the Restbringer had held onto his axe, yanking the weapon free when he fell. Rolling with the impact and coming to his feet, Cole nicked his arm and lengthened his weapon into a pole axe. Cutting Stark was more like chopping through fresh timber than flesh. Adding extra reach and momentum to Cole¡¯s blows would make this easier. Letting blood drip down into his hand, Cole flung his hand at the Gangerwight, whispering an incantation as he did. ¡°Mist of my veins, assist me against these remains.¡± The blood sizzled and bloomed into a thick red fog. Stark hesitated and stepped back, uncertain of what he faced. Cole punished the Gangerwight¡¯s doubt and came in low, pushing through the fog and coming for Stark¡¯s knee. With both hands on the pole-axe, Cole drove the weapon into the side of Stark¡¯s leg and chopped it off at the calf. The Restbringer half expected the Gangerwight to grow a new limb or project some spectral support, but thankfully Stark fell. Collapsing like a rotten oak in a bad wind storm. As he tumbled, Stark frantically swung his greatsword; Cole caught the blow on his weapon¡¯s haft. Even without proper leverage, the strike pushed Cole back a step. Victor threw himself into the newly created space between the two opponents. ¡°WAIT STOP! Please don¡¯t do this!¡± Stark let out a sigh, plunged his greatsword into the ground, and used it to pull himself up. Balancing with the weapon, he rasped. ¡°I¡¯m sorry young master, but I must protect you.¡± Grimacing, Victor shouted. ¡°You aren¡¯t protecting me! I need to go with the Restbringer! I need to face this!¡± Nodding, Stark growled. ¡°I need to protect you, even from yourself.¡± Shaking his head, Victor spat, ¡°Even if you kill the Restbringer, I will go to Sliberburg. I must end this charade; you aren¡¯t helping me, Stark!¡± Stark¡¯s face contorted into a true death rictus, his dead eyes filled with mad zeal. ¡°Then I will stop you from going. You cannot be allowed to make this mistake. By the time your legs heal, you will understand the necessity of this.¡± Victor leaned back slightly, his pained expression hardening into cold resolve. Holding one hand up, he muttered something in an arcane tongue, and Stark collapsed. Whatever power kept the Gangerwight moving with a severed spine was revoked. Turning to Cole, the necromancer sucked in a breath and hissed. ¡°Free him.¡± Blinking in surprise, Cole hesitated, and Victor shouted. ¡°FREE HIM! Please¡­ please before I lose my nerve.¡± Moving over to the corpse, Cole ignored its accusatory eyes and touched Stark¡¯s forehead. With a whispered prayer and expenditure of power, Cole snapped the bindings keeping Stark in his flesh. Without a Necromancer¡¯s will to contend with, it was easy. The soul fled into the Beyond with a flash of silver only Cole could see. Facing Victor, Cole asked, ¡°Did you know how much he had degraded?¡± Grief swallowed the necromancer, and he forced down sobs to answer. ¡°I¡­ I thought he was stronger. He has¡­ had existed like that for twenty-five years. I know what the texts say, but I thought his will would protect him.¡± Cole sighed. ¡°It''s why creating things like him is taboo. Undeath changes a being, warping them until nothing remains intact. I honestly think it''s worse with people like Stark. They are strong enough not to fall fast. Instead, they degrade so slowly you don¡¯t notice until something snaps. I¡¯m sorry, Victor; I¡¯m sorry you had to see that and be part of it.¡± A near-hysterical laugh escaped the necromancer. ¡°You are apologizing to me? I lied to people for half a lifetime, and my servant tried to kill you.¡± Sheathing his axe, Cole asked. ¡°Why are you willing to go with me? You might be facing imprisonment or even execution, depending on what is decided. I don¡¯t think simple guilt would motivate that.¡± Collapsing into one of the surviving chairs, Victor rubbed his head. ¡°I wanted to prove necromancy can be used correctly. I thought maybe the fact I chose this path, and it hasn¡¯t corrupted me, would be enough to change some minds.¡± Looking down at the body of Stark, Victor rasped. ¡°Now¡­ now I think I understand. Even if this type of magic doesn¡¯t corrupt me, it will others around me. I stretched out Stark¡¯s existence until he wasn¡¯t himself anymore. I didn¡¯t save his life¡­ I prolonged his death.¡± Cole asked. ¡°What did you do with your die, the one from the Tombstone Brotherhood?¡± Confused by the change of topic, Victor said. ¡°I threw it in a river years ago. At the time, I thought I was cutting off that part of my life, but now¡­ now I think I was just trying to run away from my mistakes.¡± Accepting that answer, Cole said. ¡°You aren¡¯t a bad person; the other members of the Brotherhood were. They were selfish, cruel people who used the same knowledge you did to do terrible things. I think that speaks volumes about you, so does this town and what you did with Stark in the end.¡± Going over to Stark¡¯s body, Cole pulled his knife from the corpse¡¯s back and grabbed a nearby scrap of fabric to cover the Gangerwight¡¯s face. ¡°Let me help bury your friend, and then I¡¯ll leave and tell the Temple to assign a permanent warden to stay with you here.¡± A series of emotions crossed Victor¡¯s face, but he settled on confusion. ¡°What?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ve managed to do a lot of good with very dark power; I can admire and understand that. I think stopping you from doing more good would be a sin. So I¡¯m going to help you and ensure no one else gets hurt.¡± Slack-jawed Victor just sputtered. ¡°You can¡¯t just-¡± Raising an eyebrow, Cole asked. ¡°Would you prefer I killed you for your duplicity and dark magic?¡± A nervous noise escaped Victor. ¡°I guess not. I¡­I ur¡­ Thank you.¡± Hoisting up Stark¡¯s body, Cole asked. ¡°Where should we bury him?¡± Wincing, Victor sucked in a breath. ¡°His wife and son are buried in the town cemetery; I think he¡¯d like to be with them.¡± Nodding, Cole pondered this and said. ¡°Let''s lay him to rest and then discuss the future. I think your ideas have some merit, Victor; I just hope you can live up to their potential.¡± The Velvet Rose (Part 1)

The Velvet Rose (Part 1)

¡°It hurts! Please, please, it hurts! I need the sting; please just give me the sting. I¡¯ll do anything; just make it stop!¡± ¡°Hush, dear pet, I¡¯m here for you; let me help.¡± ¡°Ahhhhh, oh, oh, it doesn¡¯t hurt! Thank you, thank you so much!¡± ¡°Just take deep breaths and let my kiss do its work. Sleep well and know you are safe and loved.¡±- An conversation overheard in a Vindabon Bordello.
:: One month after the Louon Raid :: Natalie had to admit how accurate Cole¡¯s comparison between dancing and fighting was. It was all about tempo and keeping track of both your opponent¡¯s body and your own. Something Natale¡¯s undead existence found surprisingly easy much to the annoyance of the apprentice restbringers. Acolyte Cedrick struck out with his wooden greatsword, and Natalie leaped over the blow and plowed right into the apprentice. Knocking him down and tapping him on the head with her practice sword before moving to the next challenge. Acolytes Vlada and Corra rushed to their comrade''s aid, trying to flank Natalie with their spears. Slipping between the strikes, Natalie jumped again, aiming to pounce on past Vlada¡¯s guard and tag a hit. A sharp crack and pain in Natalie¡¯s side forced her to change plans. An untipped arrow took Natalie in the torso and changed her momentum. Tumbling to the ground, she rolled out of the impact and got to her feet, a low growl working in her throat. Acolyte Merrick had another arrow nocked and was aiming at Natalie¡¯s head. Morri¡¯s voice cut through the tension. ¡°Half-point to the restbringers. Forcing her into a jump and striking from a distance was clever. But you lost Cedrick; that counts against you.¡± Rolling her shoulders, a motion she picked up from Cole, Natalie went to the center of the dueling yard and prepared for the next round. Cedrick pulled himself up and said. ¡°If this were a real fight, I¡¯d have blessed myself; she wouldn¡¯t be able to get that close.¡± Scoffing, Natalie replied. ¡°If this were a real fight, I¡¯d also use my magic. We are practicing physical combat, not our spell-slinging.¡± Nodding at that, Morri backed Natalie. ¡°She¡¯s right; the point of these bouts is to build good fundamentals. Now let''s begin again.¡± The acolytes took up position, Cedrick in front, Vlada and Corra on the flanks, with Merrick behind them, ready to loose an arrow. While Natalie faced the restbringers, Bruto¡¯s practice sword gripped in her right hand. Morri raised his hand and brought it down in a sharp cut, starting the next round of combat. Natalie pushed herself backward, dodging under Merrick¡¯s shot and gaining distance. Keeping low to the ground, not wanting to repeat her earlier mistake, Natalie scooped up a handful of pebbles and tossed them toward her opponents. With her strength behind the throw, the small rocks would hurt, even through the padded armor the trainees wore. All of them but Cedrick flinched from the scattershot, and Natalie picked her target. Pouring blood into her legs, she charged Merrick. Reaching him before he could recover, Natalie struck out with her shortsword. She didn¡¯t aim for his body but instead his weapon. Knocking the drawn bow away, sending both weapon and arrow sprawling away with a snap. Lashing out with her free hand, Natalie smacked Merrick in the head with enough force to shock but not hurt. The meaning of the soft blow was obvious; she could have taken his head if this had been a real fight. The three ¡®surviving¡¯ restbringers regrouped, forming a tighter formation, and preparing for Natalie¡¯s next strike. Reaching to the stunned Merrick¡¯s quiver, Natalie grabbed an arrow and tossed it like a dart. A sloppy maneuver that Cedrick countered with a sweep of his sword. Natalie¡¯s eyebrows raised at that; knocking a dart, even a poorly thrown one, out of the air was impressive. Cedrick charged then, Vlada and Corra backing him with their spears. The two female acolytes would keep Natalie at a distance with their spears. Not a bad plan considering the advantage in reach would counter Natalie¡¯s short weapon and even compensate for her stronger body. Cedrick pushed in closer, he was the best fighter of the four, and he seemed determined to clash blades with Natalie. Rushing forward, Natalie dodged Cedrick¡¯s first swipe, prepared to enter his guard and score a point. A flicker of motion forced her to veer off as Corra¡¯s spear jabbed toward her. Natalie dodged with near-liquid grace and found Vlada¡¯s spear coming from the opposite side. Then as the finisher, Cedrick brought his greatsword down in a brutal strike. Caught between three dangers, Natalie tried to retreat. Moving like a frightened cat, Natalie slipped between the strikes and danced back out of range. As she looked for some way to disrupt the combined assault of acolytes, a whistle cut through the air. Morri entered the dueling space and said. ¡°Half point to Natalie. She took out Merrick and then escaped your attack. But we must cut this short; our Vampire is required elsewhere.¡± Sucking in a breath, Natalie sighed. ¡°She actually came? She¡¯s been delayed for two weeks now.¡± Shaking his head, Morri grimaced. ¡°She sent a carriage for you. We should have expected this; Vampires like their lairs, after all.¡± Shaking hands with the acolytes, Natalie licked her fangs and asked. ¡°Do you think it''s a good idea to go?¡± Shrugging, Morri guided the young vampire away from the students and out of the dueling ground. ¡°She isn¡¯t stupid enough to try and hurt you if that''s what you are worried about. But she will try and ensnare you somehow. Pryia is a Moroi, and it''s her nature.¡± Running cold hands through her long hair, careful not to touch the silver pin binding the dark locks, Natalie mused. ¡°Well, she has helped others escaped thralls in the past; I think I can work with her. Let me change, and I¡¯ll go.¡± Grimacing, Morri offered. ¡°With Cole away, I should warn you that Pryia might be a bit bolder in her attempts to manipulate you than normal. She¡¯s scared of him, and I think this meeting is only happening since he¡¯s not in Vindabon.¡± Blowing out a pointless breath, Natalie asked. ¡°Is she afraid of him for a reason? Or just his status as Paladin?¡± A snort of bleak laughter escaped Morri. ¡°Pryia tried to seduce him the first time they met. Cole¡¯s something of a regional expert on hunting Vampires, and Pryia thought having him as a lover would be a wonderful bit of protection. He responded to her advances¡­ poorly, and she lost a hand as a warning.¡± Letting out a groan, Natalie muttered. ¡°Great, just great. So I¡¯m going to strut into the lair of a fellow refugee Vampire who tried to seduce my boyfriend. Ask for her help with Yara and hope she doesn¡¯t find a way to worsen this situation.¡± Morri offered Natalie a commiserating smile. ¡°I wish you luck, Natalie. Just¡­ don¡¯t let her overwhelm you. As far as Moroi goes, Pyria isn¡¯t subtle in how she operates.¡± It was Natalie¡¯s turn to let out a bitter laugh. ¡°She¡¯s an undead seductress who runs a brothel; yeah, I don¡¯t think subtle is her style.¡± Leaving Morri, Natalie headed to the temple apartment and tried to make a plan of action. Any serious thoughts left her head upon seeing who waited outside the apartment. Sitting on the cold stone floor, knees tucked to her chest, was Yara. The source of all this hassle was staring off into space, her blue eyes unfocused and laden with bags of exhaustion. Seeing Natalie approach, Yara scrambled to her feet and bowed. Forcing a wince from the Vampire. ¡°My lady, I ask you to please reconsider. I¡¯ll serve you faithfully; please don¡¯t send me away!¡± pleaded Yara in a trembling voice. Letting out an annoyed huff, Natalie came up and leaned on the wall across from Yara. ¡°I knew you in Glockmire; your father was a regular at the Goat. I¡¯m not your lady, Yara. I¡¯m just another person whose life has gone in a strange direction.¡± Yara flinched at that. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I just¡­ Master Dietrich said to find you, and I did! Please, you saved me, don¡¯t get rid of me. I can be useful! You can feed on me instead of the Paladin, or I can do chores or-¡± Natalie cut her off. ¡°I don¡¯t want a thrall, Yara! You shouldn¡¯t be a thrall! Pyria is a Vampire who has helped thralls undo the mental damage the sting inflicts. With her help, you won¡¯t be a slave anymore!¡± Yara¡¯s expression crumpled, and she stepped forward. ¡°Please, I can be useful; let me prove it.¡± There was desperation and utter submission in Yara¡¯s words. She was offering herself to Natalie and¡­ and something deep inside the vampire stirred at the idea. A twitch of anger crossed Natalie¡¯s face, and she pushed past Yara and entered the apartment, slamming the door behind her. Ignoring the thrall''s final pleas, Natalie gnawed on her lip hard enough to draw black blood. Forcing herself to quickly change from her dueling leathers, Natalie tried not to think about the predatory hunger Yara evoked in her. To have someone who would so eagerly submit themselves to her was very dangerous. Natalie was just starting to get a grip on her bloodlust, and now another dark temptation had been thrust in front of her. The desire to dominate, enslave and control others was a constant undercurrent in Natalie¡¯s mind. Annoch¡¯s legacy rearing its bloody head and whispering all manner of insidious ideas. Normally, Natalie could keep it contained fairly easily. Her own experiences and trauma provided an armor of disgust against the temptations. But Yara had found a chink in that plate. Her pleading desire to be a thrall bypassed some of Natalie¡¯s moral reservations. It made ignoring the whispers all that more difficult. Dressed in a simple dress but making sure her shortsword was strapped to one leg, Natalie prepared to leave. Looking at the bed and the chest containing Isabelle, Natalie let out a tired sigh. Cole would hopefully be back in a few days. He¡¯d been requested at a council in eastern Norica, asked to advise the nobility on countering Vampire tactics. Natalie had obviously not been invited, which Cole had been apologetic about, but Natalie understood perfectly. There were still whispers about her in most circles of high society, and frankly, Natalie had little desire to endure more aristocratic idiocy. Facing the door to the apartment, Natalie swallowed a gesture that hadn¡¯t felt right since Isabelle¡¯s ¡®help¡¯ at the Louon Keep. Natalie needed to get Yara help but couldn¡¯t be around the damaged woman. Yara proved too much of a temptation to Natalie¡¯s worse instincts. Finding someone else who could wean Yara off the sting and help her recover was crucial to both Natalie¡¯s morality and sanity. Opening the door, Natalie brushed past Yara¡¯s pleading and moved down the hallway with supernatural speed. She was willing to waste some of her limited blood supply on escaping the thrall¡¯s desperation. Quickly, Natalie reached the front of the temple and found the waiting carriage. The driver, a handsome man with a winning smile, opened the door for Natalie and helped her inside. The interior was plush, with seats of deep maroon velvet; it was also partially occupied. Sitting opposite Natalie was a shockingly beautiful woman with expertly done makeup and a revealing dress. She smiled at Natalie and bowed her head, showing normal teeth and confirming her humanity. With a voice so rich and silken it had to be practiced, the woman said. ¡°My name is Lila; I¡¯m to be your companion for the evening.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow at that. ¡°I see, and what does your companionship entail?¡± Lila batted thick eyelashes and breathlessly said. ¡°Anything you wish, Lady Natalie. It will be a long ride to the Mistress''s estate, and I am to entertain¡­ or feed you. My Mistress wishes to tell you my blood is lovely, and I personally invite the Night¡¯s Kiss.¡± Glad she couldn¡¯t blush, Natalie did her best not to wriggle at that invitation. Morri was right; Pyria was anything but subtle. Deciding to try and change the topic and gather some information, Natalie asked. ¡°How did you enter your¡­. Profession?¡± Red lips parted in a smile, and Lila said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t coerced into it if that¡¯s what you were wondering. No, I¡¯m simply someone¡¯s fifth daughter, so far down the inheritance list I needed to find a true career. Which I have, one that is as interesting as it is¡­ rewarding.¡± Looking out the tinted glass window of the carriage, Natalie stared out at the passing city. Glowstone lamps illuminated clean cobblestones, and a few late pedestrians strolled the streets. In this part of town, you could never have guessed the riot or anything similarly uncouth happened just a month ago. Tapping her fingers on the glass, Natalie let blood flow into her senses, enhancing them to a higher degree. While hearing a person¡¯s heartbeat and smelling their emotions wasn¡¯t as good as true truth magic, it was useful in noticing tells or hesitations. Isabelle had taught Natalie the technique a few days ago, and the younger vampire was eager to test it. ¡°Is Pryia a good person Lila?¡± Natalie asked, watching the escort¡¯s body language and trying not to notice how damn pretty the woman was. Lila frowned, opened her mouth slightly, and picked careful words. ¡°The mistress is like any good lord. She is protective and generous to her own but cruel and dangerous to her enemies.¡¯ Continuing to drum on the glass, Natalie took deep breaths. Lila¡¯s words were accompanied by a slightly elevated heart rate and a hint of¡­ arousal. Sighing, Natalie got an idea of what Lila considered ¡®generous.¡¯ Exhaling with annoyance, Natalie thanked Lila with a nod and bit her lip. Moroi were masters of seduction and manipulation. While unable to match their cousins physically or magically, the Moroi were unparalleled players in political games and shockingly adept at surviving even the messiest situation. At least, that was what the Temple records and Cole¡¯s stories said. Natalie¡¯s own encounter with a Moroi back in Glockmire hadn¡¯t painted the image of a scheming mastermind, just a spoiled, sadistic monster. Which considering the more she learned about, the wider world made sense. The Glockmire court hadn¡¯t exactly been the pinnacle of nobility, be it living or undead. A shocking amount of wealth combined with few responsibilities and practically no leadership led to a festering swamp filled with vampires as vapid as they were petulant. It was honestly shocking the coup against Lord Glockmire had been as successful as it was. Now that she thought about it, Natalie wondered how much of it had been Scapin¡¯s manipulation. The ashborn bastard was still out there, and thinking about him made Natalie feel nervous. Lila caught Natalie¡¯s attention by leaning forward, making her dress and cleavage do all sorts of interesting things. ¡°Lady Natalie, we are getting close to arriving. Would you like to taste me before we do? Privacy will be scarce once we arrive.¡± Sucking in another breath, sifting through Lila¡¯s scent, Natalie found what she was looking for. The faintest hint of the sting. It was little more than an impression of a smell, but she found it still. Cole and her library readings both insisted that in low doses and in moderate use, the sting wasn¡¯t addictive. Comparable to an occasional glass of wine in terms of danger. Personally, Natalie had doubts; nothing with Vampires was that benign.¡± This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°Why do you want me to feed on your Lila?¡± Natalie asked, wondering if the escort was even vaguely aware of the venom still lingering in her. Lila smiled, a sultry expression promising all sorts of delights. ¡°Because it feels wonderful.¡± a slight shudder of remembered pleasure worked through the courtesan, and she elaborated. ¡°Not just the lovely venom but¡­ oh, to be used and enjoyed like that. Mmmm, even the idea is enough to leave me breathless.¡± The carriage suddenly felt very small and very warm. Natalie stopped breathing, unwilling to take in more of the scented air of the enclosed space. Biting her lower lip, not in attraction but stress, Natalie mused on the bitter irony of events. She¡¯d embarked on this trip to remove the temptation Yara provided. Instead, Natalie was stuck with someone infinitely more vexing. Pushing down her own passion, something helped by her not projecting life, Natalie said. ¡°I¡­ I appreciate the offer, but I must forgo it. Not because it isn¡¯t tempting but for my own reasons.¡± Rubbing her eyes, Natalie felt like she was a stupid teenager again. Trying to gently let someone down while also wrestling with violently intense desires. Lila reacted gracefully, nodding, smiling, and returning to her seat. Natalie detected what might have been a flicker of disappointment in Lila¡¯s lovely face but no reaction other than that. The two women then sat in silence as the carriage trundled along. Soon their vehicle stopped in front of a stately building with a sign declaring it an inn. The hanging placard depicted a rich bed covered in flowers with the establishment¡¯s name declared along the bottom. They had arrived at the Velvet Rose, a name Natalie found more than a little on the nose. The handsome driver opened the door and helped both women from the carriage and to the establishment''s front door. Lila kissed the man¡¯s cheek and slipped him a coin, earning her a blush and a bow. Entering the Rose, Natalie was guided down an unadorned hallway into a room lined with masks. Lila gestured at them and said, ¡°For discretion and privacy.¡± Frowning, Natalie looked over the collection of disguises. They ranged from slitted kerchiefs and lace veils to ornate helms carved in the likeness of beasts. The whole thing danced on the line between ridiculous and intimidating. Picking out a felt half-mask shaped like a feline¡¯s face, Natalie put it on and let out an annoyed sigh. This whole thing felt like a chapter from one of those bawdy romance novellas she and Mina read together for laughs. Adorned in her ¡®disguise,¡¯ Natalie was led into a plush lounge that smelled of wine, incense, and sex. Thick carpet covered the floor while countless couches, chairs, and tables filled the space. Beautiful women and men clad in revealing clothes sat on many of the chairs, often accompanied by masked clientele. Poorly lit and hazy with clouds of incense, the place looked and felt every bit the bordello Natalie knew it was. Uncertain if she should feel nervous or incredulous, Natalie let herself be led past fast-flowing drinks and frivolous flirtations. Reaching a staircase with a most peculiar banister. The carved wood depicted an unbroken chain of sensuous bodies writhing in intimacy. Natalie had already started to run her hand along the wood before she realized she was groping a pair of walnut breasts. Pulling her hand away with a flicker of embarrassment, Natalie took a moment to admire the erotic art. Looking at the excellent craftmanship and admiring it as a fellow woodworker, or at least that''s what she told herself. Recovering herself, Natalie continued up the staircase, heading past the second and third floors until they reached the fourth level. Passing through a surprisingly sturdy oak door, Lila led Natalie into what was clearly some kind of suite. Dimly lit and richly ordained, the rooms matched the rest of the Velvet Rose in decor. A space of plush softness, with every element whispering promises of relaxation and carnal delights. It was overwhelming in a strangely subtle way. Natalie wasn¡¯t drowned in the implications of sex and passion. Instead, she found herself treading rough waters. For example, she walked past a shut door and heard gasps and moans from the other side. Or anytime her eyes rested on a decoration, she¡¯d realize after a second the subtle erotic element to the work. It wasn¡¯t a brutal assault on her senses like she expected but a constant low-level push that never let Natalie find her footing. Lila stopped in front of a large set of double doors and said. ¡°We¡¯ve arrived; the Mistress will greet you now.¡± The escort gripped both doors and pushed forward with a probably unnecessary lean that thrust her hindquarters out in a very aesthetically pleasing way. Looking upwards to avoid staring, although Natalie was reasonably certain Lila was inviting it, the Vampire found herself staring at a lintel carved like a naked woman in repose. With a sigh, Natalie thanked Lila for her ¡®help¡¯ and entered the monster¡¯s lair.
Natalie didn¡¯t realize how big a bed could be until now. The bedchambers, for that, was clearly what this was, of Madam Pryia was dominated by a bed large enough to make a hippogryph comfortable. Cushions and seats dotted the room, but the chamber was centered on the jotunnian mattress. It¡¯s contents obscured by great silken curtains hanging from the ceiling. As the chamber doors shut behind Natalie, the curtains were pushed aside by some unseen force, fully revealing the scene only hinted at before. Seated like some conquering succubi queen was an unsettlingly beautiful woman atop a throne of pillows and cushions. At her feet and occupying much of the bed was a veritable harem of beautiful men and women. All of who were teetering between unconsciousness and stupor. The air stunk of sex, perfume, and blood, each scent illustrating recent events in the room. Pryia must have indulged in all of her hungers at once. Pryia, for no one else, could be the woman on the throne, stood up and slinked between her barely stirring ¡®victims.¡¯ Somehow finding solid footing among the tangle of bodies, further confirming her identity as a Moroi. Physically, Pryia was tall, maybe a hundred and eighty centimeters, with long curly brown hair and rich dark skin, hinting at a southern heritage. Then, of course, there was no escaping the vampire¡¯s incredible physique. While Natalie was well endowed with good hips and breasts, Pryia looked like some primordial god-queen, with rich, full curves and hints of sculpted muscle underneath. Seeing Natalie¡¯s stunned reaction, Pryia smiled a coy expression that showed cruel white fangs. Slipping forward on long toned legs, the elder Vampire reached Natalie and gently reached out for her mask. Natalie stopped Pryia and slipped off the felt mask, revealing her face to the madam. Pyria let out a melodic laugh. ¡°Oh, you are lovely; now I don¡¯t feel so bad about losing to you.¡± Putting a hand beneath her chin, Pyria asked. ¡°Now you¡¯ve been trying to meet me for a while, little fledgling? What can big sister Pyria do for you?¡± Raising an eyebrow, trying to keep her eyes above Pyria¡¯s neck, Natalie asked. ¡°Would you like to put on some clothes before we start?¡± The older vampire shook her head. ¡°Clothes are for beings who must fear the weather or another''s judgment. I refuse to be constrained by them unless I¡¯m in the mood to accent my beauty.¡± Licking her fangs, Natalie said. ¡°Well, I¡¯m here because I have a former thrall I wish to help, and the Temple says you¡¯ve aided them with escaped thralls in the past.¡± Pryia sighed dramatically, slinked over to a nearby cushion, and settled on it. ¡°I¡¯ve helped some poor lost ones before. Such tragic creatures, giving a little love and safety can do so much for them.¡± Sitting on a nearby chair, Natalie raised an eyebrow at Pryia¡¯s words; something about them felt¡­ off. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not equipped to help break the conditioning and poisoning of the Duchies, so I hoped you would.¡± Nodding, leaning forward on her cushion in a way that more than caught Natalie¡¯s attention, Pryia said. ¡° From what your message said, this thrall wants to be yours. Don¡¯t you think that it''s cruel to reject her like that?¡± Bristling slightly, Natalie snapped. ¡°She¡¯s been enslaved by the sting and who knows what else for years. I¡¯m not going to inflict more of that on her.¡± Pursing her rich lips, Pryia said. ¡°Not enslaved, enthralled, there is a big difference.¡± Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Natalie asked. ¡°That being?¡± Pryia answered. ¡°A thrall is someone bound by magical compulsion or similar; they are enthralled, not enslaved, which is a very big difference. A slave yearns to be free; they want to break their chains and will do their best to escape unless they¡¯ve been totally broken. Thralls, on the other hand, have their own minds turned against them. It''s a much, much more tricky situation.¡± Resting the urge to roll her eyes, Natalie said. ¡°So aside from semantics, are you willing to help this ¡®thrall?¡± Pryia shrugged, sending her dark curls bouncing. ¡°Willing? Of course, but not completely able. Compensation of some kind is in order; that¡¯s just the way of things. I can¡¯t go around helping every pretty little sister with a sob story for free, can I?¡± Natalie had been expecting this. ¡°The Temple is willing to pay for your assistance as they have previously with weaning thralls off the sting.¡± Shaking her head, Pryia said. ¡°I¡¯ve had a few little friends whisper in my ear about this thrall and her circumstances. This isn¡¯t some runaway thrall who has found enough will to push through the compulsion. This is a willing thrall, someone bound to a powerful vampire who wishes to continue being bound to one of us.¡± Grimacing, Natalie asked. ¡°So let me guess, those complications raise the price of your help.¡± Pryia smiled. ¡°Unfortunately, yes. Normally I¡¯d just shift the poor thralls adoration from you to me. But I¡¯m not looking for any more pets at the moment. So I¡¯d need to rummage around in the poor thing¡¯s head for months, which is sooooo tiring!¡± Eyes wide, Natalie asked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry; did you just say pets?¡± Nodding, the elder Vampire said. ¡°Of course, what else are mortals but pets? Surely you¡¯ve had a cat or dog in your mortal span? Mortals are just like that, lovely simple creatures we enjoy and protect for their short span.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie spluttered, ¡°That¡­ that is wrong. People aren¡¯t pets; they¡­ they are people.¡± Pryia pursed her lips in a distinctly condescending way. ¡°Little sister, you are young and still bound up in what you used to be. I understand this, but I urge you to grow past it. We cannot love mortals as equals; it''s simply a fact of our existence. They have finite time, and we are magically, physically, and mentally superior to them. Mortals are less than us, but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t love and care for them. We just have to take a different approach.¡± A low hiss escaped Natalie, ¡°How are you in this city? You talk about the living like the scum in the Duchies! I can¡¯t believe the Temple allows you to be here!¡± Just then did, Natalie realize Pryia was a master of mimicking all the minor motions of life because, at Natalie¡¯s words, Pryia stopped all of them. Going completely and unnaturally still. In a soft dangerous whisper, Pryia asked. ¡°Did the Temple tell you why I¡¯m here, little sister?¡± Shaking her head, Natalie said. ¡°No, just that you are another refugee fleeing the duchies.¡± Pryia¡¯s lip peeled back in a mirthless smile. ¡°You were raised in the Duchies; you know what our kindred are like. Mortals are just livestock to them, to be used and disposed of when no longer useful. I never agreed with that; it''s cruel, wasteful, and feeds into our worst instincts. When I ruled a little town in Southern Atredia, I tried to care for my pets and use my power to ensure the little time they had was happy.¡± Natalie opened her mouth to interject, but Pryia didn¡¯t let her. ¡°Then, one night, my idiot liege sent a messenger calling for me to enact a bone tithe. He¡¯s gotten much of his Legion destroyed and wanted me to help provide replacement material.¡± A wave of revulsion crossed over Natalie; in a suddenly dry throat, she asked. ¡°Those¡­ those are real? I thought they were just something made up to keep people in line.¡± What might have been pity showed on Pryia¡¯s face. ¡°Oh little sister¡­. Bone tithes are very real. These centuries they aren¡¯t as common as they once were, but they still happen. My liege needed more corpses for his army and wanted my village to supply them. The cemetery was emptied years ago, and now he wanted each family under me to contribute a member.¡± Voice shaking with disgust and horror, Natalie asked. ¡°What happened?¡± Pryia smiled. ¡°I stalled for time and made friends, particularly with a few Concordian merchants who were so eager to help.¡± Pryia batted her eyes, indicating exactly how she gained these friends. ¡°Then, over the most terrifying three weeks of my existence, I smuggled my entire village out of the Duchies and into the League.¡± The older vampire was practically preening as she said this. ¡°It took effort, most of my fortune, and more than a few broken hearts, but I organized one of the greatest escapes ever to occur.¡± Rolling onto her back, giving Natalie an unfortunately good view of her incredible body, Pryia continued. ¡°I stayed in Concordia for a while as the mistress of one of the city¡¯s merchant lords. He was a lovely man who just needed someone to help him feel safe in his world of vipers. Once he died and my pets were settled, I looked for a new life. Eventually, events and my own talent conspired to settle me here in Vindabon.¡± Natalie was starting to understand what kind of creature Pryia was, and with that understanding came a headache. Rubbing her temples, Natalie spelled it out. ¡°You view mortals as lesser beings requiring care and protection, not as prey to be hunted or livestock to be tended, but as pets to enjoy.¡± Pryia nodded. ¡°That''s about right. I know it might be a distressing perspective for a fledgling like you, but I hope you can understand it¡¯s for the best. We are superior to mortals, and trying to love them as equals is denying the truth and setting both parties up for suffering. It¡¯s better to have a pet, or a dozen, to enjoy and pamper until time collects its due.¡± Getting up from her cushions, Pryia wandered over to a nearby counter and picked up a glass decanter. Bringing it and a pair of glasses back, she set them on the carpet. Holding up the bottle, Pryia shook it, revealing the telltale slosh of blood. Uncorking the decanter, she poured herself a glass of blood and offered some to Natalie. Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°Whose blood is that?¡± Sniffing her glass, Pryia answered. ¡°Beatrix, one of my pets, donated for this vintage. This is sanguina, a lovely concoction one of our kind¡¯s alchemists invented. Its blood magically altered to taste and feel like wine. Have some, my treat.¡± Suspicion of Pryia and Natalie¡¯s well-trained beliefs about guest rights warred within her. Eventually, the daughter of an innkeeper won over the paranoid vampire, and she let a glass be filled. Natalie tentatively sipped the beverage and was surprised by its taste. Pryia hadn¡¯t lied; it really was like good wine, just in a form her body could ingest. Humming in surprise, Natalie said. ¡°Thank you¡­ I hadn¡¯t realized how much I missed little things like being able to drink from a glass.¡± Staring at the preserved ichor, Natalie felt a flicker of a smile. ¡°Or at least drink something other than pigs blood from a glass.¡± Pryia made a disgusted noise. ¡°Are those zealots at the temple feeding you swine? Little sister, that won¡¯t do at all. Please, come visit the Rose and taste some of my favorites.¡± The sipped sanguina wasn¡¯t enough to make Natalie project life, and she was glad for it. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ a generous offer.¡± A laugh escaped Pryia, and some of her harem stirred on the bed. ¡°Oh, not as much as you¡¯d think. My pets crave my kiss, and a girl can only enjoy herself so much in a night. Helping you would help me keep my favorites content.¡± Finishing her glass, Natalie frowned. ¡°You said you could fix a thrall¡¯s mind; how does that work?¡± Refilling her crystal, Pryia shrugged. ¡°From how you speak of her, your thrall seems rather willing to be owned. That sort of eager devotion can be cut into a mind with enough time and effort, but I doubt a Scarlet Knight would do such a thing.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Natalie said. ¡°Well, you are well informed.¡± Pryia laughed again. ¡°More than you know. Some of my regular clients were at the ball, so I got the whole saga from multiple angles.¡± Rolling the empty glass between her hands, Pryia continued. ¡°Willing thralls are infinitely more complicated than the poor souls who¡¯ve had their minds stolen from them. If a person''s core wants to be free, then I can build on that. If they don¡¯t¡­ well, usually I give them what they really want, but I sense that isn¡¯t an option.¡± Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Natalie said. ¡°You aren¡¯t making much sense; no one would willingly want to be a thrall.¡± An undignified snort escaped the older vampire. ¡°You really are young and innocent. You¡¯d be surprised how many people want nothing but to be loved and useful. They hurt so much they can¡¯t love themselves or feel valuable without serving others. We can help these poor things by giving them purpose and affection.¡± Jaw tightening, Natalie asked. ¡°Is that who your ¡®pets¡¯ are? People who want to be owned by you?¡± Pryia nodded. ¡°Of course, I wouldn¡¯t keep anyone who didn¡¯t want to be mine. That would just be cruel and unpleasant for everyone involved.¡± Trying to wrap her head around Pryia¡¯s strange and honestly unnerving ¡®morality,¡¯ Natalie tried to return to her goal. ¡°So how can Yara be healed if she doesn¡¯t want to be?¡± Shrugging, Pryia answered. ¡°You could always just give this Yara what she desires. Be her master, and have a good pet. She must have some talents if she once belonged to a Scarlet Knight. Take advantage of them and give Yara the safety and purpose she wants.¡± Seeing Natalie¡¯s frown, Pryia sighed. ¡°Or you can let me change the very structure of her mind. Cut out that need and cultivate a more independent person as I have with others before her.¡± Glancing at the pile of naked bodies on the giant bed, Natalie asked, ¡°So you don¡¯t just take every willing thrall into your¡­ menagerie.¡± Pryia scoffed. ¡°My bed has only so much space, and I have only so much interest and energy. No, I¡¯ve helped both escaped thralls and recaptured ones like your Yara. Since you are so set on having me ¡®fix¡¯ this woman, I think we should start discussing price.¡± Leaning back in her seat, Natalie said, ¡°I take it mere coin won¡¯t settle this?¡± Shaking her head, the vampire madam smiled. ¡°Information is what I want. Rumors are circulating you hold some of the power of a primogenitor within you. What''s the truth of the matter?¡± Pausing to consider her words, Natalie said. ¡°I don¡¯t hold part of an Alukah¡¯s power within me if that¡¯s what you are asking.¡± Frowning, Pryia seemed nonplussed. ¡°Lying to your host, especially one you are trying to negotiate with is very bad manners.¡± Meeting the madam¡¯s red eyes, Natalie repeated herself. ¡°I don¡¯t hold part of an Alukah¡¯s power within me.¡± A hint of annoyance crossed Pryia¡¯s face, and she opened her mouth to rebuke Natalie. Then the meaning of Natalie¡¯s words sunk in. Natalie didn¡¯t have part of an Alukah¡¯s power; she had all of it¡­ The Velvet Rose (Part 2)

The Velvet Rose (Part 2)

¡°Vampires are predators, don''t ever forget that. Some might be so beautiful it takes your breath away, but that doesn¡¯t change the fact they are still undead monsters. All those curves, muscles, and perfect skin is just bait. Don¡¯t take the bait if you want to live. Remember, there are plenty of lovely lads and lasses who won¡¯t try and eat you when the fun¡¯s done.¡±- Mak Murtrey, Rest-Bringer, on Moroi vampires.
Pryia became perfectly still, freezing like any animal assessing danger. Leaning forward, trying not to enjoy how much this information rattled Pryia, Natalie set her glass on the ground. ¡°I answered your question; now, will you help me?¡± Remembering to mimic the motions of life again, Pryia blinked and said. ¡°Why do you need my help? If¡­ if you are telling me the truth, then you can do things I can¡¯t even imagine.¡± Sighing, Natalie debated how much to share. Showing any weakness seemed ill-advised, so Natalie twisted some details. ¡°My power isn¡¯t matched by my experience. I could unleash the Alukah¡¯s strength, but that wouldn¡¯t end well for anyone. I¡¯m forced to be miserly with my power if I don¡¯t want to lose control and hurt people.¡± Staring at Natalie very intently, Pryia asked. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you can prove to me what you are?¡± Reaching down, Natalie dipped her finger in her glass¡¯s last dredges of sanguinea. She smeared the alchemically treated blood onto her neck. Pryia watched with very wide eyes as the red fluid quickly froze wherever it touched the stigma. After giving Pryia a long look at the holy sigil, Natalie scraped the frozen blood off her skin and cleaned her fingers with a lick. Enjoying even the chilled wine, Natalie said. ¡°Master Time has marked me with a stigma. He wouldn¡¯t do that to any normal vampire, would he?¡± Pondering this, Pryia slowly asked. ¡°I suppose you won¡¯t tell me how you came to possess the primogenitor¡¯s strength?¡± Smiling mirthlessly, Natalie said. ¡°No, I will not. So, back to my purpose, will you heal the damage to Yara¡¯s mind?¡± Pryia pursed her lips, seeming to consider her options. ¡°I thought you a mere Strix, but now that I know what you are¡­ I can do something better.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Natalie let her host continue. ¡°My kind, the Moroi, are masters of manipulating minds. While our magic might be lacking compared to a Strix, our psychic abilities are without compare, at least in comparison to the other major breeds. If the old legends are even a little true, you should have the potential to match any Moroi with proper training. Let me teach you how to manipulate minds. It will be less time-consuming for me and more beneficial for you.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t trust this generous offer. ¡°What do you get in return? The information I shared with you isn¡¯t as valuable as it once was. I¡¯m assuming you want something more for your help?¡± Shrugging, sending her curly hair a flutter, Pryia said. ¡°You are the heir to something old and terrible but also blessed by our eldest enemy. If you survive the next few decades, I think you¡¯ll become one of the most powerful vampires in the world. Having someone like that as a friend, especially one who owes me a favor¡­ well, that is well worth some time and effort.¡± Accepting that answer, Natalie asked. ¡°Well, when can we begin?¡± Glancing at her sleeping harem, Pryia said, ¡°I have two hours before I¡¯m needed elsewhere; let''s start now.¡± Sighing, Natalie got up and approached Pryia. The older vampire raised an eyebrow as Natalie leaned down and suddenly kissed her. Pryia melted into the kiss, and the two shared it momentarily before Natalie broke the contact and asked, ¡°Is that enough to form a bridge between minds?¡± Pryia just blinked and then laughed. ¡°Little sister, you surprise me! Only the deepest mental connections require that. Usually, eye contact or physical touch is enough to form a stable bridge. I don¡¯t know who has been teaching you, but they certainly wanted either a very strong bridge or just to taste your lips.¡± Suddenly mortified, Natalie started internally kicking herself. To form a link with Isabelle had required a kiss, but her other efforts to dominate minds had just needed eye contact. So Natalie had assumed if Pryia was going to be teaching her, then it was best to get this over with and take the intuitive. Stuttering with embarrassment, Natalie. ¡°I¡¯m s-sorry, I just. Ur-well, I thought-¡± Pryia laughed. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t apologize, little sister, I¡¯m not complaining. In fact, if you, the Paladin, or preferably both of you, want to join my bed, all you need to do is ask.¡± Ignoring the violently erotic proposition, Natalie looked into Pryia¡¯s eyes and pulled on the bridge she felt form when they kissed. The world faded away just to Pryia¡¯s red eyes, and when Natalie broke the contact, they were both sitting in a field of red lilies. Pryia was still naked, but Natalie was wearing her favorite dress. Standing up and looking around the field, Pryia nodded in appreciation. ¡°Interesting mindscape, well constructed, understandable but with enough flair not to be boring.¡± Examining her mindscape for herself, Natalie half expected to find Isabelle or the Angler to be waiting for them. Thankfully neither god nor monster was present. So after conjuring up her favorite chair, Natalie asked, ¡°So what do we start with, Pryia?¡± Nodding to herself, Pryia asked, ¡°What¡¯s the extent of your psychic skills? What can you do?¡± Sitting down and crossing her legs, Natalie listed what she¡¯d been taught or figured out. ¡°Not much; I can make bridges between minds and exert some influence on the weak-willed. I¡¯ve not done much more than knock people out with a glare or remove part of a memory.¡± Walking through the field of lilies, Pryia said. ¡°A good start; you know how to interact with a mind. Now I just need to teach you how to do so properly.¡± Gesturing to their surroundings, Pryia explained. ¡°We are currently within the surface of your conscious mind. This part of your mindscape is the¡­ vestibule of your mind, being the transition space between your deeper mind and the physical world. Here the basics of your personality and existence are demonstrated in symbolism. Are you following along?¡± Natalie nodded and looked at the red lilies, remembering when they¡¯d been dyed the color of blood. With this new information, Natalie guessed the symbolism of that. It probably represented her mind accepting vampirism and being altered by the Alukah¡¯s influence. Pryia reached down and ran fingers over the lilies waiving in an unfelt wind. ¡°The mind is a mess of memories, emotions, and ideas forming into the tangle we call consciousness. Understanding it is difficult without some method of interpretation. The easiest and most effective way to recognize meaning is to interpret the symbolism of a person¡¯s mind. A creative and educated mind can decipher a person by understanding the different elements that make up a psyche.¡± Plucking one of the red lilies and playing with its drooping bell-shaped petals, Pryia elaborated. ¡°While exceptions exist, many symbols will share meanings even between minds. So once you get the basics down, you can apply your knowledge more efficiently. Like flowers, for example, if healthy and abundant, they usually represent happiness and some form of love. The meaning of different flower types is tricker since they can have personal meanings. But if you find someone with a great rose bush growing in their head, it''s a good gamble they are infatuated.¡± Getting up from her chair, understanding this was going to be more like Isabelle¡¯s lessons than her previous debate with Pryia, Natalie asked. ¡°So a mind filled with filth would represent what? A dirty or sickly mind?¡± Pryia cocked her head in a noncommital gesture. ¡°Sometimes, but usually, that type of manifestation means self-loathing and pain. This is more an art than a scholarly pursuit. It''s about understanding people and context rather than memorizing a list of symbolic archetypes.¡± Licking her lips, Natalie thought about that. She normally understood people well and hoped her skills might translate into this strange art. But before she could think too much about that, Natalie had a question related to her last experience entering a mind. ¡°I¡¯ve entered minds, hoping to go deeper and access memories before. It was very difficult, everything was a jumble of thoughts, and I couldn¡¯t sort any of it out. I felt like I was just¡­ falling between flickers of ideas and memories.¡± Nodding, Pryia smiled. ¡°Yes, you entered an unconscious mind or delved too deep without proper context. An unconscious mind isn¡¯t forming a proper mindscape. Well, except in dreams, but that''s a topic for another time. You don¡¯t have the vestibule to pass through and acclimate yourself to a mind and its mechanics. Instead, you are just leaping into it and hoping for the best. A strong and focused mind can sift through the invaded psyche and force some measure of context onto what they see. But that takes training and a well-constructed memory palace, which I¡¯ll also need to teach you how to make.¡± Still managing to follow along, Natalie tried to get more information without revealing anything about her other mentor. ¡°I¡¯ve known Strix capable of powerful mind manipulation. You said they have a harder time with it than Moroi.¡± Pryia shrugged. ¡°The curse of the Strix doesn¡¯t naturally lend itself to mind manipulation. But with time and experience, a Strix can achieve¡­ palatable skill. Each breed of vampire has a knack for some of the skills our curse gives us, but we can theoretically master all of them with enough effort. Now enough about all these theories. What do you think about rapists?¡± Natalie felt like she¡¯d been slapped; the switch and topics had been so abrupt. ¡°Uh, they are scum; why do you ask?¡± Nodding and smiling, Pryia reached out and grabbed Natalie¡¯s arm, and pulled. The world shifted around them, fields of red melting away, and Natalie felt a wave of vertigo pass over her. When things had settled, she found they now stood in a poorly maintained cottage. It stunk of stale beer, and discolored water dripped from the rafters. The only light came from a pitiful fireplace that spat its displeasure at being fed wet wood. Three of the walls held doors, and the fourth was the fireplace; two of the doors were wooden the last was solid metal. In the center of this room was a much abused wooden table and a man slumped against it. In the surreality of the mind, Natalie¡¯s unnatural eyesight wasn¡¯t effective; it was hard to tell the man¡¯s features. He seemed to be in his forties with a paunch, bald spot, and well-muscled arms. Yet sometimes his physique with shift, body fat would fade, and hair would thicken. Creating a shifting person that¡¯s exact details seemed to alter slightly every time he was observed. Gesturing at the slumped man like he was some exotic art piece, Pryia said. ¡°Meet Quint. He¡¯s a butcher by trade but likes to hurt women in his spare time. He¡¯s battered around a few independent escorts in the city. During the riot, he raped the younger sister of one of my favorites. He should not have done that.¡± Running a hand along the table Quint was leaning on, Pryia said. ¡°Quint thought he was clever wearing a mask and a stargent necklace. He thought that would be enough to protect him from justice. It might have if I hadn¡¯t tracked the stink he left on that sweet girl. Once I confirmed his identity, I fed on him enough to form a deep bridge. Yes, that is something we can do. Since then, I¡¯ve made a hobby of tormenting him. So far, I¡¯ve made him impotent, filled his sleep with nightmares, and loosened his bowels. At his current rate, Quint has a few more nights before he completely snaps.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t know if she should be impressed or horrified. She at least now understood exactly why Cole had vigorously warned her against psychic magic. An experienced Moroi like Pryia could do utterly horrific things to a person. Natalie was incredibly thankful she¡¯s survived Dame Lorena with her mind intact. Trying not to breathe in the stink of old liquor, stale vomit, and mildew, Natalie said. ¡°He might be scum, but I won¡¯t inflict more pain on him. I don¡¯t like where that could lead.¡± Pryia nodded as if she¡¯d been expecting this. ¡°I assumed as much, which is why you will try and fix Quint.¡± Frowning, Natalie opened her mouth to object, but Pryia cut her off. ¡°If you want to be able to help people like your thrall, then you need experience in altering a mind. You are going to, with my guidance, try and stop Quint from being such a piece of shit. I want you to dive into his mind, understand where his sickness comes from and cut it out.¡± Pryia shrugged then, holding up both hands in a relaxed gesture. ¡°And if you fail and do some irrevocable damage to him, then well, no great loss.¡± Glancing at the twitching form of Quint, Natalie felt genuinely uncertain of what to do. On some level, she knew backing away was the right option. Cole would never agree to this. The whole idea stunk of being the first step toward damnation. But¡­ the idea of stopping a monster from being a monster and learning how to help Yara and many others was very, very tempting. Thinking of Isabelle and her recent proposal, Natalie wondered if gaining this knowledge would save her life. She¡¯d not made a decision about Isabelle¡¯s twelve days. Some parts of Natalie worried about how the old monster would react if the offer were rejected. Natalie having additional tools and another source of knowledge might just be what kept Isabelle from doing something unhinged. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. With the spirit of healthy paranoia and compromise in mind, Natalie said. ¡°Teach me how to enter a mind and understand its different parts for now. I¡¯m not comfortable altering a mind, but I can understand the value in being able to observe one.¡± Pryia cocked her head and sighed. ¡°You are still so young. Alright, let''s start with bridges. As you know, it''s possible to weave bridges in the Aether and connect different minds. Bridges require some form of mental connection to be established. The more powerful the connection, the deeper and more effective an initial bridge can be. Eye contact is enough to link mental vestibules, but a kiss or other methods can allow for deeper access on both sides.¡± Natalie tried not to think about her earlier blunder as Pryia continued explaining. ¡°An established connection can be deepened with effort, but the stronger the initial bridge, the easier it is. I could have just made eye contact with Quint and spent some energy worming into his mind. But by feeding on him, I could much more easily access deeper parts of his mind.¡± Moving away from the desk and towards one of the doors, Pryia said. ¡°We¡¯ll talk more about that later. For now, I want to show you the parts of the mind. We are in Quint¡¯s vestibule, and these doors represent access to other sections of his mindscape. Let''s start with the easiest thing to access, memories.¡± Pryia reached one of the doors and ran a hand along it; the wood creaked and opened, revealing a swirling pit. Gesturing for Natalie to join her by the door, Pryia said. ¡°Since we are entering through the vestibule, this will be easier, but not completely without difficulty. His mind will do most of the work, but only if we give it a slight nudge. Let''s plant a seed of context and let him do the rest.¡± Looking at the swirling gap, Natalie asked: ¡°How?¡± Smiling, Pryia said, ¡°Pick a metaphor; the more it matches the mind, the easier things will be. Don¡¯t worry too much about picking poorly; I will step in if things get dangerous.¡± Stepping away from the door, Natalie went back to Quint¡¯s shifting form. ¡°I¡¯m assuming he can¡¯t see or notice us?¡± Shaking her head, Pryia confirmed, ¡°He¡¯s currently awake but lacks any training or talent to notice a psychic intrusion. It''s easier to first connect with someone awake, but once you¡¯ve laid down the initial metaphor, it''s possible to use it when they are asleep. So we don¡¯t have to worry if he passes out on us.¡± Examining Quint, Natalie sniffed him, picking up the reek of old pig blood and fresh meat. Pryia said he was a butcher, and the details of that job clung even to his mind. Nodding, Natalie left her victim and went to the swirling void. Staring at the empty space, Natalie picked her metaphor and imagined shoving it into the gap. Using the same mechanism she used to smash people unconscious, she thrust the idea into the void. It worked; the shifting emptiness started to solidify, a new room forming out of the swirl of disparate thoughts. The room was destroyed in reverse, clumps of metaphor congealing into solid floors, walls, and other parts collapsing into existence in inverted creation. Eventually, the last pieces settled into place, and the room''s nature was revealed; it was a meat larder. Cuts of meat and dead animals dangled from the ceiling or were set out on wooden slabs. Natalie wrinkled her nose; she was no stranger to the messier part of food preparation, but this teetered on the edge of grotesque. Trying not to breathe, Natalie muttered. ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t expect this to actually work.¡± Pryia let out an almost girlish squee and hugged Natalie. ¡°You are a natural! I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d succeed on your first time either!¡± Disentangling herself from Pryia¡¯s limbs and curves, Natalie poked her head into the larder. ¡°So¡­ this is his memory?¡± Stepping into the room, Pryia poked a hanging slab of venison. ¡°Just the surface of it. See, look over there.¡± Natalie followed Pryia¡¯s pointing hand and saw a ladder ascending up out of the room and a trapdoor descending downwards. ¡°They will lead to other sections of memory. Typically, if you want to find the juicy secrets, you need to dig a little into a mind. If we went far enough down that trapdoor, we¡¯d find out the last time he wet the bed.¡± Grimacing, Natalie looked out of the room and into the vestibule. ¡°So that acts as a nexus of the mind, and this is where memories are stored; then what is behind the other two doors?¡± Pryia went over to one of the meat slabs and tossed it to Natalie. ¡°We will get to that; first, let me show you something interesting.¡± The moment Natalie touched the meat, the room shifted around her. Instead of a larder, she found themselves in a seedy tavern. The room seemed to revolve around one of its occupants, a beady-eyed man who must be Quint. He was pushing through a throng of people, and someone spilled a drink on him. Quint cursed and shoved the drinker, earning a shove back for his favor. Quint stumbled and slammed against a nearby table, bruising his hip. Trying to wipe the spilled beer off his shirt, Quint slouched out of the tavern, and the scene faded. Leaving Natalie back in the larder. Natalie quickly dropped the meat, and Pryia walked towards the door. ¡°It obviously changes based on the metaphor, but that''s how you access a memory.¡± Back in the vestibule, Natalie pondered this, it was a little different than her experience in Liam¡¯s mind, but she chocked that up to Isabelle being the guide in that little endeavor. Pryia pointed at the fireplace and said, ¡°Light sources usually represent consciousness, so considering the flames are barely smoldering, I expect Quint to be currently sleepy or intoxicated.¡± Following, Pryia over to another door, Natalie asked. ¡°So when I¡¯ve used my power to knock people out, what exactly am I doing?¡± Pryia grinned at her student. ¡°Smashing the vestibule with the psychic equivalent of a giant¡¯s fist. A vestibule is a metaphor for the working mind. It is the nexus of memory, emotion, instinct, and consciousness. A vampire or anyone else with the right training can disrupt that nexus with sheer force and knock them out. Weak minds and the element of surprise make it easier to do but always be careful of a well-guarded mind. At best, you will bounce off their defense; at worst, they can launch a counterattack.¡± Gesturing at the other doors, Natalie guessed. ¡°If we were just in memory and that fireplace is consciousness, then the other two doors must be emotion and instinct, right?¡± Nodding, Pryia went over to the remaining wooden door and opened it, revealing another void. ¡°This is emotion, try and solidify it.¡± Natalie thought for a moment and cast her selected metaphor into the gap. A pig pen formed, complete with a dozen swine. Most of the swine clustered in one corner of the pen while two engaged in vicious combat. One of the fighting pigs was a big ugly boar with tusks and bristling back hair. Its rival, by contrast, was skeletally thin and had empty pits for eyes. Despite this obvious imbalance, the two pigs evenly matched each other. Pryia leaned on the pig pen fence and clicked her tongue in disgust. ¡°Anger and fear are the winners here, not to any real surprise. Joy, sadness, surprise, and the rest are mere spectators.¡± Leaving the room, Pryia sighed. ¡°Emotions are easy to read and manipulate. You can just ¡®poke a pig¡¯ to use this wretch¡¯s metaphor, and get the desired result. It''s honestly tragic how many people are dominated by their lesser emotions. I work hard to ensure my pets don¡¯t get mired in such things.¡± Natalie had been so absorbed in the lesson she¡¯d almost forgotten exactly who she was dealing with. Pryia¡¯s offhand remark was a good reminder. As the duo stepped in front of the iron door to instinct, Natalie reached out to press on the door. Pryia stopped her and wagged a finger with amusement. ¡°Getting ahead of yourself, little sister; we won¡¯t be touching instincts unless you want to learn how to alter them. Instincts and their associated systems are very touchy, and it''s easy to do lots of damage by accident. Of course, if you want to learn, then well, Quint would be a wonderful bit of practice.¡± Recoiling from the door, Natalie felt a flicker of temptation. There was a lot of power in what Pryia was offering; the idea of being able to alter a person had a disturbing amount of appeal. She could free Yara and countless others from their mental shackles. She could slip into the minds of monsters and madmen, fix them, or break them as she saw fit. She could¡­ she could become another Annoch. Sighing, Natalie shook her head. ¡°Thank you for what you¡¯ve taught me. But I don¡¯t want to take that step. Could I still convince you to help Yara?¡± Frowning, Pryia made a motion, and the mindscape melted around them, leaving both vampires sitting in Pryia¡¯s chambers. Leaning against a cushion, Pryia seemed to ponder something before saying. ¡°No, I will not.¡± Surprised, Natalie asked, ¡°Why not?¡± Pryia shrugged. ¡°I think if I do, I¡¯ll be interfering with something I shouldn¡¯t. You have a real knack for psychic techniques. But you are also shackled by too much of your former life. Learning how to help this Yara woman or learning to accept her subservience are both important lessons. If the situation becomes untenable, and your thrall becomes unstable, I will help then, but until then, I¡¯m leaving this up to you.¡± Narrowing her eyes, Natalie snapped, ¡°What happened to earning the favor of the Alukah?¡± Smiling, Pryia laughed. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m happy to still help you in other ways. Blood, sex, or knowledge, just come to me, and I¡¯ll provide what I can. But I¡¯m not taking your thrall. She¡¯s yours to do with as you please.¡± Sighing, Natalie asked. ¡°What would it take for you to reconsider?¡± The older vampire shook her head. ¡°Nothing I think you are willing to give. Now, do you want to sit and chat, maybe enjoy a meal together, or are we done?¡± Glancing at the harem, noticing some of its members were stirring, Natalie bit her lip. ¡°I¡¯ll take my leave.¡± Pryia smiled, got up, and hugged Natalie. Tentatively, Natalie returned the gesture. Pryia broke the embrace and said. ¡°No matter that little disagreement, I like you, Natalie. You have a good head on your shoulders and a cute face. Feel free to visit your big sister whenever. Just don¡¯t be surprised if I¡¯m busy.¡± Winking to indicate what she¡¯d be busy doing, Pryia gently pushed Natalie towards the door. Pausing for a second, Natalie grabbed the bottle of sanguina and asked. ¡°Where do you get this?¡± Waving a hand dismissively, Pryia said. ¡°It''s not that hard to make if you know how. Take the bottle, my gift.¡± Holding onto the glass decanter, Natalie replied. ¡°Thank you for your help.¡± Pryia made a gesture of dismissal. ¡°Think nothing of it. We, good vampires, need to help each other when we can.¡± Keeping a neutral expression, Natalie nodded and left the bedroom. She found Lila waiting there and was guided by the escort out of the Velvet Rose and back into the carriage. As they rode silently, the temple bells rang, signaling midnight had come. With the final note of the bells, Natalie found her eyes resting on Lila. She really was beautiful but in an almost unnatural way. The makeup and poise Lila armored herself with made her seem less of a person and more like an art piece. Lila noticed Natalie was staring and asked in a slightly husky voice. ¡°I¡¯m still your companion for the evening¡­¡± Sighing, Natalie forced herself to look away. Her mind was busy trying to sort through everything she had learned, and the distraction Lila offered was very tempting. With Cole gone, she¡¯d been left with an empty bed and pig''s blood for too long. Whispers in the back of Natalie¡¯s mind offered many interesting possibilities. How Lila would eagerly accept her bite, and if one thing led to another¡­ Shaking her head, trying to push back the insidious hunger, Natalie said. ¡°I must decline, and please don¡¯t offer again.¡± Bowing her head, Lila became quiet, leaving Natalie in awkward silence. A tiny flicker of guilt went through the vampire, but she ignored it. Refusing an eager victim was proving much harder than controlling her usual desires. When the temple finally came into view, Natalie let out a relieved sigh. As they arrived, Natalie said. ¡°Thank you for your companionship tonight and¡­ and it¡¯s not you, it''s me.¡± The line felt as sour and stupid as the last time Natalie used it, back in a Glockmire hayloft. But it was suitable for the situation, and she didn¡¯t have the energy to be nicer than that. Lila nodded and offered a slight smile as Natalie left the carriage. Hurrying away from temptation, Natalie reached the Tenth Temple and slipped into the great structure. The two night guards tensed upon seeing her but didn¡¯t make a fuss; Natalie was becoming a common sight within the temple. Bottle of sanguina under one arm, Natalie took the time to write a short note for Morri and slip it under his office door. Then she returned to the apartment, opening the door and wondering if she should visit the archive or do something else. The smell of leather and metal greeted her, pulling a relieved sigh from her lips. Cole was back and busy unpacking his belongings. Looking up, Cole smiled and then frowned as Natalie approached him. Natalie never let her eyes leave him as she set the bottle down and got within striking distance. Pouncing forward, Natalie tackled Cole into the bed, bringing her lips to his. Initially startled, Cole reached for his belt, but upon realizing the nature of the ¡®attack,¡¯ he gave into the kiss. Eventually, Cole¡¯s need for air forced him to break the kiss, and he breathlessly asked, ¡°Are you alright?¡± In between feverish kisses, Natalie relayed her state. ¡°I¡­ have¡­ been¡­ surrounded¡­ by beautiful women offering themselves¡­ at¡­ every¡­ turn. I¡¯ve missed you, and I want you. Do you have any objections, or can I start tearing your clothes off?¡± An amused snort escaped Cole as he tried to put enough space between him and Natalie to strip. ¡°I¡¯d prefer you helped me strip instead of ruining perfectly good traveling cloth-HEY!¡± Natalie had found his collar and literally ripped Cole¡¯s shirt down the middle. In response, he literally picked her up and chucked her over his head onto the bed. Landing with a bounce, Natalie spun around to face Cole, red eyes blazing with lust. ¡°You have thirty seconds before I start helping.¡±
The couple lay together in bed, both panting as the afterglow faded. The ruins of Cole¡¯s shirt, alongside the rest of their intact clothing, were scattered across the room. While Natalie curled up next to Cole, a contented sigh escaped her lips. ¡°I really, really missed you.¡± Cole laughed. ¡°I can see that. Now will you tell me what in Sister Sun¡¯s name got you in such a mood?¡± Sighing, Natalie felt the last bits of her enjoyment fade as she was reminded of what had gotten her into such a state. ¡°I met with Pryia, hoping she would help with Yara. She and her employees offered me many things¡­ many of them erotic. That, combined with a little blood and an unfortunate amount of time alone, resulted in this.¡± Cole answered her sigh with one of his own. ¡°She is overt in her sexuality, even more so when she¡¯s trying to weaponize it.¡± Resting her chin on Cole¡¯s chest, Natalie said, ¡°But that¡¯s the thing, I don¡¯t think she was. It felt more like¡­ I dunno someone trying to be helpful in a really weird way.¡± Cole thought about that. ¡°You are probably right. Pryia has always been ¡®kind¡¯ in her own way, and I could see her offering blood and sex as a nicety.¡± Rolling off her boyfriend, staring up at the ceiling, Natalie asked, ¡°Did you really cut off one of her hands?¡± Grimacing, a gesture Natalie could sense just by the way Cole spoke, he said. ¡°Both of them, actually. We first met when some wounds from the Voivoide¡¯s larder were very fresh. I reacted very poorly to her advances. In retrospect, I probably overreacted.¡± The word larder summoned up images of Natalie¡¯s mental dive, and she let out a weary breath. ¡°She didn¡¯t agree to take Yara, but she offered to teach me how to help her.¡± Frowning, Cole asked, ¡°Oh? What does she want to teach you?¡± Wincing but forcing herself not to shy away from the truth, Natalie said. ¡°Mind magic, which she taught me the very basics of.¡± Cole stiffened slightly, and Natalie quickly elaborated. ¡°She tried to teach me how to manipulate minds, but I turned her down. I learned how to enter a mind and observe its mechanics but nothing more.¡± Sighing, Natalie said. ¡°Pryia wanted me to practice on someone. A rapist, who probably deserved it, but I said no. I need to grow my strengths, but I won¡¯t in certain directions. Too much darkness and too much temptation.¡± Large, scarred arms wrapped Natalie up in a hug, and in a soft voice, Cole said, ¡°Thank you.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked, ¡°What for?¡± Smiling, Cole said, ¡°Being a person I can love and have faith in.¡± Natalie felt herself melt into his embrace. ¡°I hope you¡¯ve recovered because the moment your arms get even slightly less comfy, I¡¯m pouncing on you again.¡± Smiling wolfishly, Cole said, ¡°Not if I pounce first.¡± About the HK world (Part 2) About the Old Empire (The Velvet Rose pt 1) The idea of an ancient wonderous civilization that fell in ages past is nothing new. It''s actually something of a mainstay in fantasy and even Western literature. An interesting byproduct of the cycle of empires and dark ages that has plagued the world for a very long time. My addition to the tradition of Valaryia, Netheril, Atlantis, Rome, Minoa, Nod, N¨²menor, Rakata, Dwemer, and countless others is the Old Empire or the Iskan Imperium. Originally a collection of city-states ruled by a Sidhe lord, the ancient Iskani were cultivated as soldier slaves for performance wars against rival lords. But the problem with training slaves as soldiers are eventually, they become very good at fighting. The discovery of an iron deposit and some godly aid helped the eventual slave revolt succeed. Now this wouldn''t be the first time some clever humans or other peoples defeated their Sidhe masters, but this time the victory wasn''t short-lived. The Iskani practiced a very unique form of magic called Lictorium, combining ancient human magics, and stolen fae secrets alongside a little divine and infernal inspiration into the ability to combine lesser magical talents into something greater. Hundreds of mundane people could invest their little spark of power into a Lictor or Magistrate who could cast spells to match any Sidhe. These early imperials put this magic to good use and did.... things to ensure the Sidhe gave their lands a wide birth. Psychically broadcasting the dying mind of a Sidhe having molten iron poured into every orifice is a hell of a way to warn off potential reprisals. Over a period of five hundred years, the Iskani expanded out from their homelands, conquering and liberating every human population they came across. Adding them to the burgeoning Empire and slowly becoming the only powerful nation truly ruled by humans. But this would quickly change; the Sidhe had fallen into a bloody civil war, and the Iskan Imperium took full advantage of the rising tide of chaos. Alliances were formed, rebellions planned, knowledge shared, and schemes hatched. A great war for the destiny of the world would soon begin, but even as Iskani Emperor named his son Iskandar, meaning ''savior of our people'' and eleven Gods marked the infant, the reason for the Sidhe civil war came to light. Some of the Sidewalkers, the Fair Folk, wanted to keep the world as is, enjoying the delights of a mundane world. Others wanted to drag the planet and all its inhabitants into the Beyond, adding it to the realms of Faerie. The world-drowners won the war and set their eyes on the grand rebellion. Millions did worse than die in the ensuing eldritch apocalypse. But in the face of all this madness, two heroes arose, Iskandar, the sword of mankind, and his beloved Mira, the Highest Priestess. Together they led the world against the Sidhe and did something impossible; they won. In the years after Iskandar''s death and Mira''s sacrifice, the Empire reached new heights, soon spanning the entire western continent and existing as one of the new great powers of the world. Creating a civilization that reached new heights both magically and culturally. Until someone found an interesting side effect of Lictorium, the magical connections it made could do more than just transfer power. The cost of infernal deals could be thrust onto others, and suddenly, the bedrock of civilization became its undoing. Leading to the day of the black sun and the ensuing bloody centuries. It''s been close to a thousand years since the empire fell, but its legacy lives on in countless ways.
About Jotunn (Velvet Rose pt 2) Jotunn is often translated as ''Giant'' this is not strictly correct, ''Consumer'' or "Hungry One'' is probably more accurate. In Norse mythology, Jotunn are a species of shape-changing beings of primordial origin and power. Those older ideas are what inspired the Jotunn of Vardis, not the later syncretic Frost Giants of popular imagination. Jotunn in Vardis are extremely powerful shapeshifters attuned to elemental magical forces. They have no true form, the closest being whatever shape their parents took while reproducing. No one knows exactly where the first Jotunn came from, but it''s theorized they were originally spirits adapted to living in the Mundane universe, sort of like inverse Fae, who are creatures adapted to living in the Beyond. What is known, is every Jotunn can take the form or features of any organism they''ve ''consumed.'' (This could be literally eating them, or it could be gaining an understanding through more esoteric means.) The downside to this power is if a Jotunn stays in a singular form for too long, they can risk becoming ''lost'' in it. Instincts and primal behavior infect the Jotunn''s mind and can even reduce them to thinking they are the form they''ve taken. To combat this, Jotunn usually alter whatever shape they take in some way. Increasing the size, mixing together different animal features, infusing themselves with elemental magic, that sort of thing. It helps keep them sane and grounded but can lead to some very freaky-looking Jotunn. (As the art above shows) Jotunn are also reproductively viable with any species as long as they take a compatible form. The problem is hybrids don''t fully inherit their parent''s abilities. Instead of becoming a new Jotunn, they become a mutated member of their non-Jotunn parent. This is a problem, a very big problem, as most of these mutations are extreme size. While being born like average offspring, the Jotunspawn will grow at an exceptional rate, requiring a tremendous amount of food. If the Jotunspawn is fed sufficiently, it will eventually grow into a giant version of the parent species with some elemental magical talent. If they aren''t fed enough well... a four-meter-tall adolescent is going to give into instincts that are not pretty. Lack of food will stunt the mental and magical development of the Jotunnspawn. So will the methods they used to gain the required... calories. This is how you end up with Feral Giants, slightly brain-damaged feral humanoids the size of a house. Horror stories of entire villages devoured by a rampaging child-giant are disturbingly common. In ages past, Jotunn would care for their offspring, and many species of monsters descend from successful Jotunnspawn. Kingdoms of undamaged Giants once existed, ruled over by Jotunn god-kings, and existing as fairly stable societies. Then the Sidhe happened, and the Jotunn were hunted to near extinction. Jotunn and Fae rarely get along, and the Sidhe took full advantage of their era of dominance to try and exterminate their rivals. Many of the Jotunn who survived were broken by the hunts. Some becoming lost in a bestial form, existing as ''godly-animals'' in the wildest corners of the world. Others have become obsessed with restoring what was lost, siring legions of offspring in hopes of ensuring their species has a future, even a degenerated one. Because sometimes, very, very rarely, a Jotunnspawn will awaken into a true Jotunn, in a phenomenon not even the Jotunn understands. So sure, thousands of malformed monsters might be sired, but if that can produce a handful of Jotunn, then so be it. As for why Jotunn don''t simply mate with each other and build new kingdoms, well, they are still hunted and are on the run. The bodies and souls of Jotunn and Jotunnspawn are extremely valuable for all sorts of reasons. Meaning Jotunn and their descendants exist as rare, monstrously powerful relics of a bygone age feared and hunted for their power.
About Temple Organization (Book III Prologue) High Titles- Powerful distinctions placed upon the favored servants of a God Divine Avatar- In ages past, the Gods could take a physical form by fusing with unique individuals. Those rare people who embodied a God''s nature and purpose perfectly could become one with them. Acting as a temporary physical body for the God, at the cost of slowly subsuming the Avatar''s original mind and soul. The more power the Avatar used, the faster this process happened, inevitably resulting in the Avatar ''ascending'' into the Beyond as part of the God. The Avatar would cease to exist as a person and, at best, become a flicker of memories and emotion within the God. Since the Final Gates were created, no Divine Avatars have existed. Prophet- All Priests can gaze into the Aether, but some can gaze into the Beyond. Achieving a state of holy madness where they can look upon Magic itself and gain insights into reality. Because they can look into the Beyond, Prophets can more accurately see a God''s intent and even communicate with them directly. This knowledge and insight provided by this connection is... taxing on the mortal mind, and most Prophets have ''atypical'' perspectives on reality. Paladin- Agents of a God instilled with a very tiny piece of divinity in their soul. This spiritual modification grants a variety of powers and helps the Paladin enact their Gods will with more independence and proactivity than Priests can. Anchorite- Priests who''ve overtaxed their connection with a God to the point their mind, body, and soul are mutated by a God''s power while they still live. Slowly transforming into something closer to an Elder Seraph than a person. Saint- The title given to any person anointed by a God in death, becoming a Seraph in their God''s service. The transformation of a mortal into something divine has side effects on the world, which the Temples know how to recognize. For example, personal items and remains of the Saint can gain new or enhanced supernatural properties as relics. Stigmatized- People marked for some important purpose or fate by a God. The Stigma mark placed upon them usually comes with a token of holy guidance or protection in the form of an embedded miracle or similar. --- Ordained Ranks- Terms for those who''ve sworn their vows and formed a connection with a God. Hierophant- The connection between God and Priest steadily grows with time and devotion. Hierophant is the title given to Priests who''ve gained a strong enough connection to cast major miracles or doby similar feats by themselves. Often Hierophants act as leaders within a Temple, but wandering or monastic Hierophants do exist. High Priest- Title given to the senior Priest at a Temple. Usually found in minor Temples devoted to multiple Gods. With Hierophants or councils of Hierophants fulfilling this role in major Temples. Priest- Someone whose vows have been accepted by their God and who devotes their existence to serving that deity and the community they belong to. The type and number of vows vary between Priests and Gods but usually involve swearing to uphold a God''s will and use their power to help and heal where they can. By upholding these vows, a Priest forges and grows a connection to a God, letting them channel their power into the world. Many of the different types of Priests (Rest-Bringers, Corpse-Tenders, etc, for Master Time) are defined by what vows they take. Acolyte- Priests in training who''ve made a single vow. Rarely an Acolyte will stop their training but keep their vow, becoming ''half-priests,'' living as common folk who can still call upon flickers of divine power. Monk- People who''ve been fully ordained but take vows not related to the community but to a particular task or idea. Myriad monastic orders exist, serving a God in more esoteric or unusual ways. Monk is the unisex distinction for anyone who is part of a Monastic Order. Members of these orders are usually referred to as Brother/Sister/Sibling in place of a title. --- Unordianed Ranks- Terms for servants of a God who are not ordained or otherwise gifted with power. Pankrator- A martial Paragon sworn to a particular god. Fearsome holy warriors who often act as bodyguards to Priests engaged in dangerous activities. Sometimes this title is given to Priests who are also martial Paragons. Templar- Generic term for any unordained warrior who serves a Temple. Acting as guards, soldiers, and anything else the Temples need a strong sword arm for. Stewards (sometimes called workers or servants)- Unordained people who serve the Temple in bureaucratic or menial ways. Penitents- Criminals who serve a Temple as part of their punishment. Usually, people who the Temple and local Court view as ''salvageable'' are given this sentence in hopes of helping them. Deacon- Non-Priests who work for the Temple in a non-servant role. Unordained healers, archivists, and similar who work within the Temple structure.
About Dwarven Steel (Book III: Chapter 1) With Cole''s new set of armor becoming a thing, I figured I''d write a little about dwarven steel. I''d thought about this for a while how to do magical metals, it''s an old idea, a very old idea in fact, but much like most of fantasy, it was codified by Tolkien. I thought about coming up with some new metals and reusing some old ones, which I have, like adamantine and orichalcum, but ultimately decided on an interesting solution. Steel has been the gold(heh) standard for weapons and armor ever since humans first figured out how to make it. So why try and reinvent the alloy when I can simply come up with new versions of it? This leads us to dwarven steel, a broad term for magically treated steel. Every piece of dwarven steel is as much an alloy as it is an enchantment. Magic is infused into the material at every step of the smelting and forging process, imbuing the steel with subtle, if useful arcane effects. Every Dwergaz Hold has a unique formula for its steel, which the smiths of said Hold guard jealously. A smith capable of truly refining the formula, even in an infinitesimal way, will be hailed as a hero within a Hold. Most forms of steel have multiple variations based on the initial formula for different purposes. So it''s possible for different Holds to have types of steel with practically identical properties, but with each Hold viewing theirs as the obviously superior one. The politics and squabbling based on these formulas and their different derivatives have filled entire dwarven sagas. With most Holds having one ''traditional'' variety, they attach their name to and claim fiercely. Usually, this is the alloy they consider most uniquely belonging to the Hold''s history. A few well-known types of Dwarven Steel and other alloys- Singing Steel: The metal very efficiently absorbs and dissipates kinetic energy. Usually causing the steel to vibrate and make noise, hence the name. Armor forged from this alloy is prized among monster hunters for its ability to take blows that should pulp and person. Long-term users of this material tend to suffer hearing loss, though, thanks to the gong-like noise the steel can produce if struck hard. Emma is trained in making this variety of Hakon Steel. Bone Steel: Capable of limited self-repair, returning to its original form if given time and resources. These objects can be ''set'' like a bone, hence the name, and repaired very quickly by a Magi or Smith who knows what they are doing. This healing property makes it favored for holding complicated runes and enchantments since damage to the imbued spell can be quickly fixed. Cole''s halberd is an odd variant of this type. Fire Steel: Steel meant to retain extreme amounts of heat for lengths of time and not suffer for it. High-quality fire steel can stay red hot for hours with practically no effect on its durability. Favored both by warriors wanting flaming swords and homemakers desiring easy cooking. Frost Steel: The inversion of fire steel that retains very little heat and withstands extreme temperatures. Traditionally placed on the top of mountains in the deep of winter to ''charge'' them for entire seasons if used correctly. Invaluable for dwarven society with its ability to help preserve food and cool off subterranean spaces. Calamity Steel: Very difficult to make alloy that alters its personal gravity in response to magical energy. Only a select few elder smiths of ancient holds can reliably produce this substance. Legends speak of a flying mountain once home to the Hold that originally created the material. Failed batches of Calamity steel have been known to cause earthquakes or localized gravity irregularities. Both of which tend to be rather well... calamitous when happening deep inside a Dwarven Hold. Feather Steel- Extremely light but shockingly strong, favored for use in equipment and tools that don''t need weight behind them to be used properly. Ringmail undershirts of the metal are extremely popular among those fearing a knife in the dark. Bane Metal- Silver/Stargent alloy that violently disrupts the magic of anything it''s touching. Where stargent just protects from magic and dulls it, Bane Metal actively harms a person''s ability to use magic. Like a Magi in stargent manacles would be unable to properly effect the aether, one touched by Bane Metal would risk having a spell or any magical effort backfire badly. Only the difficulties in making the metal prevent it from being more commonly used on magical prisoners. Healer''s Gold- Enchanted Electrum that increases a body''s ability to filter toxins and heal itself. Expensive and known to cause metabolic problems with overuse. Still sought by healers and hypochondriacs everywhere. Cleaner''s Copper- Copper with enhanced antimicrobial effects. A number of very powerful healing spells and enchantments use this substance to work. Most wealthy Temples will have a strip of it lining the doorway into their clinic. Other magical alloys and metals do exist, but the sheer variety and fame of Dwarven Steel make it a byword for any enchanted metal. Enchanting itself is something I''ll talk about later, but the basics of it are finding a way to give an object a proper reflection in the Aether than sculpting that reflection to hold/be a spell. Because inanimate objects don''t innately have a reflection in the Aether or at least a big one, materials that have more ''weight'' in the mind work better. Like precious metals, gemstones, and bone...
About Vampire Banes (Book III: Chapter Three) The first vampire, the Rabisu, was a Priest-Queen of Sister Sun in a previous epoch; the fact so many vampire banes burn them and how their damaged flesh turns to ash isn''t a coincidence. Father Sky- Thresholds: Vampires become weaker when entering a home they haven''t been invited to. The more of a home the location is, the stronger this effect. So a place of business, inn or tenement might barely hamper them, while a well-loved family house would cripple them if not invited. "As patriarch and ruler, Father Sky forbids the unclean from entering a family''s private kingdom." Mother Earth- Sulfur: Vampire flesh burns when exposed to sulfur, and its smell is extremely repugnant to them. Plant and animal byproducts high in sulfur are physically painful for them to be near. "Sulfur is the roiling bile of the Earth, spewed up in disgust at a mother''s betrayal." Brother Moon- Silver: Similar to sulfur, this metal burns and irritates vampire flesh. Mirrors backed with silver can see through a Vampire''s illusions and reveal the truth. "The Brother sheds tears over his Sister''s pain. Vowing to protect her from another betrayal" Sister Sun- Sunlight: Not only does it reduce vampires to ash, but it also instills a phobia-level fear in them. Any part of a vampire exposed to sunlight burns away to soot and bones nearly instantly while inflicting terrible pain. "The Sister''s wrathful gaze brings ruin upon the traitor." Uncle Trickster- Nothing: The god of liars said he offered no curse to the vampires; why should they believe him? Uncle Maker- Stagnation: A slow poison, over centuries of unlife, vampires will suffer in their ability to learn new skills or improve old ones. Only through great persistent effort can an ancient vampire continue to grow and learn. (Un)fortunately vampire society has adapted and developed numerous techniques to blunt this weakness. "Those who claim eternal perfection have no need of the gift of making" Aunt Huntress- Fear: People and animals feel a subtle instinctual fear of vampires. An unconscious wariness that might save something from becoming ensnared. Luring beauty and psychic domination can overrule this fear but sometimes it''s enough to save a life. "All that lives beneath branch and bough recoils from what rises from blood and bone." Aunt Seeress- Memory: As vampires age, their minds become cluttered with memories, degrading their sanity and recollection as they pass beyond a mortal span. To quail this slow dementia, vampires must occasionally enter a long torpor, sleeping for years as their unconscious mind sorts and processes lifetimes of information. The older a vampire gets, the longer they must sleep for this process to work. Many intelligent vampires practice forms of mental and magical memory enhancement to delay and speed up these torpors. "A mind can only hold so much before it starts to leak" Mistress Void- Shame: Faith embodied in holy symbols or hallowed ground reminds vampires of what they''ve given up and what they''ve become. Not just burning and breaking but reminding them of their crimes. "Reject your home, your origin, your gods, and they will, in turn, reject you." Master Time- Time: Everything a vampire knows and cares for will eventually erode away. Eternity is not freedom; it''s the ultimate prison. "All will become stale; all will become rotten; the passage of time grinds a soul to misery" Misbegotten War- Heart: Staking a vampire through the heart knocks them out. Instantly forcing them into a torpor that only ends once the impaling object is removed. Wooden stakes don''t knock the vampire out but paralyzes them, trapping them awake inside their own dead flesh. "Strike true and strike hard; seal the darkness with war''s own fury."
About Draconic Servitors (Book III: Chapter Four) Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Dragons are utter juggernauts of magical and physical power. Prideful, domineering, and unshakably confident, they view themselves as intrinsically superior to all other life. A claim they never hesitate to back with arcane fire or ruthless fangs. But despite all their innate strength, the wisest Dragons understood singular power, no matter how monolithic has its weaknesses. To truly rule, a ruler needs subjects. Using flesh magic and their own unique powers, the Dragons crafted entire species of servitors. Enhancing the ''lesser species'' with their power or creating pale shadows of dragonkind subservient to them. When the Sidhe hunted the great wyrms during their conquest, they neglected to purge all of these servitors, and many became ''feral'' without a Dragon to rule them. While the Dragons are slowly rebuilding, they have neglected to address these feral servitors, generally viewing them as a non-issue. Which from their perspective, they pretty much are, not so much from scared mortals losing sheep to a Wyvern. Common Draconic Servitors Wyverns: Huge four-limbed winged reptiles created as beasts of burden and battle. In ages past, wherever a Dragon flew, they were accompanied by a flight of wyverns who acted as escorts and pack mules for any treasure the Dragons might ''find.'' To these purposes, wyverns are capable of carrying heavy loads over long distances and are also surprisingly durable. The bite of the Wyvern is extremely toxic, but they lack any real magic other than the slight enchantments that help them fly and function with their extreme size. In the current Epoch, wyverns are considered extremely dangerous monsters and apex predators in mountain biomes. Scalings: Short reptilian humanoids resembling a mixture of a goblin and a dragon. Originally a tribe of goblins who fled their Sidhe master and sought refuge with an Ancient Dragon, these proto-Scalings were transformed to better serve their new overlord. Short-lived, agile, and reasonably intelligent, Scalings are a communal people with a compulsion for servitude. Entire clans of them will serve a Dragon, cleaning and maintaining their master''s lair in exchange for protection and prosperity. Powerful Dragons will often have entire towns of Scalings living in and around their lair as eager vassals. Dragon-less Scalings often become nomadic, looking for a new master to serve. A number of Dragonblood families have managed to attract and keep the loyalty of these ''rogue Scalings'' Lindwyrms: Lizard-like creatures the size of a leopard. Extremely flexible, with clawed limbs, Lindwyrms can change their scale color and texture to camouflage themselves incredibly well. Gifted with an excellent sense of hearing and smell, along with serpent-like heat-sensing, they were created as infiltrators and assassins. Venomous and cooly intelligent, Lindwyrms can slip into shockingly small spaces while avoiding most mundane guards. The myriad secret passages within Dragons'' lair are often protected by nests of these ambush predators. Having a Lindwyrm take up residence in a mineshaft is considered a justifiable reason to shut down an entire delving operation. Drakes: Bideal, wingless reptiles the size of a large wolf. They are pack hunters with the ability to modulate their own metabolism; Drakes were created as guard dog-equivalents. Capable of entering periods of near-hibernation when unneeded and then rousing to vicious aggression when called. Possessing a strong sense of smell and a very limited form of pack telepathy, Drakes are virtually impossible to escape without skill or luck. Thankfully for those they hunt, this telepathy can be used against them, distracting or incapacitating an entire pack with psychic attacks. Rogue Drakes are one of the few species of Draconic Servitors non-dragons have had any success domesticating, with larger breeds of the species being the favored mount of some Dwarvish Holds. Wyvelings: Four-limbed winged reptiles the size of a bird-of-prey. Lesser cousins of Wyverns, these servitors are shockingly intelligent and worryingly inquisitive. Capable of agile flight, mimicking sounds, and even breathing a little fire, Wyvelings were created as pets and messengers for Dragonkind. Naturally attracted to shiny objects and magical artifacts, they are sometimes called ''scaled magpies'' by those unfortunate enough to lose possessions to them. Rarely will a Wyveling accept a non-dragon as their owner, becoming a devoted and devious familiar. Some of the greatest Magi and thieves alike have called a Wyveling theirs. I want to eventually do a spin-off of Homunculus Knight staring a Dragon, where these creatures become more than a bit of world-building. But that''s another story and pretty far down the line. Probably after Book III of HK, I''ll start doing more than brainstorming that, but for now, I''m gonna keep to Cole and Natalie''s story.
About Runes and Spells (Book III: Chapter 5) Runes and Spells are terms I''ve been using since the start of book 1, but I''ve never really delved into what they exactly are until now. But first a bit of background Magic is all about altering reality by altering the Aether, a magical atmosphere that permeates the universe and is altered by emotions, actions, and magic. Spells and Runes are mental constructs designed to help a person shape the Aether quickly and efficiently. Spells are mental aids and visualizers that help a Spellweaver/Mage quickly and efficiently sculpt the Aether into the effect they wish. While Runes are sort of ''pre-made'' spells that let more complicated magic be packed into a single pictogram for easier use. To cast a Spell, a Spellweaver needs focus, intent, awareness, power, and a clear understanding of what is involved in the magic they wish to weave. Focus and intent are fairly self-explanatory, with individual Spellweavers creating methods to help with this, like Cole''s rhymes, a series of hand gestures, or something similar. As for awareness, power, and understanding, the different types of Spell Weavers have their own unique methods. Awareness is just simply the ability to sense the Aether. While most sapients can do this, it''s done unconsciously and very poorly, amounting to little more than gut feelings and similar. Gods naturally bolster the awareness of their Priests and Paladins, while Shamans and Magi require an innate knack even to start their training. Power is also pretty simple, being what the Spellweaver is drawing on to affect the Aether. Priests call upon their Gods, Shamans their Sprits, while Magi use their own mind and other sources like gemstones or Aetheric currents. Understanding is a bit tricker and honestly has more to do with the individual Spellweaver than anything else. It''s how well they can comprehend whatever forces they are using in a spell. This could be through mathematical equations on heat exchange or through deep spiritual connections to the nature of fire and its history. It''s about having a nearly intuitive understanding of what''s being magically affected; the greater the understanding, the easier and more complicated spells can be. Compared to Magi, Priests, and Shamans have this easier as their connection to otherworldly minds lets them ''cheat.'' It''s why lots of Magi chose to specialize in a single field; it''s easier to devote themselves to one practice and really master it, than be spread out across numerous magical types. As for Savants, they are, well... Savants, they don''t fully know what they are doing and can just manipulate a concept/element on an intuitive level that annoys the hell out of anyone whose been forced to learn in the hard way. As for how this relates to our main characters. Cole is a very, very shitty Magi, his ability to manipulate the Aether is shoddy, and his mind doesn''t lend itself to powering his magic. So Cole''s workaround is to basically throw enough blood and intent at whatever he''s doing and hope it works. His little rhymes and spoken phrases are spells, ways he can focus his mind and visualize what he wants his blood to do. Natalie has a very dull ability to sense the Aether, only picking up the most ''loud'' things, and her mind sometimes has issues focusing on a single thing for long periods. Artwork is one of the exceptions to this, and it''s why she''s got a bit of a knack for rune-based Necromancy, as we''ve seen. Runes are spells consolidated into a rigid but concise pictogram that contains the spell, requiring only focus and magical energy to activate. They are basically magical circuits meant to allow spells to be stored, shared, and used efficiently at the cost of being more rigid than normal spells. Meaning that it''s much more difficult to alter a rune than it is a spell. Like Cole''s spark-stone produces flames hot as a campfire, he can force the stone to produce a hell of a lot of fire by feeding it excess power, but he can''t control the details of the flame like a Fire Magi might with spell-conjured flame. But despite this downside, Runes can be used to quickly cast very powerful spells, streamlining the process in some very effective ways. Because of this, some of the really talented Magi learn to memorize Runes so they can call them up in the Aether, even stringing them together to cast more complicated spells very quickly. But for most people they use Runes inscribed on an object, storing the spell and the mechanics behind inside the Aetheric imprint of an item. Materials with more of an Aetheric imprint (Precious metals, gems, bone, etc) can hold Runes easier and more effectively. Okay, so this is a lot and not in any way a fully comprehensive guide to magic in the HK world. But it is an attempt to express some of my ideas in a hopefully coherent fashion. I''m a fan of ''rubbery'' magic (neither hard nor soft), where there are basic rules and techniques involved, but magic is also... well, magical. In my mind, magic should be esoteric, ephemeral, mystical bullshit that defies our understanding. Sure, people can figure out some of it and learn ways to manipulate it, but they are toying with cosmic forces they sorta kinda have the jist of.
About Lychs (Book III: Chapter 10) Lychs are a rare and powerful form of Higher Undead, considered one of the peaks of Undeath alongside Vampires and Corpse Choirs. (Ghoul/Wraith Hiveminds) Being the result of a talented Magi seeking immortality, Lychs are, by their nature, incredibly magically adept, possessing all their living skill and the knowledge of ages. The process of becoming a Lych is an extremely complicated series of rituals that can result in fates worse than even damnation if performed incorrectly. These rituals require a prospective Lych to craft a container capable of holding their mind and soul, then successfully transferring said mind and soul to that container. The exact details of the container, or phylactery, can vary between Lychs, as can how their essence is attached to it. Intricately carved gemstones laden with enchantments and runes are the most commonly used variety of phylactery, but more exotic options do exist. Generally, the exact details of Lychdom can vary between the Magi who undergo the ritual, with each Lych-to-be modifying the rites as they see fit. Some Lychs animate their original remains as life-like puppets, whereas others become intensely powerful Wraiths foregoing a physical body and using their magic to interact with the world. Becoming a Lych is fairly easy on paper, with much of the mechanics involved being well-practiced elements of higher-level Necromancy. Where issues arise are the details of how the Lych will exist and, more importantly, the innate complications of a living being conducting Necromancy upon itself. A good metaphor for the complexity of becoming a Lych would be a skilled surgeon trying to do an organ transplant on themselves. With the right tools and training, it might be possible, but most likely, it just be a fairly elaborate form of suicide. Because of this, only Magi dancing the lines of desperate, crazy, and brilliant pursue Lychdom. Even if a Lych does successfully ascend, there are myriad manners of complications that might arise. They might become trapped in their phylactery, steadily going insane from isolation. Or maybe the transfer suffered some leakage, and parts of their memory and personality are damaged by the process. Ultimately it''s a very risky path to become a Lych, and only the most skilled Magi can hope to achieve it with any modicum of success. So for all these dangers, why would a Magi risk it? Well, it''s not just the call of eternal life and all that represents that motivates someone to become a Lych. There is one final weakness of Lychdom that is also its greatest strength. Lychs cannot produce new soul-stuff like a living creature can, but they can steal that of others. What this means is by existing, making memories, having emotions, and using some sort of magic, a Lych steadily burns through their very soul. Slowly but steadily, a Lych will rot without new infusions of soul-stuff, developing symptoms similar to Psychopathy, brain damage, and Alzheimer''s. Which you can imagine is not good for the Lych or anyone around them. To combat this, a Lych can subsume the souls and minds of other living creatures, consuming their very being. This isn''t just turning a living being into fuel like with a Vampire; it''s absorbing their memories and magical potency. You can probably guess how a Magi with few moral qualms might find this power extremely useful. A Lych could defeat an enemy Magi or even a Monster, consume its power, and grow in strength. Some Lychs do find ways to ''nibble'' on mortals, draining a little from lots while also enhancing their phylactery to reduce the loss of soul-stuff, but they cannot exist without occasionally ''topping off'' by devouring the essence of another being, preferably a powerful one. Because of this, Lychs is considered something of a magical apex predator, extremely dangerous beings who, if well-fed, can easily reach the limits of Mundane life. (The Lych of Vindabon teeters on the brink of surpassing Mundane existence (as in existing outside the Beyond.) So his stockpile of soul-stuff is considerable, and he rarely needs to feed. But when the time arises... Well, he''s in a very good position to know where to find powerful Magi whose death might just benefit the world, or at least himself.)
Social ranks in the Duchies (Book III: Chapter 16) Since the story will be doing more with the Duchy politics, I wanted to do a basic list of the social ranks of the Red Empire, be they undead or mortal. Archduke: First among equals, founder of the Duchies and the heir apparent to the true Imperial throne. The current and only ever holder of this title is Ferenc Drakovich, a former Imperial general now founder of the Wyrmoi bloodline. While the Archduke is the de facto ruler of the entire Duchies he pretends to follow the old Imperial system, unwilling to crown himself Emperor until his legitimacy is unquestioned. (i.e., he rules all of Erebu, and no other successor states exist) Duke/Duchess: Rulers of a duchy, thirteen in total, counting the Archduke. Each of them is an extremely powerful and ancient Vampire; some are the direct spawn of the Archduke others are paragons of different bloodlines who follow the Archduke''s dream for a variety of reasons. Each duchy reflects its rulers, having been shaped consciously or unconsciously by its fearsome immortal owner. Some Dukes have been replaced over the centuries, either executed for treachery, killed in battle, or supplanted by skilled subordinates. The dukes and duchesses are a nest of rivalries, political schemes, and low-level insanity, kept in line by the Archduke''s various agents and their own squabbles. Voivode: Term for one of the Archduke''s inner circle. These Vampires (and other monsters) are given responsibility over a facet of the Duchies'' governance. Their personal holdings are akin to a lord and located in the Archduke''s territory, but their influence is felt across the entire Duchies and beyond. Each Voivode is highly skilled and fanatically loyal to the Archduke, extending and exerting his power over the Duchies. Because of their specialized role and close connection, the Archduke the Voivodes are given extreme carte blanche to fulfill their duties. Count/Countess: Vassals to individual Dukes and rulers of entire counties. These are the classical members of the undead peerage, potent nobles who oversee entire regions and scheme against rivals and potential usurpers. Counts command the fealty of numerous vassals who rule over the individual towns and cities of their territory. The title of Count is considered highly desirable among the undead nobles, as it is achievable to any Vampire with the talent and skill to take and hold the position. Because of this, Counts exist on a knife edge, balancing their treacherous vassals and rival Counts in an eternal game of deathly politics. Lords/Lady: This title is awarded to two distinct categories of Vampire. The first is rulers of cities or large towns, being feudal lords sworn to a Count or Duke. These lords rule a prosperous settlement and its surrounding area, acting much like any other powerful feudal aristocrat. The second category is powerful members of a Duke or Voivode''s court. While usually landless, these lords wield political and magical power akin to their landed fellows, but instead of governing their own territory are important subordinates to the leaders of the Duchies. Baron/Baroness: The lowest rank of landed nobility, these are the petty rulers of towns and villages. Barons are often loyal scions of a higher ranking noble given ownership of a town or a scrap of territory as a reward. With little room for social advancement but decent wealth, Baronhood attracts the less ambitious Vampires, as it provides a comfortable nest and food source with minimal threats. Because of this, many Barons tend to be idle and decadent, enjoyers of unlife, not monsters of undeath. Knight of an Order: Across the Duchies, there are numerous knightly orders sworn to different causes and goals. Each order was founded by a Duke or the Archduke and draws authority from them. Landless and reliant on their order''s resources, Knights of an Order are still dangerous and effective in whatever skills the order prioritizes. The Orders attract Vampires and rarely other monsters who desire a purpose beyond their personal enrichment or power. These Knights find themselves scattered across the Duchies, serving nobles who have requested or earned the aid of the Order''s members. Lay Nobility (Esquire/Dame): These are the courtiers of more powerful Vampires. Usually young, usually stupid, and always desperate for more, the lay nobility are equal part expendable pawn and long-term investment. It takes close to fifty years for most Vampires to become truly dangerous and master their instincts and power; Esquires and Dames are usually Vampires in that risky period of their lives. There is a high rate of attrition among lay nobility, with rivalries, annoyed superiors, and general hazards culling the unworthy from their ranks. --- Thralls: Living property of Vampires. Thralls are offered a number of protections and privileges in comparison to other mortals. Bound by the Sting and sometimes other magic, Thralls are the primary food source and servant of Vampires. Most Vampires cultivate talented and effective Thralls as useful tools. Thralls are protected from any Vampire or predator other than their owner, who can use and dispose of them as they wish. The lure of the Sting and the relative safety and comfort of thralldom ensures many mortals eagerly seek this position. They go as far as to train their bodies and minds to attract Vampire attention. Citizens: Mortals born in the Duchies and entitled to the protection of the Vampires. Citizens cannot be harmed without legal justification, but law and justice are decided by the Vampires. Most citizens live fairly normal lives in the numerous towns and cities dotting the Duchies, keeping to themselves and surviving the best they can. Citizens have a limited ability to migrate through the Duchies and can even leave the Duchies with trade convoys if the right palms are greased. Serfs: Newly conquered peoples, prisoners of war, and criminals. Serfs are considered property and livestock; they are traded between nobles like any resource. The grandchildren of Serfs are granted citizenship, but proving one''s lineage or escaping this short ugly life isn''t easy. Only some regions of the Duchies use serfs, as the practice of ''true'' slavery rankles some Vampires, either for moral, economic, or more obscure reasons. Still, in border regions, serfs are acquired through raiding and trading for various uses. Serfs are moved around as their owners see fit and are often used as ''seed populations'' for new settlements. Living labor, while more expensive than dead labor, has its advantages; the ability to produce dead labor is one of them.
About Aetheric Resonance (Book III: Chapter 18) With it being Halloween, I figured it would be a good opportunity to talk about the Aether and how it can take on certain properties. I''ve mentioned Aetheric contamination many times, referring to it as Miasma or similar since Book 1, but this is just part of ''Aetheric Resonance.'' The very basics of the concept is large amounts of similar emotions and magic will have a tangible effect on the local Aether. At the very minimum, this resonance can be felt by soul-bearing beings, with more magically attuned people/animals sensing more. As we''ve seen, places of tragedy and horror where the Undead lurk have an aura of creepiness about them. This isn''t just unique to undeath either; consecration of holy places is, in essence, a more structured version of this phenomenon. Spirits are pretty much born of people anthropomorphizing the local Aether and its properties and, by extension, are very sensitive to changes in resonance. Demons do all sorts of nasty things to wherever they infest, and really powerful magical beings can cause shifts in the Aether just by their presence. Aetheric Resonance is more than just a vibe to the local metaphysics; it empowers magic sympathetic to the resonance. I''ve talked a little bit about this with Wolfgang''s schemes and ritual work; Necromancy and some of its cousins are stronger and easier to use in places of death and loss. It''s one of the big reasons Necromancers tend to be such sick bastards and why the magic is so frowned upon. A person marinating in that kind of environment, as in actively embracing and using the suffering in the Aether, isn''t going to be nice or sane for long. Vampires have some level of resistance to this, but that''s more like an animal adapting to their native environment than anything else. Natural and mortal-made features can also cause Resonance simply because they''ve provoked similar emotions in people who live or pass through them. Like pyromancy gets a boost in deserts and in summer. The sympathetic nature of magic can be combined with this to do interesting things. Like a Magi or Shaman might use a small bottle of desert sand to empower their spells. This is pretty much the secular equivalent of Priests and Paladins using blessed objects. There are some Shamans who specialize in using this magical sympathy and Aetheric Resonance to empower and even shape Spirits, leading to some interesting chicken-egg debates in magical circles. Resonance naturally dissipates with time if not reinforced by new emotions or magical constructs. Unfortunately, this can take a very long time unaided and can be stirred back up fairly easily. We saw this back in the farm the bandits sacked; their wanton cruelty fed the dying resonance of loss caused by a war a few generations ago, hence the Grinners. Shamans and Priests can do things to help or hinder this process. Taking it upon themselves to wash away corruption and cement good resonance into places. Part of these duties involve dealing with Aetheric storms, which are basically when Resonance becomes a self-reinforcing cycle. The plague that rocked Glockmire and the ensuing corpse-tide were basically part of such a storm. There are also paradoxes, or cauls, where two or more contradicting masses of resonance smash into each other and generally make a mess of things. Book III: Prologue: Coming to a Boil

Prologue: Coming to a Boil.

¡°Thank you, my liege; your notes from the Silva collection have proven most useful. Despite the destruction of the section dealing with Homunculi, the remaining material has helped us make numerous breakthroughs in concocting the new plague strain. We might not be able to grow corpses as we desired, but we can quickly and effectively claim entire mortal populations for the same purpose.¡± - Letter from Lord Aloysius Wolfgang to Voivode Igori Gens Suillia.
- Four Months after the Solstice Ball - :: Fort Carnun, the border between Norica and the Southern Marches :: Sergeant Varga was not enjoying his promotion. He¡¯d been elevated from a mere infantryman by merit of his experience and nothing else. Recently forced into commanding a troop of foot soldiers, Varga was among the dozens of new officers in the ¡®Stew Legion.¡¯ Composed of fresh greens and old meat, the Stew Legion was something of a joke in the Vindabon army. Being a mix of career garrisons and barely trained recruits, now put together and served up wherever the war needed more bodies. Currently, the Stew was poured into Fort Carnun, once a mighty fortress of the old empire, now reduced to a pile of crumbling stones. The fortress watched over the imperial road and the Alidon River. Its moss-stained walls marked the boundary between Norica and the Marches. As the War raged in the south, the venerable castrum found new life holding the Stew, now assigned as border guards and garrison to the surrounding Marovian plain. Despite Captain One-Fist¡¯s best efforts to fix up the old fortress, it didn¡¯t look much better than when the Legion first arrived. The south and east walls had major breaches, barely filled by wooden palisades. The defensive ditches were little more than marshland, filled with spring rains and the season''s first crop of mosquitos. As for the actual buildings, not much was better. Fort Carnun had seen other garrisons come and go since the Day of the Black Sun, and many had tried to keep parts of the structure intact. But time, war, and the weather left their mark. Varga knew this truth intimately as he walked along the south wall, trying to avoid unstable stone and slick patches while making his rounds. His troop of twenty soldiers was assigned to the south wall this evening, and he did consistent laps along the crumbling battlement. If any of the green boys or grey men assigned to him screwed up, that would fall on him. So Varga was making damn well sure they were as awake and alert as possible. Stepping into one of the corner watch towers, Varga climbed the ladder, ignoring his knees protest as he did. Reaching the top, he found Aquo standing at attention, looking out across the nearby fields with the bored disinterest of any good soldier. Aquo had good eyes and a decent head on her shoulders. Attributes enough for Varga to assign her to the southeast tower. She would probably become a scout once the Stew¡¯s greens were dolled out to other legions and cohorts, but for now, Aquo was Varga¡¯s best lookout. ¡°See anything, soldier?¡± he growled after returning the watchwoman¡¯s quick salute. Aquo shrugged. ¡°A strange bird while back, but that''s about it.¡± Nodding, Varga peered out across the plains and asked. ¡°Why was it strange?¡± Shrugging again, Aquo said. ¡°Didn¡¯t fly right, flapped its wings jerkily, and had trouble catching thermals. It was probably sick; I¡¯ll try and shoot it down for you if I see it again.¡± Varga grunted his agreement. ¡°See that you do; keep up the good work, soldier.¡± Sliding down the ladder and continuing his patrol, Varga watched the sky for strange birds. He didn¡¯t think animals could catch the plague, but he also never thought he¡¯d end up a sergeant either. It was best to be cautious and expect luck to bugger him. That philosophy had kept Varga alive through everything and might keep him that way till retirement. Balancing across the replacement palisade¡¯s thin wooden battlement, Varga wondered at the solid stone of the surviving fort. It had to be more than a thousand years old, and despite everything, much of the wall was intact. Not well-kept by any stretch of the imagination, but intact. Wide enough for four soldiers to march abreast, the wall always made Varga wonder about the empire and its secrets. The nearest decent quarry was a few days'' ride; moving so much good stone here must have taken a brutal amount of work. Pausing outside the gatehouse, Varga slid a hand along the crenellations and wondered how many generations of poor dumb infantry had done the same as him. Shaking his head, Varga checked on the soldiers manning the gatehouse and laughed at his own musings. He must be getting melancholic in his ¡®old¡¯ age. Despite not even being forty, he was one of the eldest people in the fortress. Something his spry greens never failed to remind him with their working knees and flexible backs. Out of the gatehouse, Varga stopped to look over the wall and to the defensive ponds. A crew of unlucky bastards who¡¯d been caught in some fuck up were busy digging drainage ditches, hoping to turn the ponds back into proper obstacles, not mosquito hatcheries. Part of One-fist¡¯s attempts to keep the garrison busy and fix up the fort. Seeing the poor jaggers fight muddy soil and biting insects, Varga went back to ensuring his own soldiers weren¡¯t in the middle of fucking up. A sharp whistle from the southeast tower cut through the spring twilight then, and Varga frowned. Jogging back along the path he¡¯d just taken, Varga reached the tower and found a nervous-looking Aquo staring out at the plains. Well-tested instincts put Varga instantly on edge. ¡°You shoot the bird down?¡± Shaking her head, Aquo spat. ¡°It wasn¡¯t no bird, it got closer, and I saw its wings. It was a bat, a big jagging bat.¡± Aquo was a good kid who¡¯d spent her childhood hunting small game in the woods near her village. If she said it was a bat, then it was a bat. Cursing under his breath, Varga said. ¡°Keep an eye out; if you see anything more, whistle again. ¡° Leaving the tower, Varga found the nearest watchman and sent him to the Captain with this news. Trying to sound unbothered as he did. ¡°It¡¯s probably nothing, but paranoia never killed anyone.¡± The watchman didn¡¯t believe Varga¡¯s words, which the Sergeant couldn¡¯t blame; he didn¡¯t believe them either. As the green boy ran towards the nearest staircase, Varga looked across the wall and fingered the whistle hanging from his neck. Direbats during the day meant one thing, something was scouting them. Of course, the accursed thing could be actually sick or gone mad after its master died. Varga had heard stories of the like, but the Sergeant knew that wouldn¡¯t be the case; fortune just wasn¡¯t that nice. Peering out across the fields, willing for any sign of the enemy, Varga almost welcomed the screams when they came. Reflex carried Varga¡¯s whistle to his mouth, and three short shrieks came from the carved wood. In a heartbeat, the call was repeated all across the fort as the message of danger traveled. Before his whistle had finished echoing off the walls, Varga ran for the gatehouse. He found two nervous-looking soldiers ready to drop the gate. ¡°STOP! We still have people out there; we need to let them get inside before we lock down!¡± The soldiers stepped away from the latch that would have let the portcullis slam down and looked to Varga for orders. ¡°Prepare to drop it when I give the signal, but not before.¡± Striding past them, Varga looked out through the arrow slits and watched with relief as the ditch diggers hurried for the gate. More screams cut through the twilight, and Varga felt his stomach drop as shapes crested the nearest rise and came into view. A crowd of people was running towards the fortress. Moving with jerky frantic movements, a near-constant chorus of screams came from them. Letting out a breath, Varga cursed. ¡°Jagged heart and crooked cock¡­.¡± They were under attack; a herd of Screamers was headed their way. Turning to the two gate guards, Varga barked. ¡°Rosen, you find the captain and tell him we have at least a hundred Screamers headed our way, and that''s just the enemy vanguard. Klement, you run the wall and make sure everyone knows we are under attack and they are prepared to fight. NOW GO!¡± The two gate guards reacted quickly and left Varga alone. Grinding his teeth, Varga watched as the ditch diggers ran full force towards the open gate. The crews working the first and second ditches made it in, but the third group was slowed down. Squinting, Varga tried to figure out why. Someone must have tripped and been injured, with his fellows now carrying him. The fact they hadn¡¯t left the dumb fuck made Varga proud of the greens. He silently urged them on as the group pushed forward as fast as possible. It was ten soldiers, four of them helping the injured man, the other six forming a rear guard. Armed with shovels and axes, they weren¡¯t equipped for a fight but were still (reasonably) well-trained soldiers. The Screamers were closing in fast, loping along the ground like rabid dogs scenting blood. One of the monsters was pulling ahead of the pack, its arms flailing and legs pumping in a display almost comical. An arrow whistled from the wall and struck the faster Screamer. Fresh red blood sprayed out of the monster¡¯s chest, and it stumbled. Varga watched as squirts of crimson pumped out of the thing as it tried to keep moving. Its over-active heart spewing life like some morbid fountain. The struck Screamer was quickly trampled by the rest of its pack, and more arrows flew into the swarm. Whoever was shooting was skilled, but the arrows were like pissing on a house fire. The final group of ditch diggers was hurrying at fast as they could, they were a few seconds from the gate, but another of them tripped and twisted his ankle on the uneven, muddy ground. The unlucky fuck was part of the rearguard, and his comrades didn¡¯t notice until they were half a dozen steps closer to the gate. They hesitated, and Varga did something he¡¯d think about for the rest of his life. ¡°KEEP MOVING! YOU ARE ALMOST SAFE!¡± With the tacit consent of a superior officer, they abandoned the fallen soldier and bolted for the gate. From his vantage spot, Varga could see a few of them hesitate for a moment longer but fear won the day. Varga couldn¡¯t blame them; the chorus of screams had grown into a solid roar. Even if they couldn¡¯t see what Varga could, the ditch diggers knew what was coming. The hundred Screamers Varga first saw had grown closer to a thousand. A tide of bodies would soon crash against the walls like a flood. The ditch diggers made it inside, and Varga yanked on the latch, sending the steel portcullis slamming down behind them. Returning to the window, Varga forced himself to watch what was about to happen. The screams of the tripped soldier were buried beneath the monster¡¯s chorus, but Varga could see the green soldier try to drag himself towards the already shut gate. Four arrows flew through the air and struck the fallen man. Shutting his eyes in relief, Varga locked the gate winch and went to the weapons rack in the gatehouse. Picking out a long two-pronged pike, Varga went to lead his soldiers. The walls were packed with soldiers, many carried long pikes like Varga, but others held maces, swords, war hammers, and bows. Looking over the battlement, Varga watched as the Screamers slammed into the portcullis. He¡¯d hoped the solid silver studs built into the gate would deter them, but the Screamers weren¡¯t true monsters. That was part of what made them so damned horrible; they weren¡¯t undead or some breed of magical mutant. Screamers were people infected by the plague. Varga didn¡¯t know the details; just if a Priest didn¡¯t intervene fast enough, anyone touched by the Screamers became a Screamer. A roar and flash caught Varga¡¯s attention. Looking towards the gate, he saw scorched bodies tumble back and a plume of smoke billow out from the portcullis. One of the Battlemages had been roused and spewed fire into the horde. Pushed away by the Magi¡¯s efforts, the Screamers moved to the next path of least resistance, the breached wall and its wooden palisade. Cursing, Varga barked orders and collected a squad to hold the makeshift fortification. The solid wood filling the gap creaked as a mass of bodies slammed into it and tried to climb up it. Unlike Ghouls, the Screamers were reasonably agile, even more so than fucking Grinners. But as they tried to scrabble up the chipped wood, they found Vindabonian steel waiting for them. Pikes pushed against the Screamers, dislodging them from the walls and stopping them from forming a flesh ramp. While swords, axes, and hammers hacked away at any who slipped past the long pikes. It was cold, methodical work, closer to butchering animals than actual combat. Except these animals were people who screamed and cried as they died. More than once, one of the defenders hesitated or shied away from the Screamers. Varga could understand it but couldn¡¯t tolerate it. Whenever a weak link formed, he would grab the soldier and shove them back, ordering another to take their place. At least a thousand Screamers assaulted the wall, but they would hold as long as they could defend the palisade. Severely undermanned, the Stew Legion was a little more than two thousand sword arms. Combine that with the advantage of walls and magic; they could easily win this. The butchery went on for over an hour, the tide of Screamers bashing themselves against the wall like storm winds against the coast. Even Varga was starting to be worn down by it. He knew never to let his eyes rest on an enemy for long. But after an hour of heavy fighting, with only breaks to drink water and receive a Priestly blessing against the plague, Varga found himself remembering flickers of his foe. Desperate screaming faces, with bloodshot eyes, foaming mouths, and wasted bodies marked with black sores. The Screamers were twisted just enough to be disturbing but not enough to be unrecognizable. They were sick people, reduced to attack animals by the true enemy. Down off the wall, sitting on a bench, Varga sharpened his sword and tried not to think about how many people he¡¯d killed today. His pike had snapped off inside a Screamer, and he¡¯d been forced to use his blade. The screams of the monsters were loud enough to make thinking difficult, and Varga was almost thankful for that. Looking around the camp, he saw injured soldiers being bandaged and blessed, one of the battlemages splayed out on the ground, snoring heavily, and an ever-rotating line of warriors manning the walls. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it A shout, barely audible from nearby, caught Varga¡¯s attention. Captain One-fist had joined him. The old soldier was smiling up at the walls, no, not smiling, bearing his teeth. Yelling to be heard over the screams, One-fist said. ¡°The greens are growing nicely, aren¡¯t they? A regular bumper crop of soldiers, this lot!¡± Varga understood the words weren¡¯t truly meant for him. Morale was teetering even though they were winning. The public approval of two old veterans, both known to be hardasses, would tip the balance. ¡°Aye, they are, sir. They aren¡¯t little sprigs anymore. I think we got a buncha of green oaks growing.¡± Raising up his remaining hand, One-fist roared, ¡°WELL SAID! Let¡¯s finish this with strong arms and strong steel!¡± No cheer went up from the soldiers, but they held themselves a little higher. One-fist and Varga exchanged nods, and the captain continued his rounds. After he left, Varga pulled himself up and headed for the wall. Grabbing a fresh pike, he joined the soldiers on the stone part of the wall and continued the grim work of butchering Screamers. The number of attackers hadn¡¯t decreased as much as Varga had hoped. They¡¯d cut through most of the actual Screamers, but by now, the secondary horror of the new plague was becoming apparent. Maybe half of the Screamers they killed rose again as Ghouls, whatever dark power influencing the plague speeding up their reanimation. So even as the screams faded, they were replaced by hungry, gurgling groans. Varga stabbed his new pike into a Screamer, puncturing its lungs and yanking it close enough for one of his fellows to decapitate it. The soldiers on the walls were quickly adapting to this methodical combat style, and the number of injuries steadily decreased. Only three soldiers had been pulled over the wall to their deaths, but nearly a hundred had bites, scratches, and nicks from leaping Screamers. The Priests seemed confident quick healing would prevent people from becoming Screamers. Varga bloody hoped so, because he¡¯d been splattered with Screamer blood and had his forearm raked by one pulling itself along his pike. As twilight finally settled into night, torches were lit along the wall, and one of the Battlemages got some of the fort¡¯s old glowstones working. Great beacons of warm amber light capped each of the watch towers and gatehouses. Giving the defenders enough illumination to keep up their grim work. By now, the screams of the infected were fading as the enemy was reduced to ghouls and corpses. Varga¡¯s ears were no longer filled with terrible wails, just his labored breathing and thundering heart. Pausing to wipe sweat from his brow, Varga realized something was wrong. He could hear a second drum beat matching his heart. Looking around, Varga tried to figure out if someone was setting a marching beat, then it dawned on him. Cursing, he handed his pike to the next soldier in line and hurried to find the nearest battlemage. Benj, the young pyromancer who¡¯d defended the gate, had woken from his earlier nap and seemed to be debating what to do. Reaching him, Varga gripped the boy and asked. ¡°Can you create a flare? Something to help us see something in the distance?¡± Confused, Benj nodded and was practically dragged toward the wall by Varga. Once there, the Sergeant noticed he wasn¡¯t the only one who¡¯d heard the new drum beat. Pointing in the direction of the noise, Varga asked. ¡°Give me light as far into that dark as you can.¡± Twiddling his fingers, Benj made a series of complicated gestures and picked up one of the wall-mounted torches. He blew on the flame with an exaggerated motion and whispered some arcane secret. The torch¡¯s fire detached from the smoldering wood and grew into a head-sized sphere of incredible radiance. Benj reached out and flicked the globe, sending it hurtling into the night with incredible speed. As it flew, it only grew brighter and brighter, while the original wooded torch crumbled into ash as its flame became massive. The light passed beyond the edge of the glowstone beacons and through the dark until the glint of metal showed. Benj stopped the sphere and swore at what it revealed. An army of plate-armored soldiers marched towards them in perfect lockstep. Varga let out a tired breath as the situation became clear. No soldier could march with parade perfection in the pitch black, or at least no living soldier. At the edge of the light, something huge moved. Varga flinched back as a tree-trunk-sized limb swatted the fire out of existence, shrouding the advancing army in darkness once again. A curse escaped Varga, and he started giving orders. ¡°Sky¡¯s balls¡­ Alright! I want archers ready to loose.¡± No one moved; Varga looked around to see the nerve of his soldiers reaching its limit. This was an army of Eternal Legionnaires, and everyone knew what commanded that kind of army. Just as Varga prepared to bellow more orders and try to get people moving, the stamping of armored feet and final cries of screamers were blotted out by another sound. Wings, countless wings flapping through the night air. Drawing his sword, Varga cursed again and roared. ¡°THEY ARE ATTACKING FROM ABOVE!¡± No sooner had those words left his lips than the first dire bat struck. A rain of leather wings and needle fangs fell upon the soldiers, and with it came new chaos. Soldiers flailed against the bats, trying to knock away the mutant creatures with their weapons or hands. More screams erupted as comrades hit each other by accident. Varga screamed orders and tried to force some kind of order to avail. He watched as one soldier was knocked by another right off the wall and into the hungering Ghouls. Varga lunged forward, trying to catch the falling soldier but missed his hand, instead seeing the screaming man disappear beneath a carpet of dead flesh. A brutal flash of light and searing heat exploded around them, making Varga and the other soldiers flinch; Benj had hucked a fireball straight into the swarm of dire bats, scattering them and forcing all the soldiers to stop whatever they were doing. The fire wasn¡¯t particularly hot, and it faded fast, doing more to scorch eyebrows and dry skin than anything too dangerous. At least, that''s what it did to the armored soldiers; wings and pelts didn¡¯t react well to fire. Soon burning rodents rained down around them. In the chaos of the bat attack, some of the ghouls and screamers started to climb the wall, using their bodies and those of the truly dead like a ramp. Clapping Benj on the back for his quick thinking, Varga managed to force some level of discipline back into the soldiers. With barked orders and putrid curses, he got one team working the wall and another covering them. The situation on the battlements was improving, but Varga feared the soldiers would break when the Rattlers came back into sight. A deep rumbling bellow cut through the night and shook the fortress. The combat slowed as every soldier on the wall froze at the sound. The acrid smell of urine caught Varga¡¯s attention, and he looked to see the soldier next to him had wet his breeches. It was a boy named Iskie, a tough kid from a mountain village, not someone you¡¯d expect to lose their nerve. But as Iskie¡¯s lips trembled, words bubbled up from him, and Varga understood the boy''s reaction. ¡°D-D-Dire Bear!¡± Great thundering steps drowned out everything as another bellow filled the night. Varga watched in mounting horror as a monster exploded out of the dark. Iskie was right; it was a Dire Bear, and the boy¡¯s reaction was warranted. It was the size of a house, a solid wall of brown fur and muscle bounding forwards like an avalanche. But some twisted mind had decided a great beast of the forest wasn¡¯t dangerous enough. The Dire Bear was dead, raised up as a ghoul, and armored in thick metal slabs. Finger-width thick steel plates were bolted to the Bear Ghoul¡¯s flesh, while rune-carved metal encased its fangs and claws. At least its remaining fangs, the bear¡¯s lower jaw had been ripped off by something Varga didn¡¯t want to even imagine. These details filled Sergent¡¯s mind as he failed to grasp the enormity of the beast and its intentions. Shock, fear, and bewilderment pushed him to look at features, not comprehend what was about to happen. But Varga was a veteran; he¡¯d seen a Giant die; he recovered quickly and realized what was about to happen. ¡°THE PALLISADE! GET OFF THE PALLISADE!¡± A few soldiers looked at him, well-trained obedience winning over fear. But none reacted fast enough to stop what happened next. Varga watched, mouth open in horror as the Ghoul Bear smashed into the breached wall, splintering the wooden palisade and sending a dozen soldiers flying. Dozens more were at the base of the wall and turned into red smears by the attacking monster. Before the last body could return to Vardis, the Ghoul Bear reared up onto its hind legs and let out a deafening roar; patches of its fur were missing, and black rotting blood poured down from its ruined mouth in a waterful of gore. Combing back down with an earth-shaking slam, it splattered more soldiers and started swiping out with wagon-sized paws. Arrows bounced off its armor, and the few that hit gaps went unnoticed. Nothing could stop it; the bear was a destroying devil sent to break the Stew Legion. The clatter of armor and bones signaled the dead army''s approach, and Varga spared the newly created gap a look. Just in time to see a shield wall of Legionnaires charge through the breach and spread out in the monster¡¯s wake. Soldiers tried to group up and defend themselves, but any concentration of force caught the Ghoul Bear¡¯s attention and died. Then as a final nail in the Stew Legion¡¯s coffin, the bats returned, and wolves started to howl. Hacking through the swarming dire-bats, Varga led the soldiers off the wall, it was breached, and there was no point in trying to hold it. Pointing at the rampaging monster, Varga asked Benj the Battlemage. ¡°Can you do anything to stop that?¡± A shrill laugh escaped the Battlemage, and he said. ¡°Nope, but I can give us a better chance against the Rattlers.¡± Arcane words and gestures spilled out of Benj. With a breath, he exhaled a stream of fire that split into countless crimson ribbons. Each ribbon went to a nearby soldier and wrapped around their weapon, cloaking swords, axes, pikes, and more in crackling flames. Panting heavily, Benj said. ¡°I can probably scare the bats away again, but that''s about it.¡± Nodding, Varga said. ¡°Do it, then go find somewhere to¡­ not die.¡± Another flash of sparks exploded out from Benj, and the bats recoiled. Looking to the Ghoul-Bear, Varga saw the Legion Priests, Captain One-fist, and the other Battlemage trying to keep the monster occupied. Even with one arm, the Captain was an axe paragon and a tough old bastard to boot. Varga didn¡¯t know if the Captain and his magical support could win against the monster, but he was their best option. Pointing at the gap and the stream of Rattlers pushing in through it, Varga addressed his troops. ¡°Alright, listen up; we need to take back the breach. We¡¯ve got the enchanted weapons and good armor; we stand the best chance of plugging that hole. If we can, then our comrades can deal with the other undead and help the Captain kill that fucking bear. Some of us will die; that''s just the fact of it, but if we don¡¯t do this, all of us will die.¡± The Stew Soldiers looked at each other and then at their flaming weapons. As one, they marched to hold the line and buy their fellows a little more time. Charging as one body, the troop smashed into the Rattlers and brought flaming steel against the undead. The Eternal Legionaries were strong, tough, and heavily armored but also slow in movement and reaction. They didn¡¯t fight like warriors but like machines, clockwork soldiers who repeated the same strikes and blows with little variation and no creativity. Still, men and women of the Stew died to them, hacked apart by desecrated corpses clad in solid plate. Roaring his fury, Varga brought his sword down on a Rattler¡¯s neck and punched through the damaged armor there. The undead¡¯s head sailed away, and Benj¡¯s fire burnt the animating magic. As he fought, Varga realized many of the Legionnaires were badly damaged; their armor cracked or split, and some even lacked a limb. Varga didn¡¯t think about the deeper implications. He just relayed this to his comrades. ¡°Hit them where the armor is damaged!¡± A seemingly obvious suggestion but an important bit of information for scared soldiers way in over their heads. More rattlers started to fall, and the soldiers reached the breech. Picking up a dropped shield, Varga shoved the undead back and fought to keep the pressing tide of armored bodies away. Others joined him, and the Stew filled the gap the best they could. Thankfully, the rattlers inside the fortress were occupied and not trying to help their comrades. Letting the defenders focus on just holding the breech, using steel and muscle to defend what wood and rope once did. The howling of wolves before them and the roaring of the Ghoul Bear behind them filled the defender¡¯s ears as they clashed with the rattlers. Slowly it seemed they were somehow pushing the undead back. They¡¯d started at the inside edge of the wall and were getting close to the outside edge. Varga knew this had to be too good to be true, and when the rattlers started to step back, forming into clear lines, he stopped his own soldiers from advancing. At first, he thought it was a feigned retreat meant to expose their flanks, but as the rattlers parted, the truth became clear. Something else was coming out of the dark, a knight in black armor charging them, ghostly wolves following behind him. The knight didn¡¯t wear a helmet, revealing his white hair and red eyes. Loping along the ground, holding a huge spear, the knight charged them impossibly fast, baying wolves at his heels. It was then Varga knew they¡¯d lost, he could do a lot, but he couldn¡¯t fight a Vampire. Squeezing his sword so tight his knuckles creaked, Varga decided if he were to die, doing so, facing a vampire while holding a crucial gap was not a terrible way to go. It was so sickeningly heroic if anyone survived, they''d write songs about him. The other soldiers with him quailed at the coming monster, but they didn¡¯t run. Varga had never been more proud of his greens than at that moment. As the vampire closed, Varga saw the whites of its eyes and more than that. He thought, at first, the monster was snarling in blood-hungry rage, but now that it was closer, he saw the truth. It was afraid, utterly out of its mind with fear. One of the wolves pounced then, ghostly fangs sinking into the vampire¡¯s calf and making it stumble. The other wraith wolves didn¡¯t hesitate; they fell upon the vampire, snapping, tearing, and biting with all the vicious hunger a predator could muster. The rattlers moved to help their master, and the wolves ceased their attack, instead falling upon the armored skeletons, ripping open metal joints and snapping bones with spectral jaws. The vampire crawled towards Varga for a few steps and then stopped. It turned to face the darkness and started pleading with something Varga couldn¡¯t see. ¡°Please! Please! I surrender! I request a parlay! Take me hostage. I¡¯m va-¡± Part of the darkness detached from the night and struck the vampire. The monster let out a pained shriek as the shadow drained its life away. Varga could watch as the vampires shriveled up into naught but ash and bones. The shadow stepped over the dead vampire, and Varga couldn¡¯t believe his eyes. It was a woman, a very pretty woman with long black hair and glowing red eyes. The new vampire walked through the unmoving ranks of rattlers, letting the wolves tear them apart. Varga kept his weapon leveled at her, but the Vampire didn¡¯t seem to notice him. She was busy looking past him towards the inside of the fort. In a tired breathy voice, the new vampire cursed. ¡°Jagged hearts, we are too late.¡± At first, Varga thought he was speaking to her, but as another figure emerged out of the dark, he realized she had a companion. A fucking huge companion at that, an armored warrior clad in a black cloak holding a halberd. The new figure walked up next to the vampire and pulled down his hood, revealing a horrifically scarred face. Something about the pair tickled a memory in Varga, but he couldn¡¯t remember exactly what. Reaching to his neck, the huge man pulled at an amulet that shone with silver-blue light. The spectral wolves shied away from the illumination, and some of the closer Rattlers slumped slightly. In a rumbling voice, the scarred warrior proclaimed. ¡°I am Paladin Cole, servant of Master Time. Please let me pass so I can deal with the threat.¡± Some of the soldiers let out relieved breaths, and more than a few muttered prayers to the gods as thanks for their aid. Varga wasn¡¯t so convinced; something about the vampire and the paladin made him uneasy. Pointing his sword at the vampire, he asked. ¡°What about her?¡± The vampire reached down to pick up the skull of the other vampire she¡¯d cannibalized. ¡°I¡¯m Natalie, and I fight for the living. We can talk later, but I think Cole needs to deal with that jagging bear before it kills more people.¡± A scream and crunch from inside the fort punctuated her comment, and with a curse, Varga nodded. ¡°Do what you can; just don¡¯t leave our sight, vampire.¡± Natalie rolled her eyes and whistled, calling up her pack of phantom wolves. The spectral creatures surrounded her, and with a gesture, she sent them loping out into the dark, questing after any stragglers. As they went, Varga blinked in surprise; one of the wolves wasn¡¯t a wolf at all; it was a large farm dog. Cole approached then, moving between the nervous soldiers and taking deep breaths as he did. Varga shivered at the Paladin¡¯s passing and realized his breath was fogging. He wasn¡¯t the only one either; wherever the Paladin walked, breath steamed, blood cooled, and sweat chilled. Varga watched as cold vapor streamed off the Paladin¡¯s cloak and swirled over his armored body, layering him in icy fog. Cole¡¯s halberd started to glow with cold silver-blue light, and he started to run towards the rampaging Ghoul-Bear. Paladin Cole proclaimed in a voice like thunder, loud enough to drown out even the sounds of battle. ¡°MAGNI! MORTAE! MUNDUS!¡± Book III: Chapter 1: A Belated Birthday

Chapter 1: A belated birthday

¡°True loyalty cannot be constructed, you can indoctrinate someone or mutilate their mind into subservience, but that is a poor substitute. Loyalty must be earned, but that process can be accelerated by careful mind sculpting and priming. Instead of cutting a psyche into obedience, it is better to cultivate a need in the subject. Train them to need a purpose, and then give them that purpose.¡± - Words of Archon Gens Silva
:: Three Months after the Winter Solstice :: The third month of the year, Stormthaw was well-named, especially in the city-state of Vindabon. Cold rain sluiced down from the heavens in a never-ending curtain of frigid dampness, laying waste to the last pockets of snow hiding across the city while swelling the Alidon River to its seasonal girth. Spring was just a few days away, and with it, the equinox festival In the months since the madness of the Winter Solstice, the city found its footing, showing no sign of the previous riot, rebellion, and demonic incursion. Even the war waging in the south had little effect on the city, except for its effect on trade. The absence of southern grain, wool, and other goods was felt but not enough to pinch the rich city-state. By contrast, the manufacture of weapons, armor, and magical protections was booming. Every armorer, fletcher, swordsmith, ward-magi, inscriber priest, salt seller, and cobbler in the city was drowning in customers. A steady stream of mercenaries, templars, petty nobles, newly signed soldiers, and anyone interested in righteous violence passed through Vindabon, feeding their coin into the city and getting as much protection from and ability to deal death as they could afford. By nature of the conflict, the center of this steel trade had become the main Weinstadt market. The thirteenth district housed the Tenth Temple, and Master Time¡¯s blessings were in as much demand as good swords. A small army of warriors clogged the market, hoping to get good equipment and get out of the rain as soon as possible. In this crowd, an incongruous figure slipped between the burly soldiers seeking instruments of war. A young woman with long black hair and pale skin, wearing a colorful dress in the mountain style. Fine of feature and form, the woman danced between market-goers, a near-ephemeral presence who caught the eye of anyone who glanced her way. Natalie Striga was enjoying unlife, even now on a miserable rainy day surrounded by surly warriors who eyed her with slightly too much hunger. Humming a pointless tune, Natalie found her way through the throngs of people and toward her objective. Even blocked from view, Emma of Stonebone¡¯s stall was easy to find; Natalie just had to follow the shouting. ¡°I DON¡¯T CARE HOW MUCH GOLD YOU ARE OFFERING! IT! IS! NOT! FOR! SALE!!¡± The smith¡¯s voice carried over the market murmur and was punctuated by the clang of metal on metal. A man who sounded like a gurgling pipe growled back. ¡°Why are you displaying it if it¡¯s not for sale then? Is it not your work?¡± Natalie winced as the man started to scream. It was a high-bubbling note that told everyone the poor bastard hadn¡¯t invested in a codpiece. Deciding to intervene before any more of the man¡¯s future children died, Natalie pushed through the crowd toward Emma¡¯s stall. Finding the short, stout armorer standing over a grizzled mercenary who lay on the wet cobblestones, clutching his nethers. Emma tapped a hammer in one palm and glared storm clouds down at the incapacitated man. Pointing her hammer at her other potential customers, Emma barked. ¡°I have plenty of good quality kit to sell! My steel is Hakon-style, and I¡¯m a triple-marked smith of that hold! Anyone who wants to question my armor is welcome to test the strength that made it!¡± Emma noticed Natalie then and let out an annoyed huff. ¡°You¡¯re late. If you showed up on time, this dumb fuck¡¯s testicles would still be intact.¡± To punctuate this, Emma rolled her victim onto his back with a booted foot. Sighing, Natalie offered her excuse. ¡°I got waylaid on another errand; you aren¡¯t the only one who is busy.¡± Grunting in acknowledgment, Emma said. ¡°Fair enough, now I have everything all set; are you ready to take it?¡± Nodding, Natalie pointed at the armor trunk laid out in Emma¡¯s stall. ¡°Anything I need to know?¡± Emma went over to the trunk and opened it, revealing a folded suit of laminar mail. The dark steel shone even in the overcast daylight and would have taken Natalie¡¯s breath away. Reaching down, Emma pulled out the suit¡¯s helmet and showed it to Natalie. ¡°I was doing some last-minute adjustments, and the git with the shattered balls saw it and wouldn¡¯t take no for an answer. It was an interesting project; tell the Paladin I¡¯m happy to take other custom orders.¡± The small group of waiting customers who¡¯d started to grow annoyed with Natalie¡¯s line-cutting perked up upon hearing who the armor was for. A pained groan from the cobblestone grabbed Natalie¡¯s attention as the semi-neutered mercenary tried to pull himself up. ¡°W-why didn¡¯t you say the armor was for the Paladin?¡± Emma scoffed and handed the helmet to Natalie. ¡°Because it doesn¡¯t matter, I wouldn¡¯t hand over an ordered suit of any customer. They paid and put their trust in me, like hells I¡¯m going to betray that for a slightly bigger profit.¡± Abashed, the mercenary skulked off, walking with a distinctly bow-legged gate as he did. Natalie tried to hide her smile, which was easy to do with a heavy scarf around her face. She¡¯d gotten much better at hiding her fangs, but the cold weather provided an easy way to protect her identity. Looking at the helmet, Natalie ran a finger along the embossed hourglass mark on the forehead. Emma saw what she was doing and chuckled. ¡°I figured he¡¯d like that. He didn¡¯t give me any instructions for decoration, so I let myself be a bit creative.¡± Feeling the internal leather padding and marveling at how damn big Cole¡¯s head was for the bucket-sized helmet to fit, Natalie nodded and set the helmet back in the box. Emma tapped the open lid of the chest and said. ¡°It should meet his specifications exactly, but the very nature of the kit makes it easy to adjust. The trunk has unfolding wheels, so moving it shouldn¡¯t be an issue.¡± Holding out her hand, Emma added. ¡°It¡¯s been a pleasure conspiring with you, Natalie, have fun at the party and send the Paladin my best wishes.¡± Natalie took the proffered hand and noted how strong Emma¡¯s grip was. The smith seemed to be trying to crush Natalie¡¯s hand. A flicker of amusement went across the vampire¡¯s face, and she returned the grip with equal strength. Which did take a little effort, as it would be easy for Natalie to rip the woman¡¯s hand off accidentally. ¡°Thank you for playing along; he¡¯ll probably be around for adjustments sooner rather than later.¡± Unfolding the wheels, Natalie gripped one of the chest¡¯s handles and pulled it along the cobblestone. Passing through the crowd, who were now eager to purchase armor from the Paladin¡¯s favored smith, Natalie saw a few sets of eyes linger on her. They didn¡¯t have the bored hunger of soldiers seeing a pretty woman like before. Now they had a mix of fear, shock, confusion, and even wary respect. It seemed some of them had figured out who, or more accurately, what, Natalie was. In the wake of the Solstice Ball and the Louon Fire, knowledge of Natalie''s presence within the city became unfortunately well known. The story of a Paladin and his vampire consort blessed by Master Time was too good not to spread like wildfire. Thankfully, from what Natalie heard so far, the rumors were reasonably accurate or at least favorable to her. Being the person who actually captured the Heart-stealer earned her all sorts of positive regard. Something probably helped by Uncle Trickster¡¯s followers smoothing things over for her. Argentari proved good to his word so far, and Natalie was officially a citizen of Vindabon held in high standing. Passing through the crowd, trunk clattering behind her, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but smile. Things were going well, and she was learning just to enjoy the moments of calm. The last three or so months had been peaceful for both her and Cole. Natalie spent much of her time learning from various mentors, be they human, vampire, or ghosts. By contrast, Cole spent his time training priests and soldiers to fight the undead, occasionally consulting with various political leaders. Trying to spread his extensive knowledge about the Duchies and their undead forces to any who¡¯d listen. On some level, Natalie knew Cole was starting to become restless. He¡¯d not spent this much time in a single place since he became a Paladin, and it made him nervous. But his God hadn¡¯t called him elsewhere, so seemed Cole was exactly where he was supposed to be. Natalie, for her part, was loving the new normal the last few months provided. She was making a new life in Vindabon and learning to enjoy every moment of joy. She¡¯d also started working to make more of those moments, which was why she¡¯d picked up Cole¡¯s armor. It had taken some scheming, but Natalie got Emma to lie about exactly when the suit of armor would be finished. Saying it would take a few weeks longer than it really would. So that Natalie could pick it up without Cole knowing and have it ready for his birthday party. The Spring Equinox wasn¡¯t just a festival of renewal and life; it was Cole¡¯s birthday. Or at least the day he¡¯d chosen as his birthday. Natalie had always loved parties, especially birthdays; they are one of the few celebrations just about enjoying people. No religious baggage or serious expectations, just an opportunity to express love and affection for someone. Reaching the Tenth Temple, Natalie passed by the temple guards and received curt nods. They used to reach for their weapons every time they saw her, so Natalie considered this a serious improvement. Heading toward the dormitory section of the Temple, Natalie found her destination. She couldn¡¯t store the trunk in her and Cole¡¯s room for obvious reasons, so another hiding place was required. Knocking on the door, Natalie received no answer. After a second of consideration, Natalie opened the door and went inside. A slight prickling tingle spread along her skin as she did. The owner of this room considered it a home and hadn¡¯t invited Natalie. Thresholds hold some level of magical protection, and Vampires have a difficult time passing them without invitation. Thankfully, the aetheric phenomena was anything but consistent, and as the Alukah, Natalie could ignore all but the strongest thresholds. Dragging the trunk into the room, Natalie found Mina sitting in the center of a meditation circle, running her fingers along a prayer rope. Opening a single eye, Mina let out a tired sigh and shook her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to be disturbed, Natalie.¡± Shrugging, the unabashed vampire yanked the trunk over to one corner of the room and sat down on it. ¡°Sorry, but I need somewhere to keep this until the party.¡± Letting out a slow breath, realizing she wasn¡¯t going to be doing any more meditating, Mina got up and gestured at the trunk. ¡°So that¡¯s it? The armor he ordered, and you basically stole from him?¡± Natalie rolled her eyes and got off the trunk, and showed its contents to Mina. The Priestess let out a low whistle as she examined the armor. ¡°I see the smith took inspiration from the imperial laminar style, a bit antiquated but effective.¡± Playing with the helmet¡¯s hinged cheek guards, Mina added. ¡°Cole will actually look like a Paladin once he puts this on. Or at least some ancient knight with enchanted armor.¡± Picking up a segmented arm guard, Natalie watched the steel change between blue and black as the light played off it. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of blued steel, but I never knew it was actually blue...¡± Mina nodded. ¡°It¡¯s something the dwarfs invented. The stuff is in major demand among the templars and similar. They say it can withstand a horse kick without denting, and that''s with mundane metal, not true dwarven steel.¡± The last few months had also done a lot to expand Natalie¡¯s education. She¡¯d spent countless nights in the Temple library learning as much as possible. With every book and scroll consumed, Natalie better understood how complicated the world was. The more she learned, the less it seemed she knew. But she had learned about templars, the apparently correct term for soldiers serving a God or religious body, and how each Dwarven Hold enchanted their steel in a distinct way with different properties. Setting the armguard down in the trunk, Natalie said. ¡°I don¡¯t want him to stumble across this before the party, and I need a space to do some alterations to the box without anyone noticing.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Mina asked, ¡°And why not ask Morri or someone else about a storage room instead of using my dormitory?¡± Clicking her tongue, Natalie answered. ¡°Because they will probably check in with Cole to ensure I¡¯m not doing anything suspicious. Or if not, they¡¯ll probably set a jagging guard outside the storage room out of fear I¡¯m engaged in necromancy or something. Besides, I¡¯ve wanted an excuse to spend time with you, so this provides it.¡± Grunting in annoyance, Mina kicked the trunk gently. ¡°Fine, you will just owe me one.¡± Smiling, Natalie reached into her satchel and pulled out a set of carving tools. ¡°Great! I can start now.¡± Mina blinked in sudden understanding and watched in horror as Natalie pulled a dirty painter¡¯s cloth from her bag and placed it on the floor. Scooching the trunk onto the cloth, Natalie continued unpacking her satchel, revealing the paint brushes, paint, and lacquer. Shaking her head in protest, Mina said. ¡°No, no, no! I thought you were going to maybe carve his name in it, not¡­ whatever the jag this is!¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Natalie shrugged and gave Mina an impish smile, slightly ruined by her fangs. ¡°Don¡¯t you know, once you invite a vampire past a threshold, they can come in whenever they please?¡± Rubbing her face, Mina groaned. ¡°I haven¡¯t invited you, and it doesn¡¯t even work like that!¡± Realizing, Natalie wasn¡¯t really paying attention and was already sizing up the trunk for her project, the Priestess sighed and muttered. ¡°I should stake you and stuff you into a broom closet until the Equinox.¡± Mina did not, in fact, stake Natalie and stuff her into a broom closet. Instead, she showed the holy virtues of patience and charity. Or at least that''s what she told herself to curtail the impulse to throttle Natalie. It took Natalie two days and three nights of hard work, but she finished her alterations to the box and had it ready for the party. At the cost of rumors of Natalie going into Mina¡¯s room early in the morning and said room now vaguely smelling of sawdust and varnish. When Mina complained about the smell, Natalie just shrugged and said. ¡°Plenty more reason to spend the night with Alia!¡± The priestess intended to set the vampire on fire until she realized that actually was not a bad excuse. Despite Natalie¡¯s willful disregard for Mina¡¯s personal space, the two did find plenty of time to talk. Natalie told Mina about her ¡®adventure¡¯ with the vampiress Pryia while Mina filled her friend in on how things were going with Alia. Both of them had been busy in the wake of the Solstice, so it had been nice to reconnect now that things were achieving some semblance of normalcy. Alongside the chest, Natalie had been busy with other preparations for the party. As the Equinox crept closer, she felt reasonably certain everything was set, which led her to one final obstacle, getting Cole to the venue without issue. She¡¯d done her best to hide her plans from him and was reasonably certain she¡¯d been successful. Now on the morning of the Equinox, she had schemes to enact.
Cole woke up slowly, he¡¯d fed Natalie and Isabelle the night before, and the blood loss showed. Groggy, trying to retain consciousness, Cole groped around for the water by the bed until someone handed him a glass. Drinking it without even properly opening his eyes, Cole made a satisfied noise and managed to set the glass down without issue. As he finally got the energy to open his lids, he groaned slightly as a familiar weight lay on top of him. Natalie lay on Cole¡¯s chest and smiled down at him. ¡°Happy birthday Cole!¡± Blinking in confusion, Cole tried to understand what she meant. Realization dawned, and Cole muttered. ¡°I did pick the Equinox, didn¡¯t I? I kinda forgot about that.¡± Scooching up and leaning forward, Natalie kissed Cole good morning. After not enough time, Natalie broke it and said. ¡°So you know how I¡¯ve been really busy the last week or so? Well, I¡¯ve been preparing a few surprises for you! Now get up out of bed and get ready to go!¡± Still befuddled, Cole tried to disentangle himself from Natalie, something her questing hands and lips made a little difficult. Finally, a deep laugh escaped Cole, and he simply tossed Natalie onto the bed next to him. Finally escaping her, he headed for the washroom, and Natalie followed. Raising an eyebrow, Cole watched as she stripped her clothes off with practiced ease, putting a little more sway in her hips as she did. Admiring the sight, Cole said. ¡°I thought we had plans for the day. If we get¡­ distracted in the bath, that might take some time.¡± Her smile brimming with hunger, Natalie said, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I included this in my schedule.¡± Cole laughed again and stripped out of his sleeping clothes. The couple spent the next hour or so getting clean, then dirty, then clean again. At last, washed and dressed, Cole ate breakfast in the dining hall while Natalie explained her plans. ¡°I figured we could walk the Green Path and then visit the Flower Arch before maybe catching a show in Strausburg. After that, we could stop for lunch, then watch the spring parade. Once that¡¯s done, I have another surprise for you!¡± Finishing his scrambled eggs, Cole asked. ¡°Do I get a say in any of this?¡± Natalie shook her head and clicked her tongue. ¡°If you told me what you wanted to do, I¡¯d have taken that under consideration. But you didn¡¯t, so in light of your dereliction, I¡¯ve been forced to make plans for your birthday.¡± An amused snort escaped Cole. ¡°You are enjoying this, aren¡¯t you?¡± Fangs flashing, Natalie said. ¡°More than you can imagine. I like parties, birthdays especially. Even more so when it belongs to someone I love, so ready yourself for as much affection and enjoyment I can fit into twenty-four hours.¡± Shrugging, Cole deposited his dishes in a passing wash cart and stood up. ¡°As I have no experience with birthdays, I will leave this in your capable hands.¡± Natalie swooped low in an exaggerated bow. ¡°As you wish, Sir Paladin.¡± Smiling, Cole took Natalie''s arm and allowed himself to be led from the Temple. Vindabon was in high spirits; the storm from earlier in the week was gone, and warm spring sunlight gilded the city. A light rain before dawn dampened the city and coaxed the bravest buds out of hibernation, giving many trees and bushes a green tint. But they went unnoticed compared to the utter beauty of the green path. The work of a hundred shamans, magi, and mundane gardeners had gone into the annual spring tradition. In most towns, the Green Path was little more than a strip of magically coaxed moss looping around the local temple and leading to its door; a meditation trail created on the first day of spring for people to enjoy. Meant to help shake off the lethargy of winter and signify the start of the more active seasons. Everyone in a settlement would walk the path at least once on the Equinox, using the time to ponder the coming season and make oaths of growth and renewal. Vindabon was not most towns, and its Green Path was more like a garden promenade. Moss and grass had grown up through the gaps in cobblestone and turned a winding section of city road into verdant greenery. Flowering vines and blooming lichen slithered up street lights and the faces of buildings. Even a few trees managed to push themselves out of drainage alcoves and provide dappled shade along the path. This incredible display of magic ran through the city in a great circuit that touched all ten temples, the city palace, and the ivory tower. Stepping out onto the moss-edged cobblestones, Cole and Natalie joined hundreds of other pedestrians walking the green path. The mixture of fresh grass and moss made the road slightly springy, and Natalie had to resist the urge to jump up and down on it. Cole, for his part, simply marveled at the amount of effort that must have gone into the display of herbamancy. Staring up at a crooked elm tree that had certainly not been there the day before, Cole idly muttered, ¡°How did they do it?¡± Natalie answered with the barest hint of smugness. ¡°It¡¯s sorcery, the combination of different types of magic to do something none of them could do alone.¡± Cole raised an eyebrow. ¡°I know that, and I¡¯m impressed you do too. But what I meant is, where do they get the power to make this happen? The sheer size of the working is absurd; you¡¯d need¡­.¡± As he mused on the problem, Cole solved it. ¡°The Lych, he helps with this.¡± Nodding, Natalie said. ¡°Yep, he and the spirit of Vindabon help make it work; I read about it in the temple library.¡± Letting out an amused breath, Cole squeezed Natalie¡¯s hand. ¡°I see you are putting your nights alone to good use?¡± Leaning against her partner and enjoying his warmth, Natalie said. ¡°Very much so. Also, you¡¯ve reminded me of a question I¡¯ve wanted to ask. Is your mixing of blood magic and paladin magic sorcery?¡± Cole frowned as he considered it. ¡°Technically, yes, but what I¡¯ve done is very shoddy. Little more than using two types of magic together, not using them in concert.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t fully understand, but she knew enough to get what Cole was saying. He¡¯d managed to freeze his blood and use it as a weapon. By contrast, the tree-singers behind the green path wove life, aetheric currents, spirits, and botanical knowledge together into an impossible forest. Sure, the green path would quickly wilt away within a few days like any life forced to grow so quickly. But for a short time, it would be beautiful and inspire joy across the city. Snaking through Vindabon, Cole and Natalie walked and talked, just another young couple among thousands of people on the path. Somehow they went unnoticed, which Cole initially assumed was due to all the interesting sights but slowly realized couldn¡¯t be natural. Both paladin and vampire were, unfortunately, celebrities in Vindabon, and neither of them was doing anything to disguise themselves. ¡°Alright, I give up; why haven¡¯t people noticed us yet?¡± he asked, glancing around at the pedestrians who barely reacted to his looming size and scarred face. Beaming with pride, Natalie reached into a fold of her dress and pulled out a piece of carved bone. Runes covered the etched remains, very familiar runes. Cole took the proffered runebone and asked. ¡°A subtlety enchantment?¡± Nodding, Natalie tapped the stone. ¡°A birthday gift from Isabelle. It''s a stupidly powerful subtlety spell designed to let us blend in with crowds. After everything, she wanted a way for you and me to have some privacy.¡± Impressed, Cole let his aetheric senses brush against the runebone, feeling the vein of red power that connected Natalie and the enchantment. He was getting better at sensing magic and using his sight more subtly. The last six months had forced Cole to grow rapidly, and he didn¡¯t fully know how to feel about his increasing strength. Cole ignored those worries and said, ¡°I see you are powering the enchantment. How does that work?¡± Shrugging, Natalie reclaimed the runebone and danced it between her fingers. ¡°I¡¯ve been working with Isabelle on a few things. I have plenty of raw power, and she knows how to use it well. She said subtlety enchantment is really easy, and ¡®even someone without any talent can make a primitive one.¡¯ Which with her guidance I did!¡± A flicker of a smile went across Cole¡¯s face as he remembered Isabelle saying something similar to him when teaching the same spell. ¡°Well, it''s impressive and incredibly useful; thank you both.¡± Pocketing the runebone, Natalie pointed at something in the distance. ¡°But enough about that. Look, we are close to the Flower Arch!¡± She was right; they¡¯d gotten close to the city-palace and now could see the monument where the path started and ended. Framing the palace''s main gate was a great triumph arch like of the old empire, except instead of marble and gold, it was made of flowers and trees. Two great oaks sprung up on either side of the entrance, with a nest of vines linking them and weaving their canopies into the arch¡¯s roof. Flowering vines of every possible shade and variety covered the oaks, obscuring every centimeter of bark behind blooming colors. Colors forming living murals depicting the triumphs and tribulations of the city. Stepping closer, Cole and Natalie saw the mighty dragon Vindoric spreading his green wings above a humble hamlet. Followed by the first lords of the city building the original castrum and their eventual defense against the Sidhe. A dozen more sights Natalie vaguely recognized from the histories she¡¯d read joined them, each painted in flowers across the left arch. Cole was busy looking at a trail of golden alyssum flowers that went from the left arch of history along the bottom of the arch beam and down onto the right arch of now. The trail started with Saint Arka and her battles against the Demons, with the alyssum marking the flight of a single arrow from the past to the present. The arrow landed in the grip of a cloaked warrior who held it up before the city, a glowing blue axe in the figure''s other hand, and a writhing demon at his feet. With a deep sigh, Cole inspected his part of the flower mural. Natalie noticed where Cole was staring and let out a short laugh. Pointing at the brooding shape painted with widow-bells and blue irises, she said. ¡°Oh look, even the city is celebrating your birthday.¡± An even deeper and more exasperated sigh rumbled out from Cole, and he rubbed his face in exhaustion. ¡°I really hope Isabelle¡¯s amulet keeps working; otherwise, things will get very difficult.¡± Looking up at the mural, Natalie nudged her lover and said. ¡°Well, it could be worse; the solstice ball could be up there.¡± Grimacing at that idea, Cole let Natalie lead him away from the arch. ¡°What¡¯s next on your busy agenda?¡±
Inhuman strength and speed had all sorts of applications, but Cole had never considered getting a great spot to watch a parade one of them. After catching two plays in Strausburg and enjoying a late lunch, the couple returned to the city-palace. Where Natalie showed Cole the full extent of her preparations. In the form of a cat, she¡¯d scouted out a secluded rooftop at the edge of the parade route. After Natalie coaxed Cole to climb up with her, the couple sat on the roof and waited for the Equinox Parade to begin. Peering down at the three-story drop to the cobblestones, Cole repeated his concerns. ¡°This isn¡¯t exactly legal; we could damage the roof if we aren¡¯t careful.¡± Natalie rolled her eyes and bumped her forehead into his shoulder. ¡°Not all of us have your advantage in height, and I want to actually be able to see the parade.¡± Accepting that, Cole enjoyed the feeling of Natalie leaning against him. Peering over the roof¡¯s edge, he watched as more and more people filled the thronging streets. Thousands of people had turned out for the parade, and Cole watched as beleaguered city guards tried to clear a central lane on the green path. The reason for this became clear as the thunder of drums came from the palace''s main gate. A huge portcullis creaked open, and a force of soldiers marched beneath the flower arch. Clad in solid mail, the soldiers held their shields above their heads, creating a solid platform. Atop that platform was Lady Isibeth Franz, the Elector-Prince¡¯s niece and his heir. Isibeth held a laurel wreath up in one hand before her, ritually crowning the parade and all its members in ancient glory. In fact, the whole display was meant to mimic the archaic triumphs of the old empire, when legions of heroes marked their victories over the Sidhe with grand parades such as this. As the shieldbearers and city-regent passed by, marching down the street, they were followed by a stream of mounted knights, each in full panoply and holding a banner high. These were representatives of the leading houses of Vindabon, and Cole idly wondered if Jaerd DeMello or any of the other young noblings he¡¯d dealt with were among the armored troops. Next came the source of the drumming, a full band of drummers, pipers, and other players, each wearing the city colors. At their head was a priestess of Uncle Trickster wearing the full motley of the festival fool and prancing about without a care. The priestess capered and danced in front of the musicians with nearly liquid grace. Long bells dangling from her dyed hair bounced and jounced, playing a discordant song only Natalie or anyone else with unnatural senses could hear. After that came pageant wagons from every guild, group, faction, or family hoping to present themselves favorably to the city. The armorer''s guild had managed to mount an enchanted anvil to their cart, and a quartet of dwarven smiths hammered away at a glowing ingot, spraying sparks up into the air as two teams of hardy oxen pulled the wagon and its displayed steel. A troop of night companions clad in red silk and little else danced atop a polished stage, and appreciative spectators whooped and cheered at their sensual movements. Members of the Andvari Bank tossed handfuls of miss-minted coins, copper and bronze flashing in the spring sunlight as the malformed coinage found eager hands. Even a crew of drunken ditch diggers sat atop a rickety cart and sang bawdy tunes with zero harmony. Between the wagons were other troops of smaller size and lesser pedigree. Sky monks sang hymns as they glided by, their feet floating just a few centimeters off the ground. Mercenaries native to Vindabon displayed the skulls of monsters and men, crowing about their victories and strutting with all the bravado they could muster. Foreign merchants rode strange beasts and displayed stranger goods, including a willowy elf from across the sea riding atop an honest-to-aunty stag. Letting out a contented sigh, Natalie asked. ¡°Are you enjoying your birthday?¡± Cole gazed down at the parade for a long moment before answering. ¡°I¡­ I actually am, thank you.¡± Beaming, Natalie snuggled against Cole. ¡°I am very glad to hear that.¡± Book III: Chapter 2: A Variety of Presents

Chapter 2: A Variety of Presents

¡°Our initial estimates were unfortunately too optimistic. We¡¯ve managed to completely restore the city¡¯s active wards, but some of the more complicated passive wards are proving difficult. Despite the Guardian Seraph¡¯s return, we simply haven¡¯t been able to undo all the damage inflicted by the aggressor. These wards took centuries of Priests and Magi working together to create, and even with all our resources, it will take a year or more to fix everything.¡± - Report of Hierophant Glynn to the City Court of Vindabon.
¡°You can¡¯t be serious? They won¡¯t let us back inside?¡± Cole muttered as he and Natalie stood outside the Final Flagon. The inn looked much the same as the last time the couple visited, only a few flowering vines crawling up its front marking a difference. It was two hours after the parade ended, and twilight had come to Vindabon. With it came the usual raucous celebrations and spring revelry, revelry Natalie insisted the couple take part in. Smiling broadly, Natalie shook her head. ¡°The city paid for the damages, and I stopped by to make a reservation two weeks ago. Aunty Allisa was initially worried, but some gold laid her concerns to rest.¡± Trusting his lover, Cole pushed open the inn''s door and was greeted with a raucous cry. ¡°HAPPY BIRTHDAY!¡± Cole¡¯s axe was already in hand before he realized the nature of the ambush. Sitting at a corner table was a collection of familiar faces. Morri, Mina, Alia Cat-eyes, and a bespectacled Magi named Rellim. Blinking in surprise, Cole looked over the celebrants and struggled to find appropriate words. Eventually, something resembling a response forced itself from his throat. ¡°Thank you?¡± Laughs and smiles greeted him, and Cole found himself dragged into a chair. Warm cider was poured for him, and Cole asked. ¡°Why are you all here?¡± Alia snorted and sipped spiced wine. ¡°Natalie said she was having a party, and none of us had better options for the Equinox.¡± Mina playfully flicked her girlfriend. ¡°Stop being so awful.¡± then, looking at Cole, she added. ¡°We were happy to be invited! Now how old are you?¡± Cole blinked and looked at Natalie, who just shrugged. After an awkward pause, the Homunculus decided to bend the truth into a convenient shape. ¡°I don¡¯t truly know; I would estimate I¡¯m closer to you than Morri age-wise. Birthdays and similar weren¡¯t something of my¡­ early life.¡± Morri averted his gaze from Cole, the old priest clearly thinking about the solstice revelations. Clearing her throat, Natalie asked Mina. ¡°Did you bring everything?¡± Sighing, Mina pointed at a box sitting atop a covered trunk leaning against the nearby wall. Going to the box, Natalie grabbed a bottle of unlabeled wine from it and returned to the table. Beaming, she set it down at her spot and said. ¡°Okay, I think we are ready to start the festivities.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Alia pointed at the bottle. ¡°They don¡¯t usually let you bring your own booze to a place like this.¡± Natalie started to answer when she saw another familiar figure step out from behind the bar. It was Yara, Natalie¡¯s unwanted thrall. The young redhead carried a tray of drinks and brought them to the table. She looked better than Natalie had ever seen as she set bottles and glasses on the large table. Alia refilled her glass and toasted Yara. ¡°Thank you kindly!¡± then said to Natalie. ¡°Sorry we started without you, but your friend here kept pestering Mina about finding a way to help, and I figured she could fetch us drinks.¡± Yara was not invited to the party; she must have tagged along with Mina to be closer to Natalie. The thrall was still hopelessly bound to Natalie and resisted the idea of freedom. She lingered around the Temple doing odd jobs for anyone who asked, her damaged mind seeking submission and subservience wherever it could be found. For a long moment, Natalie didn¡¯t say anything, anger simmering beneath her composure. Yara had intruded, bringing her sickness and slavish loyalty to a night meant to be festive and fun. Eyes downcast, the thrall waited for Natalie to react, clearly expecting to be punished. She¡¯d rebelled against her mistress¡¯s implicit wishes and was ready to suffer. The need to be close to Natalie and be useful to her overpowered even conditioned obedience. Shutting her eyes, Natalie let out a pointless breath. Pushing past the anger, she tried something new. Pointed at an empty seat, she addressed her thrall. ¡°Sit down and join us, Yara; I take it you helped Mina.¡± Shocked, Yara didn¡¯t move for a moment, but after Natalie gestured at the chair a little more firmly, the redheaded woman obliged. Finally answering the asked question, Yara said, ¡°Priestess Mina was having difficulty moving the trunk, and I helped her.¡± While the exact details of Yara¡¯s situation were known only to Natalie and Cole, the other guests realized something sour was involved here. Alia shifted uncomfortably and tapped her glass while Mina looked between Natalie and Yara. Eventually, Rellim the Magi broke the awkward silence. ¡°So tell me, Natalie, can you draw?¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie looked at the Magi. She¡¯d invited a score of people Cole knew to the party, but most had other events or duties to prevent them from attending. Yet somehow, the head of Vindabon¡¯s archeological studies had no other commitments and now sat across from Morri with a pad of paper. Glad to have a new topic, Natalie answered. ¡°I¡¯m passable, I prefer woodworking, but I know how to use a stylus or paint.¡± Mina tried not to roll her eyes, thinking of Natalie¡¯s recent invasion of her quarters. Rellim nodded and tapped the paper he had. ¡°Good! I¡¯d like you to draw what you saw in Alukah¡¯s tomb for me. Cole¡¯s scribbles aren¡¯t worth the paper, and I hoped you might be able to better illustrate Annoch¡¯s mausoleum.¡± Cole cleared his throat. ¡°She can do that later, but I take it your research is progressing?¡± The Magi stroked his goatee and said. ¡°Somewhat, your descriptions match some tombs documented in the Ganzir Mountains, which would make sense since the Rabisu¡¯s territory encompassed those peaks. Perhaps Annoch was a native, or some of his servants were.¡± Looking at Natalie, Cole explained. ¡°I¡¯ve asked Rellim to look into the Red Twilight era and see if the Ivory Tower has anything useful.¡± Folding his drawing paper and putting the sheaf into his coat, Rellim elaborated. ¡°I¡¯ve not had much success. Most useful sources are probably in Qabsu and not things the local Magi would easily share. But I¡¯m finding a few scraps here and there, enough to be possibly useful.¡± It felt strange to Natalie that her secret was now considerably less secret. Events at the ball did much to shred the cloak of shadows she once wrapped herself. Those same events had also, thankfully, reduced the need for said cloak. Her presence in Vindabon was well known to both allies and enemies. While the knowledge she held some sort of ancient relic was quickly spreading through circles of power. Alia changed the conversation then, pointing her chin at the wine bottle sitting before Natalie. ¡°So, how did you convince Aunty Allisa to let you smuggle in liquor?¡± In response, Natalie set one of her fingers against the cork and summoned a sharp nail of black blood. Letting her talon sink into the cork, Natalie used her claw like a wine screw. With a satisfying pop, the cork came free. Natalie held out the bottle to Alia and said. ¡°Sniff, don¡¯t drink.¡± Frowning, the catfolk obliged. ¡°Smells¡­ like good wine, really good wine.¡± Taking the bottle back, Natalie poured some into a glass and enjoyed watching everyone¡¯s surprise. Fresh blood splattered into the goblet, its color and consistency unmistakable even if the smell was wrong. Sipping the glass, Natalie smiled. ¡°A gift from a friend, and not something they would have on stock here.¡± Alia muttered. ¡°Creepy¡­ Well, I guess that means we can start drinking properly now!¡± Cups and glasses were filled with various beverages, none as ¡®exotic¡¯ as Natalie¡¯s. Clay and crystal clinked together as Cole was toasted. ¡°May your days be long and joyous!¡± Cole met Natalie¡¯s eyes as he sipped his cider. He¡¯d accepted his days would be long; now he could hope they¡¯d be joyous. Once he finished his glass, Cole set it down, and Alia swiped it. Sniffing the dregs, she said. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right? It¡¯s your birthday, and you are drinking juice? This stuff isn¡¯t even a little fermented; it''s for kids!¡± Mina repossessed Cole¡¯s glass and handed it back to him as she asked. ¡°I take it you don¡¯t drink, then?¡± Shrugging, Cole refilled his drink as Natalie gently but firmly made Yara pick something to sample. Glancing at his cider, he said. ¡°Never much time for it or a desire. I¡¯m usually traveling and need my wits. Besides, I don¡¯t like how it tastes or feels?¡± Narrowing her eyes, Alia shook her head in mock disapproval. ¡°You are telling me the legendary demon-slaying, vampire-fucking, city-saving Paladin can¡¯t handle his liquor?¡± A droplet of alchemically treated blood flew across the table and hit Alia in the forehead. Licking her finger, Natalie sweetly said. ¡°The next one goes into your eye.¡± A rude gesture was Alia¡¯s response as she dabbed at the blood. Some chuckles went around the table, and Morri mused. ¡°I¡¯d think it has less to do with being unable to handle drink and more with how much it would take to get Cole drunk. He¡¯s a large fellow with an unusual physique; I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he could easily drink you under the table thrice over.¡± Squinting at the old priest, Alia asked. ¡°What about you, do your duties prevent you from enjoying booze?¡± In response, Morri grabbed a mug of beer and downed it in a single impressive draught. Slamming the stein down with more force than necessary, Morri belched and said, ¡°I spent much of my youth fighting alongside soldiers.¡± Pointing at his empty mug, he added. ¡°Doing that was the quickest way to earn their respect.¡± Mina and Cole both looked at their mentor with undisguised shock while Alia cackled. Meanwhile, Rellim poked the various bottles seeming undecided on what to drink. Yara, of all people, offered a suggestion. ¡°Master Magi, the meadowsweet mead is quite good tasting.¡± Rellim picked up the bottle, sniffed its content, nodded to Yara in agreement, and poured himself some. More than a little uncertain but buoyed by her little victory, Yara added. ¡°I could draw the tomb for you.¡± Everyone stopped to look at the thrall, and she quailed under the attention. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I just¡­ I¡­I just.¡± Mina and Alia shared a look; they knew little about Yara¡¯s origin. That she was somehow connected to Natalie¡¯s past was somewhat surprising. Natalie gently but firmly said. ¡°You don¡¯t need to apologize; if you can do it, then go ahead.¡± Rellim eagerly handed over a sheet of paper and an ink stylus. Clearing her spot at the table, Yara started drawing with feverish intensity. Trying not to think about her thrall and everything she entailed, Natalie asked Alia. ¡°So why aren¡¯t you with the other guards? I invited Iron-teeth, but he said the entire tower was busy keeping peace on the Equinox?¡± Iron-teeth still held his position as guard captain, even after his ¡®mercy kill¡¯¡¯ of Liam Louon. The city was unwilling to penalize him publicly, and it seemed virtually every institution in Vindabon was willing to ¡®look the other way.¡¯ So far, the worst punishment the Captain suffered was being denied the promotion and medal the Council had been discussing, which seemed to suit the hard-bitten dwarf just fine. Cat-eyes finished her maybe third or fourth glass of the evening and said. ¡°I¡¯m a City-warden; I hunt criminals and investigate crimes. I don¡¯t herd crowds and keep the peace. Sure, I¡¯ll probably be busier than a Centaur farrier in a few days, but for now, I get to drink and enjoy myself.¡± Morri nearly snorted out his drink and started coughing. Recovering, he muttered. ¡°A centaur farrier¡­ I¡¯ll have to remember that one.¡± Cole gently clapped the old priest on the back, clearing out the inhaled beer. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you could make it, Alia. Even if it''s just for an excuse to get drunk.¡± Cat-eyes made a noise like poorly maintained bellows and waived Cole off. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not that vapid. I¡¯m also here to spend time with my incredible girlfriend.¡± Mina blushed at that, and Cole realized Alia was intoxicated. Finishing yet another glass, Alia leaned on the table and asked. ¡°Humor aside, now that I¡¯ve come to your birthday, that means I¡¯m a good friend of yours, right Cole?¡± Frowning, sensing a trap but not knowing its nature, Cole said. ¡°You are, we¡¯ve fought beside each other, and I enjoy your company well enough.¡± Smiling, Alia gestured at him and Natalie with her empty glass. ¡°So what is it like? Y¡¯know, to tumble with a vamp-AHH!¡± Alia rubbed at her face and cursed. Natalie refilled her glass of sanguina and swirled the blood wine with her finger. Still cursing, Alia shut both her eyes tight. ¡°Well, you got me in the eye; now, what will you do when I ask Cole abo-GUG!¡± A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Natalie had flicked another drop of her drink straight into Alia¡¯s mouth. Clutching at her throat, eyes now wide, the city-warden muttered. ¡°Jag me; it does taste like wine.¡± Laughter erupted around the table, even Morri joining in. As the chuckles subsided, Yara handed the paper to Natalie and asked. ¡°Does it look right?¡± Glancing at the paper, Natalie was taken aback; Yara had sketched the long-buried tomb of Annoch with shocking skill. The sketch depicted the chamber from the perspective of someone standing in the breach the ghoul miners made. Showing the cracked sarcophagus and the circular room surrounding it. On the margins of the paper, Yara put simplified versions of some of the tomb¡¯s murals. Many of which Natalie couldn¡¯t even recall, let alone draw. ¡°This¡­ this is incredible,¡± Natalie muttered, handing the paper to Cole, who looked it over with similar surprise. Rellim received the drawing last, and his face split in a wild grin. Standing up so fast he knocked his chair over, Rellim went over towards Yara. ¡°Can you do more like this? With more detail of the murals?¡± Yara nodded, and the Magi¡¯s smile grew so large Natalie feared it would rip his cheeks. ¡°You must come by the tower when you can! This is probably one of the best depictions of a Third Epoch tomb I¡¯ve ever seen!¡± Folding the paper like it was a hefty letter of credit, Rellim excused himself. ¡°Happy birthday, Cole. I¡¯m sorry, but I must return to my study and compare this to the Naqsh rubbings!¡± Rellim was halfway to the door before he paused and returned, hands rifling through his pockets. Eventually, he found what he sought and sat it next to Cole. It was a rune-marked piece of quartz. About the size of Cole¡¯s thumb, rectangular in shape with very sharp corners. The runes were different from the usual dwarven work and covered the runestone in a pattern of red marks where the tan outer quartz was scrapped away to reveal the ruby-red crystal innards. Gesturing at the runestone, Rellim said. ¡°Your present, it¡¯s a recreation of an ancient warrior charm from the early Third Epoch. I saw the fire rune you carry and figured you might find this useful.¡± Then without further explanation, Rellim turned and left, the pull of his studies surpassing any social obligations. Befuddled but not ungrateful, Cole held up the stone and then, after a second¡¯s consideration, pricked his thumb on one of its corners. A droplet of red flowed onto the stone, and Cole brought the stone closer to his face to examine its marks. Cole¡¯s glass shot over his shoulder and crashed against the wall. Quickly dropping the runestone, Cole looked at the shattered cup and then at an annoyed barmaid, who grabbed a broom and dustbin. Carefully, Morri picked up the stone, his eyes leaking faint silver phosphorescence. ¡°It¡¯s an intricate bit of telekinesis. The enchantment will let you influence a single object at a time. I suggest you practice with it when you get the time.¡± Dropping the enchanted quartz onto the table, Morri reached into his own robes and pulled out a set of prayer beads. They were shiny black pearls and clattered softly in Morri¡¯s hand. Handing them to Cole, Morri smiled. ¡°My gift to you. May they serve you in serving our God.¡± Cole let the beads dance between his fingers and said. ¡°Thank you, they are beautiful and¡­ powerful.¡± Morri nodded and closed Cole¡¯s hand over the beads. ¡°These are Delian beads made from sacred pearls. They are collectors of purity and a tool worthy of a Paladin. Now I must take my leave as well. It¡¯s been a busy week, and I¡¯m not as young as I once was.¡± After saying his goodbyes, the old hierophant left the remaining revelers. Getting up, Natalie went over to the trunk and started pulling it toward the table. ¡°Since we are doing presents early, I figure I should bring this over.¡± Cole looked at the covered trunk; a sheet of good black fabric hid the trunk from view, and he couldn¡¯t figure out what it could possibly be. Pinching the fabric, Natalie showed it to Cole. ¡°It¡¯s a special silk from the East; it doesn¡¯t stain and cleans easily. I figured it would make a good replacement fabric for your cloak.¡± Feeling the material, Cole was impressed and forced himself not to worry about the cost. Natalie had started investing some of her inheritance and was already making some coin. It had been Pryia¡¯s idea, the Moroi gleefully sharing her tricks to being an ¡®ethical¡¯ vampire with Natalie. Which apparently included smart financial advice on how to grow money over centuries of unlife. Natalie started to pull off the silk covering and said. ¡°But that¡¯s just the wrapping for the real present!¡± Underneath was the pine chest Emma had provided, now decorated by Natalie¡¯s hand. The lid was marked with a large stylized hourglass painted dark blue. The neck and sides of the hourglass were also carved so they could be mistaken for a large X, signifying the archaic number ten. On either side of the hourglass were carved halberds, one cloaked in fire, the other frost. Each side of the trunk also had a decoration. Cole crouched down to look at each, utter shock and amazement upon his face. He saw a depiction of himself atop castle battlements facing the Varcolac. Another painting of Natalie and him standing before the burning ruins of Lungu, holding hands. Next, a crowd of people and wolves cringing away from a shaft of sunlight held aloft before them. Then the frozen model city at the ball, with the couple dancing beneath it. Carved and painted onto the trunk was a chronicle of his and Natalie¡¯s story. It left Cole stunned and speechless, unable to believe his eyes. After too long of a moment, Natalie started to shift uncomfortably, wondering if she¡¯d done some wrong. A fierce embrace crushed that worry; Cole¡¯s arms wrapped around Natalie and picked her up in a bear hug so tight it forced a squeak from her lungs. Setting her down, Cole was smiling. ¡°It''s beautiful, it''s incredible, thank you.¡± Alia and Yara examined the chest while Mina just sipped some wine and watched. Looking at her girlfriend, Cat-eyes asked. ¡°So this is why you¡¯ve been staying at my place the past few nights?¡± Nodding, Mina hid behind her glass, and Alia laughed. Clapping both Natalie and Cole on the shoulder, the city-warden said. ¡°Well, it''s incredible, and if you ever need to use Mina¡¯s room for secret projects, don¡¯t hesitate.¡± Natalie wondered if that was ¡®Alia-speak¡¯ for inviting Mina to spend the night whenever she wanted. Refocusing on her lover and his present, Natalie tapped the lid of the trunk. ¡°While the art is mine, I can¡¯t claim the contents.¡± Eyebrows raising in surprise, Cole opened the chest; he¡¯d clearly thought the present was just the traveling trunk. Reaching down, he examined the armor. Looking at Natalie, he asked. ¡°How¡­?¡± Flashing an evil fanged grin, Natalie said. ¡°I conspired with Emma. I got her to add a few weeks onto her estimations.¡± Uncertain if he should be annoyed or impressed, Cole settled on being surprised. ¡°Thank you for the¡­ early delivery and the trunk; it really is beautiful.¡± Natalie¡¯s lips found Cole¡¯s then, and they shared a long kiss only ended by an awkward cough from Mina. A little embarrassed, the couple separated, and Alia added her contribution to the growing pile of gifts. She set a polished hunting knife on the table, it was a little longer than Cole¡¯s hand, and its grip was wrapped in good leather cord. The blade was slightly odd, with several notches and grooves for different uses like cutting branches or skinning game. Grabbing the butt of the knife, Alia unscrewed it to show the handle was hollow, perfect for hiding something small. ¡°I won this from a Werewolf about three moon-moots ago. It was always too big for me, but I figured you¡¯d make good use of it.¡± Cole picked it up and tested the balance; nodding in approval, he set it down and asked. ¡°Were you disappointed you couldn¡¯t attend this year because of the murders?¡± Alia shifted uncomfortably, and her eyes flicked to Mina before saying. ¡°I¡­ I would probably run into one or two exes if I attended. I¡¯m gonna wait maybe another year or two before risking that.¡± Deciding she didn¡¯t want to continue this topic, Mina said. ¡°I don¡¯t have a present for you, Cole. Expect for letting Natalie use my room and helping Morri infuse the beads.¡± Shaking his head, Cole said. ¡°It¡¯s not a problem. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m just glad people could come. This is a new experience for me, and I have to say it¡¯s been fun.¡± Beaming in success, Natalie leaned against Cole making a noise halfway between a sigh and a purr as she did. ¡°It¡¯s been my pleasure to plan and enjoy this party.¡± Rubbing a spot on her back, he knew she liked, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯m just sorry; I won¡¯t be able to measure up to this standard for your birthday.¡± Natalie laughed and asked. ¡°When is my birthday?¡± Cole licked his lips and answered, ¡°In about two days, on the 2nd of Firstbloom.¡± Patting his cheek, Natalie said. ¡°By remembering that, you are doing better than about half the people I¡¯ve courted.¡± A few chuckles were exchanged, and Natalie added. ¡°But seriously, don¡¯t worry about it. I know this isn''t something you are used to, so I¡¯m perfectly fine with maybe some flowers and a-¡± Natalie stopped talking, and when Cole started to ask what was wrong, she held up a hand for silence. Slowly she walked towards the nearest window, which was slightly open, letting cool spring air into the inn. Focusing blood into her ears, Natalie sharpened her hearing to bat levels. Shocked by what she was hearing, Natalie ran to the inn''s main door and escaped into the street. Cole followed, the others lagging behind, uncertain of what to do. Night had fallen hard, with thick clouds obscuring moon and stars. Leaving the street soaked in shadows barely contested by street lights and windows. Natalie stared up at the sky, ignoring the strange looks the few pedestrians gave her. Cole set a hand on her shoulder, his other going to his belt, and asked. ¡°What is it?¡± Pointing up, Natalie whispered. ¡°Screams.¡± Cole heard it then, a faint note barely detectable over the nocturnal murmur of the city. A piercing shriek came from above. Reaching to his belt, Cole unsheathed Requiem and asked. ¡°Is it human?¡± Natalie frowned and then nodded. ¡°I think so, and¡­ and there''s a lot of it.¡± The screams were loud enough now that other people were noticing it. Clumps of citizens were stopping on the street to look up in confusion. Natalie shut her eyes and focused. ¡°They are getting closer; it''s like¡­ OH JAG¡± Whirling her head to the right, Natalie pointed just as one of the screamers came into view. Someone was falling from the sky, plummeting in a twirl of flailing limbs and panicked screams. The screamer was briefly silhouetted against the dim evening lights of the city before they struck the ground. Cole watched in mounting horror as a person splattered against the cobblestones maybe thirty meters down the street. As gore fountained up from the impact and soaked nearby pedestrians, Cole was reminded of his nightmares. His moment of dark recollection was interrupted by the second impact and then a third. Two more people struck, one into a nearby roof and the other twenty meters down the road in the opposite direction of the original impact. Something terrible was happening, and Cole needed to act. Yanking his amulet from his neck and holding it up, pouring silver light into it, he roared. ¡°GET OFF THE STREETS! GET INSIDE THE INN!¡± His divine light and commanding tone pierced through the stunned shock of the pedestrians, and they thankfully started to comply. Alia and Mina moved into action, helping shepherd people into the Final Flagon. As they did, another person splattered nearby, their silenced screams mimicked by those now covered in blood. Cole moved towards the closest body, but Natalie grabbed his wrist and stopped him. Sniffing the air, she pointed at the ruined corpse. ¡°They don¡¯t smell right, it¡­ it''s familiar, but I can¡¯t place the smell.¡± Nodding, Cole approached the corpse, prepared for whatever new horror was to come. He didn¡¯t need to wait long; the pool of innards and broken bones that once was a person started to move. A crooked arm started to scrabble against the cobblestones, pulling a detonated torso with it. With a drop of spilled blood, Cole lengthened Requiem to its halberd form and swung it at the mangled corpse. He split what was left of the skull, and the ghoul stopped moving. But it was only a drop in the bucket; more bodies were raining across Vindabon. Every silenced scream was now mimicked by Equinox revelers witnessing the death and undeath. Crouching down, Cole peered into the Aether and tried to determine what was happening. Forcing himself not to look at the swirling city-wide currents of joy and happiness now curdling into shock and horror, Cole examined the dead ghoul. A soul was trapped inside the ragged flesh, seething with metaphysical infection. Pain and sorrow clung to the ghoul in a festering miasma Cole was bitterly familiar with; these were Grinning Ghouls. But that wasn¡¯t the worst of it; another infection clung to the corpse. Clumps of oily black pus streamed off the ghoul, leaking from it in streams of corruption that shifted as Cole examined them. One moment they were impossible black rivulets floating in the Aether; the next, they were teeming swarms of rats and other vermin clambering over each other. Both forms, rivulet, and swarm, bled out of angry red sores covering the ghoul''s trapped soul. Quickly, Cole reached for his amulet and freed the soul. Silver light poured over the ghoul, guiding its spirit into the Beyond, leaving the infested body and spiritual hollow behind. Without anchor or sustenance, the infection started to wither away into greasy soul-stuff. Cold dread filled Cole¡¯s veins as he looked back at the Final Flagon and the crowd of people he¡¯d filled it with. People who¡¯d been exposed to the plummeting bodies, tainted by showers of filth. Glancing down the street at the other puddles of ghoulish gore, Cole understood what was happening. He¡¯d heard of Orcish hordes catapulting infected bodies into besieged cities; now, someone had taken that idea and made it worse. Vindabon was being bombarded with plague victims. More bodies fell to Vardis, a rain of screaming, flailing people moving away from them and to other parts of the city. With mounting horror, Cole understood the situation. Every body reduced to a wet splatter would be an infection vector, and every intact body would become a hungry Grinner. The sheer volume of ghouls and the variety of their ¡®landings¡¯ ensured some would enter Vindabon capable of attacking people. Unless something was done quickly, the city would be swarming with Grinners. Turning to Natalie, Cole failed to keep the tension from his voice. ¡°I need you to go to the Temple and tell them the city is under attack. Something is dropping plague ghouls across Vindabon.¡± Eyes wide with terrible shock, Natalie kissed Cole goodbye and sped away. She knew how bad this could become and would deliver his message fast as unliving speed allowed. Leaving Cole alone, standing in front of the Final Flagon, dreading what was to come. Entering the inn, Cole found Mina and Alia trying to keep some semblance of calm among the scared people crammed into the Flagon. Mina saw Cole and went over to him, a hundred questions fighting to see which would be asked first. Before she could, Cole pulled her into the doorway and whispered into her ear. ¡°Do you have any magic to treat the Plague?¡± Confusion and worry quickly became horrified understanding as Mina looked back at the sequestered people. Maybe fifty people were inside the inn, and easily a quarter of them were stained with infected blood. Voice filled with dread, Mina said. ¡°Oh, fixed stars!¡­ I¡­ I can try. Wait, where¡¯s Natalie?¡± Cole nodded in the direction of the Temple. ¡°Warning the city and getting help.¡± The tiniest bit of hope showed on Mina¡¯s face, and she turned back to start handling the mess. Pointing at Aunty Allisa and her staff, Mina said. ¡°I need you to get every drop of your purest alcohol and every spare, clean sheet you have.¡± The bar workers hesitated, and Mina barked. ¡°NOW!¡± Doing her best impression of Morri and getting people moving. Turning to the crowd of possibly infected people, she continued her triage. ¡°I need everyone with stained clothes to go upstairs and strip. Do not touch the soiled material, and do not touch your face. That goes for everyone else; corpses carry diseases, and we need to be smart about this.¡± Cole nodded in approval; she was handling the situation well. Finding Alia, Cole whispered to her. ¡°I need you to make sure no one leaves the inn. Can you do that for me?¡± Frowning but used to Cole¡¯s strange requests, Alia nodded and returned to shepherding people. ¡°All right, you heard the Priestess! Let''s get dirty clothes off and stay indoors. We¡¯ve got a fucking Paladin with us, so none of the ghouls are getting in here.¡± Eyes fell on Cole then, and he could almost physically feel the weight of their expectations. A large part of the Paladin quailed under the beseeching looks, but dutiful resolve quashed any doubt. People relied on him; there was no room for hesitation or weakness. He was a Paladin, more than just a sword against the dark; he was also a shield. Accepting the responsibility put upon him, Cole started to speak, ¡°I¡¯ve sent word to the Temple and-¡± ¡®KRACK-BOOOOOOOOM!!!!¡¯ Every window in the inn rattled in its pane as a huge explosion erupted over the city. Whirling about, Cole ran to the inn door and opened it. Stepping out into the night, he shouted. ¡°Stay inside; follow the City-Warden and Priestess¡¯s directions!¡± Looking up at the night sky, Cole flinched as lightning covered the city. Bolts of white energy filled the sky in a cracked-glass net. The entire city shook with thunder, and Cole caught glimpses of things caught in the storm. Faint silhouettes lashed by lightning, burned to cinders by heavenly wrath. Along the street, the splattered ghouls started to smoke and seethe as silver flames consumed them. The barest hint of a smile crossed Cole¡¯s face; the wards of Vindabon were roused. Book III: Chapter 3: The Storm of Blood

Chapter 3: The Storm of Blood

¡°Pestilence refers to any disease influenced or created by magic. We use this term because no matter the original pathogen used, magical alterations provide certain advantages and disadvantages to treating them. Pestilences are, as a rule, more infectious and dangerous due to their unnatural nature. However, they usually display weaknesses their mundane counterparts will not. Finding these weaknesses, these banes, and exploiting them can turn a nation-scouring plague into a mild cough.¡± - Commentaries on the Codex Aegror.
Natalie stared up at the domed roof of the Tenth Temple¡¯s Arch Sanctum. A storm the likes she¡¯d never imagined raged beyond the colored glass. The entire city shook as the wrath of Father Sky was unleashed. Even here, protected from the elements, strands of Natalie¡¯s hair defied gravity, statically charged by the sheer power in the sky. Sucking in pointless breaths reeking of storm air, Natalie understood why Father Sky was patriarch of the Pantheon. Hierophant Glynn approached her then, also looking up at the god-called storm with quiet reverence. ¡°The wards are fully roused, the Temples are working in concert, and plague wardens are being dispatched as we speak. Your warning was timely and helpful, Natalie.¡± Taking a moment to let a roll of thunder pass by, Natalie asked. ¡°Can I return to Cole then?¡± Glynn¡¯s lips thinned in concern. ¡°Potentially, he needs to be in quarantine with the rest of the possibly infected. But his nature and yours provides us with a fairly unique opportunity. You cannot be infected, and Cole will¡­ ¡®recover¡¯ from the contagion even if he¡¯s afflicted. We can use those factors to our advantage, but before that, I think we need more information from you.¡± Frowning, Natalie said. ¡°I told you everything I saw!¡± Staring up at the roiling skies, Glynn selected his words carefully. ¡°You have access to a source of information that might prove crucial in the coming days. The source you deemed too dangerous to use within the Archives.¡± Shutting her eyes in exhaustion, Natalie asked. ¡°What does she have to do with this?¡± Glynn¡¯s eyes flicked around the large chamber, lingering on the other occupants. They weren¡¯t alone in the Arch-Sanctum; close to forty Priests were tending and directing the city wards. While a hundred templars and healers were being cloaked in protective blessings, the first batch of plague wardens to be prepared. Natalie got the meaning of Glynn¡¯s unspoken message, too many listening ears. Looking towards the Arch Sanctum¡¯s door, Natalie said. ¡°I guess I should go see what I can learn.¡± Nodding, Glynn said. ¡°That would be wise; I wish you good fortu-¡± Mid-sentence, the Hierophant whirled to look back up at the skies; another peal of thunder shook the city, and with it came a keening screech. Natalie felt something itching at the edge of her awareness; the Aether was practically buzzing with information. Glynn was a seer of some power, and he was clearly getting messages from his fellow mind-magi. Looking at Natalie, Glynn hissed. ¡°Change of plans, go find Cole, tell him something managed to make it past the wards. It¡¯s large, aggressive, and headed for civilians in Strausburg. Knights have been dispatched, but they will take too long. Move quickly; the trespasser is headed for Sullivav theater.¡± Natalie swore under her breath and bolted out of the Arch Sanctum. She left the temple in a blur of inhuman motion, passing nervous temple staff and panicked patients faster than they could even register her. Out on the street, Natalie sucked in an involuntary and pointless breath as her skin prickled with an ugly itch. The city wards sensed her and the sample of blood she¡¯d provided was the only thing preventing them from frying her like the ghoul-puddles dotting the street. A high-pitched screeching roar caught Natalie¡¯s attention, and she spared a glance toward the eighth district. For Glynn to flip so quickly from wanting Cole in quarantine to wanting him on the frontlines, something bad must have gotten into the city. Hells, anything that could get past the wards had to be nasty, and Natalie really hoped she wouldn¡¯t see Cole die on his birthday. Reaching the inn, Natalie burst through the door, earning some panicked shrieks and shouts from those within it. A flare of silver power shot towards Natalie, and she barely ducked underneath the bolt, avoiding having her face melted off by a holy lance. Still, it came close enough that Natalie felt streaks of her skin molt off into ash. ¡°FIRE-IN-IRON! MINA! IT¡¯S ME!¡± Natalie shouted as she rubbed soot off her face. The Priestess relaxed slightly and shot back. ¡°Jagging announce yourself next time!¡± Blinking away spots, Natalie saw Mina standing nearby, motes of silver dripping from her eyes and hands. Cat-eyes was next to her, a dagger in one hand, a conscripted kitchen knife in the other. Skimming the room, Natalie noted an important absence among the bedraggled celebrants turned refugees within the inn. ¡°Where¡¯s Cole?¡± she asked, wondering if he¡¯d already left for the fight. Heavy footsteps sounded on the inn¡¯s staircase, and a familiar voice said. ¡°I¡¯m here; what news do you bring?¡± Glancing at the stairs, Natalie¡¯s reply died on her tongue, cast down by the warrior-saint descending the stairs. Clad in finely crafted laminar plate, each segment shining blue-black in the dim light was a true knight. A long dark cape fell from the warrior''s shoulders while a foreboding helmet with hinged cheek guards in the imperial style covered his head. Marks of time and death decorated the armor, and Natalie realized she was wrong. This wasn¡¯t a true knight before her, but something greater, a Paladin. Cole, clad in his new armor, looked every centimeter the holy warrior Natalie knew him to be. An intimidating mass of steel and righteous fury, the type of being that could march into a dragon¡¯s den and come out carrying the beast¡¯s head. Letting out a pointless breath, Natalie swallowed nervously, the old habit painful for her undead flesh. Suppressing a cough, she said. ¡°Something big made it through the wards and is attacking Strausburg. Glynn thinks it''s heading for the Sullivav theater, and the city has dispatched knights; they want you to slow it down until help arrives. So¡­ happy birthday, love.¡± A snort of grim humor escaped Cole, and he unsheathed Requiem, growing the weapon into its halberd shape. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving then. Do you have a weapon?¡± Natalie grew a set of cruel blood claws from her fingers and held them up. ¡°I didn¡¯t think to grab my short sword, but I think these will do.¡± Cole almost smiled at that, ¡°I hope so, but still be careful, you might be hard to kill, but you aren¡¯t immortal.¡± Natalie bit back a snarky reply, and Cole addressed the inn¡¯s defenders. ¡°Mina, Alia, can I trust you to defend these people?¡± The warden and priestess looked at each other and then nodded. Alia saying. ¡°Aye, we can do that till help arrives. You two go fuck up whatever ruined the festival.¡± With that, the couple left the inn and ran towards the eighth district. Thunder rumbled, and something massive screeched in the distance. Forcing herself to slow down so Cole could keep up, Natalie asked, ¡°Any idea what we are facing?¡± Cole¡¯s eyes narrowed, ¡°I did manage to catch glimpses of it when it crashed through the wards. Whatever it is, it''s big, can fly, and survived multiple lightning strikes. That doesn¡¯t leave a big list, but nothing on it is pleasant.¡± Sighing, Natalie said. ¡°Well, the peace we¡¯ve had was fun while it lasted. By the way, the armor looks great on you; how does it feel?¡± Cole glanced down at himself and flexed a gauntleted hand. ¡°Emma is a remarkable craftswoman; I¡¯ve never really liked heavy armor, but this¡­ this could change that.¡± He¡¯d discussed his requirements at length with Emma, and she hadn¡¯t balked at any of them. While she did say to temper his expectations on how well she could deliver, Cole felt she delivered above and beyond what he¡¯d asked. The panoply combined modern innovations, ancient techniques, and Emma¡¯s own skill to create a shockingly comfortable suit of plate. It sat well on his broad shoulders and barely hindered his movement, just like the old marching laminar of the empire. Cole needed to see how it would perform in actual combat. Still, so far, it was passing his requirements for mobility easily. Cole watched as Natalie forced herself to slow down for him; while he was certainly faster than any mundane person, Natalie had gotten very good at using the sheer speed of vampire kind. Gritting his teeth, Cole forced himself to ignore his dogmatic desire to protect her. She¡¯d grown stronger over the past few months, and right now, she wasn¡¯t the person in the gravest danger. He was starting to hear panicked screams and shouts from the distance, Cole might be too late for some people, but Natalie wouldn¡¯t be. ¡°I know you can move faster, go ahead, try and help who you can until I get there,¡± Cole growled, his Paladin oaths triumphing over his fear for Natalie. Slipping in close, never breaking stride, Natalie planted a kiss on Cole¡¯s face, an impressive feat considering his helmet. ¡°I love you, and I¡¯ll be careful.¡± Cole just had enough time to respond in kind before she shot towards a nearby building and scrambled up it in heartbeats. Natalie ran and leaped between rooftops, a nimble shadow that melted into the cool spring night. Forcing himself not to think about her risking herself, Cole ran as fast as he could, passing a painted obelisk and entering into Strausburg proper. Screams and crashes grew louder and louder; the monster was nearby. Crossing through a sidestreet and approaching a performance plaza, Cole smelled the monster before he saw it. Burning meat, festering infection, and the unmistakable cloying scent of storm air. The sound of splintering wood and a shrieking roar cut through the tumultuous night. Cole caught sight of debris flying through the air, launched by something huge smashing through the nearby plaza. Finally, Cole rounded another corner and entered the Sullivav plaza, a curse escaping his lips as the source of the destruction finally came into view. ¡°Oh¡­ Jag¡­¡± A colossal reptilian horror plowed through market stalls and wagons like they were shoddy models. Illuminated by burning refuse and scattered glowstones, the monster¡¯s identity was revealed. A Wyvern the size of a large house was destroying the plaza. Lines of bubbling burned flesh stretched across its brown scales, forming a lightning bolt pattern and revealing the injury''s source. Each of its wings was tattered and burnt, the thin membranes torn and seared in countless points. Flailing its horned head, the wyvern slammed into a building, sending a rain of bricks and other wreckage across the plaza. Its huge serpentine tail thrashed about, a tree-trunk-sized whip that destroyed anything in its path. Vines and branches reached out from nearby trees and structures, attempting to ensnare the monster, but it''s frantic spasms broke it free from any grasp. Scanning the plaza, Cole felt his stomach drop as he took in the devastation. The plaza''s centerpiece had been a small stone theater covered by a painted wooden dome; emphasis on had. The Wyvern apparently crashed into the western side of the plaza, evidenced by the flattened building and cracked cobblestone in that direction. Then it rampaged eastward, smashing straight through the theater and reducing the structure to rubble and splinters. The theater had been full, judging by the screams and gore. Cole hesitated then, torn between helping those in the wreckage and preventing further devastation by slaying the Wyvern. But Cole was no longer alone in his struggles, he caught sight of Natalie among the wreckage moving huge chunks of debris, freeing trapped people, and clearing a path for the survivors. She was doing her best to help; now it was Cole¡¯s turn. Checking his equipment, Cole flexed his hands, feeling the spark stone and amulet locked into either palm, a customization to the gauntlets he¡¯d requested from Emma. Holding up Requiem, increasing its length and size, Cole sucked in a breath. Dredging up icy power, he let it flow through his body and into Requiem. Out of curiosity, Cole let some of the cold leak from his flesh into his armor. Spidering frost grew along the plates, and the metal creaked under the magical infusion. Normal cold could render stressed steel brittle, but nothing about Cole¡¯s power was normal. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Running towards the Wyvern, Cole roared. ¡°MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!¡± The monster whipped its head around to see him, and Cole looked into its slitted reptilian eyes and saw madness there. Wyverns are relatively intelligent creatures, originally servitor beasts of the Dragons, now just another breed of predatory monster feared across the world. Pink foaming drool bubbled out of the Wyvern¡¯s toothed maw, and ugly sores wept around its eyes and nose. It was sick and in pain, lashing out at the world around it, equally victim and villain. Coming in low, Cole dodged as the Wyvern snapped at him with huge fanged jaws. The monster¡¯s mouth was big enough Cole could easily fit in it, something he was working very hard to prevent. As he skirted past the head, Cole swung Requiem at the Wyvern¡¯s long serpentine neck. The halberd¡¯s edge cut through steel-hard scales and buried itself in cords of thick muscle. An ear-splitting shriek erupted from the Wyvern, and it thrashed its head, dislodging Requiem and forcing Cole to come in closer to avoid its powerful limbs. Now directly below the monster¡¯s body, Cole drove Requiem up into its carriage-sized chest. Dwarven steel punched through scales and caught on a rib. Cursing, Cole pulled his polearm back for another strike. He never got the chance as the Wyvern fell onto its side and rolled away from him. Its incredible bulk moved with disorienting speed and left Cole exposed to a sweeping tail. The spade-tipped tail whipped towards Cole, and he took the bone-crushing blow full on. He skidded along the cracked cobblestones, his cape snapping free. Crashing into the remains of a market stall, Cole commanded his body to move, and to his surprise, it answered. The Hakon steel of his armor hummed like a gong, and plumes of icy frost billowed off him; Emma¡¯s skill and his own magic had protected him. Getting to his feet, Cole nicked his left palm and fixed his stance, preparing for the charging Wyvern. He could see a slight patch of frostbite spreading along the monster¡¯s neck, but the strikes he¡¯d gotten in wouldn¡¯t be enough against something this large. The Cold of Entropy needed time and preferably more contact with the Wyvern to weaken it. As for his other tools, his spark stone would be useless here. Nothing created by a Dragon would die easily from fire. It¡¯s probably how the Wyvern survived the storm web above the city. This was a creature born of flame and used to flying through storm clouds; it could survive Father Sky¡¯s wrath, perhaps not completely intact, but it could survive it. So steel and frost would be Cole¡¯s tools; he just hoped they would be enough. The Wyvern snapped out with its jaws then, sending a spray of pink spittal onto the stone as Cole dodged. He spared a moment to see the spittal smoke and hiss where it struck; wyverns couldn¡¯t breathe fire, but their mouth housed a concoction of filth, bile, and venom capable of burning stone and liquifying flesh. Cole was not eager to add that method of death to his experiences. Swinging Requiem, Cole went for one of the monster¡¯s arms, trying to cut through the taut muscles supporting the powerful wing. The strike connected, and Cole hit bone, eliciting a horrific shriek from the Wyvern. Forcing physical and magical power into the blow, Cole watched flesh blacken and wither from unnatural cold. The Wyvern tried to roll away again, flopping down on its uninjured limb and hoping to pull free of Cole, something the Paladin had been counting on. His halberd was lodged in magically reinforced bone and further trapped by rapidly freezing flesh. Giving Cole the leverage to hang on and ride the rolling Wyvern. Dangling from Requiem as the Wyvern rolled onto its back, Cole squeezed his weapon with his bloodied palm, shrinking Requiem¡¯s head with a thought. Smiling inside his helmet, Cole remembered how Emma couldn¡¯t understand why he¡¯d want gaps in his gauntlets; well, this was why. The smaller halberd slipped from Wyvern¡¯s flesh, and Cole landed on its chest. It was rolling rapidly, but Cole didn¡¯t need much time; he felt where the ribs were when he landed and knew where to cut. Driving Requiem down, Cole stabbed into thick chest muscles and forced more of his power into the halberd. Flesh froze and snapped, letting Requiem dive deeper into the monster until its tip reached Cole¡¯s prize. Large animals need strong bones and stronger lungs, a rule of nature even magic somewhat respects; Requiem¡¯s killing edge ripped into one of the Wyvern¡¯s lungs and forced the monster to face the consequences of that rule. Yanking his halberd free, Cole let the rolling monster¡¯s momentum slide him along its chest. Stabbing the hooked side of Requiem into the Wyvern¡¯s chest, Cole rode its thrashing body to the ground, cutting a line of red with his controlled descent. Hitting the cobblestones, Cole stumbled away from the wounded Wyvern. Stuck partially on its side like a beached whale, the Wyvern twitched and gurgled as its lung deflated. Carefully moving towards its head, Cole grimaced; liters of blood poured from the Wyvern¡¯s injuries. Eyes rolling, pink sputum dripping from its mouth, the Wyvern tried to scream but couldn¡¯t. The monster was already sick and injured before Cole fought it, and he¡¯d just added to its pain. His initial attempt to give it a clean death failed, forcing him to fight with crueler means. Cole couldn¡¯t help but pity the monster as he stalked toward the twitching head. He¡¯d drowned before, both in water and his own blood; it wasn¡¯t a good way to die. Muttering a prayer in saint-speech, Cole grew Requiem and brought it down on the Wyvern¡¯s neck with all his strength. With a proper angle and momentum, the halberd cut through scales and flesh, only stopping when it caught on the monster¡¯s spine. A lake of boiling hot blood spewed out from the Wyvern as it died. Cole shut his eyes and held his breath as the red tide spilled over him and out along the cobblestones. As the final beats of the Wyvern¡¯s heart emptied its ichor onto the cold stone, Cole gently touched the monster and offered it another prayer. Intelligent for an animal, but still an animal, the Wyvern¡¯s soul should leave without help. Still, Cole ensured it found its way to wherever monstrous souls went. Stepping away from the Wyvern¡¯s head, he walked along its body, feet splashing in blood as he did. Reaching the hind legs and lower abdomen, Cole found what he sought. The final frayed remnants of scorched rope that once bound something to the Wyvern¡¯s belly. Cole thought he¡¯d seen scraps of it earlier and wanted to confirm what he saw. With this information, he better understood what happened. Wyverns were originally created as war animals and beasts of burden by Dragons. They could carry tremendous loads across huge distances with relative ease. Someone with the exact sort of malicious creativity Cole feared decided to drop infected people into Vindabon. Using wyverns and some sort of underslung ¡®carriage¡¯ strapped to the monsters to commit this atrocity. Frowning in sudden worry, Cole peered into the Aether; his increased practice made it easier to use the technique and stop himself from getting glimpses he didn¡¯t want. Only one group of creatures could command a wyvern to undergo such a dangerous mission voluntarily. Cole hoped a dragon wasn¡¯t involved with this. Looking at the spiritual echo of the dead Wyvern, Cole let out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a curse. While the monster may be dead, magic effecting it would take a little time to fade. So Cole got a very good look at the powerful geases and mental bindings inflicted upon the Wyvern. It had not taken this path voluntarily; so no Dragons to worry about for now. Still, something with formidable psychic power and a lack of morals enslaved the Wyvern and probably other monsters for this attack. But that information was secondary to the other revelation Cole uncovered. The Wyvern was infected with the plague, horrifically infected, in fact. Looking down at himself in the Aether, Cole cursed as he saw threads of black filth boil up from his body. Then he looked over to the spreading tide of blood, seeing it slowly bloom out in a lake of infected ichor. He had the plague, it would take time for its symptoms to show, but the Aether reflected the contamination before his body did. Shutting his eyes in exhaustion, Cole knew this was bad; he¡¯d died from the plague before and should be immune. If a new variant of the pestilence was spreading, one strong enough to bypass his unnatural immune system, then things were about to go from horrible to nightmarish. Watching the slowly cooling blood of the Wyvern ooze out in a spreading pool of death, Cole decided desperate times came for desperate measures. Stepping over to the Wyvern¡¯s split-open neck, Cole placed his right hand into the wound still dribbling blood. He made a point of only using his blood to fuel his magic, but when an entire city was at risk, such rules needed to be bent. ¡°Fire, create a pyre, and feast upon this beast.¡± The blood around his hand started to boil and sizzle like hot oil. Flames danced atop the fresh ichor, leaping between puddles and delving into the dead monster¡¯s flesh. Wyverns can withstand incredible temperatures, but having the very blood in their veins ignited was too much. Pulling his hand free of the smoking ichor, ignoring the searing ache, Cole watched the Wyvern burn. Unnaturally red flames cooked through arteries and veins, burning the dead monster from the inside out. The effect was more than disturbing; the Wyvern¡¯s flesh was hardy enough to let the magical fire spread out. It¡¯s innards glowed a horrible scarlet as Cole¡¯s blood magic did its grisly work. The fire didn¡¯t stop with the body either, it followed the growing crimson pool, igniting the shed blood like spilled oil. Standing there, the dancing light of a pyre reflected on his stained armor; Cole looked up at the sky. The storm was settling down, and the last bits of thunder were distant rumblings. A voice from behind him asked. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Cole turned to find a concerned-looking Natalie holding his cloak; she¡¯d found it somehow in the crisis. Glancing past his lover, Cole saw medical wagons wheeling into the square, with the first plague wardens and priests arriving to help the survivors of the theater massacre. A flight of Griffins and Hippogryphs also soon came into sight, giant wings audible over the crackling of flames. Natalie slowly stepped closer to Cole and repeated her question. ¡°Love? What¡¯s wrong?¡± Shaking himself slightly, Cole turned to her. ¡°I have the plague, and so will most of the city by the month¡¯s end.¡± Old instincts made Natalie pull back slightly, but upon remembering what she was, she ran forward and hugged Cole. ¡°You will be okay, right? You¡­ you can just come back if it kills you?¡± Grimacing, Cole said. ¡°Yes, but no one else will have that luxury. This was an attack on the city, the type meant to soften a target, which bodes very poorly.¡± Letting go of Cole, Natalie said. ¡°We might know someone who can help¡­ Glynn seemed to think Isabelle might have some information about the plague.¡± A deep frown settled on Cole¡¯s face, and he shrunk Requiem down and buckled it to his belt. ¡°I will admit even I don¡¯t know everything she researched, so Glynn might have a point.¡± The rustle of wings and call of a great beast caught Cole¡¯s attention as a Griffin landed maybe ten meters away. A large knight, a VERY large knight, in fact, dismounted the hulking creature and came towards them. The warrior was tall as Cole and even broader, resembling nothing so much as a castle wall on two legs. His armor was dark red, and he wore a great helm with a scarlet plume. Holding out a hand, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯m infected with the plague; come no closer.¡± The large knight held out his own hand and flapped it, sending a spray of blood onto the cobblestone. Cole blinked in surprise and realized the knight¡¯s armor wasn¡¯t red at all; he was just covered head to toe in blood. With a booming voice, the newcomer proclaimed. ¡°Ha! If I¡¯m not tainted already, then you certainly won¡¯t do the job!¡± Taking off his helmet, the knight revealed himself to be an old man with a shiny bald head and a full beard. His skin was deeply tanned, while a collection of ritual scars decorated his forehead and scalp. ¡°Ho there! I am Pankrator Marcus! I¡¯ve come to apologize for the delay.¡± Gesturing at the burning Wyvern, the Pankrator continued. ¡°Four more of those creatures were in the sky and needed to be dealt with. Good to see your reputation isn¡¯t overblown, Sir Paladin!¡± Pankrator, the title reserved for martial Paragons sworn to a Temple; they are to Templars what Hierophants are to Priests. Or at least that was the common usage of the word; it had a second meaning as the title applied to Hierophants of Misbegotten War. Which made sense, as every high priest of the Eleventh God was also a fearsome Paragon. Looking at the honor marks cut into Marcus¡¯s skin, Cole guessed the hulking warrior fell under the latter definition. Nodding, Cole asked. ¡°Did any of the wyverns escape? Do you have people disposing of the bodies?¡± Marcus shrugged. ¡°I think we might have missed others, but I have two flights of knights working with a cadre of storm monks to check. As for the ones we took down, well, let''s just say some Pyromancers are earning that title tonight.¡± A little tension left Cole¡¯s shoulders. ¡°What¡¯s next then?¡± Scratching his beard with a blood-stained hand, uncaring of the red smear he left in the gray hair, Marcus gestured at an approaching wagon. ¡°I think that¡¯s up for them to decide.¡± Six plague wardens clad in thick robes and the characteristic beaked mask of the profession dismounted the wagon. Covered head to toe in alchemically treated black leather and layered with blessings, the plague wardens were a mixture of healers, priests, and soldiers trained to deal with pestilence. An unfortunately common occurrence in the Western continent, with a new outbreak stalking the land roughly every fifty to a hundred years. One of the wardens carried a long wooden rod capped in silver. Holding it out, the warden prodded Cole with the rod, letting the silver edge tap his forehead. He winced as it left an itching welt on his forehead, the complicated enchantment reacting to the infection within him. Marcus let himself be subjected to the same procedure, and Cole saw the sigil of illness appear on the Pankrator¡¯s forehead. The inverted hand of healing marked them both as infected, and would take days to fade away. Natalie shied away when the rod came close to her; silver would do more than leave an itching welt on her skin. Cole held up a hand and said. ¡°She isn¡¯t infected; she can¡¯t be.¡± The plague warden glanced at his colleagues, the unnerving glass eyes of their masks hiding any expression. Natalie opened her mouth and showed her fangs then. The wardens recoiled at the sight but didn¡¯t press the issue; Natalie¡¯s presence in the city was more than well-known at this point. Gesturing at the rod, Natalie asked, ¡°What is that? I¡¯ve never seen one before.¡± In a muffled voice, one of the wardens answered. ¡°It''s an ancient Caduceus; they are irreplaceable relics from the Old Empire.¡± Natalie nodded; that made sense. If magic disease-sensing sticks existed, there had to be a good reason one wasn¡¯t in every village across the world. Careful not to get too close to the infected knights, the Wardens gestured to the wagon they arrived in. The talkative one explained. ¡°We are setting up quarantine and tirage centers at the different Temples. Wait while we gather up other confirmed infected for transport.¡± ¡°Are you headed for the Tenth Temple?¡± Natalie asked the warden. He nodded, sending his beaked mask bobbing in a display both comical and creepy. ¡°Probably, it''s one of the closer ones, and it''s also well equipped to handle the ill.¡± Sighing, Natalie leaned against the cart Cole, and Marcus were getting into. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll go with you then.¡± An unspoken message flicked between Cole and Natalie. She would consult with Isabelle and gather useful information about the plague. Glynn must have found something in the records to indicate Isabelle¡¯s history was relevant to a new plague variety. Natalie vainly hoped whatever the old monster was involved with wasn¡¯t too terrible¡­ Book III: Chapter 4: Reversal of Fortune

Chapter 4: Reversal of Fortune

¡°The current strain exceeds our expectations. Symptoms start within the first hour after exposure, and we¡¯ve not had a single subject last twenty-four hours before becoming a Screamer. While magical healing can negate this set of symptoms, that factor does come with its own advantages. Waves of infection can tie down enemy Spellweavers and exhaust them. The new plague won¡¯t kill the Holy League, but it will cripple it.¡± - Report by Lord Aloysius Wolfgang on the effectiveness of the ¡®Screaming Plague.¡¯
Natalie watched as more people were loaded into the wagon by the plague wardens. Many were survivors of the theatre attack, and they looked at Natalie with fear and respect. She¡¯d shifted rubble and carried the injured clear of the disaster while Cole faced the Wyvern. Glancing at the monster¡¯s still burning carcass, Natalie could hardly believe Cole killed it. Not only had he faced the Wyvern and bested it, he¡¯d done it with relative ease. It was clear Natalie wasn¡¯t the only one with strengthening skills. The air stunk of burning flesh and diseased blood, something Natalie was thankful for. When she¡¯d been helping people in the theatre, the scent of spilled blood almost got to her a few times. Every time the thirst stirred, she touched her amulet, letting its cold power shock the hungry thoughts away. So far, her methods were working, and it had been weeks since Natalie lost control. Still looking at the Wyvern, Natalie wondered what would have happened if she¡¯d consumed its lifeblood. Cole denied her that opportunity, and she was a little thankful the temptation never presented itself. A wyvern¡¯s blood would certainly be powerful, and with Isabelle¡¯s help, she might have been able to make a bone-bound familiar from the monster. But the stink of the plague and her recent experience with corrupting draconic power made her leery. A whistle caught Natalie''s attention, and she saw the wagon carrying the infected was moving, the two workhorses pulling their burden with plodding strength. Walking alongside the cart, Natalie watched as Cole and the Pankrator healed their fellow passengers. Both were old hands at bandaging injuries and had some modicum of healing magic. Cole still couldn¡¯t do much more than accelerate skin growth, but it was enough to make wrapping treated linen around cuts and scrapes easier. Other wagons held the more seriously injured, with squads of plague warden healers trying to keep them alive long enough to reach the Temple. As the cart exited the plaza, Natalie realized someone was watching her. Looking at the wagon, she realized one of the infected was staring at her, a little girl, maybe ten at the oldest, with curly brown hair and haunted eyes. The inverted hand marked her forehead, and the girl¡¯s arm hung in an improvised sling. Natalie vaguely remembered helping free the girl and her mother from collapsed debris. Glancing at the other passengers, Natalie realized the girl was alone. Meaning her mother was among the more severely injured¡­ or waiting for final rites. The child stared at Natalie for a time, not saying anything and making Natalie consider if the girl was in shock or severely concussed. Reaching an intersection, the wagon turned sharply as it tried to share the road with too many of its fellows, and the girl almost slipped over the side. Natalie rushed forward and put a hand on the child¡¯s side, steadying her. The jostled child blinked in surprise and looked at Natalie. In a voice raspy from pain, the girl asked. ¡°Are you the vampire?¡± Pulling her hand away, Natalie said. ¡°Yes, yes, I am.¡± Frowning with the overt confusion only small children can muster, the girl muttered. ¡°Mommy said you were a monster, but you still helped us.¡± Natalie smiled, making sure her fangs didn¡¯t show. ¡°Some monsters don¡¯t want to be monsters.¡± The child nodded slightly, and her eyes unfocused, exhaustion claiming her ability to think properly. As they left Strausburg, the smell of burning Wyvern became less pronounced, replaced with a general malaise of fear, blood, and disease; all things Natalie¡¯s nose was primed for. Occasionally they¡¯d pass by smoldering piles of ash, still licked by silver embers, the only remnants of the dropped ghouls. Natalie¡¯s skin prickled every time she got close, the active wards sniffing her and deciding whether they should strike. It made Natalie want to shiver in discomfort; at least she now knew Argentari¡¯s plan wasn¡¯t completely idiotic. If those wards were sicced upon Scapin and Dietrich, they wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance, even with the Alukah¡¯s blood. It didn¡¯t take long for the Tenth Temple to come into sight, its great black belfry looming over the nearby buildings. Vindabon was home to ten great temples along with myriad shrines and minor sanctums. Natalie¡¯s research during the Heartstealer hunt told her that much, but it hadn¡¯t revealed much about the Eleventh God and his Temple. Looking at the Pankrator, who was busy keeping the spirits of the infected up by sharing amusing stories, Natalie decided if strife was coming, she needed to look into Misbegotten War and his followers. Natalie could still remember when she learned about the hidden god; like much of her taboo knowledge, it originally came from Barnabas. He¡¯d referenced Misbegotten War during a long profanity-laden rant about banditry she¡¯d overheard. Later Natalie asked her mother about the Eleventh God and was told little about this unknown deity. ¡°Sometimes you have to fight to survive; that¡¯s just a fact of life. Misbegotten War is the God of those times, and just as we never wish to be in those situations, we never call upon him without need.¡± The Eleventh God: patron of soldiers, strugglers, survivors, and anyone else who fights for a worthy cause. Peace is a fleeting thing in a world filled with magical and mundane dangers. Since before history began, humanity has been at war with countless threats, and out of that strife, Misbegotten War arose. The embodiment of exactly what victory requires and all that entails. As she thought about it, Natalie wondered if Misbegotten War even had a temple. She¡¯d heard battle cries were his prayers and combat his rituals, so perhaps the Eleventh counted every fortress and watch station as his holy ground? Maybe she could ask the Pankrator if she got an opportunity; learning about the God of War and his followers generally felt prudent after tonight''s madness. Finally reaching the Temple, Natalie was surprised to see pavilions had been set up across the statue garden surrounding the temple. They¡¯d been erected very quickly and were currently working as triage and testing centers for those injured or exposed to the infected. Natalie marveled at the professional efficiency and was reminded exactly how much wealth and power Vindabon held. She was in one of the greatest cities in the Holy League, and that fact was displayed in both times of celebration and crisis. Except usually such times were separated by more than a few hours¡­ Cole stepped off the wagon and started helping his fellow infected off the cart; Natalie considered stepping forward to help but decided against it. A single person recognizing her and making a scene would completely negate any aid she provided. Plague wardens herded the infected towards a pavilion, and Cole caught Natalie¡¯s hand as he was guided away. ¡°Find out what you can.¡± Squeezing his hand, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯ll try my best.¡± she then watched as he was led away. Standing for a long moment, Natalie sucked in a pointless breath and nearly gagged on the smell of sterilizing chemicals and pungent medicine. Entire vats of different alchemical concoctions must have been dredged up from somewhere. Rubbing her nose, Natalie started walking towards the Temple''s main doors. Finding out what Isabelle knew, if anything, was her next task. As she got close, a plague warden stopped Natalie with an outstretched hand. As Natalie started to explain herself, the warden cut her off. ¡°I know who and what you are. You might be clean, but your clothes and skin aren¡¯t. Follow me so we can cleanse you before the emergency council.¡± Frowning, Natalie followed after the warden, trying to place the familiar voice. ¡°Hey, aren¡¯t you¡­¡± Flicking her beak mask back towards Natalie, the warden grunted. ¡°I am Priestess Rihan, and yes, we¡¯ve met.¡± Thinking back to her last meeting with the taciturn Corpse-Tender, Natalie asked. ¡°So, did you learn more about the Hellspawn infection?¡± Mask bobbing in a nod, Rihan said. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve actually been busy with the Louon bodies. The dead Housemarked and few intact Louons have been fascinating. Liam Louon, in particular, was interesting, even with the damage inflicted during your capture of him.¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie felt a little sick at Rihan¡¯s words. While she wasn¡¯t nearly the innocent village girl who¡¯d lost herself on seeing the Vryko Ghouls, Natalie still didn¡¯t like to think about anatomical dissection, especially of people she¡¯d known, no matter how terrible they¡¯d been. Forcing down the discomfort, Natalie had an idea. ¡°Would it be possible to read a report of your findings sometime?¡± Due to the mask, it was difficult to tell, but Natalie was reasonably certain Rihan was surprised by the request. After a few seconds, the Corpse-Tender answered. ¡°You have general archive access, so that shouldn¡¯t be a problem.¡± Smiling with her teeth hidden, Natalie said. ¡°Thank you!¡± Isabelle once expressed interest in learning more about the internal ¡®workings¡¯ of Liam Louon. The information Rihan uncovered might be a useful bargaining token with the old monster. Rihan led Natalie into a smaller pavilion that stunk of cleansing tinctures. Two other plague wardens waited inside the tent, each holding buckets of something that smelled like herbs and ammonia. Without warning, the buckets were emptied over Rihan and Natalie¡¯s heads. Sputtering and cursing, Natalie didn¡¯t even sense the second or third buckets until they struck. Eyes and mouth clamped shut to avoid the stinging chemicals, Natalie frantically covered her nose as the cleansing mixtures were washed away with cold water. Finally opening her eyes, Natalie looked down at her ruined dress and briefly considered killing everyone else in the pavilion. Deciding the catharsis wasn¡¯t worth it; Natalie let herself be led out of the tent and finally towards the Temple¡¯s entrance. Deciding to change her focus from imagining how Rihan would taste, Natalie asked. ¡°You said something about a council?¡± Rihan answered. ¡°The Temple leadership and a bunch of other people are meeting to discuss matters. It¡¯s starting soon, and they want you for some reason.¡± Sighing, Natalie tried to squeeze some fluid out of her soaked dress. ¡°Do I have time to change?¡± They passed through the great temple doors then, and Rihan grabbed something from a pile next to one of the guard stations. The plague warden tossed the bundle to Natalie, and she caught what was quickly revealed to be a utilitarian smock of light grey linen. Rihan explained. ¡°You have maybe five minutes; the meeting will be in the sky garden.¡± Blinking in confusion, Natalie asked, ¡°The what?¡± Head cocked to the side in a distinctly avian fashion, Rihan snapped. ¡°You¡¯ve been living in the Temple for months and never noticed what''s on the southern roof?¡± Shaking her head, Natalie snapped. ¡°Clearly, so can you please give me directions?¡± Rihan obliged, giving terse instructions on how to reach the secluded rooftop. Rushing through the twisting hallways of the Temple, Natalie put her inhuman dexterity to its ultimate test, trying to change out of soaked clothes while on the move. Thankfully Rihan¡¯s directions took Natalie through some of the less busy sections of the Temple, preserving her modesty even as she fought ill-fitting fabric. After multiple staircases and a little bit of backtracking, Natalie found the sky garden¡¯s entrance in the form of a painted set of double doors. The image of a great crow in flight adorned the doors, its grasping talons sticking out of the wood as unique handles. Reaching out to grip the talon, Natalie admired the creative mix of mediums and examined the painted corvid. The icon was old and weatherbeaten, but something about it called to Natalie. Perhaps the way the crow¡¯s eyes shone or the way the wood¡¯s grain fed into the painted feathers. Right before Natalie¡¯s hand would¡¯ve touched the talon, the door swung open, and a blast of cold night air greeted her. Blinking away the wind, Natalie found a pair of heavily armed templars standing before her. They nodded to her, and the shorter of the pair said. ¡°They are expecting you.¡± Offering her own nod of thanks, Natalie passed between the templars and into the sky garden. Nestled between two taller sections of the Temple and sitting in the shadow of the arch sanctum¡¯s dome, the garden occupied a flat section of roof invisible from the street below. Shaped like an oval, with the long edges kissing the sanctum dome and the roof¡¯s edge, the garden was a somber place of dark tile. Despite being called a garden, the space lacked anything green or growing. Instead, carved stone slabs sat in formation around a small cupola supported by thick columns. Voices came from inside the cupola, and Natalie walked toward them, sparing a glance at the waist-high stone slabs that surrounded the central structure. Sudden realization made Natalie stop mid-stride as she looked at one of the slabs; they were biers, places for corpses to be set out. Sucking in a useless breath and musing on the Tenth Temple¡¯s morbid predictability, Natalie approached the cupola, trying to figure out why you¡¯d have fifty or so biers on a building''s roof. Slipping past one of the large, intricately carved columns, Natalie entered the cupola and found maybe thirty people beneath the small tiled dome. She recognized many of them as Hierophants of the different Temples, with a few others being vaguely familiar faces from the DeMello ball. Uncertain of what to do, Natalie leaned against one of the columns and watched the heated discussion happening among the city officials. ¡°This has been a brazen attack on our city! We need to recall soldiers immediately to strengthen our defenses in the face of another assault!¡± barked a nobleman with ridiculous muttonchops. Muttonchops was quickly challenged by a Priestess in the colors of Mother Earth. ¡°Vindabon is more than capable of defending itself. All recalling soldiers would do is break quarantine and weaken the Southern Marches.¡± A little surprised she hadn¡¯t been noticed, Natalie listened to the argument and a dozen similar ones. The sky garden was clearly hosting a meeting of Vindabon¡¯s leadership, trying to coordinate a response to the attack, which did make some sense but didn¡¯t explain why Natalie was summoned. More people steadily filtered into the cupola as the minutes burned on, arriving either by the entrance Natalie used or by flying mounts. A dozen griffins and hippogryphs landed at the sky garden¡¯s edge and deposited their riders before soaring away. Something that helped explain the curious meeting location, the sky garden acted as the Tenth Temples'' griffin port. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. With every new arrival, Natalie expected someone to finally notice her and cause problems. Standing by herself, dressed in a grey smock with still-wet hair, she didn¡¯t blend in at all. Yet, somehow, she avoided attention and kept up her strange confused vigil. Natalie was tempted to go over toward Glynn or Nyami and try to learn more about what was happening, but nostalgia and exhaustion convinced her otherwise. It had been a while since people ignored Natalie, something she used to hate as a barmaid in Glockmire. As a vampire in Vindabon, the lack of prying eyes or nervous whispers was a balm, especially among such powerful people. Reaching into the bundle of soaked clothes she still held under one arm, Natalie fished out the bone charm Isabelle made for her. Squinting at the runebone, Natalie mused if it was the source of her obscuration. She thought she¡¯d deactivated the magic before the party but didn¡¯t know enough about it to be certain. A nearby voice caught Natalie¡¯s ear, and it took her a moment to realize she was being addressed. ¡°I hear you¡¯ve had an eventful evening.¡± With a sigh, Natalie looked up to Hierophant Alexo Argentari standing nearby. The heavy-set Priest was playing with a coin, dancing it between his fingers in what Natalie was fairly certain was a display of nerves. Tucking the runebone away, Natalie grumbled, ¡°How is it you are the first person to notice me all evening?¡± Argentari smiled slightly. ¡°Because I¡¯m the reason no one has noticed you all evening. Your presence would be distracting, and bluntly we don¡¯t have the time for the usual fuss you provoke.¡± Clicking her fangs together in annoyance, Natalie snapped. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you asked before casting some obscuration spell on me.¡± Nodding, Argentari said. ¡°That was impolite of me; I¡¯m sorry, and I¡¯m sorry for dragging you to this meeting.¡± Sighing, Natalie was glad to have one of her questions answered. ¡°So you called me here; why?¡± A wave of weariness passed over Argentari, his eyes unfocusing momentarily before snapping back to Natalie. ¡°Do you know what a reverse martyr is?¡± Natalie shook her head. ¡°I know what a martyr is, someone who dies for others. So I¡¯m guessing it''s someone who sacrifices others to survive.¡± Argentari¡¯s smile returned. ¡°A good if grim guess. No, a reverse martyr is someone burdened by surviving where others cannot and carrying on their will. For example, imagine a squad of soldiers on patrol encounters a feral Giant. The soldiers are doomed; they lack the training and equipment to kill the monster. But information about the threat can¡¯t die with them; people need to be warned. So one of the soldiers becomes a reverse martyr, the chosen survivor who abandons their friends to ensure they don¡¯t die in vain.¡± Eyes narrowing, Natalie muttered. ¡°How lovely. So explain what that has to do with me.¡± Giving her a flat stare, Argentari said. ¡°My agents are bringing horrific stories of plague in the south. No one has heard from Harmas in months, and army scouts have found villages scoured of life by the pestilence. If this new contagion is in the city, I fear it will reap a terrible toll.¡± Looking over the five dozen or so people assembled in the rotunda, Argentari explained. ¡°You are one of the handful of people in Vindabon completely immune to the plague, and of that handful, no one else has a God vouching for them.¡± Understanding crept through Natalie and, with it, cold dread. ¡°I¡¯m here in case the plague kills everyone at this meeting.¡± Argentari nodded. ¡°I apologize for forcing you into this role, but for this meeting, a trusted witness must survive.¡± Frowning, Natalie was about to ask what he meant by that when the flapping of great wings filled the night. A pure white hippogryph flanked by two armored griffins landed at the sky garden¡¯s edge. Lady Isibeth Franz, acting liege of Vindabon, dismounted from her beast and stormed towards the rotunda; two fully armored knights trying to keep up with her. Still wearing her festival regalia, Lady Franz looked furious, her grey eyes alight with palpable rage. Marching into the rotunda like a storm of fine fabrics and ceremonial armor, the acting liege snapped. ¡°Our city was attacked tonight. I want answers and plans now!¡± A grim-looking noble with a drooping mustache stepped forward. ¡°Our current reports say twenty Mountain Wyverns flew over the city starting shortly before tenth bell, just when many revelers would be heading home or changing locations. Each wyvern was burdened with plague victims, which they dropped. We think there was supposed to be one wyvern for every city district.¡± The crowd of officials parted for Lady Franz, and she stepped onto a small dias in the rotunda¡¯s center; Natalie hadn¡¯t noticed it earlier with people crowded around it. Auburn curls bounced as Lady Franz spun in a slow circle so that she could view her hastily assembled court. ¡°Why didn¡¯t the city wards detect these monsters? Don¡¯t the First and Seventh Temples have methods of protecting the sky?¡± All eyes fell upon a stern Hierophant clad in stormcloud robes. Bowing his head, the Priest of Father Sky rumbled. ¡°Most of the city¡¯s passive wards are still damaged, including some of our watchers. The wyverns flew right above where the weakened wards could detect them. As for those sworn to Aunt Huntress, their defenses deter monsters from wandering too close to the city; they¡¯d have little effect on creatures enslaved by the Leeches.¡± Lady Franz stopped her movement and stared at the Hierophant as the implications sunk in. ¡°They flew right above the watcher wards? Could previous more subtle incursions be how they learned where to fly?¡± Pursing his lips, the bearded Hierophant picked his words carefully. ¡°It¡¯s possible but unlikely; sensing exactly where the watchers are without triggering one would be prohibitively difficult. Especially considering the rituals we¡¯ve been doing to repair the wards.¡± Natalie shut her eyes and sighed. Argentari said he needed a ¡®trusted witness,¡¯ and now she understood why. It seemed like the Duchies managed to get sensitive and precise information about Vindabon¡¯s defenses. Someone in the halls of power was spying for the vampires. The implications of the Hierophant¡¯s report were not lost on most of the court. While no one said anything, Natalie could see a slight shift in body language go through the crowd. The tensing of shoulders, quick glances at neighbors, the sort of thing a social animal¡­ or social predator like Natalie knew how to spot. Lady Franz didn¡¯t give her court time to fret, moving on to the next question. ¡°Did we manage to destroy the wyverns, at least?¡± The noble with the drooping mustaches said. ¡°Eight managed to escape the summoned storm, and half of those have been dealt with, while the other four are being tracked by our knights. We think roughly ten of them were killed by lightning.¡± Another noble, this one with a squint her monocle didn¡¯t quite fix, elaborated. ¡°I¡¯ve personally seen a large collection of burnt bones rain down upon my borough; I expect we will be finding bits of wyvern on rooftops for weeks.¡± Eyes narrowing, Lady Franz asked, ¡°What about the other two wyverns?¡± Hierophant Glynn stepped forward then. ¡°One managed to survive and land in Strausburg, my Temple¡¯s Paladin dispatched it.¡± That got a few looks of shock from court members, and Natalie couldn¡¯t help but feel a little smug pride at her partner¡¯s accomplishments. Lady Franz asked. ¡°Then are we missing a wyvern? Where is the last one?¡± The Hierophant of Father Sky said. ¡°We don¡¯t know; it took multiple lightning strikes and was headed southeast when it passed outside the storm and our ability to sense it.¡± Setting her jaw, the acting liege turned to the noble with the mustaches. ¡°Sir Falks, I trust you will have more knights dispatched to find and deal with this monster?¡± Sir Falks nodded and slammed a fist to his chest in a salute. ¡°I already have a triad of scout griffins searching the skies in that area. We will confirm its death by sight or sword soon enough.¡± Accepting that, Lady Franz asked. ¡°Then what about the plague? Do we think it''s the same pestilence as in the South? Argentari spoke then. ¡°Yes, that is likely; I¡¯ve sent what information we have about the ¡®Screaming Plague¡¯ to every Temple and healer within the city. If it''s treated with magic in the first hour after exposure, it''s not that much different from the usual plague. A bit faster acting if my reports are correct, but if we miss that window, it becomes much nastier. The infected are reduced to¡­ well, bluntly, they start acting like Grinning Ghouls while they are still alive. According to the Seers, who¡¯ve examined the ¡®Screamers,¡¯ their minds are overwhelmed with rage and pain. We¡­ we don¡¯t have a known case of a Screamer recovering once they enter that state.¡± Letting out a breath, Lady Franz said. ¡°We need every Priest and Magi in the city working to treat every suspected infected. The city is to enter full quarantine, and I want the Watch prepared for any infected we miss. Give them full permission to requisition whatever they need to capture people alive. Vindabon is not a rural Marcher town; we will try and cure any Screamers that might slip through our net.¡± Another court member, this one clad in unadorned armor with ritual scars on her forehead, asked. ¡°Have we considered the possibility this is the prelude to further attacks? Sowing panic, chaos, and the plague across the city would be an excellent way to weaken us before a greater offensive.¡± Sir Falks answered. ¡°According to our information, the lines south of Harmas still hold. To me, it seems likely this isn¡¯t an attempt to cripple Vindabon before an invasion but instead an attempt to limit aid to the Southern Marches. Most of the soldiers and supplies headed for the front pass-through Vindabon. If we are forced to isolate ourselves, then much of the League¡¯s support will be bottlenecked.¡± Argentari spoke then in a strangely sing-song fashion. ¡°Perhaps whatever befalls Harmas is a rehearsal for our current woes? The silencing of an entire city by plague and panic has maimed morale and momentum. If our southern stronghold is silenced and the supply lines snipped, we must steady ourselves for strife.¡± No one remarked about Argentari¡¯s word choice, and Natalie gave the Quicksilver Player a strange look. Something about the alliteration stuck to Natalie¡¯s mind, and she made a mental note to ask him about it later. Someone in the crowd snorted indignantly; a willowy woman reaching middle age with pale blond hair fixed in place by bejeweled pins. ¡°Strife is already upon us, merchant! The city has been attacked, and we can¡¯t do anything but wait for the pestilence to take its tithe!¡± Lady Franz addressed the thin noblewoman. ¡°Duchess Carolina, this is not the time for hysterics. We face a crisis, but this isn¡¯t the first or the last Vindabon will wether under my family¡¯s leadership.¡± Something about the exchange stunk to Natalie, reeking of deeper issues and political posturing. Glancing at Argentari, she noted the spymaster wore a very thin smile, the closest she¡¯d seen to his normally jovial air all evening. Yes, more was happening beneath the surface, and Natalie knew she¡¯d have to dive into the matter eventually. Watching the Quicksilver Master, Natalie licked a fang in annoyance. His whole declaration of her being a ¡®reverse martyr¡¯ felt like the first layer of some political povitica. He¡¯d brought her to this important meeting, probably without getting proper permission, for more reasons than having an undead witness. Gently chewing her lip, Natalie watched the meeting continue. Turning from the initial sharing of information to now finalizing plans and preparations on how to deal with a plague-ridden city. Natalie tried to absorb everything, but details started to blur together after the first fifteen minutes of bureaucratic minutia. Thankfully the meeting came to a close soon after the half-hour mark. With a plan of action decided and divided between responsible parties, the court of Vindabon started to disperse. Griffins and hippogryphs came to some unheard call and took their masters away. While those without a flying mount were forced to leave the sky garden by the door Natalie used. Eventually, the sky garden emptied until three people stood in it; Glynn, Argentari, and Natalie. The formerly crowded rotunda suddenly felt much bigger with only the trio inside it. Glynn¡¯s inhumanly perfect face was set in a discordant frown, and he asked. ¡°Was the hex you put on the Duchess really necessary?¡± Argentari shrugged and said. ¡°I wanted to confirm my suspicions; she¡¯s influenced by something, my spell poked the suture, and she reacted.¡± Frowning, Natalie guessed. ¡°So that''s what your alliteration was about? You were casting a spell?¡± The Player nodded. ¡°Yes, just a little psychic prod to see what budged in Duchess Carolina Franzia¡¯s mind. I wrapped the spell in magical subtlety as well, but let you and a few others peek past the curtain.¡± Glynn¡¯s slanted eyes fell on Natalie, and he asked. ¡°How is Cole? I heard he was victorious but not much else.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t know if Argentari dropped his spell on her or if Glynn could just cut through it; both seemed possible. ¡°He¡¯s infected, which proves this is a new plague. I think he¡¯s died from the plague before, or at least had it; either way, he should be immune to the normal strain. So whatever this is, it''s new, and I¡¯ve not been able to consult with my mentor about it yet.¡± A low, tired breath escaped the Temple Keeper, and Glynn mused. ¡°It¡¯s difficult to believe what Cole is. I¡¯ve looked through the records and found nothing close to him.¡± Shaking his head as if to dispel thoughts, Glynn added. ¡°Ultimately, that matters little; Master Time has marked Cole, and I won¡¯t second-guess my God.¡± Argentari made a low snort of disapproval. ¡°The Pantheon isn¡¯t infallible; neither are their champions; Paladins have been subverted before.¡± Slightly unsettled by that pronouncement, Natalie asked. ¡°Alright, so why did you really drag me into this Argentari? A scribe could¡¯ve taken notes of the meeting; it wasn¡¯t exactly something that needed a reverse martyr.¡± Playing with his beard, Argentari looked up into the rotunda¡¯s cupola. ¡°I¡¯m trying to rectify my mistakes and treat you like an important ally instead of a potential threat. I wasn¡¯t overstating your value as a trusted vampire during a plague. Having someone who can safely move between quarantined areas will be invaluable.¡± Natalie sighed and rolled her hand, gesturing for Argentari to skip past his surface reasons. The Quicksilver Master snorted in amusement and added. ¡°I also wanted to know if you sensed anything from the people here at this meeting.¡± Glynn started to pace around the rotunda, and Natalie watched him while she tried to sift through her recollection of events. ¡°Nothing abnormal, just your spells and¡­ well, this whole place feels odd. I thought at first it was all the Priests and Magi, but now that they are gone, something about the sky garden doesn¡¯t feel¡­ right.¡± Clicking his tongue, Argentari pointed up into the cupola, and Natalie followed his finger and looked at the dome more closely. What she¡¯d initially assumed were simple patterns in the stone was quickly revealed to be runes, thousands upon thousands of runes lining the entire inside of the dome. Dangling from the apex of the cupola on a chain was a metal brazier glowing with fire. As she stared at the brazier dangling, maybe four meters above her head, Natalie realized she couldn¡¯t smell the fire. Slightly unnerved, sniffing the air for any smoke of incense, Natalie asked. ¡°What is this place?¡± Glynn answered. ¡°An Iskani Mortaeium, it¡¯s a man-made place of power and one of the few things left from the original Temple of Vindabon. Pestilence cannot spread beneath its roof, prying eyes are blinded by its light, and corpses placed upon the biers are protected from decay until they share their final truths. This was once a place of powerful ritual and remembrance, but now we use it for meetings where secrecy is paramount.¡± Touching one of the columns, Natalie suddenly felt very small in this ancient structure. It was built by the Old Empire and survived a millennium of calamities. Swallowing down that humbling thought, Natalie asked. ¡°So what were you hoping I¡¯d sense?¡± Argentari answered. ¡°The revelation that vampires can use the Alukah¡¯s blood to bypass wards and other defenses is¡­ profoundly unsettling. We¡¯d known about Daywalkers for nearly a century, but the full danger they represent was unknown until you came to us. Vampires have probably been slipping into Vindabon, and Pantheon knows where else unobstructed for several lifetimes. Sowing all manner of hateful seeds we now need to find before they grow into true threats.¡± Thinking to the willowy blond noblewoman and her outburst, Natalie guessed. ¡°And you think the Duchess is one of those seeds? You were hoping I could detect some imprint of a ¡®Daywalker,¡¯ as you call the blood users?¡± Glynn nodded. ¡°Yes, especially with the unique features of this sanctum at work. Argentari¡¯s psychic ¡®poke¡¯ wouldn¡¯t have been so effective elsewhere. We know someone or something has altered her mind; we just don¡¯t know the exact details.¡± Natalie grimaced. ¡°I guess ambushing her with a powerful Seer isn¡¯t an option?¡± Argentari made an amused sound. ¡°Not unless we have adamant-clad evidence something foul is behind the alterations. Until we know more, it could be something as banal as a magically repressed memory or treated phobia.¡± Sighing, Natalie stepped out of the rotunda. ¡°Well, if I can help, I will. Till then, I¡¯m going to check on Cole and then speak with my mentor.¡± Argentari called after her. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you or Glynn would be willing to share who this mentor of yours is?¡± Resisting the urge to flip him a rude gesture, Natalie just shook her head. ¡°I¡­ appreciate these efforts to ¡®rectify your mistakes,¡¯ but bluntly, I still don¡¯t like you.¡± The Quicksilver Player made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh. ¡°Fair enough. But if you do find out anything valuable, please share it. My mistakes were born of paranoia and overconfidence; learn from them.¡± Walking towards the talon door, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Good advice; I hope we both follow it.¡± Book III: Chapter 5: Knowledge of Suffering.

Chapter 5: Knowledge of Suffering

¡°He is death¡¯s disciple, death¡¯s apostle, and death¡¯s heretic! He is the sworn knight of Time and Blood! He is consort to Red Dawn and Ivory Dusk! He is the first and final of his kind. He is between diamond and dirt. He will guard the¡­ the¡­ oh Fixed Stars¡­¡± - Testimony of Jude the Sibylline to the Hidden Choir.
Cole sat on a too-small wooden cott and felt himself growing sick. Staring out at the surrounding clinic with tired eyes, the Paladin watched as infected people were shepherded into the quarantine ward. Still wearing armor, Cole tried to sit still, fearing any sudden movement of his steel-clad bulk would splinter the flimsy cott he rested on. He¡¯d been offered a private room when such things were being decided but declined. The Temple would be squeezed for space, having to give up two full wards to the quarantined. They¡¯d need their private rooms for the traditionally sick and dying. So he sat alone, wondering if the slight shiver he experienced was from being slightly damp or slightly diseased. His armor had been covered in wyvern blood and similar filth, so he¡¯d been doused in cleaning tonics and cold water. Of course, he could have changed out of the soaked armor and underclothes, but healthy paranoia told Cole to suffer the discomfort if it meant staying prepared. This wasn¡¯t his usual paranoia either; after Natalie left, a messenger arrived with a letter bearing the mark of Uncle Trickster. The note contained worrying details about a new variant of plague and what little information Argentari knew about events. Later inside the clinic, when Cole got word of the missing wyvern, he felt morbidly vindicated in keeping his armor on. The night¡¯s horrors might only be starting. Cole shivered violently, and the room swam around him. Shutting his eyes, Cole fought the nausea overtaking him. Hands set on his knees, Cole debated calling upon his power. It would dull his suffering and maybe help his body fight the infection, but somehow that felt like a waste. Argentari¡¯s note said everyone infected needs to be magically cleansed within an hour of exposure or risk a terrible affliction. Using his remaining power to steady himself seemed terribly selfish to Cole; he¡¯d keep his reserve for when it was truly needed. A familiar voice forced Cole to open his eyes. ¡°Wow, you look like shit.¡± Alia Cat-eyes stood in front of him, sporting the red welt of quarantine on her forehead. Grunting in acknowledgment, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯ve had the plague before; this is only the start.¡± Grimacing, Alia squatted down next to him and rubbed her marked forehead. ¡°Mina wants you; the healers need anyone with magical power, but they are too intimidated to ask you directly.¡± Sighing, Cole got to his feet, ¡°They are running low already?¡± Nodding, Alia tried to pull herself up and nearly toppled over. Cole gripped her forearm and helped steady her. Cursing, Alia muttered. ¡°Gorey guts! I thought the healers said we had half a day before the symptoms really started!¡± Cole grimly replied. ¡°These are just the precursors; we¡¯ll be puking up blood and developing buboes by the morning.¡± Alia lost a little of her braggadocio at the thought and lulled behind Cole. She caught up to him just as Cole left the ward and passed into the clinic atrium. The well-lit space held dozens of Priests and Magi sorting through over a hundred scared-looking vindabonites. Plague wardens brought in new batches of confirmed infected who were cleansed by the magically gifted and sorted into the wards by mundane healers. The whole thing had a rhythm to it, reminding Cole strangely of a guild workshop or something similar. Mina was standing near the atrium¡¯s center, aiding a line of infected that stretched from her to the chamber¡¯s entrance. Cole approached her and slipped off his gauntlets, hooking them to his belt. ¡°What can I do to help?¡± Blinking up at him, a shockingly weary-looking Mina took a moment to register his words. ¡°Oh! Uh, just put your hand on the infected and let a little power wash over them.¡± Whispering slightly, she elaborated. ¡°It¡¯s kinda like freeing someone, but you must go slower. Just letting the power flow through them completely.¡± Nodding, Cole approached the line of worried people and winced when they shied away from him. Grunting in annoyance, Mina grabbed one of the patients and pulled him towards Cole. Muttering, ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this.¡± before addressing the crowd, ¡°Okay, people, this is the Paladin you¡¯ve probably all heard about; he¡¯s really powerful and can cleanse people as well.¡± The grabbed patient was handed off to Cole, who put a huge hand on the man¡¯s forehead. Shutting his eyes, Cole peered into the Aether and tried to follow Mina¡¯s advice. Icy power flowed out from Cole and into the man¡¯s body, forcing him to shudder and shiver. Where freeing a soul was like breaking the last bonds between flesh and ephemera, this was more like bathing a person in power. Letting a wave of steady cold energy touch the body, mind, and soul. As the wave passed through the man¡¯s flesh, something inside him reacted. Cole frowned as he sensed another presence, a flicker of awareness hiding within the Aether. It was like some creature poked out of its burrow to sniff the air before scurrying away. A primitive mind hid in the patient, an alien intelligence using his body and soul as camouflage. Cole¡¯s frown deepened as he chased the presence with his power. Twice more, it showed itself, noticing his approaching magic and trying to flee. But now Cole saw the logic of Mina¡¯s instructions. By bathing the patient¡¯s soul slowly and totally, he could catch the slippery invader and scour it away. Metaphysical cold closed in on the parasite, trapping and eventually crushing it to nothingness. As Cole¡¯s power settled over the patient fully, no signs of the invader could be seen, the simple intelligence destroyed by a Paladin¡¯s will. Once he was certain no trace remained, Cole let his power dissipate and opened his eyes. His first patient was violently shivering, and plumes of frost came out with every breath. Mina sighed and stepped forward, putting her own hand on the man¡¯s forehead. His breath returned to normal, and his shivering slowed. Guiding the man towards some of the healers, Mina looked over her shoulder and said. ¡°You might be too powerful for this.¡± Wincing, Cole looked at the line of very nervous-looking petitioners, each starting to second guess if they should undergo cleansing. Alia, of all people, stepped up then. ¡°Quit your whinging! I had sunburns on every centimeter of my body when Sister Sun¡¯s Priests cleansed the demonic taint from me! A little cold is survivable; the next stage of the plague is not.¡± The belligerent Cat-blood did little to calm the crowd, so Cole tried next. ¡°I¡¯ve never used my power like this before. I was excessive with my first attempt; I¡¯ll be gentler from here on out. Please, the city''s Priests are being run ragged; help me help them.¡± Compared to Cat-eye¡¯s piss-and-vinegar approach, Cole seemed reasonable to the scared citizens. Mina returned to the cue just as Cole finished cleansing his third patient. Each of them was shivering but not teetering on the edge of hypothermia like the first one. Cole was learning quickly; it took little magical energy to cleanse a person, just time and focus. Where freeing a soul felt like reaching out and snapping a small rope, this was more like trying to paint a large surface. As he worked, Cole started to better understand healing magic and its complexities. He knew most forms of arcane healing worked by simply enhancing a body''s natural ability to repair itself; now Cole understood why. The myriad interconnecting systems making up a body exist in a shockingly precarious equilibrium; a heavy hand could much easier harm than help. In these early stages of infection, Cole couldn¡¯t even sense the virulent pestilence, let alone attack it. Only the strange pseudo-mind attached to the infection was visible in the Aether. It wasn¡¯t the plague, as Cole first assumed, but rather a spirit or something similar using the plague as an anchor. The crude working Cole and every other spell-weaver in the city were doing didn¡¯t cure the plague; it simply cut the spirit''s connection and rendered the disease relatively mundane. It was still a variant of the plague and could kill quickly, but those treated wouldn¡¯t lose their minds to some occult madness. By the twenty-sixth patient, Cole felt an ugly headache growing behind his eyes. His reserves of power were still reasonably intact, but the constant use of magic was mentally draining. Yet despite his and Mina¡¯s effort, the line of nervous infected hadn¡¯t shrunk at all. Every cleansed person was replaced by another needing treatment. So when the screaming started, Cole felt something almost like relief. Quickly quashing the emotion out of shame, Cole ran towards the sound. The crowd of infected quailed away from him as the Paladin buckled on his gauntlets and returned to something familiar. The hallway outside the clinic stunk of blood and fear. Cole pushed through, panicking civilians trying to flee something at the hallway¡¯s end. Gritting his teeth, Cole heard the screams grow louder and louder, a small choir of primal pain echoing down the stone passage. Reaching the end of the crowd, Cole found a battle raging. A trio of beleaguered plague warden Templars held the hallway from a dozen Screamers. Armed with shields and cudgels, the soldiers tried to keep the infected back without injuring them. Running towards the Templars, Cole got a better look at the horror beyond them. Sprays of fresh blood covered the hallway''s walls, floor, and ceiling. Broken bodies with ripped-open throats lay on the ground, silver flames licking at the corpses, stopping them from rising as Grinners. Cole took in those details, preferring them to looking at the Screamers. Eyes bulging, mouth foaming, the Screamers wore expressions of psychotic agony. A horrendous expression, especially on children. The Screamers were young, the eldest no older than twelve. It appeared weaker flesh translated to faster infection. One of the Screamers, a young boy, lunged for the middle Templar, bloodstained milk teeth eager to rip into living flesh. Fast as the child was, Cole was faster; he shoved the Templar aside and caught the Screamer on an armored gauntlet. The scrabbling, screaming child tried to bite through the Hakon steel, and Cole gripped the infected kid by the scruff of his shirt. Hauling the boy bodily into the air, Cole flared his power and looked into the Aether. Hate and pain made up the child¡¯s world. Every emotion and thought was washed aside by a feral madness pouring into the boy¡¯s mind. The pain¡¯s source wasn¡¯t hard to find; something clung to the child¡¯s soul. Barbed rat tails wrapped around and through the boy¡¯s soul, roots of a metaphysical parasite extending out of its victim and floating in the Aether. Cole had often swum in the Atredian Sea and encountered sea jellies. The parasite¡¯s body reminded Cole of the squishy stinging creatures, with a bulbous ¡®torso¡¯ textured like rotting brains and colored in various visceral red shades. A hundred or more rat tail tendrils dangled down from the body and enclosed the boy¡¯s soul, while a leech-like mouth capped the torso, suckling on the Aether, leaving a patch of bruised ephemera around its greasy fanged maw. Reeling in disgust, Cole poured power into his free hand and thrust the frosted limb into the parasite. The Cold of Entropy licked out at the abomination and turned its mottled flesh black wherever it touched. A noise that wasn¡¯t a noise rippled through the Aether as the parasite squealed in pain, tightening its grip on the boy¡¯s soul. Dawning horror spread over Cole as he saw the infected soul start to bulge and split. Pulling his hand back, Cole saw the barbed rat tails stop moving, settling back into place. The message was clear, Cole might be able to kill the parasite, but it would rend the child¡¯s soul apart as revenge. Dropping his Aether sight, Cole barked at the Templars. ¡°One of you find a healer and some ether or dwale. We need something to knock these people out before they hurt anyone else.¡± The Templar he¡¯d pushed out of the attacking child¡¯s way did as commanded and bolted down the hallway. Shoving the infected boy back, Cole widened his stance and prepared to help hold the hallway. Helped by two unarmored and panicked Templars, Cole tried to dance on a knife''s edge. He couldn¡¯t hurt the children or let them hurt anyone. So desperately, the Paladin tried to keep himself the object of the infected¡¯s wrath. Thankfully someone \shut the doors leading out of the hallway, trapping the Screamers between sturdy wood and less sturdy soldiers. Fully armored, Cole worked to keep the children focused on him. Swinging out in wide foreshadowed strikes the infected could dodge. The two Templars were clad only in medical leathers, and Cole was still wearing his armor. Once again, paranoia was proving its merit. Shoving a Screamer back into the small crowd, Cole winced as a pre-teen girl hit the ground hard. One of the Templars stepped forward on instinct, and three children leaped for him. Cole knocked one away, but the other two latched onto the Templar. Small but shockingly strong jaws bit into the Templar¡¯s leg and chest. The medical leathers caught the chest bite, but the literal ankle-biter drew blood. A new source of screams joined the infected children as the Templar stumbled back, trying to kick the attacking child free. Much to the Templar and Cole¡¯s horror, they succeeded and sent the child sprawling to the ground. In answer to Cole¡¯s unspoken prayer, the Templar he¡¯d given orders to returned then, carrying a large bottle. Showing the initiative, the Templar carefully uncorked the bottle and poured some of the substance onto his gloved hands and arms. Charging forward, the Templar handed the bottle to Cole before wrapping two children in strange hugs, smothering their faces in the doused leathers. Cole mimicked what the Templar had done and handed the bottle off before finding his own Screamers to subdue. The soporific did its work quickly, and soon, the hallway¡¯s defenders knocked out all the children. Looking over the scene of madness, Cole grit his teeth and watched as more healers and templars filled the hallway. The unconscious children were carried away, strong leather cords binding their hands and feet. Cole watched this disturbing sight briefly before going to the brutalized corpses and quickly freeing their souls. As he worked, Cole tried not to notice how similar some of the victims looked to the infected children. Parricide was a cursed crime, especially when the killers had no choice in the matter. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Removing his gauntlets, Cole shut glassy eyes and tried to give the dead a modicum of respect. Corpse-tenders wrapped in plague leathers came then, hauling the ruined bodies away as similarly clothed cleaners tried to mop up the puddles of blood. Finally, Cole left the hallway and returned to the clinic, splattered with blood, reeking of ether; he looked even more intimidating than before. His headache was growing fast, a pulse of pain behind the eyes matching his heartbeat. Trying to ignore the throbbing discomfort, Cole focused on the clinic atrium. The crowd of infected was smaller than before, only by virtue of the incident in the hallway blocking new arrivals. Sighing, Cole returned to where Mina was still working and joined the Priestess. Time was running out, soon others would be transformed into Screamers, and the whole nightmare would start again.
Yara sat next to a large marble statue of a hound sitting on its haunches. Staring up at the carved canine, the thrall let out a sigh and a shiver. She¡¯d been taken from the Final Flagon and brought to the Tenth Temple¡¯s plaza for testing and sorting. A beak-masked plague warden jabbed her forehead three times with his silver-capped staff, making the skin tingle uncomfortably each time but not creating the signature welt of infection. Despite helping Priestess Mina gather and destroy tainted clothes, despite repeated exposure in the tavern and on the transport cart, Yara wasn¡¯t sick. Rationally she felt happy about that; she remembered when the Plague swept through Glockmire and took its grim toll. But her clean status created several new problems she was currently trying to solve. Chiefly was the fact she couldn¡¯t enter the Temple since it was being used as a quarantine center, and she couldn¡¯t find her new mistress. Natalie vanished into the Temple while Yara was being tested, and now the thrall could not reach her mistress. This involuntary separation from Natalie weighed more on Yara than the fact she might be forced to sleep in the Temple statue garden. Months on the road with Sir Dietrich made most forms of discomfort seem manageable. At the thought of her original master, a throb of distress went through Yara. She missed him dearly and found her current situation confusing and distressing. Dietrich rescued Yara from a miserable life, giving her purpose and security. She¡¯d served him the best she could and would gladly die to free him. But layered over that deep loyalty was something new, the bond with Natalie. Natalie rejected and scorned Yara at every opportunity. Only bothering to give Yara a taste of Sting once a week. Even going so far in her rejection of Yara to not even drink her blood. The thrall actually saw her new mistress spit offered blood into a wash sink on multiple occasions. An act that acutely reminded Yara how useless and unwanted she was. As the Temple bell struck out the hour, Yara forced herself to get up from the cool stone of the statue garden and wander towards the plaza¡¯s edge. Stewing in her own worthlessness wouldn¡¯t change things, so Yara looked for a way to earn a modicum of Natalie¡¯s attention. Where a non-thrall might grow to loathe her mistress for rejecting her, Yara just saw this as confirmation of her own failings and redoubled her desire to prove she held some value. Reaching the plaza''s edge, Yara was stopped by a pair of plague wardens who examined her forehead, seeing the slight pink mark confirming her health. To those free of the plague, the caduceus staff left a small flushed imprint instead of a raised red welt. Confirming she wasn¡¯t infected, Yara was allowed to leave the plaza but given explicit warning of what and where to avoid. Only partially listening, Yara bobbed her head in semi-feigned understanding and left for wider Vindabon. Walking around a pile of smoking viscera that once was a ghoul, Yara hoped Preceptor Rellim was still awake. She¡¯d set out on this errand to provide the Magi with her sketches and maybe learn some things her mistress would find useful in return. If Natalie wouldn¡¯t accept Yara¡¯s blood or subservience, maybe she¡¯d accept knowledge as tribute. Yara held only a vague idea of the monolithic city¡¯s layout and was counting on landmarks to guide her. A plan that started to seem a little threadbare as Yara wandered through empty streets, trying to keep relatively on course to her destination. The Ivory Tower of Vindabon was the tallest structure in the city, and it took great effort to go someplace in the metropolis it wasn¡¯t visible. Still, Yara was starting to realize she might have miscalculated. She¡¯d assumed it was like going to Temple back in Glockmire, simply heading towards the tallest building. But instead, navigating Vindabon felt more like a wilderness excursion. Just because you could see a distant mountain, or in this case tower, didn¡¯t mean you could reach it easily. Despite this, Yara felt little apprehension walking the city streets at night. A lifetime serving the Nocturnal Nobility inured her to all but the most extreme terrors. Of course, the sharp butcher¡¯s knife she¡¯d stolen from the Final Flagon¡¯s kitchen helped. Yara picked up the meat-cutting blade back when the current crisis started and hadn¡¯t bothered to return it. If, gods willing, the knife didn¡¯t see any uncouth use, Yara would try and return it eventually. Licking her dry lips nervously, scanning the surroundings, Yara kept finding herself amazed and befuddled by Vindabon. The city felt wrong to her; it was too bright, too noisy, just too¡­ too much. It reminded her of an over-active child allowed to grow old and spoiled, never taught to be silent or respectful. Going from precocious to vulgar by merit of its inordinate size and age. Now at least, the shocked city felt slightly more familiar to Yara. The silent streets and covered windows felt right; the fever pitch of Vindabon cooled into something more respectable. Keeping the Ivory Tower in sight, Yara slipped down a side street and stopped midstride. She wasn¡¯t alone anymore; a trio of people were clustered in the shadow of a building, all kneeling on the ground. Frowning, Yara slowly stepped back; something didn¡¯t feel right about this. Her foot caught on a loose piece of cobblestone, and she stumbled slightly. Catching herself, Yara looked to the kneelers and felt a surge of panic. They were looking at her, and now in the faint glowstone light of the streetlamps, Yara could see the kneelers were covered in blood. The sticky metallic smell reached Yara then, and her eyes fell on what the kneelers were clustered about. It said something about Yara¡¯s short but arduous life that she instantly recognized the shredded carcass as human. Reaching for her pilfered knife, Yara slowly backed away from the three ghouls. Suddenly feeling very stupid, Yara wanted to flagellate herself for getting into this situation. All three ghouls slowly got to their feet, fresh blood dripping down their faces and fronts. As one, they charged Yara, a low-building scream rising in their throats. Yara froze, unable to move as the monsters closed in on her, their wretched screaming stunning her in place. Shutting her eyes, Yara flinched, expecting the horrid feeling of dull teeth sinking into her flesh. It didn¡¯t come; even when the screams were so close they physically hurt, Yara wasn¡¯t attacked. Slowly, tentatively, wondering if she was already dead, Yara opened her eyes. All three ghouls were maybe half a stride from her, still screaming, staring at her with pure hatred. Slowly the screams died down, turning into low rattling wheezes, then heavy breaths. Blinking in confusion, Yara realized something didn¡¯t add up; ghouls didn¡¯t need to breathe. This close to her, Yara¡¯s excellent night vision let her examine the blood-stained creatures in more detail. Their hands and mouths were badly damaged, living blood oozing from dozens of cuts and scrapes while cooling dead ichor dripped down their fronts. The smallest of the three creatures was once a middle-aged woman with heavy jowls and steel-grey hair; now, her cheeks were split open, and she sniffed at Yara like a confused hunting hound. Still unable to move, Yara let the creature sniff at her neck, right where the thrall carried her marks of service. After a few deep rattling breaths, the creature turned away and returned to its ¡®meal.¡¯ The other cannibals did the same, leaving a stunned Yara uncertain of what to do. Eventually, as the sound of ripping meat and labored eating filled the side street, Yara decided she¡¯d used up any allotment of luck Uncle Trickster provided and needed to return to the Tenth Temple quickly. Slipping out of the alleyway, trying to stop her trembling hands, Yara started retracing her steps. Trying not to run, she moved down the empty streets, wondering if information about strange plague cannibals would be enough to make Natalie show any interest.
Two more outbreaks of screamers plagued the Tenth Temple that night. Both times, Cole was one of the first into the fray. He used his strength, size, and steel to protect the afflicted and healer alike. The strategy of smothering screamers in fabric soaked in a dwale proved less effective against adults but was better than anything else they tried. So Cole repeatedly grappled with maddened plague victims, trying to force a doused sponge into their mouth without accidentally strangling them. Of course, in comparison to his fellows, Cole¡¯s efforts were going wonderfully; four plague wardens had already lost fingers trying to drug screamers. As the early hours of the morning arrived, Cole burned through his considerable reserves of magical and physical energy. He briefly considered locking himself in a storage room and committing suicide to reset but decided without Natalie around, it would be too risky. Besides, the number of infected entering the Temple was much smaller; dying to recharge himself felt gratuitous. So eventually, when he alone of the first shift of cleansers still stood working, Cole allowed himself to be guided towards a cott where he collapsed, armor and all. After four hours of sleep rivaling even Natalie¡¯s torpor in its intensity, Cole awoke in the clinic. The contradictory but equally important need to gain new fluids and expel old ones forced Cole from his slumber and to maintain his body. A dozen new muscle aches greeted Cole upon waking up, a rare experience for his unnatural physique. While he didn¡¯t know the exact details, Cole¡¯s musculature worked more efficiently than a mundane person''s. He gained and retained muscle mass easily while rarely experiencing the draining micro-injuries you¡¯d expect from the brutal treatment he put himself through. Another boon from Isabelle¡¯s attempt to perfect the inefficient humanoid form. Uncertain if the pain was from sleeping in full armor or the plague, Cole did what he usually did and pushed through the discomfort. Trying not to disturb the legions of fellow infected filling the clinic ward, Cole took care of his biological needs and decided to remove his armor. Returning to his cott, Cole slowly removed the different steel pieces. Cole winced in pain as he lifted his arms to take off the pauldrons. Pulling up his tunic, Cole felt a knot of tension build in his throat as he exposed the source of his discomfort. A small but noticeable lump near his armpit. Grimly, Cole knew it was the first among many to come. His lymph glands would continue to swell; he¡¯d grow weak and feverish while coughing and vomiting up blood. Cole vividly remembered the first time he had the plague and was mentally preparing himself for this new round of horrors. Finally, with the last piece of his armor off, Cole laid back on his cott, his birthday present tucked beneath the makeshift bed until he could clean and store it properly. Staring up at the vaulted ceiling of the ward, Cole swore he could physically feel the contagion spreading within him. As cold shivers passed through him and nausea spun the room Cole settled in for days of suffering and potential death. Cole didn¡¯t know how much time passed with him lying like that. Only a nurse offering him water and broth upset the monotony of illness. Conserving his energy, Cole tried to focus on the individual symptoms of the disease and mentally chart out their progress. His nature would allow him to experience the full vileness of the plague and report it to those who might put the knowledge to use. As the Temple bell signaled it was five in the morning, Cole was roused from his pestilent meditation by a gentle hand on his shoulder. Not even opening his eyes, he sat up, which was a mistake punished with nausea. Blinking away the slight film of exhaustion covering his eyes, Cole looked to his rouser and smiled. ¡°Hey, love.¡± Natalie wore a heavy frown and looked at Cole with deep-set concern. ¡°How bad do you feel?¡± Shrugging, Cole took the glass of water he just realized she was offering. ¡°Bad, it doesn¡¯t feel much different from the normal plague; it just moves much faster.¡± Somehow Natalie¡¯s frown grew more intense. ¡°Why¡­ why haven¡¯t you ¡®reset¡¯ yourself?¡± Glancing around the ward, Cole saw other ailing patients on similar cotts. He was tucked into a back corner of the room but had no privacy. ¡°It¡¯s not necessary; my strength isn¡¯t needed right now. Besides, the Priests and Magi will need as much information about the plague¡¯s progression and symptoms as possible. No one else can gather the knowledge like I can.¡± Clicking her tongue in worry, Natalie shook her head. ¡°That doesn¡¯t feel right. A healer¡¯s examination will be just as useful as anything you learn. You suffering through the plague when you have other options is stupid.¡± Sucking in a rattling breath, barely suppressing a cough as he did, Cole asked. ¡°Has killing people gotten easier for you?¡± Natalie flinched and looked at Cole with startled anger. ¡°What?¡± Licking chapped lips, Cole said. ¡°It did for me. I can still remember the faces of the first ten or so people I killed, but the next couple dozen? Just flashes and impressions. Death is like any resource; the more there is, the cheaper it becomes.¡± Glancing around, making sure the surrounding patients were asleep or close enough, Natalie asked. ¡°What are you saying?¡± Meeting her eyes with a steady gaze despite his sickness, Cole rasped. ¡°Becoming used to death is bad, even¡­¡± Cole whispered in a low voice, only audible to Natalie¡¯s ears: ¡°...my own.¡± Biting her lip, not caring how her fangs hurt, Natalie shook her head, sending dark hair bouncing. ¡°No, that¡¯s not right. You don¡¯t need to suffer like this; you have the power to¡­¡± Cole cut her off by squeezing her hand gently. ¡°Power doesn¡¯t corrupt; it alienates. I could do as you suggest and spare myself this indignity, but no one else has that option. If I am needed, I will do everything I can to answer the call, but if not, I won¡¯t cheapen death and, by extension, life.¡± Letting out an annoyed huff, Natalie hissed. ¡°I think I understand you, but that doesn¡¯t mean martyring yourself like this isn¡¯t any less stupid. Trying to suffer selflessly like this doesn¡¯t help anyone and just feels borderline masochistic!¡± A wet cough mixed with a bitter laugh escaped Cole. ¡°I¡¯m not being selfless; I¡¯m actually being incredibly selfish. I could be up providing aid to others or helping in a hundred other ways. Instead, I¡¯m lying here dying because I fear becoming something even less human than I already am.¡± Slipping her hand from Cole¡¯s grip and crossing her arms, Natalie said. ¡°Cole, you are the best person I know; using your gifts more readily won¡¯t change that. Your nature has brought you so much pain; why not let it prevent some for a change?¡± Smiling sadly, Cole leaned back on his cott. ¡°Strangely, I think that¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m doing. Natalie, I¡¯m afraid of what I could become if I cheapened my death. It¡¯s better to suffer a little now rather than lose something key to myself.¡± Sighing, Natalie asked. ¡°And what would that be?¡± Cole stared up at the ceiling and whispered. ¡°Respect for death and those truly beholden to it. It would be very easy to start dismissing those with a single life, to ignore their struggles, and distance myself from them. I won¡¯t let that happen.¡± Sitting down on the edge of Cole¡¯s cott, Natalie shook her head and said. ¡°Okay, I think I understand. Just¡­ just know I love you and am here for you.¡± Smiling softly, Cole set a hand on Natalie¡¯s thigh. ¡°I know. Good luck speaking with Isabelle.¡± Setting her hand on his, Natalie mused on their discussion and her next objective. She¡¯d wanted to check on Cole before speaking with Isabelle, hoping to help him resurrect before the plague got too bad. Now, she had another reason to speak with Isabelle, not just questioning the old monster about the pestilence. Something about Cole¡¯s determination and devotion struck Natalie as¡­ wrong. She¡¯d thought similar back in Glockmire, but events put the notion out of her mind. Now, as more and more of Cole¡¯s origin and nature came to light, a disturbing question entered Natalie¡¯s mind. How did Isabelle, an amoral scheming Vampire obsessed with foul occult knowledge, create someone like Cole? Not even meaning the certainly dreadful fleshcrafting and soul-weaving that must have taken place. No, how did she create a mind and soul so¡­ noble. Cole seemed perfectly suited to being a Paladin and a hero, so much so that it made Natalie suspicious. Getting up from Cole¡¯s cott, Natalie kissed her index and middle fingers, then placed them on Cole¡¯s forehead before leaving. More mysteries were blooming around Natalie, and she needed to cut through them before they overwhelmed her. Book III: Chapter 6: Crossroads

Chapter 6: Crossroads

¡°Sidhe is the name for the great nation of song and starlight that once ruled our world. They were bastards, each and every one. Fickle, spiteful, insane demigods who did as they pleased and left a legacy of suffering once we banished them. Sure, some of the other Fae aren¡¯t so bad, but the Sidhe deserve nothing but hot iron inserted into every hole they have.¡± - Peregrine-Priest Matha, in service to Mistress Void.
:: Twenty-Eight Years Ago :: Isabelle drummed her fingers impatiently on her polished ivory throne. Carved from Dire Whale bones, the throne was both gaudy and uncomfortable. Its ancient history and reputation were the only reasons Isabelle hadn¡¯t replaced the accursed thing with some nice cushions. Still, seated upon the bones of a lesser leviathan in the center of her throne room, Isabelle had to admit the chair''s effect upon cringing mortals was worth the discomfort. Once a week, Isabelle allowed her subjects to come before the ivory throne and petition her justice, aid, or mercy. She''d discovered that the two hours she spent holding this public court were an unfortunately necessary investment. People tended to become stupid and uncooperative if they felt their rulers paid them no heed. So Isabelle let her precious time be spent listening to simpering petitioners and making her judgments. Normally, Isabelle only paid half attention to her subjects during court, which was usually more than enough to sort through the stuttering pleas. Tonight was a bit of an exception; one of her villages managed to find itself in enough of a mess to actually keep her interest. ¡°My liege, please, I beg your wi-wisdom! Two entire olive groves have al-already been blighted! If it keeps spreading, the entire crop is at risk!¡± pleaded a hunched-over village headman with ironically olive skin and curly gray hair. Continuing her rhythmic drumming on the throne, Isabelle asked. ¡°And you say the Priestess of Mother Earth was no help in the matter?¡± Bobbing his head, the olive farmer elaborated. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t bring this before you, my liege if we saw another option. The Priestess from Thoam said she¡¯d never even heard of a blight like this. Please, my lady, I beg your aid!¡± Isabelle considered her options for a time. She could, of course, just send a group of rattlers to destroy the infected fields and help the farmers with some petty labor as aid. But a crop blight even an Earth Priestess couldn¡¯t help was abnormal. Isabelle¡¯s work with pestilences was now secondary to her main project, but gathering samples and information about curious diseases was still an interest. She could go help the olive farmers, do her feudal duties, and maybe find something worth studying. Snapping her fingers, Isabelle called upon her most favored servant. Icy vapor slithered across the court¡¯s floor and coalesced into a humanoid figure floating beside the throne. With curly receding hair and a bookish countenance, Pavlos of Pleuron looked every centimeter the reserved counselor he was. Except for the fact he¡¯d been dead for more than a millennium and existed as a soul bound to Isabelle¡¯s castle. Gesturing to her majordomo, Isabelle said. ¡°I wish to examine this blight personally. Prepare an entourage for travel and some rattlers to do the menial work. I wish to leave tomorrow at dusk.¡± Pavlos bowed slightly, a strange gesture where his body changed between standing upright and then showing deference. His bow held no actual movement; he simply changed from upright to bowing like a flickering flame as he spoke. ¡°Of course, mistress,¡± Pointing a finger at the petitioner, she added. ¡°Ensure he has somewhere to spend the night as well.¡± The olive farmer offered his own stooped bow and rasped. ¡°Th-thank you, my liege, you¡¯re kind-¡± Isabelle cut him off with a dismissive wave. ¡°Yes, yes, now make room for the next petitioner.¡± Abashed, the farmer shuffled back until one of Isabelle¡¯s masked wights took him by the arm and led him elsewhere. Leaning back on her ivory throne, Isabelle made short work of the remaining petitioners. Sorting out a messy inheritance, denying a request for undead laborers, and generally acting like the monolith of governance she was expected to be. Once the final mortal left her hall, Isabelle let out a plaintiff sigh and stood up from the throne. Her body wasn¡¯t really capable of experiencing aches and pains, but the accursed chair induced them psychosomatically. Playing with a strand of her dark hair, Isabelle asked her steward. ¡°Is anything else pressing?¡± Pavlos¡¯s head flickered no. ¡°The rest of the evening is yours, mistress. If that changes, I will, of course, inform you.¡± Isabelle left the audience room then and delved deeper into her citadel. A chimeric bone golem scuttled out from a nearby alcove and followed after Isabelle. She grabbed the simple robe clutched by the golem and started stripping off her own jewelry and clothes as she walked. Tossing them onto the golem without care. In a testament to Isabelle¡¯s magical skill, the golem caught every article without issue. Holding court required the full regalia of power, with a ridiculous dress and precious ornaments, something Isabelle was eager to shed. Now only wearing a comfortable robe, Isabelle ascended a spiral staircase heading towards her laboratory tower. She was making excellent progress with her current project and wanted to get in a full night''s work before next dusk¡¯s distractions. Stepping out into the warm summer night, Isabelle reached the stone walkway separating her laboratory from the rest of the castle. The Thoas Citadel, Isabelle¡¯s seat of power, sat upon a cliff overlooking the Atredian Sea and was connected to two towers that jutted out of the water. While one of the ancient towers was little more than a crumbling ruin, the other held Isabelle¡¯s more¡­ volatile experiments. Striding across the walkway, Isabelle sent out a mental command to the Gatekeeper. A huge shape emerged from underneath the stone bridge, pulling itself up from its nest in the walkway¡¯s structure onto its span. The Gatekeeper was a four-armed and four-legged flesh golem of considerable strength, created mainly from two trolls that once bothered Isabelle''s lands. Moving with fluid agility rendered disturbing by its size, the Gatekeeper approached Isabelle and bowed, supplicating so its bulbous malformed head was at waist height. Mouth opening up, it wheezed. ¡°Ki-kill me¡± Isabelle rolled her eyes and pressed on her control of the flesh golem. It twitched and lumbered toward the entrance of the tower. The two trolls weren¡¯t the only components of the Gatekeeper; she¡¯d added in some ape neurology for dexterity and trapped the consciousness of a particularly annoying bard. The stupid man performed for the court as a pretext to rob her. Well, now he¡¯d now spend the next fifty years animating the golem until Isabelle replaced the Gatekeeper. Lumbering forward on its knuckles, the flesh golem reached the huge metal door of Isabelle¡¯s tower and started lifting it. Hoisting the door onto one shoulder, the Gatekeeper held the door open for Isabelle to pass. The heavily fortified entrance and its guardian were, unfortunately, necessary additions to the laboratory tower¡¯s security. Isabelle already lost one tower to an experiment gone wrong; she was loathe to lose the other. Isabelle then remarked to the Gatekeeper. ¡°Just thirty-two more years to go.¡± It let out a pitiful whimper, and Isabelle passed by it entering her laboratory. Stepping onto the cold stone, Isabelle heard the gate crash in behind her. Wincing, she turned around, preparing to rebuke her golem, when the whole tower shook. Eyes widening in horror, Isabelle felt the floor start to give way. As everything collapsed around her, Isabelle tried to change form, growing wings or maybe armor plates, but her body didn¡¯t respond. As the floor fully buckled, Isabelle tumbled down into darkness and an ocean of warm sticky red. Stunned and disoriented, Isabelle tried to fight the sudden current dragging her down. It was useless; she couldn¡¯t call upon her blood and was helpless against the riptide. As the pressure around Isabelle started to build, she looked down to see a bright light in the distance. Her descent was speeding up, sending her toward the light faster and faster. Until she struck the shimmering brightness and the world inverted. Isabelle exploded out of a river of blood and landed on a flower-strewn shore. Despite everything, Isabelle landed with cat-like grace and tried to get her bearings. Understanding grew as Isabelle realized where she was. The prison of memories faded, and Isabelle turned to face her host. ¡°What do you want, Natalie?¡± The young Vampire sat upon a large boulder nearby, staring at the river Isabelle just emerged from. Walking over toward her student, Isabelle did her best to hide how unsettled she was by this experience. Natalie¡¯s previous summons were subtle, weak things inviting Isabelle to enter her student¡¯s mindscape. This time Isabelle was violently dragged from her own dream and deposited into Natalie¡¯s. Something that spoke volumes about the young Alukah¡¯s growing power. Swallowing pointlessly, Natalie asked. ¡°What do you know about pestilence?¡± Eyes narrowed, Isabelle smelled a trap. ¡°A term for magical diseases, both natural and unnatural. They are extremely dangerous to mortals, especially those without access to magical healing; why do you ask?¡± Natalie sucked in a breath and started to relay the evening¡¯s events. How infected corpses were dropped upon Vindabon and Cole¡¯s fight with the Wyvern. Isabelle listened with intense focus, feeling a mix of romantic and professional pride upon hearing of Cole¡¯s latest feat. These petty emotions were quickly replaced by genuine curiosity. The plague Natalie described was familiar yet exotic, clearly meant to sow strife among its creator¡¯s enemies. Pacing through the flowers, Isabelle mused on this new information and said. ¡°It¡¯s obviously a variation on the bubonic plague, but the extreme rage is a novel symptom. Cole will be fine, but I wonder how much of Vindabon will be left by next winter. I suggest once he dies and recovers, you make plans to leave the city. Watching a metropolis be eaten alive is never pleasant, so spare yourself the discomfort.¡± Natalie looked affronted. ¡°I¡¯m not going to leave Vindabon!¡± Isabelle shrugged. ¡°Once the plague reaches a certain threshold of infection, you won¡¯t have a choice. With every incapacitated Priest, it will be harder to keep up the wards, and fear of the disease will isolate the city. Eventually, the wards will fall, starvation will start, and the ghouls will feast. By then, the best option will be to just start burning entire boroughs; I don¡¯t recommend being in the city when that starts.¡± The younger vampire¡¯s face went through a variety of emotions. Shock, confusion, and anger before settling into grim understanding. Glaring at her mentor, Natalie stated her conclusion. ¡°You¡¯re trying to scare me, painting a worst-case situation and hoping I get impulsive.¡± Again, Isabelle shrugged, torn between pride and annoyance at her student¡¯s growing wisdom. ¡°If the First Preceptor acts quickly, then I imagine the death toll will be in the high hundreds. Unfortunately, he¡¯s teetering on the edge of mundane existence and might not be able to interfere. As for the Temples, they will probably manage to get the plague under control, but a little poor luck could unravel all their efforts.¡± Calling up a chair, Isabelle sat down facing Natalie and made her offer. ¡°I can help; I¡¯ve studied things like this in the past, and with your power, finding a cure should be easy. Let me walk in your skin for a time, and I¡¯ll save this city.¡± Baring her fangs, Natalie snapped. ¡°So that¡¯s it? You¡¯re holding an entire city hostage to get what we discussed?¡± Leaning back and tenting her fingers, Isabelle said. ¡°It''s been months, and you haven¡¯t given me an answer! If you made up your mind in a timely fashion, I wouldn¡¯t be forced to do this!¡± Twelve days and twelve nights, that was Isabelle¡¯s request; now it was her price. Natalie, so far, hadn¡¯t acknowledged the plea to borrow her flesh, something that ended today. Lips pricked by her fangs, Natalie spat. ¡°All these lives in danger, and you are using them to bargain with me?¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Isabelle nodded. ¡°I¡¯m personally not invested in anyone in Vindabon aside from you and Cole, both of whom are not at any serious risk. Besides, if I were to work on a cure, I¡¯d need to borrow your flesh anyway. So it would be better for both of us to strike a clear agreement.¡± Natalie asked. ¡°Can¡¯t you just tell me what to do? You could ride in my head but not possess me.¡± Clicking her tongue, Isabelle shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s too complicated; the ritual work and alchemy involved aren¡¯t something an apprentice can do, even with a master guiding every step. Working with me is the best option for both of us. I get to touch the physical and keep myself sane while you get to save the city.¡± Practically growling, Natalie snapped. ¡°I don¡¯t like being pressured like this.¡± Isabelle just rolled her eyes. ¡°Then you should have negotiated with me when the leverage was in your favor. I consider you a friend and pupil, so I am willing to offer much for little. But this is too far; I need to secure my own survival, and if that means using the options available to me, then I will.¡± Natalie¡¯s body language was still closed off, but not quite as much as before. She was painfully easy to read when distressed like this, which was partly why Isabelle was pushing on her. It was a dangerous game Isabelle was playing, manipulating Natalie like this, but it needed to be done. Looking at her student intently, Isabelle let her voice become softer. ¡°You will, of course, be able to banish me from your mind at any time. Fighting you for control would be extremely risky, and I have no desire to fully possess you. I¡¯m not asking for anything permanent or damaging, just a little time. That seems reasonable considering the aid and trust I¡¯ve extended to you over and over.¡± Isabelle honestly didn¡¯t know how much she was lying. Stealing Natalie¡¯s body was an option she wanted to keep open, but it was also a risky, messy proposal. So she¡¯d just continue to worm her way into Natalie¡¯s mind and confidence, gathering as many possibilities as she could. Tapping her fingers on the cold stone she sat upon, Natalie said. ¡°Pushing me like this isn¡¯t a way to earn my trust, Isabelle.¡± The older vampire nodded. ¡°I know, I¡¯d rather not do this, but you¡¯ve left me no other option. If you¡¯d talked with me about this anytime over the last three months, I would have been willing to negotiate. But you didn¡¯t; you continued learning from me but never acknowledged what I asked of you. Trust is a bridge built from both ends and frankly, you¡¯ve been eagerly leeching off my efforts without even considering my request.¡± Putting her head in her hands, Natalie sighed. ¡°Give me some time to think about this.¡± Isabelle scoffed. ¡°I¡¯ve given you months, and now Vindabon doesn¡¯t have much time to spare. But fine, continue your procrastination and return when you¡¯ve decided. Just don¡¯t expect any more lessons or help until you give me an answer one way or another.¡± Without a word, Natalie banished Isabelle from her mindscape. Red flowers dissolved into a pool of blood, and Isabelle was sitting alone in her own mind. Tapping fingers on her chair in a pattern identical to Natalies. Isabelle smiled cooly; her student¡¯s request for a little time was exactly what she¡¯d expected. Give the plague a few nights, and Natalie¡¯s qualms would be quashed by a quagmire of corpses.
Natalie spent the next day and night checking on Cole, running errands across the city, and generally trying her best to make a difference. Leaping across rooftops, she could go between quarantine zones, carrying messages and delivering supplies. With an entire city panicking, the Aether was crackling with stress, and only the strongest Seers could reliably communicate with their fellows. A weakness to the mental magic Natalie never even considered until she first felt Glynn psychically shove his way through panicked minds to communicate with her. Acting as a courier gave Natalie an unfortunately complete perspective on the situation in Vindabon. The plague spread like wildfire through drought-touched fields; every attempt to quarantine it failed, and within twenty-four hours, all twenty districts were seething with infection. Magi and Priests were working themselves unconscious trying to cleanse thousands of people. The city guard was similarly being run ragged, working to keep some semblance of order. Natalie had already seen three fights between infected people trying to get treatment break out. After seeing roving packs of Screamers clash with plague wardens armed with nets and man-catchers, Natalie could understand the raw desperation worming into people. The riot, at least, had been a single night of concentrated horror with a clear source and direction. This current crisis was just subtle enough to add the terror of uncertainty to the city¡¯s suffering. To make matters worse, they were still missing a Wyvern; the beast was unaccounted for despite the efforts put into finding it. Something that had everyone aware of that threat on edge. The sudden violent resurfacing of a dragon-spawned monster might easily tip Vindabon towards utter chaos. Now standing in the Temple statue garden, wearing a black silk veil provided by Glynn as a method of easy identification; Natalie was drowning in guilt. All this suffering, all this horror, it was within her power to end it; all she had to do was take Isabelle¡¯s deal. Except Natalie knew her folktales, and this stunk like a crossroads deal with evil. Some instinct or apprehension made Natalie exceedingly wary of Isabelle¡¯s demands. Even with their growing trust, this didn¡¯t feel right to Natalie. It''s why she¡¯d put off answering Isabelle for so long. She couldn¡¯t even fully articulate her worries and knew Isabelle would shred apart any argument based on a ¡®feeling.¡¯ Of course, the idea of surrendering her autonomy for even a little bit was distressing, but Natalie felt she should be able to stomach a little discomfort to save a city. Cole would happily die for others, and she was here, unwilling to surrender a little time. Intuition and principles warred against logic and duty in an internal struggle Natalie hated every second of. Exiting a statue¡¯s shadow, Natalie walked toward the Temple, deciding it was time to speak with Cole about this. Fast footsteps and labored breathing caught Natalie''s attention, and she turned to see Yara running toward her as fast as she could. The thrall looked terrible, her eyes puffy with sleep deprivation, face gaunt with fatigue, her hair lank and greasy. For a split second, Natalie considered bolting and escaping her unwanted thrall; she didn¡¯t want to deal with this right now. But her better seraphs won out, and she went over to her thrall. As Yara tried to regain her breath, Natalie asked. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you in the Temple? You should be with the rest of the infected!¡± Sucking down lungfuls of air, Yara pointed at her forehead with a shaky finger. Natalie squinted at the strange mark and understood Yara wasn¡¯t sick; somehow, she¡¯d avoided infection. Still, the Yara looked terrible and tried to babble something through labored breaths. ¡°Canna-canna, plag¡± Taking her hand, Natalie gently led her living responsibility towards the Temple. Questioning her as they walked. ¡°Where in the world¡¯s name have you been?¡± Yara used her free hand to gesture wildly at the surrounding city and then at the distant Ivory Tower. ¡°Try-tried to¡­ *pant pant* tired to speak with Preceptor Rellim. Couldn¡¯t reach it, ran into cannibals!¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie asked for clarification. ¡°You encountered Screamers out there?¡± Yara considered that momentarily before saying, ¡°I guess they did scream; yeah, they screamed a lot.¡± A new pang of guilt washed through Natalie; she¡¯d completely forgotten about Yara with everything happening. So her thrall had apparently been out in the city running from jagging Screamers for Pantheon knows how long. ¡°Let''s get you into the Temple; you look exhausted.¡± A pitiable smile crossed Yara¡¯s face. ¡°When I was with Sir Dietrich, I went through worse. But Mistress, I need to tell you about-¡± Holding up a hand, instantly silencing her, Natalie said. ¡°My name is Natalie, and first, let''s get you some food and water.¡± Yara let herself be meekly led to the Temple¡¯s dining hall but bridled when Natalie personally got some food for her. ¡°Mistress! I can do that!¡± Natalie answered with a flat stare, ¡°It¡¯s Natalie, remember; and you look like you¡¯re barely standing. I was raised in an inn; I won¡¯t let you go hungry on my account.¡± Abashed, Yara bowed her head and started to sip the stew Natalie brought her. Looking over the dull selection of food she¡¯d gathered, Natalie sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry the food is not better; the cooks have their hands full feeding so many. Fixed-stars, I could probably fix you something better if they let me.¡± Yara almost spilled her stew, shaking her head so quickly. ¡°No, no, it''s more than I deserve, Mist-... Natalie.¡± Natalie drummed her fingers on the table and glanced around the dining hall. The two women were alone in the large chamber. Conversationally, Natalie said. ¡°It¡¯s my birthday today.¡± Yara paused eating and, after a second¡¯s hesitation, said, ¡°Happy birthday?¡± Shrugging, Natalie asked, ¡°How old are you, Yara?¡± Scrunching up her face, Yara guessed. ¡°Twenty-three? It¡¯s 1448, right?¡± Wincing, Natalie gently corrected, ¡°It¡¯s 1451. Does that mean you are twenty-six?¡± A little stunned, Yara nodded, and Natalie laughed. ¡°Then you are older than me! I just turned twenty-one today!¡± Yara seemed a little shocked by that, and Natalie leaned in. ¡°I¡¯m not some ancient vampire you must bow and scrap for. I¡¯m another girl from Glockmire, one even younger than you are. Hells, I knew your father¡¯s favorite drink from memory.¡± Natalie could almost see Yara closing herself down, eyes on her stew bowl, the thrall whispered. ¡°But you aren¡¯t another girl from Glockmire anymore; you are a Noble and one of the greatest.¡± Rubbing her face and trying not to moan in exasperation, Natalie changed the topic. ¡°How did you survive the Screamers? They are stronger and faster than normal people.¡± Yara opened her mouth and started to speak, only to be cut off by the door to the dining hall bursting open. A quartet of plague wardens scrambled into the room, two carrying weapons, two carrying a bleeding Priestess, a very familiar Priestess. Bolting up from her chair, Natalie yelled, ¡°MINA!¡± Her words were almost drowned out by the screams coming from the hall beyond. Rushing forward, Natalie reached the plague wardens as they frantically shut the door behind them. The solid wooden door shook as something smashed into it, and muffled shrieks could be heard from beyond it. The plague wardens set Mina down on the ground while the two with weapons frantically tried to lock the shaking door. Mina was awake but hyperventilating; the left side of her face was a mess of blood, and ugly scratches covered her forearms. Seeing Natalie, she pointed at the door and gasped. ¡®Y-you need to he-help!¡± One of the wardens bolted past Natalie, heading for the kitchens and any aid to be found there. Looking down at her injured friend, Natalie felt powerless, for all the dark magic within her, she couldn¡¯t do anything to heal. Seeing her panic, Mina waved a hand. ¡°It-it looks worse than it is. Screamers are still out there; you need to stop them!¡± Swallowing uselessly, ignoring the ugly dry feeling, Natalie moved to the door. ¡°Open it up; I can stop whatever is attacking.¡± The plague wardens looked at Natalie and then at each other, exchanging masked looks. Baring her fangs, Natalie surged forward, knocked both wardens back easily, and let the door burst open. Half a dozen froth-mouthed Screamers surged into the room, and before they could even regain their balance, Natalie struck, not with her claws or her fangs, but with her mind. Meeting their eyes, Natalie sent a surge of raw will through her forged connection. Near instantly, the Screamers crumbled, their consciousness snuffed like candles in a maelstrom. All six hit the ground hard, rendered comatose by a Vampire¡¯s wrath. A little surprised by how easy it was, Natalie looked down at the Screamers and then back at the plague wardens. ¡°Are there more?¡± Stunned, one of the wardens nodded, sending his beak bobbing. Pointing at Mina, Natalie snarled. ¡°Take care of her; I¡¯ll deal with the rest.¡± Quickly grabbing the unconscious Screamers, Natalie tossed them out of the dining hall and shut the door behind her. More pained howls filled the hallway, and a trail of blood showed where Mina came from. Quickly following the trail, Natalie heard screams and enhanced her speed. She found the trail''s origin quickly; a storage room, first converted into an auxiliary ward, now an abattoir. The metallic stink of blood filled the enclosed space, and Natalie forced herself not to breathe. Approximately thirty cotts were in the room, but only ten were occupied. More accurately, ten held bodies, or what Natalie assumed were bodies; it was honestly hard to tell once the Screamers finished feeding. Five of the plague monsters were clustered around one of the cotts, blood spreading out from the feasting Screamers. At the chamber''s far wall were a dozen patients, huddled together and utterly terrified. A single wounded plague warden stood before them, holding out a cudgel with his single working hand. Occasionally one of the Screamers would look up from its ¡®meal¡¯ and sniff at the injured warden, weighing if attacking was worth it. Natalie whistled to get the Screamer¡¯s attention, another talent she¡¯d been forced to relearn with fangs. They looked up from their victim, and Natalie swept her eyes across them, smashing their minds with ease. Each Screamer collapsed, sandcastles before a tidal wave. Baring her fangs, Natalie stalked over to the Screamers and pulled them off their last victim. Looking down, Natalie flinched; it was Aunty Alyssia, the innkeeper of the Final Flagon. Flashes of her father¡¯s lifeless body, a hole punched clean through his chest, assaulted Natalie. Shutting the innkeeper¡¯s eyes, she went over to the survivors. ¡°What can I do to help?¡± The plague warden slumped to her knees and laughed nervously, the sound rendered eerie by the beaked mask. ¡°You saved us, thank you.¡± Natalie winced, looking over the scene of carnage; she knew the truth. These deaths might have been prevented; she hadn¡¯t saved anyone; she¡¯d merely mitigated some of her cowardice. That was what this was, she was afraid of losing control, and other people paid the price for that fear. Shaking her head, Natalie turned to leave. ¡°I¡¯ll go get help.¡± Reaching down, Natalie gripped the collapsed Screamers, collecting them awkwardly and dragging them from the room. As she worked, Natalie¡¯s foot slipped on something; looking down, she felt revulsion rise within her. It was a child, or at least part of one, the little girl she¡¯d helped on the wagon. Natalie wished she could throw up just to purge herself of the horrible feelings roiling inside. Leaving the Screamers in the hallway and shutting the door behind her, Natalie made her decision. Isabelle wanted twelve days in her skin; well then, the old monster could jagging have them. Book 3: Chapter 7: Desperate Measures

Chapter 7: Desperate Measures

¡°Hey, does this fish taste funny to you?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ it kinda does. Didn¡¯t you catch it today?¡± ¡°Pulled it straight out of the river not two hours ago.¡± ¡°That¡¯s odd; maybe it is too early in the year for it.¡± - Conversation between Florian Hass and Fina Hass. Residents of Zandermend. (Village upon the Alidon River.)
Natalie returned to the main clinic after ensuring no more Screamers were loose. Mina was being treated for blood loss and some ugly lacerations but should recover, and Alia was now refusing to leave her girlfriend¡¯s side despite her sickly condition. While details were still sparse, it seemed like someone mistakenly put a group of non-cleansed infected in with some of the earliest patients. Mina was the one who apparently discovered the mistake and went to rectify it, arriving maybe ten minutes too late. Morale was pitifully low across the Temple, mopping up the shredded remains of civilians, including children, tended to have that effect. So the clinic ward Natalie stood in was practically silent, the coughing and rustling of patients the only sound. Cole wasn¡¯t doing well, and it had Natalie on edge; he¡¯d lost consciousness sometime recently and couldn¡¯t be roused. Sitting next to his cott, Natalie looked over her lover; he was boiling to the touch; his skin was palid and clammy while every breath was a shallow wheezing thing. His only movement was to occasionally cough up pinkish gunk or groan in his sleep. Swollen lumps decorated his neck and armpits, leaking pus into his clothes and dressings. Some of the healers Natalie overheard were horrified by how quickly the plague was taking Cole. They seemed to think his efforts fighting the Wyvern and being doused in its infected blood were the reason for his wretched state. Natalie knew better; Cole¡¯s body was abnormal, and it was reacting like Isabelle intended. Just as he lacked a scent and didn¡¯t sweat normally, his body handled disease strangely. While Natalie didn¡¯t know the exact details, from what she¡¯d learned from both Homunculus and Flesh-Weaver, Cole¡¯s body would ¡®surrender¡¯ to an unknown infection, killing and then resurrecting him with immunity. This new plague was too strong for Cole¡¯s flesh to fight against, so it was rolling over and learning the pestilence''s secrets for its next life. Looking at Cole¡¯s sickly form, Natalie couldn¡¯t tell which of them was vindicated from their earlier argument. Cole was giving the Temple healers an excellent map of the disease''s progression; they¡¯d been taking notes on his symptoms and were already testing different treatments on him. Something he¡¯d, of course, given explicit permission to do before passing out. At the same time, Cole wasn¡¯t there to help Mina or anyone else in the city against the Screamers, something he was extremely suited to do. Bitterly, Natalie wondered at what Cole would feel once he awoke; perhaps she wouldn¡¯t be the only one wracked by guilt. Dismissing that petty thought, Natalie leaned over her partner and whispered. ¡°I think I¡¯m going to do something stupid. I wish I could discuss it with you, but both our choices make that impossible. So, I just want to say I love you and¡­ and¡­ if I don¡¯t seem myself when you wake up, please, please notice.¡± Getting up, Natalie sighed and left Cole, ready to shake hands with the Adversary. After one final stop, that is. Heading deep below the Temple, she reached the Fane, the subterranean grotto the Hierophants used for their most important rituals. The great stone door was open but guarded by four Templars in full armor. They surprisingly let Natalie pass without comment, allowing her entrance into the damp cavern. Hierophants Nyami, Glynn, and Bertram were standing around the central altar, deep in ritual work. The strife engulfing Vindabon threatened to spawn a Caul, and the Hierophants were busy preventing that from happening. Usually, the metaphysical disruption of a Caul built up slowly and could be dispersed before reaching full power. Each Hierophant was glowing with a nimbus of power and chanting in Saint-Speech. Glynn alone seemed to notice Natalie and reached out telepathically. + Do you have a message for me? + Wishing she could shiver, Natalie shook her head in the negative. She¡¯d formed a psychic link with the Seer to help communicate during her courier duties and found it unsettling. Glynn¡¯s mind was shaped strangely, and touching it was distinctly uncomfortable. Pulsing back through the link, she said. + I¡¯ve made contact with Isabelle, and she might be able to help + Glynn shut his angular eyes, and tears of silver light dribbled out from beneath his lids. + What is the price? + Grimacing, Natalie said + She needs to use my body to examine and treat people. I¡¯m going to give her three days to try and help. + Glynn was momentarily psychically silent, never stopping his low chanting as he thought on this. + Isabelle Gens Silva is recorded as having both created and cured magical pestilences in the past. This plague stinks of the Duchies, so Isabelle is probably our best option to understand and treat it. But I am loathe to put the burden of possession upon you. I¡¯ve known great Priests who balked at having a Seraph inhabit them; I cannot imagine ceding control to a dangerous creature like her. + Shrugging and looking at the far wall of the chamber where hundreds of skulls sat behind a sheet of water, Natalie said. + I¡¯m going to do this; I just wanted to ensure the Temple was aware. I¡¯m giving her three days and three nights if I¡¯m acting strangely after that¡­ Well, stake me and reset Cole; he can probably help.+ The slightest hint of a frown showed on Glynn¡¯s inhuman face. + I am deeply uncomfortable with letting you do this, but I see our options are limited. We found the wyvern. + Before Natalie could ask, flashes of information were parsed along the mental link. *Screamers in Norica, river villages beset by the plague* *Ghost barges floating down the river, the crew infected, their otters fled* *A divine premonition, a Priest, and a potion to grow gills* *At the bottom of the river Alidon, a hulking carcass* Eyes wide, Natalie swore aloud. ¡°Jag me!¡± The templars gave her ugly looks, and she winced; coarse language in a Temples fane wasn¡¯t exactly appropriate even in times of crisis. + It fell into the river? That¡¯s why nobody could find it? The wyvern crashed into the Alidon, and it contaminated the water. Oh¡­ oh, Gods, the plague isn¡¯t even contained in Vindabon. + Glynn gave the barest nod of agreement; the situation was at the point where things were getting desperate. Chewing her cheek, ignoring the sting of her fangs, Natalie asked. +The Pantheon, they have to be doing something, right?+ Another slight nod and Glynn answered. + The Guardian Seraphs of Vindabon have been given additional¡­ leeway. For now, no corpse will rise Undead in the region without a Necromancer¡¯s dark work. While the miracles of the Temple will come easier, particularly the cleansing of the infected.+ Frowning, Natalie dared to be impertinent + That¡­ that doesn¡¯t seem that much. Aren¡¯t the Gates imbalanced by the Solstice attack? Can¡¯t they do more? + Glynn¡¯s chanting stumbled just a smidge; he recovered quickly, but the lapse in his usual perfection was disturbing. + Yes, and that¡¯s what scares me. + Sucking in a pointless breath, Natalie nodded jerkily and turned to leave. + Well¡­ I guess I better see what can be done about the current crisis. + Exiting the Fane, Natalie winced as she accidentally punctured the sensitive skin of her cheek. She¡¯d managed to bite herself while stressing over this disturbing news. The Pantheon should, in theory, have plenty of power to intervene more readily after a Fell God attacked three months ago. If they were choosing to be miserly in their interference, even in the face of pestilence, they must be preparing for something truly horrible. If a jagging outbreak of plague cannibals didn¡¯t count, then¡­ well, Natalie was even more worried than she had been. Reaching the apartment she shared with Cole, Natalie found her other pressing issue waiting for her. Yara sat outside the door, looking like some abandoned puppy awaiting its fate. Vampire and Thrall stared at each other for a moment; rubbing her forehead in exasperation, Natalie headed for the door. Opening up the apartment, Natalie gestured inside. ¡°You best come in.¡± Cautiously, Yara followed her mistress into the apartment. Natalie gestured to the couch, and Yara tentatively took a seat. Going over to the box Isabelle¡¯s skull resided in, Natalie opened it and lifted the polished bone. Walking over to the small sitting area, she set the skull on the table and sat down in a chair facing it. Yara¡¯s eyes were like saucers as she followed Natalie¡¯s movements. Gesturing at the skull, Natalie said. ¡°Meet Isabelle; she¡¯s a mostly dead Vampire who''s been teaching me things. I¡¯m going to do something stupid and need someone to go get help if it goes wrong.¡± Yara actually glanced around, expecting Natalie to be speaking to someone else. When she realized there was no one else, the Thrall audibly gulped. Meeting Yara¡¯s eyes, Natalie explained. ¡°I¡¯m going to commune with Isabelle, and if I don¡¯t wake up within an hour, go get Glynn and tell him what you saw. If I do wake up and I¡¯m acting well¡­ not like myself, that''s to be expected; I¡¯m letting Isabelle possess me for a little while.¡± Looking down at the skull, Natalie let out a long, long sigh. Yara wasn¡¯t her first, second, third, or fourth pick for this role, but options were limited. Cole was sick, and so were Mina and Alia; she hadn¡¯t seen Morri but guessed he was either sick or busy like the rest of the Hierophants. Leaving Natalie with few options, with Yara being the most practical. Before she could second-guess herself, Natalie reached out and pricked her thumb on one of the skull¡¯s fangs. Shutting her eyes, Natalie pulled on the link, using her blood to enhance the call.
:: Twenty Eight Years Ago :: It was a hot summer night in southern Atredia. The light breeze rustling through the olive grove did little but move the sweltering air. Standing between rows of olive trees, Isabelle Gens Silva held up an unripe example of the growing crop. Freshly picked from the nearest tree, the stone fruit was about the size of Isabelle¡¯s thumb tip and was the reason she was away from her castle. Instead of being the usual green or black coloration of unripe or ripe olives, the one in Isabelle¡¯s hand was a swirling mix of bright colors. As if that wasn¡¯t peculiar enough, the olive glowed slightly as well, a barely detectable bioluminescence pulsing to an unknown rhythm. Squeezing the stone fruit between her fingers, Isabelle popped it, sending a trickle of soap-water-colored juice splattering onto the soil below. Glancing around the olive grove and the close to a hundred trees displaying the ¡®blight,¡¯ Isabelle asked her guide. ¡°And this has been going on for how long?¡± The nervous village boy standing between two of her Eternal Soldiers said. ¡°A-about two weeks, my lady. The colors weren¡¯t so bright at first; they just looked striped and smelled strange.¡± Sniffing her fingers, still coated in the slimy olive guts, Isabelle noted they didn¡¯t smell at all like an olive. Closer to some sort of slightly spoiled juice with hints of spice and soap in the mix. Reaching out to the nearest tree, Isabelle grew a claw and cut into the tree¡¯s bark. More of the strange watery fluid dripped out of the wound; beneath the film of gunk, the green wood was also mutated. Its grain was strange, bending and twisting in clear contradiction to the plant¡¯s growth, while lines of pulsing bioluminescence threaded through the wood, shifting colors every few seconds. Wrinkling her sharp nose, Isabelle said. ¡°Take me to where the first infected trees were found.¡± Natalie Striga answered. ¡°Interesting memory; I¡¯ve never heard of plants like this.¡± Isabelle whirled about, and the olive grove dissolved into a flower field. Natalie stood a few paces away, arms crossed, a neutral expression on her face. Recovering herself before any surprise could show, Isabelle nodded. ¡°They were mutated; I¡¯ve been examining possibly useful memories in preparation for combating the plague.¡± Natalie sucked in a breath, a painfully human expression of trepidation. ¡°This is my offer; every year, you get twelve twenty-four-hour periods where you get control of my body. You must request at least three days in advance, and I get a veto about you taking up a day. I reserve the right to take back my body if you do something wrong, but I will warn you about the objectionable behavior before reclaiming what¡¯s mine. I¡¯ll give you three extra days right now to work on the plague, and to make up for not discussing this with you earlier.¡± Isabelle thought about this. ¡°I¡¯m assuming extra days don¡¯t roll over into the new year? Also, will you still take back control if I heed your objections?¡± Considering this, Natalie said. ¡°No, they will not, and that will depend on the situation. But before we proceed with this agreement, I need you to answer a question for me honestly.¡± Becoming very still, Isabelle tried to think what the question could be. There were things Isabelle couldn¡¯t tell Natalie or anyone else for that matter. ¡°Ask away then.¡± Glancing down at the flowers around them, Natalie asked. ¡°Why is Cole so self-sacrificing? He never hesitates to leap into danger and sometimes seems like an almost perfect example of heroism, to the point where he¡¯s down in the clinic dying from the plague because he won¡¯t ¡®cheapen¡¯ death to help himself. How in the world¡¯s name did you create a person like that?¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Isabelle muttered; Natalie was dancing on the knife-edge of what could be shared. ¡°What I tell you must stay between us. Cole cannot know what I¡¯m about to tell you.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m not going to keep secrets from him, especially ones related to you; I¡¯ve made that mistake before.¡± Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Tapping her fingers on her hip, Isabelle made her offer. ¡°Then I will tell you what I¡¯m willing to tell Cole.¡± Frowning, Natalie scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it''s wrong to hide details about a person¡¯s origin from them? Cole has a right to know how you created him, especially if the details are as bad as you make them seem.¡± Glaring at her student, Isabelle spoke in a low-clipped tone. ¡°Would you tell a child they were a product of rape?¡± Natalie blinked in surprise, and Isabelle continued. ¡°It¡¯s a common story; a girl is raped by an enemy soldier, but she tells her child their father was a hero who died in the war. Turning a monster and a horrible memory into a kind lie that protects everyone involved.¡± Disturbed, Natalie asked. ¡°Are¡­ are you saying?¡± Isabelle cut Natalie off. ¡°No rape was involved in Cole¡¯s creation, but you need to understand the level of darkness I sunk into with my obsession. I surpassed the Gods, Natalie! Nothing of that scope comes without a terrible price.¡± Isabelle could practically see the reluctance and worry growing within Natalie. ¡°You wished me to be honest, so I am. I¡¯ll answer what I can, but no more, take my offer or leave it.¡± Hesitation consumed Natalie until some thought or memory broke through her trepidation. ¡°Fine, tell me what you will.¡± Nodding, Isabelle explained. ¡°It comes back to loyalty; when I first started the project to create truly new life, I understood how dangerous the venture could be. I needed to make sure my creation wouldn¡¯t betray me or become a threat. So I studied the mechanics of faith, loyalty, and similar to reproduce them. At first, the idea was to induce fanatical devotion in my Homunculi, so they¡¯d serve me without question. But, like much of the project, I grew overly ambitious and wouldn¡¯t settle for replicating what existed. Instead, I worked to improve upon what was known, and achieve something marginally similar to perfection.¡± Natalie looked a little sick as she asked. ¡°So¡­ his devotion to you and¡­ me is artificial?¡± Shaking her head, Isabelle corrected the inaccurate notion. ¡°No, no, no, I created a mind primed to ¡®imprint¡¯ on ideas, people, and causes with fanatical loyalty. His ability to love is real, just¡­ altered. As with the rest of him, it''s human, but more so.¡± Seeing the near panic rising in Natalie, Isabelle felt the tiniest twinge of sympathy. Having your entire worldview and relationships shifted by a revelation wasn¡¯t pleasant. To soothe her student and end the flicker of discomfort she felt, Isabelle elaborated. ¡°Of course, other elements became key factors. Cole was created to be highly intelligent, very loyal, and dutiful to the point of obsession. In building those mental elements, I made a mistake, one that has perhaps saved the world.¡± Isabelle waved a hand in the air, summoning two spectral images, one of a wolf and the other of a dog. ¡°One of my near-peers experimented with breeding wolves, hoping to create an improved breed of servants. He spent about a century breeding the most trainable lupines together, generation after generation. Eventually, a pattern became clear; these wolves bred for loyalty, and obedience became friendlier and more excitable. After fifty years of the experiment, his new wolf breed started getting floppy ears and wagging tails. All he¡¯d managed to do was recreate dogs.¡± Confusion and worry were clear in Natalie, so Isabelle made her point. ¡°If you try to create life with certain traits, then other attributes you didn¡¯t want, but are connected to the original traits, will naturally become part of the organism. Cole was made to be loyal, intelligent, and dutiful; those traits came with a great capacity for empathy and kindness. Features I didn¡¯t plan for, but now defines him.¡± Uneducated but still reasonably intelligent, Natalie finally managed to piece together what Isabelle was saying. ¡°You wanted to create the perfect servant; instead, you created a hero.¡± Looking at her fingernails, half-expecting there still to be mutant olive juice on them, Isabelle nodded. ¡°I wanted my creation to serve the strong perfectly; instead, he protects the weak incredibly. An artificial savior, crafted by my hand, who pulled me back from the brink of damnation. He is the product of evil and undeath, yet he serves the Tenth God and helps the world in so many ways. Such a wonderful contradiction; he amazes me in so many ways.¡± Natalie whispered under her breath. ¡°Fire-and-iron¡­ This is mad, every part of it. Does¡­ does he even have true free will?¡± Isabelle rolled her eyes. ¡°As much as anyone else in this meddled world. People are shaped by their origin and environment; Cole is just a little more so than most. Now, back to your offer, I accept the terms you propose.¡± Internally, Isabelle winced; she¡¯d hoped to negotiate things in her favor, but Natalie¡¯s questions made that difficult. The foolish girl was at risk of becoming hysterical, asking questions and demanding answers she wouldn¡¯t want to hear. If Isabelle was going to escape her bone prison, she needed to keep Natalie¡¯s trust, and if that meant taking a paltry deal, then so be it. A flicker of surprise went across Natalie¡¯s face before her expression settled into cool caution. ¡°Why? I expected you to negotiate with me.¡± Pride goeth before the fall, and Isabelle was familiar with both; she¡¯d miscalculated, but not terribly. Truth, or at least something close to it, would hopefully ease her student¡¯s suspicions. ¡°Normally, I would push for more favorable terms, but I fear damaging our relationship if I did so. What I just shared with you was clearly upsetting, and I sense pushing on you would be¡­ inconsiderate.¡± Natalie grimaced. ¡°I doubt that''s the whole story, but I¡¯ll accept it for now. So what must we do for you to use my body?¡± Isabelle was surprised; perhaps the situation in Vindabon really had gotten bad in the last two days. ¡°That depends; I assume you wish to be awake for this?¡± Without hesitation, Natalie nodded. ¡°Of course.¡± Reaching out, Isabelle said. ¡°Then take my hand and relax. It will be uncomfortable, but you risk damaging me and potentially yourself if you fight it.¡± Tentatively, Natalie gripped Isabelle¡¯s cool hand and was pulled into something resembling an embrace. Isabelle looked down at the shorter woman and pressed her forehead to Natalie¡¯s. The mindscape lurched, and the flower field fell away, leaving the two women plummeting through a dissolving metaphor. They landed after a small eternity in the lake of blood, representing Isabelle¡¯s mindscape. Instead of standing on its placid surface, they shot beneath the red mirror and were immersed. Dragged down in the scarlet darkness, Isabelle took control of Natalie¡¯s body.
Isabelle Gens Silva opened a new set of eyes and let out a content sigh. Looking down at her fingers and body, she smiled with joy. Sucking down a breath of pointless air, she savored the myriad smells and tastes. Standing up, she spun in place, enjoying how graceful this body was. Running a hand along her borrowed flesh, she inspected the supple curves and toned muscle awaiting her. Natalie really was a lovely creature; the Strixscions bred their members wonderfully. + Could you stop groping me like that?+ Sighing, Isabelle let go of her pert breast and replied. + I¡¯m considering adjusting my eventual new body; perhaps an hourglass figure like yours would be fun. + + I¡¯m not going to even try and comment on how disturbing that idea is, so can we get to work? + Glancing around the room, Isabelle noticed she wasn¡¯t alone. Yara, the red-headed thrall, was staring at her with undisguised worry. Snapping her fingers and gesturing at the thrall, Isabelle said. ¡°Come here; I need your assistance.¡± Yara practically jumped out of the couch and came to Isabelle. Gesturing to her borrowed hair, Isabelle said, ¡°Remove the hairpin.¡± + No! That¡¯s!+ + If I don¡¯t wear it while in your flesh, it will make it easier for people to tell who is in control. Now shush; I have a few things to do before I can start. + Responding to the cold authority she was trained to recognize, Yara freed Isabelle¡¯s hair and, at the vampire¡¯s instruction, set the silver hairpin down next to the skull. Letting the long dark locks flow out, Isabelle took a moment to enjoy the feeling, shaking her head and playing with a stray curl. Then without warning, she pounced on Yara, gripping the thrall and sinking fangs into her neck. Yara gasped and nearly collapsed as Isabelle drained her to the edge of unconsciousness, injecting a little sting as she did. Gently, Isabelle eased the thrall onto the couch, enjoying the flavor of her blood. Eyes fluttering, body shaking, Yara tried to speak but was in no shape to form words. Smiling at the thrall, Isabelle explained. ¡°I am Countess Isabelle; I understand what you are and what you want. Rest now and know your blood was delicious and potent. When you¡¯ve recovered, attend me, I¡¯ll have need of you.¡± Caught between shock, pleasure, and confusion, Yara managed to nod before falling asleep. Isabelle then headed for the door; as she reached for the handle, a wave of vertigo hammered the Countess. + WHAT THE JAG WAS THAT? + Natalie¡¯s consciousness pushed against Isabelle, threatening to cast the older vampire back to her prison. + I needed the blood! Besides, you¡¯ve been neglecting your thrall; I can feel your guilt every time I look at her. + There was a shocking amount of psychic bleed between the two vampires; Isabelle caught flickers of surface-level emotion from Natalie. Thankfully, Isabelle¡¯s own mental control ensured her more¡­ undiplomatic thoughts and feelings would stay hidden. An important skill Isabelle intentionally neglected to teach Natalie. Isabelle left the apartment, ignoring the weight of Natalie¡¯s annoyance as she headed towards the Temple¡¯s entrance. + The Clinic is back that way + + I am aware I want to taste sunlight for the first time in over five hundred years, and then I can get to work + Isabelle strode down the hallway with her usual unflappable confidence, her body language oozing dominance even in this borrowed flesh. Temple workers she passed instinctively moved out of the way, shying away from the predator stalking their halls. Reaching a secondary entrance to the Temple, Isabelle opened the doors and looked out upon a sunny day. A little of the old fear tickled the back of her mind, but the joy of new power overcame any trepidation. Squaring her shoulders, Isabelle stepped out of the Temple and into the warm spring sunlight. Blinding and beautiful, the light wrapped around Isabelle, calling up ancient memories of her previous life. A long, contented sigh escaped Isabelle as she basked in the sun. It was such an alien experience the prickling discomfort it brought to her skin was even welcome. A little lick of pain to go with her draft of pleasure. Arms spread, drinking in what should be a fiery death; Isabelle looked out at the city. Withered remains of the Green Path clung to buildings, desiccated reminders of the recent festival and its tragic end. The Temple Plaza was otherwise barren, empty of pedestrians, holding only its statues and a few triage tents yet to be taken down. Sucking in a breath and empowering her nose, Isabelle sifted through the various scents of Vindabon. The air stunk of fear and sickness, something Isabelle would change. Spinning on her heel, Isabelle returned to the Temple and set out to save the city. + It¡¯s not just the city anymore. + More of Natalie¡¯s memories surged into Isabelle, and she almost tripped in surprise. Flitting through the new memories, Isabelle better understood the situation. + Well then, I better get working. + Reaching the clinic, Isabelle slipped past nervous plague wardens and headed for where Natalie¡¯s memories said Cole would be. As she walked, Isabelle sniffed the air, sorting through the stink of disease and medicine, trying to better understand the plague. The symptoms clearly spoke to a bubonic origin, but that said little. Countless plagues and pestilences descended from the buboes infection; she¡¯d need a closer examination to understand what she was dealing with. Stepping over to a sickly-looking patient, Isabelle touched her and sent a pulse of wriggling magic through the infected woman. Gasping in discomfort, the woman had her jaw and wrist gripped by Isabelle, who peered into her throat, eyes, and armpit. Nodding at what she saw, Isabelle left the stunned patient, heading towards Cole. + Would you care to explain what that was about? + + I need a clearer understanding of what is at work with this pestilence. It¡¯s obviously a bubonic descendant, but I need to know how it''s been modified to start finding its banes. + After a few seconds of mental silence, Natalie asked. + Could you put that in plain language? + Rolling her eyes, Isabelle dumbed down her explanation for the uneducated peasant she was currently dealing with. + By magically modifying an existing disease, whoever created this pestilence has given it weaknesses. Magical defects that a canny mind like myself can find and exploit. + + So, kind of like how Vampires have weaknesses to stuff, so will the plague? + + A reasonable comparison. Where the gods themselves burdened us with our anathemas, a pestilence¡¯s banes come from its origin. Usually reflecting the magic used to create them in some odd way. + + Could you share an example? + Torn between being annoyed with Natalie¡¯s ignorance and enjoying the opportunity to lecture, Isabelle sighed but responded. + I knew a pestilence that could only be treated with the gastric juices of a hamster. The pestilence was created by an Orcish Shaman who used a diseased hamster as the basis of her creation. + + A¡­. hamster? Seriously? + + Yes, you¡¯d be surprised how often rodents come up regarding pestilences. They make wonderful transmission vectors and breed fast enough to be used readily for experimentation. + Moving between rows of sick people, Isabelle looked for her darling; she wished to see him for both personal and practical reasons. His unique biology and existence would be useful in finding the pestilence''s bane. While being able to physically touch him would¡­ oh, it would be wonderful. In a secluded corner, hidden by a set of hastily erected curtains, lay Cole. Pulling back the curtain and entering the impromptu sick room created for the homunculus, Isabelle felt her dead heart lurch. Cole looked horrible; large buboes decorated his flesh, leaking pus and blood. His breath was labored, and pink gunk dribbled from his lips. + Why hasn¡¯t he healed himself? He doesn¡¯t need to suffer like this! + + I agree, but he doesn¡¯t. Cole refuses to reset himself, it''s stupid, but it¡¯s his choice. + Fangs pricking her lower lip, Isabelle shook her head and approached Cole. She¡¯d not imagined him to be in such horrible shape. Reaching down, she found one of his hands and took it, squeezing the so familiar hand with her own unfamiliar one. A gasp of pain escaped Cole, and Isabelle realized his digits were dark and bruised; necrosis was already starting. Gently setting his hand down, Isabelle put a finger to Cole¡¯s forehead and let her magic ripple through him. Cole¡¯s condition was horrific; the contagion was rampaging through his bloodstream, infesting his organs and devouring him alive. At this point, Cole¡¯s immune response was pitiable, his flesh surrendering to the plague, accepting its demise while plotting revenge. If Cole wasn¡¯t suffering so, Isabelle would be proud of how her improved immune system was working. She¡¯d need to get him to a laboratory somewhere to reset him and examine how the pseudo-curse repaired the damage. That should give her better insights than prodding him or other patients. Cole¡¯s eyes fluttered open then; they were unfocused and watery. Isabelle¡¯s presence and actions were apparently enough to stir him from unconsciousness. Making a shushing notion, Isabelle put a hand on his chin. ¡°It¡¯s okay; this will be over soon.¡± A low, bubbling groan escaped Cole, and Isabelle whispered. ¡°I¡¯m here, darling, I¡¯m here. All will be well.¡± For a single moment, Cole relaxed, going deathly still. Then he exploded in movement, tackling Isabelle off the cott and onto the cool stone floor. Straddling her, shaking hands pinning her, Cole sucked in rattling breaths, eyes wild with shock and rage. Isabelle looked up at the dying homunculus with genuine suprise; his body was septic, and his organs brutalized; he shouldn¡¯t be able to lift his head, let alone overpower her. Bile-tainted blood dripped from Cole¡¯s mouth as he wheezed. ¡°Yo-you¡­ What-what have you done?¡± Staring into his eyes, understanding bloomed for Isabelle. He could tell, half-dead from the plague and barely awake, he could tell it was her. Natalie apparently neglected to inform Cole of her deal with Isabelle. + Well¡­ it''s flattering to know he could tell us apart. + Ignoring her student, a sad smile split Isabelle¡¯s lips as she looked up at her lover. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you, darling. Don¡¯t worry, Natalie is safe; I¡¯m just¡­ borrowing this body to help with the plague.¡± Eyes starting to gloss over with exhaustion, Cole blinked slowly, his addled mind trying to understand what she was saying. Then with that last bit of energy spent, Cole collapsed. Gently moving her beloved knight off of her, Isabelle touched his throat and confirmed her worries. He was dead, his heart and brain giving out from the final effort. Looking at the curtains, Isabelle suddenly realized she was in a very precarious position. She didn¡¯t know who knew what Cole was but needed to keep that circle from expanding. A suddenly difficult proposition now that she was in the middle of a busy plague ward with his corpse. Seeing no other easy option, Isabelle consulted her student. + I need a laboratory to examine Cole and hide him while he regenerates. + + I¡­ might know where to find one. + Book III: Chapter 8: Under the Knife

Chapter 8: Under the Knife.

¡°Runes are methods of packing complicated magic into a pictogram. They allow for casting of larger and more intricate spells with reduced effort. Most often, they are used in enchanting, binding a spell to an object for later use. But this is not what they were originally used for, merely a Dwarven innovation that¡¯s supplanted the true purpose of Runes. Talented Magi can memorize countless Runes, combining them together in spells of incredible power.¡± - Boris Eskhara, Preceptor of Rune Craft at the Urdam Ivory Tower.
After getting Cole back onto the cott, Isabelle stared down at his corpse and started to make plans. + Where is this laboratory? + Natalie sent a mental map through the link while explaining why she thought it was a good option + The laboratory is reserved for dissecting corpses with abnormalities; the Priest in charge of it is working as a plague warden; we should have it to ourselves. + Nodding, Isabelle shut her eyes and felt at Natalie¡¯s blood reservoir. Standing in the great empty ocean, Isabelle felt something like vertigo on comprehending the sheer size of the Alukah¡¯s potential. At the bottom of the monstrous basin was a reasonably sized puddle of blood, representing Natalie¡¯s hoarded power. It was a respectable amount, about the capacity of a young vampire¡¯s basin, and would hopefully be enough for what Isabelle planned. Leaving the basin, Isabelle reached out into the local Aether and started weaving her spell. Shamans work with spirits, Priests call upon their gods, but Magi bend the Aether to their will through knowledge and intellect. Reaching out with her mind, Isabelle gripped the local Aether and started carving her spell into existence. The simple blood magic her darling worked was crude and inefficient, forming an idea and bribing the Aether into manifesting it. In comparison, Isabelle shaped the ambient arcane power surrounding her and commanded it to do as she pleased. Runes like oily black blood burned in the Aether, surrounding Isabelle and Cole, sculpting reality to the elder vampire¡¯s intent. Isabelle could feel Natalie¡¯s amazement and confusion; seeing a Magi¡¯s work through their own eyes was a rare experience. As the runes congealed into their final forms, Isabelle cast her spell. No ripple of power or flash of energy accompanied the magic; such sloppiness would defeat the spell¡¯s purpose. Reaching down, Isabelle picked up Cole, hoising his ruined body over her shoulder, and stepped through the curtains. Natalie¡¯s mind boiled with shock and stress, but before the younger vampire could object, she realized what Isabelle had done. + I knew that rune looked familiar + Isabelle cloaked herself in a violently powerful subtlety spell. Walking between sick patients, carrying a hulking corpse, Isabelle went unnoticed. + Yes, runes are a clever tool, wrapping up all a spell¡¯s details in a pictogram for easy use. But those with proper knowledge and awareness can know the magic at work if they recognize the rune. + Reaching the clinic entrance, Isabelle was forced to wait until the door was open so she could pass through. Subtlety spells relied on tricking people¡¯s perception, and anything that caught undue attention could unravel the spell, like a door opening by itself, for example. Following Natalie¡¯s map, Isabelle delved into the Temple¡¯s escaping the more trafficked parts of the complex. Even though they were alone, Isabelle didn¡¯t dare drop the spell; inhabiting Natalie and casting a complicated working like that was taxing her. Even with stolen blood to ease the mental and magical cost, it wasn¡¯t easy. Isabelle decided she needed to teach Natalie more spells; even if the girl lacked talent, a little familiarity would make using her brain for these matters easier. Natalie, for her part, stayed silent, simply watching events, a mixture of curiosity and caution bubbling off her mind. Isabelle¡¯s spellweaving clearly interested her, and the former Countess smiled internally at the new hook that interest might provide. With that thought, a slight flicker of discomfort went through Isabelle. Natalie ignoring Isabelle¡¯s request for three months soured their relationship, but still, the idea of manipulating Natalie in new ways felt¡­ unpleasant. Reaching the subterranean hallways containing the Temple¡¯s huge mortuary, Isabelle asked. + How do you know about this laboratory? + + The Priestess in charge of it, Rihan, is an¡­ acquaintance. I visited her lair once to identify Liam Louon after his death. + + Lair? + + Yeah¡­ lair. + Isabelle found the laboratory and noted the mixture of arcane and mundane locks protecting it. Setting Cole down, Isabelle got to work altering the magical defenses. They were simple things designed to warn of an intruder or meddler. It would be fledgling¡¯s play to rip apart the spells, but that would alert their caster, so Isabelle simply neutered them. Changing what the spell considered normal to be ridiculously broad, letting Isabelle start working on the door¡¯s mundane defenses. Which was a simple lock, meant more for privacy than security. Glancing at Cole, Isabelle decided she wasn¡¯t in the mood for subtlety. She rammed a blood claw into the lock and destroyed its mechanism. A psychic sigh played across Isabelle¡¯s mind; Natalie apparently didn¡¯t approve. Ignoring her student, Isabelle pushed open the door and found the laboratory. The doorway was marked with strips of different magical metals, and Isabelle carefully stepped across them. Once inside, she had to agree with Natalie¡¯s assessment of ¡®lair.¡¯ The laboratory did honestly look like a better-lit version of a Strix¡¯s nest. A large stone slab was the room''s centerpiece, with a cart of shining medical instruments next to it. One room wall was covered in shelves holding books and pickled specimens. Nearby was a set of modified apothecary cabinets. A desk covered in notes and drawings sat in one corner, facing a shockingly detailed anatomy painting hanging from the stone wall. Nodding in approval, Isabelle returned to the doorway, grabbed Cole, and dragged him inside. She placed him on the stone slab and started removing his clothes. + What are you doing? + + I need to understand the plague in better detail; Dissecting Cole will be the quickest way to reach that understanding. + + YOU CAN¡¯T DO THAT! What if he wakes up?! + Isabelle rolled her eyes. + He won¡¯t; I know how his regeneration works. I have time to do this. + Memories flashed into Isabelle¡¯s mind of Cole¡¯s faster resurrections and shocking recoveries. Isabelle hesitated slightly; she¡¯d predicted Cole would eventually start healing at a greater rate, it was a natural side-effect of what he was, but this was¡­ Well, it was too much, too fast. Going over to one of the apothecary cabinets, Isabelle ran a cold hand over the labeled drawers until she found her goal. Pulling open one of the sliding drawers, Isabelle plucked out a shiny needle. Her fingers tingled a little where the needle touched, the only hint to the thin instrument''s special metal coating. Taking the Stargent needle, Isabelle returned to Cole and gently but firmly drove it into his neck. Natalie recoiled in disgust, a strange sensation for Isabelle as she returned to work. + Happy? The Stargent will prevent him from reviving as long as it''s inside him. + Natalie sulked as Isabelle removed Cole¡¯s clothes and examined his body. His neck, armpits, and groin were covered in buboes. His fingers and toes were dark with the start of necrosis, and ugly bruises decorated much of his arms, legs, and chest. Isabelle noted he¡¯d lost weight, his muscle mass quickly withering away during his sickness. She also checked his unscarred arm, another thing to investigate in the future. Reaching for the set of medical instruments, Isabelle prepared to start the grim work of dissection, which was proving to be an issue, Natalie was boiling with stress, and it leaked into Isabelle. Even though she was possessing Natalie¡¯s body, it was originally the barmaid¡¯s flesh, and her uncontrolled emotions were having an effect. Setting down the scalpel she¡¯d been prepared to use, Isabelle said. + You don¡¯t need to watch this; you can sink into unconsciousness while I work. + + No, I¡­ I need to see this. + + You do not; besides, your distress is proving annoying. If I have to manage your emotions and do this dissection simultaneously, I will likely make mistakes. + There was no answer, and Isabelle sighed. Mercy and practicality met in a rare concert, and she said. + I swear upon my love for Cole, I¡¯ll not abuse the gift of flesh you¡¯ve loaned me. I¡¯ll let you rest in one of my interesting memories and rouse you the moment the dissection is finished. I make this offer to help myself, my friend, and my darling, so please just take it. + A wordless pulse of ascent washed through Isabelle, and she shut her eyes in concentration. This would be best for everyone; Isabelle would be free to investigate, while Natalie would perhaps gain some understanding through another¡¯s memories. Gently, Isabelle pushed Natalie¡¯s mind deeper into their fused mindscape, feeding the distressed Vampire an old memory.
Natalie was back in the strange grove, watching Isabelle inspect the exotic plants with a studious eye. Chewing her lip, Natalie fretted over her cowardice; she¡¯d seen Cole die too many times, but the idea of watching him be dissected¡­ was too much for her. She¡¯d turned away from this new horror and was already starting to regret it. Still, despite her reservations, Natalie couldn¡¯t bring herself to pull free from this memory and return to whatever horrific sight Isabelle would drag her into. Besides, a break from the disorienting, disturbing experience of witnessing another control her body would be good. It was wearing on Natalie¡¯s mind quickly, and maybe she could learn something from this phantom recollection. The memory-Isabelle was walking through the grove, followed by a nervous teenager and two armored skeletons; Natalie floated next to the group, a spectator to events long since passed. The boy, an Atredian by the look of it, stuttered through, saying. ¡°Th-the hillock up-up ahead, that''s whe-where it started.¡± As he spoke, the boy gestured at a distant ridge at the grove''s edge, covered in the withered stumps of strange trees. Isabelle moved towards it, seeking more information as she did. ¡°You cleared out the infected olive trees, then?¡± The boy nodded. ¡°We didn¡¯t want to, but once the blight started spreading, the headman said to do it.¡± Reaching the base of the craggy ridge, Isabelle paused momentarily and said, ¡°Wait here.'''' Then a strange red smoke started to billow up from her dress, and the vampire floated into the air. Carried aloft on crimson vapors, Isabelle headed for the hillock¡¯s summit. With a thought, Natalie glided after her, a spectral witness to events. Watching Isabelle, Natalie wondered if she could learn to float like that. It seemed a useful power and would certainly beat her previous attempts at flight. Gently landing on the top of the hillock, Isabelle scanned the ugly surface, noting the dozen or so olive stumps. Natale flitted over to the stump and raised an eyebrow in confusion. The tree didn¡¯t have rings; instead, its innards were shaped in a colored spiral, an eye-catching formation that glowed faintly in the dark night. Isabelle approached the stump and placed a hand upon it; black burning runes spread out from her palm and covered the exposed spiral. Quickly as if the mutant wood was scalding, Isabelle pulled her hand back with a pained hiss. Reaching into her billowing robes, Isabelle pulled out a crude metal knife. It was an ugly little thing of badly shaped iron with a pale leather grip. Isabelle drove the knife down into the stump with inhuman strength. Strange smoke started to billow up from the knife, shining clouds with impossible shapes briefly visible in them. Nodding to herself, Isabelle pulled the knife free and walked around the hilltop, her eyes tracing the rocky soil, looking for something. It didn¡¯t take her long; at the very peak of the hill was a space empty of stumps or tree debris. A patch of mossy soil clinging to life among the dirt-dusted limestone around it. As Natalie grew closer, she realized it wasn¡¯t a patch, but a circle, something Isabelle also clearly noticed. Natalie imagined the perfect moss circle would be hard to notice among the thick olive grove, but now it was obvious. Crouching down, Isabelle let the tip of her iron knife touch the moss; it recoiled. The green growth retraced slightly, pulling away from the knife with unmistakable movement. Isabelle stuck the knife into the circle''s center, and the moss rippled like disturbed water. The plant life closest to the knife started to wither, shriveling and turning brown. By contrast, the outer edge of the circle started to grow, and strange fungal stalks started to push out of the moss and form a ring around the circle. With each passing second, the mushroom circle swelled, its stalks bulbing into fat red caps the size of a fist. Watching all of this, Natalie started to realize what she was seeing and felt a surge of overwhelming terror grow within her. She¡¯d heard stories of things like this, how shepherds would spend hours moving an entire flock rather than pass over a faerie circle. Isabelle reached down and plucked one of the mushrooms from the circle. It kept growing in her hand, the cap flushing a vibrant red, its gills stretching and twitching. Suddenly, Isabelle tossed the mushroom onto the ground and called up a fire sphere, casting a flame bolt at the fungus. It screamed, a high-pitched wail with an almost musical tone. As the fungus died in fire, its fellows started to transform. Now knee height, the mushrooms pulled themselves out of the soil, ripping free of the faerie circle and moving on strange tendril limbs. They would have looked ridiculous except for the fast-growing teeth. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. A long ugly fang sprouted out of each gill slit on the mushrooms, crowning the fungi¡¯s caps with centimeter-long blades. Then to add to the surreality, the mushroom caps started to spin, like a street performer''s balanced plate on a poll. Slithering towards Isabelle, the danger of the mushrooms became clear. Natalie had seen what a spinning saw could do to flesh; she imagined these mushrooms would do worse. Leaping back, catching herself midair on a cloud of red fog, Isabelle spat arcane words and made gestures with her hands. Actual lightning crackled between her fingers and spat out at the mushrooms. The air shuddered as storm fire incinerated the mushroom-creatures in a blinding flash. As the smoke cleared, Isabelle floated closer to the faeries circle and drove a sharpened talon into her wrist. Black blood dribbled out of the wound and slithered through the air like an onyx snake, coiling around the circle''s edge. The obsidian ichor detached from Isabelle and connected to itself in a bloody ouroboros encircling the tainted ground. Clapping her hands together and hissing out words in some fell tongue, Isabelle bound the faerie circle, the strange moss pressing against the line of blood but unable to pass it. No more strange mushrooms grew, nor did any other unseelie threat arise as Isabelle waited, checking to ensure the bindings held. Floating down the hillock, returning to the fearful teenager and her guards, Isabelle snapped orders. ¡°Go to your village, find your smith, and order him to gather as much scrap iron as possible. Wake up whoever you need to; just collect a wheelbarrow worth of iron and bring it to me!¡± Blanching, the boy swallowed and said. ¡°I-I don¡¯t know if we have that much iron in the village!¡± Glaring down at the boy with imperial aloofness, Isabelle snapped. ¡°Find it, even if that means pulling nails out of houses and sifting through the midden heap. Your entire village depends upon getting that iron!¡± Face going pale, the boy nodded and ran for the village; Isabelle flicked her hands and sent her guards after him as protection or threat; Natalie couldn¡¯t tell. Staring up at the hillock, Isabelle shut her eyes and reached out with her mind, something Natalie could feel through the shared memory. Watching Isabelle work was humbling and confusing; it was like witnessing someone play an instrument you couldn¡¯t even comprehend. Still, Natalie tried her best to understand. She knew Magi manipulated the Aether with their minds, but that was like saying someone could play the flute by blowing on wood. Catching glimpses of it through her mentor, Natalie gathered the most basic concepts of the ¡®true arcane¡¯ as Magi loved to call their art. How Isabelle used her soul like a tool, reaching into the surrounding Aether and shaping it as she saw fit. But the incredible complexity of shaping the Aether made Natalie¡¯s head ache just to witness. It reminded Natalie of trying to keep an obscenely complicated food order in her head while simultaneously imagining the process of carving a sculpture. Like it wasn¡¯t enough to just hold all the information in your head, a Magi needed to manipulate and alter the information at the same time if they wanted to create a spell. Isabelle wasn¡¯t currently casting a spell as Natalie initially assumed; she was now ¡®stretching¡¯ her soul to touch the surrounding Aether. It didn¡¯t match Cole¡¯s description of his Aether-sight, so Natalie wondered if they were fundamentally different techniques. Before Natalie could really dwell on this, Isabelle sensed something. A presence in the Aether that was both entwined and buried within the hill. Something old but withered nested inside the hillock; at least it used to be withered; now it was growing anew. Pulling back her senses, Isabelle let out an annoyed sigh. ¡°Sidhe¡­.¡± Then Isabelle turned to look at Natalie. ¡°We have a slight problem; I must pull you from this memory.¡±
Natalie was ripped from the cursed olive grove and found herself back in her body or at least a passenger within it. Natalie¡¯s body was standing with its hands raised, looking at the laboratory door. The door was open, and Priestess Rihan stood there, eyes and hands glowing with silver fire. Natalie¡¯s head glanced behind her, and Natalie caught a brief look at a peeled-open corpse, Cole¡¯s corpse. Looking back at the battle-ready Priestess, Isabelle spoke using Natalie¡¯s mouth. ¡°I swear I have a good explanation for this.¡± Priestess Rihan was missing her plague mask and wore a cool expression. ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± Isabelle said. ¡°I need to better understand the plague, and to do so, I needed to dissect a recent victim of it.¡± Rihan raised an eyebrow. ¡°Which happened to be your lover, the Paladin? That seems¡­ cold.¡± Isabelle rolled her eyes, a distressing experience for Natalie viewing through them. ¡°He¡¯s not dead!¡± + I could use some assistance, I don¡¯t know how puissant this Priestess is, and I fear what would happen if she burned your head off. + + How did you not notice her approach?! + + I was in the middle of a complicated bit of haruspex; my mind was occupied! + Sighing internally, Natalie weighed her options. + I think we need to inform Rihan about Cole. + Isabelle grimaced and sent a hypothetical plan of attack. With a little luck, Isabelle could divert Rihan¡¯s attack and get close enough to enter her mind. Then it would be easy to remove the compromising memories and even secure the laboratory for further use. + No, I¡¯m not letting you rearrange her mind; the Hierophants already know, so telling her won¡¯t be much of a problem. + Rihan approached slowly, keeping her hands and the spell held in them at the ready. Glancing at Cole¡¯s flayed open chest and exposed organs, Rihan remarked. ¡°He seems pretty dead to me.¡± Grunting in annoyance, Isabelle said. ¡°There is a needle in his throat; I¡¯m going to remove it. Once it''s gone, he will start to regenerate.¡± Instead of objecting or attacking, Rihan glanced at Cole¡¯s neck and nodded. ¡°Do it.¡± Isabelle turned and gently plucked the needle from Cole¡¯s neck. As she did, Isabelle gestured at Cole¡¯s organs, and Natalie reeled her mind back to not get a good view. ¡°Watch his circulatory system; it will start first.¡± Retreating into her own mind, Natalie heard Rihan mutter, ¡°Interesting¡­¡± Then a series of wet squelches and fleshy pops filled the room, and Natalie wished she could throw up. Rihan made a humming noise disturbingly like Hierophant Nyami and asked, ¡°The flesh is reknitting itself; is this necromancy?¡± Isabelle clicked her tongue. ¡°Not truly; his flesh is rebuilding itself before he revives. But necromancy was used in developing the fundamental elements of the magic.¡± Natalie focused on Rihan instead of Cole¡¯s regrowing flesh and watched the undisguised interest on the Priestess¡¯s face. It seemed Isabelle might have found a kindred spirit in the corpse-tending Priestess. As Cole¡¯s innards continued reknitting themselves, Rihan asked. ¡°Did you learn anything useful?¡± Giving Rihan a cool glare, Isabelle said. ¡°Some, but I would have learned more if you didn¡¯t interrupt me!¡± Rihan gave the barest shrug. ¡°Then you shouldn¡¯t have broken into my laboratory and started dissecting the Paladin without permission.¡± Isabelle voiced both her and Natalie¡¯s thoughts then. ¡°I¡¯m surprised by how well you are reacting to events.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Rihan gestured at Cole. ¡°I read the initial reports from the Solstice Ball; they said the Paladin was paralyzed by a clean cut to the spinal cord, one of his kidneys was ripped out, and he suffered from extreme blood loss. Then the next day, he was up and leading the purge of House Louon as if nothing happened.¡± Gesturing towards her desk, Rihan added. ¡°My job is to deal with irregular corpses, to pry the secrets from empty husks. Something about what happened with the Paladin felt wrong, so I returned afterward to grab the records and ask some questions. Just to find someone changed the records reducing the extent of his injuries and adding mention of the Paladin possessing a ¡®powerful healing miracle.¡¯ I don¡¯t know what the Temple is hiding, but I guess you do.¡± + Jag¡­ + + Jag¡­ + + She¡¯s worryingly intelligent. It would be prudent to strike now and wipe her memories.+ + We can¡¯t. Ethical considerations aside, if the Temple finds out we¡¯ve mettled with their Priestess like that, then there will be a blood price to pay. + A wet cracking noise pulled everyone¡¯s attention to Cole; his ribs were sliding back into place, and the first strips of muscle and skin were growing over his chest. As they watched, Natalie noticed the large buboes on his skin literally fell off him, detaching like overripe fruit and leaving small wounds that were already healing. Looking down at the excised flesh, Isabelle remarked. ¡°Interesting, his body managed to seal off the infected lymph nodes and eject them. I think his regeneration is growing more efficient, which would explain why he¡¯s resurrecting faster.¡± Rihan went over to a sample tray, picked up a pair of metal tongs, and started moving the buboes onto the clean tray. ¡°These might be useful to inspect. Now, how long until he¡¯s conscious?¡± Natalie was still put off by Rihan¡¯s almost casual acceptance of events, but Isabelle didn¡¯t seem bothered. ¡°A few hours at the most, a few minutes at the least. I¡¯ll need to conduct more tests on him to get a better understanding of his regenerative paradigm.¡± + No. No. No. You are not experimenting on Cole again; I won¡¯t allow it. + Ignoring Natalie¡¯s objections, Isabelle addressed Rihan. ¡°The Temple Hierophants are aware of my darling¡¯s unique nature. They and Cole alike would both like to keep this information secret; I trust you understand?¡± Rihan gave a non-committal shrug. ¡°Why did you break into my laboratory, Natalie? Surely you could have talked with Keeper Glynn and arranged for a dissection space?¡± Natalie grimaced, uncertain if letting Rihan know the truth would earn her body some new burns. Before she could decide, Isabelle stole the choice from her. ¡°Cole died out in the main ward; I needed to get him out of there before someone noticed. Additionally, I needed to analyze his body before he started to resurrect, and your laboratory was the nearest reasonable option. I¡¯d assumed you were still busy working as a plague warden, so I thought it would be empty.¡± Smiling slightly, Isabelle dipped her head. ¡°I know how annoying it can be to have someone make a mess of your space. I¡¯m sorry for intruding like this; I¡¯ll gladly share my findings, both present and future, as compensation.¡± If Rihan noticed the oddities in ¡°Natalie¡¯s¡± speech or mannerisms, she didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°Well, what did you learn from our regenerating Paladin here?¡± Natalie was also interested in this and decided she¡¯d pick a fight with Isabelle about impersonating her later. Shutting her eyes, Isabelle reviewed the information her spell summoned, and Natalie was struck with vertigo as alien knowledge danced past her consciousness. ¡°The pestilence is a mutant descendant of the bubonic plague, but that much was obvious. It was cultivated in rats and meant to be especially virulent and fast acting, but thankfully not quite as deadly as most pestilences.¡± Rihan looked at Cole, raising an eyebrow, and Isabelle explained. ¡°His body reacts poorly to unknown contagions. It lets them run rampant until he¡­ expires then resurrects fully immune.¡± The Priestess blinked in surprise. ¡°So he really dies and comes back? Not as undead but truly alive? That really is fascinating.¡± Natalie got the worrying sense that perhaps the worst possible person in the Temple had just learned the truth about Cole. Sure, Rihan wouldn¡¯t spread this information around, but¡­ well, the way she was looking at Cole reminded Natalie of a cat eyeing up an injured mouse. Isabelle might be Natalie¡¯s competition for Cole¡¯s affection, but it looked like Rihan would be Isabelle¡¯s rival for experimentation. Natalie needed to do her best to protect him from both their curiosity. Cole would doubtlessly volunteer for whatever horrors they deigned necessary if they sold him on a worthy cause; Natalie wouldn¡¯t let her lover suffer like that, not after the truths he¡¯d confessed about his time in the Voivode¡¯s larder. Isabelle, of all people, thankfully changed the subject. ¡°Back to the pestilence, I did find something interesting in the contagion''s Aetheric presence. There were ¡®tethers¡¯ built into the disease, spiritual anchors an Aetheric entity could attach itself to. Thankfully the tethers I saw in Cole were broken and quickly degrading; nothing could use them in that state. So the reasonable assumption is these tethers are what your cleansing protocol is attacking.¡± Looking down at the excised lymph node, Rihan asked. ¡°So the Screamers, you think something is entering them using the disease as an entry point? They are being possessed by an entity, and that¡¯s the origin of their behavior?¡± Nodding, Isabelle answered her with a question. ¡°Have you examined the Screamers? They most likely have intact anchors; we might be able to identify the entity attacking them.¡± Rihan shook her head. ¡°Not truly; we¡¯ve been busy just keeping them alive and sedated. But I¡¯m curious; when I¡¯ve cleansed the infected, it didn¡¯t feel like breaking anchors. I got this vague sense of something¡­ something being inside people. It didn¡¯t feel like breaking anchors; it felt like¡­ digging out burrows.¡± For a long moment, Isabelle was silent; then she let out a long breath that grew into a growl. ¡°Seeds¡­ You were digging out seeds!¡± A rising tide of wrath boiled up inside Isabelle¡¯s mind; Natalie pressed against the edge of awareness, trying to avoid the searing cauldron of rage she witnessed. Red vapor started to boil off Natalie¡¯s flesh, and a low bubbling growl rose in Isabelle¡¯s throat. Rihan stepped back slowly, raising her hands, calling up silver light to defend herself. Putting her metaphorical toe in the maelstrom of rage that was Isabelle¡¯s mind, Natalie understood what was happening. This wasn¡¯t the mad wrath of isolation and desperation; this was a deeper, well-cultivated hatred. As gently as she could manage, Natalie said. + I need you to calm down, Isabelle; you are starting to scare both Rihan and me. + Isabelle shut Natalie¡¯s eyes, and suddenly the two vampires were standing before a burning castle. Natalie flinched away from the phantom flames but quickly gained her bearings. They were within the memory of Isabelle¡¯s downfall and death. Staring up at her burning castle, Isabelle¡¯s jaw was clenched so tight that Natalie wondered if she would crack her teeth. With jerky, unnatural movements, Isabelle walked over to her impalement and pyre. Worried and confused, Natalie followed behind her mentor, finding Isabelle staring not at the tortured memory but at her tormentors. Natalie forced herself to avoid looking at the oppressive echo of the Archduke and at the figure standing at his left hand, the apparent subject of Isabelle¡¯s attention. In the shadow of the ancient Vampire King armed with blood in shadows was an incongruous sight. A boy, no older than twelve, fine of limb and feature, with silky blond hair. The boy was dressed in expensive clothes and looked the very image of a handsome youth. Except for the boy''s smile, his doll-like face was split into a wide hungry grin showing a mouth filled with needle-like teeth. Not just the simple fangs of vampires but a full set of thin sharp teeth similar to an eel¡¯s. Looking down at the boy, Isabelle snarled. ¡°Voivoide Igori Gens Suillia, the bastard responsible for my death.¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie examined the beautiful boy, noting his red eyes and pale lips. From what Cole and Isabelle shared about their enemy, she¡¯d imagined some wretched old creature, like Petar but worse. Somehow the almost angelic youth smiling up at a death-pyre was more unsettling than any greasy bat creature dredged up from a black cavern. Isabelle faced her student then, an ugly twitch in the older vampire¡¯s face. ¡°I know who is responsible for this plague. It¡¯s obviously been modified, but I recognize the original idea and execution.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°Who?¡± Shutting her eyes, Isabelle whispered. ¡°I am.¡± Book III: Chapter 9: Flies

Chapter 9: Flies

¡°Oh, there are a dozen stories on where they come from. Some claim a Dragon and Succubus laid together and spawned the first brood; others say they were fleshcrafted by an ancient Magi or bored Sidhe. But honestly? It doesn¡¯t matter; the Lamias are here, and by the stars, they are dangerous. They may look pretty from the waist up, but their nature and appetites speak the truth. The snakewomen have a taste for stupid young men thinking with their loins.¡± - Grettir of Jokulstead, Monster Hunter, and Werewolf.
:: Castle Tya, on the border between the Blood Duchies and Southern Marches :: Castle Tya sat upon an island within a River Tya, marking the southern border of the Holy League and the Blood Duchies. First constructed by ancient hands and rebuilt by undead laborers, it was a true fortress and guarded the easiest path into the Duchies. Its venerable ramparts survived dozens of sieges and forced the Holy League to take other more treacherous paths into the Duchies whenever war came calling. No one could pass the fortress without paying a tithe of blood, either through battle or subservience. So as the newest chapter of conflict between the League and Duchies was written, the Castle played its part, hosting lords of the dead and their corpse legions. It was here the war was planned by Duke Mika Gens Umbria of Roloyo and his subordinates, where a court of bone and steel was held for all the Nocturnal Nobility engaged in this grand blood-letting. Vampires and monsters representing the Duke¡¯s vassals and allies filled the castle to its brim, all eager to feast upon their enemies. Atop one of the tallest towers of Castle Tya stood one of these undead courtiers, a handsome man with curly dark hair and aquiline features. Unlike many vampires within the Castle, he wore no armor and carried only a simple dueling dagger. This was partly because the vampire knew where his strengths lay and partly because he had no intention of personally meeting the enemy in battle. The clash of steel and magic in close quarters was not how Lord Aloysius Wolfgang waged war. Staring out at the midnight sky of the Southern Marches, Wolfgang adjusted his glasses, a seemingly pointless accessory for a vampire. Running a slender finger along the spectacles¡¯ rim, Wolfgang focused the ten lenses built into each eye and tuned the sorcery infusing the glasses. Multi-faceted like an insect''s eyes, the glasses were a magical relic of Wolfgang¡¯s own creation and the origin of his epithet, the Black Fly. Peering through the lenses, Wolfgang stared into the Aether as a Priest might and examined the efficacy of his project. A great swirling cloud of panic and pain roiled in the distance, a miasma cloud billowing off Vindabon like some occult forest fire. Of course, Vindabon was too far away to view normally, but the city¡¯s torment polluted the Aether so badly half the continent would be able to sense it. The psychic shock of festival-turned-massacre was having the desired effect, feeding the spiritual stormfront Wolfgang planned. Of course, the Priests of Vindabon were doing admirable work stopping a Caul from forming, but that wasn¡¯t the purpose of the Aetheric contamination. Covering Vindabon and Norica in a shroud of suffering would curdle the Aether, bolstering the dark arts of undeath. The pestilence would spread every night and weaken the entire region, preparing it for whatever future plans the Archduke had in mind. Sweeping his eyes across the dark plains, Wolfgang looked for the other two points of interest in the Aether. Harmas stood to the north, a great tree infested with weevils but too stubborn to realize it was already dead. To the west was the great host of Prince Franz of Vindabon, tens of thousands of souls flickering and dancing like the campfires they no doubt nested by. Cut off from Harmas, the League army was forced to stay near the Alidon River, using the mighty waterway to keep supplied. Thinking to the last flickers of a wyvern¡¯s mind, Wolfgang doubted the river would be usable for long. Finally, removing his spectacles and turning to leave the tower balcony, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Do you need something, Cleanor?¡± A melodic laugh escaped the shadowed rafters, and a serpentine shape slithered down to meet Wolfgang. At first glance, Cleanor appeared to be a fantastically beautiful woman with flowing brown hair, sculpted features, long lashes, and full breasts. Those who survived long enough to look past that initial assessment would notice other more important features like claws, fangs, and serpentine lower half. Below Cleanor¡¯s lovely hips were not legs but a long snake tail covered in speckled brown scales. Slithering along the floor, hips swaying with her movement, the Lamia approached Wolfgang, forked tongue occasionally slipping out from between full red lips. ¡°No, just keeping close to my charge. Can¡¯t have someone gobbling you up when I¡¯m not looking, can I?¡± Folding his glasses and putting them in their case, Wolfgang added. ¡°And ensuring reports of my every action return to the Voivoide?¡± Cleanor shrugged, a gesture she somehow managed to make sensual. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that, Little Fly. I detest paperwork and will only write home to the master if it''s truly necessary. Now, what do you have planned for the rest of this evening?¡± Wolfgang moved towards the stairs and debated how much to share with his bodyguard. ¡°I¡¯m working on the gift from Mistress Takiya; I think the ritual she provided will be extremely useful in the coming months.¡± The Lamia followed after Wolfgang, clearly disliking the long winding staircase, an apparent annoyance for those without feet. ¡°So your bowing and scraping to that refugee has proved useful, hmm?¡± Already pondering the runes and rites involved with the gift, Wolfgang remarked. ¡°She¡¯s a half-millennia-old Durugo from the Jade Lands and an extremely talented Necromancer. I¡¯d consider her a little more than the usual ferals who come crawling to the court seeking refuge.¡± An unamused snort escaped Cleanor. ¡°I understand the Archduke''s grand ideals of forming a nation of the night, but I wish we could be a bit more discriminatory about who joins us. My sisters and I spend much of our time handling ferals sniffing around the pedigree breeds.¡± Not bothering to look at Cleanor, Wolfgang played Accusor¡¯s advocate. ¡°Some would say similar about Lamias.¡± Wolfgang could practically feel the slitted snake eyes glaring at him. ¡°My kind have been loyal servants of the Archduke and Voivode for centuries. I¡¯d be more polite to the woman tasked with keeping you undead if I were you.¡± Leaving the tower, the Vampire and Lamia headed for their shared quarters. As a lord, Wolfgang was entitled to reasonable accommodations within the castle but not much more. The simple set of rooms afforded was barely enough for Wolfgang, his three thralls, and Cleanor, something the Lamia often complained about. Of course, the lack of space wasn¡¯t helped by Wolfgang using the main chamber as an impromptu laboratory. The room''s rug, table, and most of its decorations were cast aside in favor of cold stone and old books. Cleanor slithered between piles of text and notes, heading for the small corner she¡¯d appropriated for herself. Coiling up next to the witch-fire hearth, Cleanor said. ¡°You really should speak with someone; these pitiable rooms are an insult.¡± Moving over to the ritual circle painted on the stone floor, Wolfgang examined the runes and skulls decorating the circle¡¯s edge. ¡°Castle Tya is hosting hundreds of nobles; as a lord, I¡¯m middling in the hierarchy; this space reflects that but is still adequate.¡± Enjoying the unnatural heat of the false flames, Cleanor scoffed. ¡°If it was anyone else, I might agree with you. But you are the Black Fly, the Voivode¡¯s upstart prodigy; others will want to remind you of your supposed place.¡± Wolfgang hesitated; he¡¯d considered the possibility but hadn¡¯t given it much thought. Less than a century old, Wolfgang¡¯s rise in vampire circles was meteoric; he¡¯d gone from another of the Voivode¡¯s spawn to a powerful member of his Sire¡¯s court in record time. A fact that caused Wolfgang all manner of trouble; he might be intelligent and capable, but his comparable youth left him lacking in power when compared to his legal peers. Placing Wolfgang in an extremely tenuous position, especially this far away from the Voivode and his direct influence. Kneeling down among the runes and checking the strange eastern glyphs added to the ritual, Wolfgang looked into the empty eyes of one of the skulls sitting on the circle¡¯s edge. Cleanor might have a point; the subtle but ever-present game of politics took no break even in the face of invasion and calamity. Another person might find the squabbles over room allotment during war infuriating or bleakly amusing, but Wolfgang dismissed it as pointless. He¡¯d been sent to the front to prove his worth to the wider Duchies, which he intended to do. Already an entire city titered on the brink of collapse thanks to Wolfgang¡¯s efforts, with more to come as the pestilence spread far and wide. In the face of those accomplishments, a petty slight over nesting space seemed¡­ lacking.
:: Tenth Temple of Vindabon :: In a flat voice, Natalie said. ¡°What?¡± Grimacing, Isabelle shut her eyes and explained. ¡°The methods used in creating this pestilence were stolen from my notes. I thought everything was destroyed in the fire, but clearly something survived.¡± Natalie looked over the burning castle and tried to get more information. ¡°How do you know?¡± Isabelle shrugged. ¡°I had a suspicion when you first described the symptoms, but after talking with Rihan, I¡¯m pretty much certain. The method of connecting the plague to an Aetheric organism and using that to influence the infected is telling. Especially with the weakness to magical healing and burrows in the Aether. Someone has taken a few of my projects, sewn them together, and released this¡­ paltry imitation on the world.¡± Hearing this, understanding this, Natalie took a deep breath of ashy air; then she punched Isabelle in the face. Isabelle was completely unprepared, as Natalie unleashed her full strength. The older vampire went flying, skidding along the ground and finally landing with a crash at the base of a castle wall. Isabelle quickly came to her feet, eyes glowing with rage, but Natalie was already on her. Sending a spinning kick toward Isabelle¡¯s ribs, which her mentor caught on a reinforced arm. Not letting up the assault, Natalie grew long claws and went for Isabelle¡¯s stomach. Pushing off the wall, Isabelle managed to escape Natalie¡¯s talons. With a little distance between them, Isabelle yelled. ¡°What in the world¡¯s name are you doing?¡± Fangs extended in full predatory rage, Natalie hissed. ¡°I watched someone mop up the remains of a child. Not collect, not recover, MOP UP! All because of your arrogant, god-complex goatshit! Fire-and-iron! Did you ever consider how much suffering you could cause by brewing up this sort of jagging evil?¡± Adjusting her jaw, Isabelle spat out a tooth. ¡°Listen to me; you puffed up fledgling! My work wasn¡¯t meant to be used this crudely and idiotically. Now I¡¯ll forgive you for this indiscretion on account of your poor emotional control; let''s move on and fix this mess.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie spat back. ¡°You still don¡¯t jagging get it, do you? It doesn¡¯t matter what you intended! You created the tools some bastard is using to hurt all these people! All of this, all this stupid horrible shit, and someone as smart as you still don¡¯t understand.!¡± Isabelle snapped back. ¡°If a smith invented a stronger type of steel, would you blame him for what carnage swords using that steel wrought?¡± Spitting mad, Natalie hissed. ¡°No! But I would blame an alchemist who created a terrible poison when that poison is dumped in the jagging village well!¡± Grinding her jaw in frustration, Isabelle offered. ¡°The time dilation of speaking between minds isn¡¯t that massive; if we don¡¯t end this soon, Rihan will notice. So can I continue to use my extreme expertise to help people, or will you waste more time yelling at me?¡± Gnawing on her much-abused lip, Natalie sighed and spat. ¡°Fine! But this isn¡¯t over; when Cole resurrects, the three of us need to have a serious talk.¡± Isabelle raised an eyebrow. ¡°And how would we manage that? I can¡¯t connect to him without great effort.¡± Shaking her head in extreme annoyance, Natalie answered. ¡°You aren¡¯t the only one with a bag of tricks, Isabelle. Now go try and fix this jagging mess!¡± The memory of the burning castle faded, and Natalie was again an observer within her own body. Isabelle blinked Natalie¡¯s eyes rapidly, trying to find balance again. Rihan was looking at them with cool caution. ¡°You went silent for a minute; what happened?¡± Isabelle spoke using Natalie¡¯s mouth. ¡°I was checking my memory palace for more information; this pestilence is remarkably similar to a few I¡¯ve heard of. This is good; if I can examine some of the Screamers, then I can get closer to finding the plague¡¯s bane.¡± Rihan weighed this momentarily before asking, ¡°What about the Paladin?¡± Looking at Coles''s corpse, Isabelle touched his forehead and muttered an incantation. Information doused Natalie as the spell did its work; the whirl of facts was too much too quickly; Natalie couldn¡¯t digest it, but Isabelle could. ¡°My darling let the plague fester for too long; his body is taking its time repairing the damage; he¡¯ll take at least two hours to finish healing.¡± Accepting that, Rihan gestured to the door, ¡°I can take you to where we are keeping the Screamers; I don¡¯t know if they will let you see them, but we can try.¡± Natalie was torn; she didn¡¯t want to leave Cole, but the plague would cost lives every second Isabelle wasn¡¯t working. As furious as she was with Isabelle, Natalie would admit if anyone in the city had a chance to cure the accursed plague, it would be her mentor. So against her better judgment, Natalie stayed quiet as Rihan and Isabelle left the laboratory. With Rihan¡¯s permission, Isabelle set a small locking spell on the door to hopefully keep Cole safe while they were gone. Natalie felt distinctly uncomfortable thinking about the naked corpse they left behind, but the memory of a shredded child was enough to harden her resolve. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Tell me more about cleansing the infected?¡± asked Isabelle, clearly wanting more information from the corpse tender. Rihan took a moment to select her words. ¡°It¡¯s not magically intensive but mentally draining. It requires steady manipulation of power, like¡­ like you are washing something and trying to cover every centimeter. Except something is¡­ attached to the infected, hiding inside them; whatever it is, it moves about and doesn¡¯t like holy power. If done correctly, the cleansing corners the parasite and quashes it easily, flooding its burrows and destroying it.¡± Clicking her fangs together, Isabelle nodded. ¡°They traded metaphors; the version I¡¯m familiar with planted spores; this digs burrows. But the basic mechanic is the same, if less predictable and, by extension, less controllable.¡± They left the mortuary complex of the temple and headed for its prison. The Tenth Temple held a small but well-built series of cells designed to hold criminals and heretics. Natalie knew about the prison but intentionally avoided it; she knew if events had unfolded slightly differently, she might be staying in these cells. Two heavily armored templars guarded the entrance to the prison, one called out. ¡°What business do you have here, Priestess Rihan, especially with the Paladin¡¯s¡­ guest with you?¡± Rihan reached back behind her head and gripped onto a flap of her robe, pulling it up like a cowl and revealing the beaked mask of the plague warden. The hood and mask were quickly buckled into place, and Rihan was ready to face the Screamers. ¡°The vampire and I are here to do examinations of the infected.¡± The templar glanced at his colleague. ¡°I don¡¯t know if that''s a good idea. It¡¯s been a gorey-guts mess getting them locked up; poking them seems like asking for trouble.¡± Natalie fed her memory of fighting the Screamers to Isabelle, pointing out how easily she¡¯d knocked them out. Getting the message, Isabelle said. ¡°They are weak to my powers; I can incapacitate them without issue. Which is why I need to examine them; if I can have that sort of influence, I fear what other more hostile vampires might do.¡± Both templars exchanged looks, and the talkative one said. ¡°I should clear this with a Hierophant.¡± Another memory was given, and Isabelle stretched the truth slightly. ¡°I¡¯ve spoken with Keeper Glynn; he¡¯s given me permission to use my powers to help however I can. Besides, he and the other Keepers are busy keeping a caul from forming, or at least they were when I visited the Fane.¡± The silent templar shrugged and opened the door for them. Isabelle, Natalie, and Rihan entered the prison and were greeted with a horrific stench. Protected by her mask, Rihan didn¡¯t notice, but Isabelle and, by extension, Natalie quailed at the mixing foulness. Vomit, feces, dried blood, stale sweat, and necrosis filled the prison. Recovering slightly, Isabelle did something to suppress her sense of smell and addressed her student. + That is one part of having flesh I did not miss. So much reeking filth¡­ + + How did you stop the smell? + + You can feed blood to a body part to enhance it, or you can starve it and weaken it. A niche use of our powers but one worth learning. + Following Rihan, the two vampires reached a thick-barred cell with four Screamers tied up within it. They were awake and reacted to Rihan¡¯s presence, a low bubbling shriek starting in their worn throats. With an effort of will, Isabelle stopped the scream and made the four infected stand up, an impressive feat considering their bound arms. Staring off into space, dribbling pink-stained drool, the Screamers looked like fresh ghouls, something not helped by the filth they were coated in. The Screamers weren¡¯t spared any symptoms of the plague, and their aggression made caring for them near-impossible. Leaving to the horrific husks now dominated by Isabelle¡¯s will. Nodding her head, Isabelle said. ¡°That confirms it; taking control of them was pitiably easy. I knew knocking them out was simple, but if dominating them is such a trivial matter¡­ Any vampire worth their blood could take control of Screamers and use them like enslaved undead.¡± As both Rihan and Natalie absorbed these worrying facts, Isabelle continued her musing. ¡°This pestilence is disturbingly multifaceted. It spreads rapidly and requires intensive magical care to blunt, let alone treat. Then any who slip through the cracks become dangerous monsters and potential puppets. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if any Screamers who die are primed to rise as easy-to-control ghouls. Yes, this is an excellent weapon designed to cripple entire nations and raise up armies of fresh corpses.¡± + Whoever cobbled this together from my notes is rather talented; I¡¯ll give them that. They combined three different projects with some other components to create a truly deadly pestilence. + + Are¡­ are you proud of what you created? + + Yes, I guess I am. But I¡¯m also furious that this upstart usurper dared take my research and use it in such an ugly blunt way! + + What was it supposed to be used for, then? + Instead of answering, Isabelle called one of the Screamers to the edge of the cell and reached out into the Aether, examining the infected person. Natalie got flashes of information, greasy chains, puckered flesh, scurrying rats, barbed metal, and a dozen more nasty metaphors for what was happening in the Aether. Isabelle started shaping this information, giving it context and form. Witnessing this, Natalie noted the similarity to her experience with psychic magic and finding context inside minds. Slowly, feeling the local Aether, Isabelle gave an image to the immaterial thing she sensed. A festering lump of cancerous flesh attached to a bruised soul by hooked tendrils of vermin. Looking at the thing hiding in the Aether, Isabelle let out a low, tired sigh. ¡°How is your Aether sight, Rihan?¡± In answer, Rihan¡¯s eyes glowed, and she lurched back slightly. ¡°That¡­ that is unpleasant to look at.¡± Isabelle prodded for clarification, ¡°Malformed tissue? Rats and torture implements? Vaguely like a sea jelly?¡± Rihan nodded, and Isabelle remarked. ¡°I wanted to check to see if my approximation was accurate. Not all of us have a god¡¯s influence to cheat when gazing into the Aether.¡± Head cocked in morbid fascination, Rihan asked. ¡°What is it? Some kind of pain spirit?¡± In answer, Isabelle summoned up some memories, flashes of her in a laboratory, and the surge of unbridled glee coming with new discoveries. Natalie tasted the near maniacal energy in the memory and watched as Isabelle fed it through a tendril of will to the parasite. Like some gelatinous ocean predator, the parasite snapped out and took the offered emotions. It bit onto the tendril of soul eager for more, but Isabelle batted it away with a flourish of contempt. Pulling away from the rebuked parasite, Isabelle pursed her lips. ¡°No, it''s not a spirit or at least a traditional one.¡± + And that means? + Ignoring Natalie, Isabelle reached out to the spirit again and again, offering it different emotions each time. As she did this, Isabelle gently prodded at the parasite, brushing her mind along its different parts, gaining a better understanding of them. Turning to Rihan, who was watching this with interest, Isabelle commanded. ¡°Get the keys; I need better access.¡± Worryingly, Rihan didn¡¯t object, quickly finding the keys and opening the cell containing the four possessed plague victims. Isabelle ordered three to stand in one corner while the one she examined was commanded to lie on the ground. Stabbing Natalie¡¯s wrist with a sharpened claw, Isabelle drew out a long rope of black blood. Wincing in pain, Natalie watched as her blood wormed through the air, similar to what she saw Isabelle do at the hillock. + Circles are powerful things, creating clear limits in the mind and Aether. They can even act as primitive wards or magical amplifiers if made properly. Especially when a magically reactive substance is used, like blood or, even better, vampire blood. + The circle of animated blood slithered around the Screamer, marking out the space he lay in as a place of magic. Gesturing to Rihan, Isabelle said. ¡°Step into the circle with me and call up some of your power; I want to see how the parasite reacts.¡± Wordlessly, Rihan obliged her own curiosity clearly at work. As the cold light of Master Time crept toward the parasite, it started to twitch and pull away, its tendrils spasming within the infected soul. As the Screamer¡¯s soul started to burst and leak, Isabelle gestured for Rihan to stop. She did, and the parasite ended its spasming, returning to its original state. Fingers tapping rhythmically, Isabelle muttered to herself, a stream of information flowing through her mind and buffeting Natalie. After maybe two minutes of this, Isabelle gestured to Rihan. ¡°I need you to go and examine the other Screamers, check the condition of their souls, and match them against suspected infection time.¡± Again, Rihan obliged, leaving the cell and going to gather the data Isabelle needed. Holding her hands out, Isabelle started whatever ritual she was planning. As she set the spell into motion, Isabelle spoke to her student. + This Screamer is severely ill; necrosis has taken hold, and some of his organs are nonfunctional. His odds of survival are slim even with round-the-clock care. + + But he¡¯s not been infected for that long! + + With the parasite untreated, the disease will progress much faster and more horrifically for these Screamers. Combine that with poor medical care and hyper-aggression; his body is falling apart. + Stepping back into the circle, Isabelle called up tendrils of black; they slithered from her eyes, nose, mouth, and nail beds, a nest of oily serpents that reached out and wrapped around the limp Screamer. Lying on the ground, the infected man didn¡¯t resist as the tendrils split and melted, covering his body in a dark shroud. Red runes started to boil off the blood ring surrounding them, little pictograms floating up and then fading away. Watching this through her possessed eyes, Natalie felt suddenly uneasy. She¡¯d seen a garden snake swallow a mouse once, and this felt unnaturally similar. + What are you doing, Isabelle? + + Something you and Cole wouldn¡¯t approve of but needs to be done. + Squeezing Natalie¡¯s hand into a fist, Isabelle ripped the parasite into the mundane. The dark shroud bulged and thrashed as a mass pulled itself free from the infected. A horrible muffled scream came from the man wrapped in Isabelle¡¯s power, and Natalie lunged for control. + STOP! + + If I stop now, his death is guaranteed.+ + WHAT THE HELLS ARE YOU DOING? STOP! + + Curing him, now be quiet! He¡¯s dead if I fail, and he¡¯s dead if I do nothing. So shut up and let me work! + Torn between desires, Natalie hesitated, and Isabelle worked her dark magic. The shroud suddenly split, and a horrible insectoid creature exploded out of the infected. It was a mess of glistening iridescent chitin, shiny wings, and wet fur about the size of a hen. A pair of glowing antennae and long tufted ears stuck out of its head as it wriggled free from the Screamer. As it shook itself free, Natalie recognized its features; the creature was a fly and rabbit mixture. With soft fur sticking out between chitin plates, a twitching hare nose above mandibles, and six sets of insectoid limbs capped by rabbit feet. Isabelle reached out with her other hand, and a shadow surged forward from her and gripped the fly-rabbit, lifting it from the Screamer and suspending it mid-air as it thrashed and buzzed. The shroud of darkness melted off the Screamer, slithered over to Isabelle, and rejoined with her being. Just then, Rihan returned, surprise and undisguised fascination clear on her face. Facing the Priestess, Isabelle gestured to the Screamer and said. ¡°Try and keep him alive if you can.¡± The Screamer looked horrible; his body was withered and shrunken, like a man starved for weeks. His hair was now white, and tufts of it fell out as he spasmed. His shirt was ripped open, and his chest was covered in countless tiny punctures. Running to him, Rihan kneeled down and started calling up her power. The punctures healed quickly, but the man was still teetering on the edge of life. Looking at Natalie¡¯s body and the other vampire possessing it, Rihan practically yelled. ¡°He¡¯s in shock, and half his jagging organs are ruined! What did you do?¡± Isabelle shrugged. ¡°I pulled the plague out of him; it was messy.¡± With a gesture, Isabelle knocked out the other three infected and then telekinetically brought the fly-rabbit closer. ¡°Hmmm, I would have expected flea and rat, but I guess it was forced to make do when manifesting.¡± The fly-rabbit hissed and snapped at Isabelle, its mandibles and nose contorting with animal panic. Isabelle gently floated it towards the iron bars of the jail cell, and it started to fight harder against the vampire¡¯s grip. It was useless; the creature might as well have tried to resist gravity. As the creature¡¯s strange body drifted closer to the iron bars, Isabelle spoke to her student. + I apologize for taking liberties earlier. But these circumstances prevented me from spend time negotiating, desperate times, and all that. + Natalie started to spit her retort when the fly-rabbit touched the iron bars. Its flesh started to sizzle and smoke while a horrible trilling wail escaped it. Stunned and horrified, Natalie asked. + Is¡­ is that a¡­? + + Yes, that is a Faerie. The parasite in the Aether was its larval form; I forced it into adulthood. That was the easiest way to remove it and also cure the Screamer. The Faerie would need matter to constitute a body, and I ensured only the infected tissue was available. + Speaking to Rihan, who was desperately trying to keep the husk of a Screamer alive, Isabelle pulled the fly-rabbit back from the iron and said. ¡°This is a fae creature I removed from the infected. Pulling it out of that man was not easy, but it will give us more insights into the pestilence. I need to speak with someone about containing this creature and then check on Cole. I¡¯ll have additional medical aid sent; join me in your laboratory when you can.¡± Floating the fae creature along, Isabelle left Rihan with her damaged test subject. She¡¯d barely stepped from the cell when three plague wardens appeared, summoned by the noise. They looked at Isabelle and her ¡®trophy,¡¯ caution oozing from their posture. Nodding to them, Isabelle said. ¡°Ah, perfect; Priestess Rihan requires aid, and I must deliver this little monster to the Hierophants.¡± Before anyone could question or stop her, Isabelle moved past, using the burned but vicious fae to part the plague wardens. The fae thrashed and snapped whenever it drew close to a human, eager to attack living flesh. Reaching the doors to the prison, Isabelle knocked on them, and after delay, they opened. Revealing the two templars and a very discombobulated-looking Yara. ¡°I need to see my mistress! They said she was headed this way!¡± Isabelle clicked her tongue and said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry if she¡¯s been giving you any trouble.¡± The templars looked at Isabelle and then the furious fly-rabbit bobbing behind her. They both drew their weapons with trained speed, and Isabelle held up a reassuring hand. ¡°It¡¯s a nasty specimen of the plague, but I have it under control. Please let me pass so I can speak to the Hierophants about this.¡± The talkative templar squinted at the feral creature and asked, ¡°What is that?¡± Conversationally, Isabelle answered. ¡°A faerie, so I suggest you let me handle it.¡± Both templars made warding gestures and backed away; Yara did as well, eyes locked on the fae beast. Stepping past the guards, making sure her prisoner didn¡¯t attack them, Isabelle left the prison and gestured for Yara to come with her. Tentatively the thrall followed Isabelle, standing behind the vampire but well away from the faerie. After maybe a minute of walking, Yara asked. ¡°Is there anything you need from me, mistress?¡± Isabelle turned to look at Yara. ¡°Nothing currently, but you will know when that-¡± Stopping midword and midstride, Isabelle looked at the thrall and, more importantly, the subdued faerie. Maybe a meter away from Yara, it hung in the air limply, having lost all its spiteful energy. Frowning, Isabelle floated her specimen past Yara and towards her. + Is it damaged? + + I don¡¯t think so¡­? + Reaching out, Isabelle made as if to tap the creature¡¯s head. It shied away, recoiling from Isabelle and shaking with fear. Floating it back towards Yara, Isabelle watched as it didn¡¯t react to the thrall. Pursing her lips, the old vampire muttered, ¡°This¡­ this requires some tests.¡± Book III: Chapter 10: A Costly Cure

Chapter 10: A Costly Cure.

¡°The Final Gates are simultaneously the greatest hindrance and help to the Summoning arts. They make contacting and summoning Beyonders annoyingly difficult while also giving us mortals a shocking amount of bargaining power. The Gates limit what sort of entities we can feasibly contact and ensure that intelligent deals are reasonably fair. This is why summoning magic isn¡¯t taught to any but the most qualified and experienced Magi. The only way a Beyonder can easily do harm is if they are bound by an idiotic contract. Something unfortunately common with young Magi and Shamans who stumble upon the knowledge of summoning.¡±- Arch-invoker Issio of the Witchlands.
Cole woke up cold, confused, and naked, which he, unfortunately, had some experience with. Blinking away his post-death malaise, he looked down at himself and then his surroundings. He was still in the tenth temple judging by the stonework, but he seemed to be in a laboratory of some kind. Looking at the jars of pickled organs and the bloody dissection instruments on a tray next to him, Cole swore. ¡°Oh, hells¡­.¡± He¡¯d died, and the Temple took him for an autopsy, which spelled all sorts of trouble. Slowly getting off the slab he¡¯d been lying on, Cole checked his surroundings for clues and clothes. It became clear someone with some talent split him open and poked about his innards, going as far as to excise his infected lymph glands and prepare them for further inspection. Feeling at his chest, Cole traced the new scars running along his chest and shivered. It had been a while since the last time he¡¯d been dissected or vivisected, but memories of those horrible experiences still haunted him. Shaking his head, trying to dislodge old and recent nightmares, Cole found a few sheets of paper sitting at the edge of the slab. Picking one up, he stared at the first sentence but didn¡¯t read a single word of it. The handwriting, he recognized the handwriting! It was Isabelle¡¯s cramped scrawl, so compact it was barely legible. Color draining from his face, hand trembling, Cole set down the notes on his dissection and let out a shuddering breath. He¡¯d thought his half-remembered memory of Natalie speaking with Isabelle¡¯s voice was plague delirium, a nightmare brewed up by his ill mind. As he looked through the notes, interpreting familiar shorthand, Cole knew better. Cole needed information and fast, something he couldn¡¯t get in this mortuary laboratory. Squatting down, he found the remnants of his clothes peeled off him for dissection now sitting in a crusty pile on the floor. Picking up his shirt, Cole winced at the smell. Stained and soaked in all the lovely substances of plague death, the clothes weren¡¯t usable. Still, Cole couldn¡¯t just run through the Temple naked while trying to find Natalie or¡­ or Isabelle. Reaching the tray of instruments, Cole found a knife and got to work salvaging what he could. Eventually, he fashioned something close to a loincloth from the unstained fabric sections. With the tiniest bit of modesty in place and the knife in hand, Cole went to the door and found it magically sealed. A simple locking spell jammed the door¡¯s mechanism and stung any who touched it. Flexing his fingers, Cole debated using his powers to destroy the spell and escape. Then, an idea struck Cole as his hand hovered over the jinxed door. Tentatively he made an arcane gesture with his fingers and whispered, ¡°Culsan.¡± The spell dissipated with an immaterial pop, and Cole clenched his fist so hard his knuckles turned white. Sucking in a breath, Cole pulled open the door, identified where he was in the Temple, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Isabelle usually included a backdoor in her protective spells, a way they could be safely neutralized by an ally while also alerting her the spell was undone. Cole just used one of those backdoors, and it worked perfectly. Sprinting down the hallway, trying to think where Isabelle might be, Cole heard a loud scream echo down the hallway from the opposite direction. Spinning around, Cole headed towards the sound, wishing not for the first time he had a vampire¡¯s speed.
Isabelle gently moved the floating Faerie through the air, bringing it closer to her borrowed body and back toward Yara. It twitched and recoiled whenever it got close to the vampire, but it didn¡¯t seem even to register the thrall¡¯s presence. Speaking to her thrall and her student, Isabelle said. ¡°Change of plans, I need to examine this more closely. If the plague reacts differently to Nobility and their servants, this presents new opportunities.¡± + We need to bring that monster to the Hierophants! This is already enough of a mess without running off with a jagging Faerie! + + It won¡¯t take long. Besides, we should check on Cole; I¡¯m worried my estimations are off. + That quieted Natalie, and Isabelle altered their course, heading for Rihan¡¯s laboratory. The corpse tender proved to be a surprisingly useful connection. Her curiosity and intellect were not what Isabelle expected from a follower of Master Time. Perhaps Isabelle could find a better use for Rihan than her current job of cutting up atypical corpses. It mattered little currently, just another opportunity Isabelle¡¯s ancient mind was primed to notice. Turning a corner, Isabelle sniffed the air, catching hints of antiseptic, fresh bandages, and¡­ cat hair? Confused and cautious, Isabelle walked towards the scent, her prisoner and servant trailing behind her. Taking another corner, Isabelle was confronted by two women who clearly recognized Natalie¡¯s body. One was short with dirty blond hair and an impressive array of bandages and bruises. The other was tall for a woman with dark skin and eyes that reflected light. The shorter one was being supported by the taller one as she hobbled towards Isabelle. ¡°Natalie! We¡¯ve been looking for you! Cole is missing and-¡± The faerie and Yara rounded the corner then, startling the blond into silence. By contrast, the werefolk woman yelled, ¡°WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?¡± Isabelle gestured for the captured fae to drift closer and watched as it reacted to the newcomers. It started to hiss and warble, pushing against Isabelle¡¯s grip, trying to attack the two women. Nodding in confirmation, Isabelle remarked. ¡°A Faerie; I pulled it from a plague victim.¡± The werefolk woman actually spat on the floor and unsheathed a dagger. ¡°Gorey-guts! We need to kill that thing now!¡± Before she could surge forward with her weapon, the injured blond woman stopped her companion and asked in a very calm voice. ¡°Natalie, why are you talking like that?¡± + Who are these two? They seem familiar from some of your shared memories, but I don¡¯t know them, + + They are- AGGHH! + A jolt of cold struck Isabelle and Natalie. Blinking away after-images, Isabelle looked at the injured woman and realized her eyes were glowing silver. Baring her fangs, Isabelle tried to contact Natalie but felt a wall of cold separating them. ¡°What are you doing!¡± In the gentle tone reserved for dangerous animals and the mentally unbalanced, the Priestess asked. ¡°Who are you? What are you doing inside Natalie¡¯s body? And why do you have a hostile Outsider with you?¡± Isabelle licked her lips. ¡°I¡¯m a friend of Cole and Natalie, one with expertise in magical plagues. Natalie is letting me borrow her body to help treat the pestilence. I extracted the Faerie from the Screamer it was pupating inside. You found me while I was taking it to the mortuary for a better examination.¡± The werefolk woman was rocking on the balls of her feet, and silver light flickered in the Priestess¡¯s eyes. ¡°Okay, I might be able to believe that. Now where is Cole?¡± Wincing, Isabelle weighed her options and tried to batter down the psychic ice trapping Natalie. Rihan knowing about Cole was too much, and if these two women found his corpse, things would escalate badly. ¡°He¡¯s very sick and being treated by my magic. Disturbing him right now would be dangerous for him and you.¡± The two women exchanged glances, and the Priestess spoke a word. A solid wave of silver light exploded from the Priestess and slammed into Isabelle. Skin burnt, blood froze, and the vampire screamed. Knocked onto her back, Isabelle forced blood into her eyes, undoing the horrific damage done to the sensitive organ. Blinking away ash, Isabelle turned away from the glowing Priestess and knife-wielding Catblood; they weren¡¯t the biggest threats. In the shock and pain of the magical attack, Isabelle let go of the Faerie. A blur of iridescent chitin sped down the hallway, hopping and flying with physics-defying speed. Isabelle pulled herself up and ignored the pain of having most of her skin burned off. Reaching out, she tried to grab the fly-rabbit with her mind, but the pain and numbing cool stunted her effort. Bounding along, the Faerie went for the Catblood, eager to sup her emotions. The Catblood charged to meet the coming monster, expertly dodging it and lashing out with her dagger. Steel sliced off one of the Faerie¡¯s legs, and it tumbled to the ground, keening. Isabelle tried and tried to use her magic, but focus slipped through her mind like slick ice. The Catblood kicked the stunned Faerie, and it smacked against the wall with a crunch. Before it could recover, the Catblood unsheathed a second dagger and charged the creature, driving both blades into its wings and pinning the monster in place. The Faerie squealed and thrashed, the daggers burning its insectoid flesh. Breathing hard, the Catblood turned on Isabelle and pulled yet another dagger from her belt. ¡°Okay, so here¡¯s the deal. You will let go of Natalie, and Mina won¡¯t fry you again.¡± Eyes wide, trying to call on any of her magic, Isabelle hissed. ¡°I¡¯m trying! Whatever the Priestess did is interfering!¡± The Catblood spun the dagger in hand and said. ¡°Yeah¡­ I¡¯m not buying that. Hey, Natalie, if you can hear me, sorry about this.¡± Isabelle scrambled back as the Catblood lunged forward, aiming for her heart. Every movement caused pain; the entire surface level of the body¡¯s skin was burned off by Mina¡¯s attack. The dysfunction of Isabelle¡¯s powers extended past her magic, calling up blood to empower her limbs, and healing was sluggish. Whatever was done to her was nearly perfect for crippling a vampire, which Isabelle guessed was the point. The Catblood was fast and agile, natural talents nurtured to a pinnacle; enough to match a discombobulated and limited vampire. As Isabelle ducked under a dagger swipe, the Catblood yelled. ¡°All right, Mina, blast em again!¡± Isabelle shut her eyes and mustered her defenses, just for nothing to happen. Cautiously opening her eyes, Isabelle looked to the Priestess, expecting to be burned any moment. Mina was slumped against the hallway wall, coughing so hard she vomited up a mix of blood and bile. The Catblood saw this and hesitated, torn between her partner and enemy, a mistake Isabelle punished. With pitiful strength (for a vampire), Isabelle struck the Catblood sending her skidding along the smooth stone floor. Leaping forward, Isabelle pounced on her opponent and decided to see how many bats she could hit with a single stone. Fast as an adder, Isabelle bit the Catblood¡¯s neck. Carefully, Isabelle injected a mix of venoms into her prey. The prey in question gasped and then went limp, the mix of Sting and muscle relaxant doing its work. After enjoying a mouthful of hearty werefolk blood, Isabelle licked her bite close and got off her opponent. Looking down at the stunned and paralyzed woman, Isabelle remarked. ¡°Natalie wouldn¡¯t like it if I killed you.¡± Moving towards the sick Priestess, Isabelle licked her lips and mused on the blood she¡¯d taken. The Catblood was sick, but her people¡¯s constitution kept her together for now. It was an annoying fact about Werefolk making them difficult to treat; they could push themselves through a lot, only breaking down when illness reached a cataclysmic point. Mina was on the ground now, a pool of sick spreading out from her. Skin finally regrown, Isabelle approached the plague-stricken Priestess. A voice from behind her slurred. ¡°D-d-don¡¯t hu-hurt her.¡± Isabelle rolled her eyes and said. ¡°Yara, watch the Catblood for me; I don¡¯t mean either of these two harm, but neither seems to understand that.¡± The thrall who¡¯d been observing all of this bowed and moved towards the Catblood. As an afterthought, Isabelle said. ¡°Oh, and Yara? What is the Catblood¡¯s name?¡± ¡°Alia, her name is Alia, mistress.¡± Nodding, Isabelle reached the Priestess Mina and said. ¡°I suggest you undo whatever binding you put on me. The strain on your sick body is killing you.¡± Sucking in a wheezing breath, Mina looked up at Isabelle with glazed eyes. ¡°I serve the God of Death and don¡¯t fear a worthy end. Stopping something from running off with my friend¡¯s body seems pretty fucking worthy.¡± Mina started to glow faintly as she called another miracle; Isabelle tried to pull away, but Mina gripped her ankle with shocking strength, or perhaps Isabelle was just that weak. ¡°STOP!¡± Priestess and Vampire turned to see a familiar figure running down the hallway. Cole never exactly looked like the knight in shining armor he was at heart, but at that moment, he seemed especially far from the Paladin ideal. Clad in a scrap of filthy cotton, his amulet, and nothing else, Cole ran down the hallway toward the melee. Isabelle blinked in surprise, then smiled. Freeing herself from the shocked Mina, Isabelle went to meet her darling. Cole struck out, slamming Isabelle into the wall and pinning her, one hand on her throat, the other holding a very sharp surgical blade to her chest. In a voice calm and cold as an arctic plain, he said. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you, Belle, but I can¡¯t let you take Natalie¡¯s body. Explain what happened, or I will put you into torpor.¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Still smiling, Isabelle reached out and set a hand on Cole¡¯s chest, he didn¡¯t stop her, and a low sigh escaped the vampire. He was always so warm, a side-effect of his altered metabolism. ¡°Natalie spoke with me; the plague is bad, and she wanted me to help cure it. She agreed to let me borrow her flesh for three days and nights. When I visited you in the clinic, the plague was killing you; I stole you away to fix your body and find out what I could about the pestilence.¡± Reluctantly taking her hand off his chest, Isabelle gestured at the damaged Mina and Alia. ¡°They came looking for you and realized something was wrong. One thing escalated into another, and¡­ well, I tried not to hurt them. But the Priestess here did something to me, and it cut my connection to Natalie.¡± Mina was now leaning against the wall, sucking in rattling breaths and shivering. Looking at the Priestess, Cole¡¯s eyes glowed silver, and Isabelle flinched; seeing how the Tenth wormed its way into her darling was distressing. Slowly, Cole withdrew both his hands and freed Isabelle. Crouching down next to Mina, he said. ¡°Can you release the binding spell you put on Isabelle?¡± Staring at him with glazed eyes, Mina frowned. ¡°How¡­ how are you healthy? The nurse said you were knocking on the Master¡¯s door!¡± Grimacing, Cole sighed. ¡°We can talk about that later, but I need you to release the spell.¡± Mina started to shake her head, but nausea stopped her. ¡°If I do, she¡¯ll have access to her power! I don¡¯t know who this thing is, and I can¡¯t¡­¡± Cole gently squeezed Mina¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I trust her, but if she betrays that trust, I can stop her. So please, end the binding.¡± Shutting her eyes, Mina let out an icy breath, and Isabelle sighed as the bindings melted away. + Fire-and-iron! That¡­ that was not fun! What happened? + + I don¡¯t know, but I think we will find out soon. + A slight palsy showed in Isabelle¡¯s face for a few seconds as her magic returned. Cole then asked. ¡°Natalie, if you are safe and consenting to this, tell Isabelle what food you offered me the first night in the Silly Goat.¡± + Mutton Stew. + ¡°She says Mutton stew,¡± Isabelle quickly answered, hoping to end this stressful farce. Nodding, Cole slowly reached out and took Isabelle¡¯s hand. In a gentle rumble, he rasped. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you.¡± Smirking, Isabelle took his hand and put it to her cheek. ¡°I know.¡± Shaking his head slightly, Cole sighed and said. ¡°This will be confusing and stressful, but we have more pressing worries for now. I need to know everything that¡¯s happened, and we need to get Mina to a healer.¡± Mina was teetering on the edge of consciousness; her skin was clammy, and her breath wheezing. Gently, Cole scooped the Priestess up and went towards Alia. ¡°Is she injure-WHOA!¡± Cole just apparently noticed the trapped Faerie. Isabelle winced and felt a wave of bleak humor come from Natalie. + In case you are wondering, I¡¯m not demanding back control for two reasons. First, I know Cole misses you, and I don¡¯t want to break up this reunion yet. Second I figured it was someone else''s turn to be stuck explaining everything. + Isabelle rolled her eyes at her student¡¯s snark and explained. ¡°The plague is fae-based; I managed to collect a sample. As for your friend Alia, she¡¯s mildly drugged but for a good cause.¡± Bewildered, Cole watched as Isabelle collected her sample. Hands of shadow flicked out from Isabelle, freed the Faerie, and gripped it tight in a telekinetic grip. With a thought, Isabelle moved the Faerie towards Cole and Mina. Cole twisted slightly, keeping the semi-conscious Priestess from the monster. Injured and exhausted, the Faerie only managed a trilling growl as it hovered near Cole and Mina. Nodding in confirmation, Isabelle floated the creature back towards the incapacitated Alia. In a testament to Werefolk hardiness, the Catblood managed to spasm a little in fear, the venom already wearing off. The Faerie didn¡¯t react this time, simply dangling there like an overgrown grasshopper on a fishermen¡¯s hook. To add to the metaphor, Isabelle let the Faerie drift toward Yara and even bobbed it up and down, trying to get any reaction. Smiling with all the warmth of Cole¡¯s magic, Isabelle whirled to face her darling. ¡°Well, this little mess might prove to be worth it after all!¡± Stepping over to Alia, Isabelle said. ¡°I¡¯m going to cure the paralysis; please don¡¯t attack me once I¡¯m done.¡± Leaning down, Isabelled gripped Alia¡¯s wrist and bit her, pumping the anti-venom into her bloodstream. Licking the wound shut, Isabelle remarked. ¡°The fangs are perhaps the most unique part of my kind; it''s a shame so few of us know how to use them to their full potential.¡± Slowly, twitchily, Alia managed to pull herself up. Smiling cooly at her recent victim, Isabelle handed Alia the two daggers once driven into the Faerie. ¡°You might still need these, just not for me.¡± Alia stumbled, but Yara caught her, and the Catblood regained her balance after a moment. ¡°The fuck did you do to me? I didn¡¯t know vampire bites were¡­ were like that.¡± Holding up her fingers so they were a millimeter apart, Isabelle explained. ¡°I gave you a very, very, very small dose of the Sting. Not enough to be dangerous or addicting, just enough to test my hypothesis.¡± Rubbing her neck, Alia asked, ¡°A hypo-what?¡± Already turning from her test subject, Isabelle said, ¡°We best get the Priestess some healing, Cole some clothes, and me a laboratory.¡±
To those ends, the strange group made their way to the Temple Fane, passing stunned templars and confused priests as they went to speak with the Hierophants. It took Cole¡¯s gentle but firm insistence to get Isabelle to agree with this course of action. She, of course, wanted to drop Mina in the clinic and return to Rihan¡¯s laboratory post-haste. The Countess took the time as they walked to explain events to Cole and, to a lesser extent, the listening Alia. Mina was unconscious, a ragged bundle in Cole¡¯s arms, checked on by a nervous Cat-eyes every few seconds. Watching Isabelle walk and talk, explaining events, Cole was at something of a loss. Natalie¡¯s body, with Isabelle¡¯s movements and behavior, was profoundly disorienting. Part of Cole wanted just to take Isabelle into his arms and hold her for as long as he could, and another part wanted to rip her out of Natalie¡¯s body on sheer paranoid principle. It was embarrassing to admit, but Cole long imagined what a true reunion with Isabelle would be like, not just their shared dreams. Somehow her wearing the skin of his other lover and going on a long lecture about pestilent magic never occurred to him. Isabelle was convinced the Sting conferred some kind of resistance to the plague. It wasn¡¯t a cure, as Alia was still sick, but the captured Faerie''s reaction to her and Yara¡¯s status was enough for Isabelle to start making plans. She was already explaining how she needed convicted criminals to experiment on. And what stages of infection she felt could be treated by removing the Fae influence. Cole didn¡¯t know if it was comforting or disturbing that even after twelve years as a skull and now wearing Natalie¡¯s flesh, Isabelle didn¡¯t seem much different. Finally arriving at the Fane, the group was reluctantly allowed into the sacred underground grotto. They¡¯d failed to find Cole some clothes, but somehow his impropriety paled in the face of Isabelle, bringing a Faerie into the Hierophants¡¯ presence. Glynn, Hedwig, and Bertram were the three Keepers inside the Fane, and they reacted to the Faerie as well as you could expect. ¡°ABOMINATION!¡± cried Bertram, hoarfrost swirling around him as he prepared whatever miracles he could summon. Isabelle nodded and floated the injured monster forward. ¡°Yes, yes, it is. Now can any of you help imprison it so I don¡¯t have to keep dragging it behind me everywhere?¡± Bertram was stunned by the snark dripping from Isabelle¡¯s words, clearly thinking Natalie had lost the little decorum she possessed. Glynn knew better; he stepped forward and looked over the two vampires in one body. ¡°Countess Isabelle Gens Silva, I presume?¡± Isabelle nodded and offered her hand for him to kiss; Glynn didn¡¯t take it and just raised an arched elvish eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m guessing the Faerie has something to do with the plague?¡± Nodding again, Isabelle gestured to Mina, still clutched in Cole¡¯s arms. ¡°Yes, but I think your subordinate needs your attention first. Natalie and Cole both seem reasonably attached to her, so I¡¯d prefer if she didn¡¯t die.¡± Hedwig helped Cole lay the younger Priestess onto the central altar of the Fane, already whispering words of power as she did. The old woman¡¯s face was creased with worry as she spoke. ¡°Priestess Mina dramatically overtaxed herself, I don¡¯t know what magic she worked, but it was potent. Some kind of binding of significant complexity based on the little imprint I can sense.¡± Placing her hands on Mina¡¯s forehead and stomach Keeper Hedwig called upon her power. Cold light danced through the air and wrapped around Mina like northern sky fire. Eyes glowing with magic, Hedwig said. ¡°She¡¯s sick with the plague, injured, and now suffering from this¡­ I¡¯ll do what I can, but I¡¯m pessimistic.¡± Isabelle clicked her tongue in annoyance and gestured to the Faerie. ¡°Keeper Glynn, would you mind?¡± The faint shadow enclosing the Faerie and keeping it immobile faded, and it plummeted to the ground. Eyes wide, Glynn rushed forward and bellowed something in Saint-speech. A wave of water from the pool ringing the Fane splashed up and over the Faerie, freezing where it touched, trapping the creature in a prison of enchanted ice. Relaxing slightly, Glynn turned to Isabelle, choice words on his lips, but the vampire was already approaching Mina. Cole stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°What are you doing?¡± A wicked smile alien to Natalie flashed across her borrowed face. ¡°Alia damaged my sample; I¡¯m going to collect a new one and save this annoying Priestess.¡± Looking at Hedwig and Bertram, Isabelle asked. ¡°I¡¯m assuming the pair of you are competent healers and warders?¡± Both Hierophants, respected and powerful Priests, were caught between being affronted and stunned by Isabelle¡¯s words. Taking their silence as agreement Isabelle reached out and placed a hand on Mina¡¯s chest, then took one of the Priestess¡¯s hands and bit her wrist. Licking up the little bit of blood she¡¯d spilled, Isabelle remarked. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised the plague does little to interfere with the taste, a little sweeter perhaps¡­¡± Alia stepped forward then, and so did Glynn, both looking to protect Mina. Not even turning to face them, Isabelle said, ¡°You wanted my expertise in these matters. So let me use it and save this little Priestess.¡± Cole was torn, the Isabelle he knew wouldn¡¯t be so confident unless she were completely certain, but that was the Isabelle before twelve years of isolation. Seeing his hesitation, Isabelle¡¯s wild smile softened into something sweet. ¡°I can help her, trust me.¡± Looking into a familiar face and seeing the different but equally familiar soul hiding behind its eyes, Cole nodded. Isabelle¡¯s smile grew back into its maniacal form, and she pointed at the two Hierophants. ¡°Natalie says you are called Hedwig and a talented healer. Please prepare yourself to stabilize someone in shock with organ damage. As for your Bertram, call up an iron-dirge ward and lay it upon all of Mina except the skin of her lower torso.¡± Bertram glanced at Glynn, who gave the barest nod. Holding out his hands, Bertram started a deep resonate chant as gritty solid power pushed through the Aether and cloaked Mina. Once that was done, Isabelle placed both her hands on Mina¡¯s chest and rasped something in a wet groaning tongue. Oily darkness spread out from Isabelle¡¯s fingers and quickly covered Mina in an inky cloak. In the calm, almost bored voice of a lecturing preceptor, Isabelle explained as she worked. ¡°The Sting I¡¯ve administered should calm the fae larva so I can extract it without issue. I¡¯m using my mind and soul to isolate the larva before forcing it to grow quickly through an injection of magical power and creative joy. As it grows, it will seek mundane matter to construct a body, and thanks to its connection to the plague, infected tissue will be the easiest source to procure. Bertram¡¯s ward will ensure the little monster doesn¡¯t take unaffected flesh and help me aim its manifestation. Once the Faerie fully manifests, Mina will need immediate dramatic healing. I¡¯m starting the processes now.¡± Everyone watched as Isabelle shut her eyes and whispered incantations so fast they blurred together. Those with senses attuned to magic could feel the Aether around Mina warp and twist. Hierophant Bertram balled his hands into fists and started to sweat as he kept up the precise ward. The shroud of darkness Isabelle covered Mina with started to bulge; something was pressing out of her stomach. As the parasite swelled into the size of a small cat, Isabelle spat a word that hurt to hear. The shroud instantly retracted, slithering away from Mina¡¯s flesh and coiling around the parasite. With a wet sound, the shrouded Faerie was ripped free from Mina and suspended midair in a cloud of roiling darkness. The priestess was hyperventilating, and blood was oozing out from a cut on her stomach. Hedwig quickly got to work, placing her hands on the wound and pouring power and focus into the beleaguered Priestess. Bertram dropped the ward he¡¯d summoned and got to work helping Hedwig, the two Hierophants putting their considerable skill into repairing the damage both plague and Isabelle inflicted. Reaching up, Isabelle touched the sphere of darkness containing the new Faerie and sucked much of the power back into her, leaving the prisoner suspended in a faint shadowy grip. This Faerie lacked wings; its body was segmented and insectoid except with a mouse¡¯s head and two similar tails sticking from its rear. Cocking her head to the side, watching the new Faerie thrash and squeak, Isabelle remarked, ¡°Mouse and Silverfish this time¡­ I think Mina needs to clean her kitchen or find better dining options.¡± A distressed Alia asked. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Turning to look at the city warden, Isabelle explained. ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain the Faerie is using organic samples it acquires from the infected to construct its body. Preferring to use materials similar to its native form, which I¡¯m guessing is a mix of rodents and insects. So bluntly, I think Mina here ate something with trace amounts of mouse and silverfish in it. Just as my last subject had some rabbit dish that an unfortunate fly probably landed in.¡± A round of disgusted noises passed through the people in the Fane. Isabelle brought the hissing Faerie closer and watched as it recoiled from her presence. ¡°Well, this method of extraction does work, but I don¡¯t think it''s feasible on a large scale. I¡¯d only feel confident doing it with a reasonably healthy infected and support from talented magical healers. Perhaps I could refine it with additional subjects, but I doubt I could teach it to many. The required anatomical, biochemical, and magical knowledge isn¡¯t exactly typical. So while this remains an option for those of significant value, a wide-scale cure is not yet in my grasp.¡± Clapping her hands together, Isabelle turned to Glynn. ¡°I¡¯d like to requisition some prisoners from Vindabon, preferably uninfected and the type no one will miss. Murderers, rapists, child molesters, the type headed for the Hells anyway. Also, I¡¯d like to speak with a Hierophant of Mistress Void specializing in the Fae or at least a Magi from the Ivory Tower of a similar status. I¡¯m no expert on Fae and think information about whatever breed is being used will be useful.¡± Glynn frowned deeply, ¡°I can easily arrange a colleague serving the Ninth God to help; as for your other request, that won¡¯t be possible. Unlike the Duchies, we of the League don¡¯t treat people like resources to be expended, no matter their crimes.¡± A bitter snort escaped Isabelle. ¡°No, you let them sit in a cage or separate their head and shoulders. You waste opportunities just so you can congratulate each other on being cruel in socially acceptable ways. I¡¯m offering a way for scum to work off their debt to society in the face of a calamity. I¡¯ll do my best without the necessary resources, but every death caused by delays will be on your head.¡± Glynn¡¯s neck started to visibly throb, and he started to say something but stopped himself. ¡°I¡¯d be wasting breath trying to explain morality and its complexities to you.¡± Shaking his head, the Keeper sighed. ¡°The threat of a caul forming is almost over; we Hierophants will be more active moving forward. Countess Isabelle, I would like to accompany you to monitor your progress and behavior.¡± Lips curling in a humorless smile, Isabelle asked. ¡°I¡¯m assuming Cole can¡¯t be my sole chaperone for these events?¡± Cooly, Glynn replied. ¡°No, no, he cannot.¡± Rolling her eyes, Isabelle turned and grabbed Cole¡¯s hand. ¡°Let''s get you some clothes and then head for the Ninth Temple. Also, Natalie wants to know if you have anything to say to her.¡± Still trying to process everything, Cole laughed morosely. ¡°Tell her happy birthday.¡± Book III: Chapter 11: Triumvirate.

Chapter 11: Triumvirate

¡°You disgust me. You and your ilk have gorged yourself for centuries, growing in both strength and influence for what? More thralls? More simpering scions? A few new types of undead servitors? That¡¯s all? That¡¯s all you have to show for nearly a millennium of unlife? You¡¯ve managed to breed a few select bloodlines of mortals. Congratulations, you¡¯ve matched the skill of a horse breeder. We are Vampires! We are eternal and capable of so much more; your inability to grasp that truth reveals much of your weakness.¡± - Isabelle Gens Silva¡¯s infamous ¡®Letter of Rebuke¡¯ sent to Voivoide Igori Gens Suillia.
Cole was used to dealing with predators; he¡¯d spent enough of his life hunting and being hunted to know how to handle a hungry creature watching him. Glancing at the monster staring at him, he asked. ¡°Would you mind letting me bathe in peace?¡± Isabelle lounged languidly on a bench while Cole finished scrubbing the last remnants of sickness from him. In a voice heavy with need, the vampire moaned. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you.¡± They¡¯d returned to the apartment so Cole could clean himself and get some clothes. It would apparently take a few hours to arrange a meeting with a Void Priest, and Isabelle was currently forbidden from further experimentation. The Hierophants reacted to finding out she broke into the Screamer ward and conducted involuntary arcane surgery on one of them as well as Cole expected. Honestly, after the debacle with Mina and Alia, the fact they hadn¡¯t attempted to exorcize Isabelle spoke of how bad the situation in Vindabon was. Feeling his new chest scars, Cole felt a surge of fresh guilt. He¡¯d grossly miscalculated by not curing himself of the plague. Numerous deaths, Mina¡¯s critical condition, and Natalie¡¯s possession were direct side effects of his choices. Tracing the marks of Isabelle¡¯s dissection, Cole forced himself to think about his actions and reconsider his motivations. Cole wanted to be human; he didn¡¯t want to end up like so many ageless monsters he faced. To that end, he let himself suffer and struggle in ways he didn¡¯t need to. All because he hoped the pain would keep him grounded, closer to the people he helped, not the undying things they feared. ¡°You really do have a magnificent body; I love how sculpted it is,¡± remarked Isabelle, watching as Cole pulled himself both from his dark reverie and the tub. As lukewarm water cascaded off his torso, Isabelle let out a longing sigh. Starting to dry himself, Cole repeated his earlier stated boundary. ¡°I¡¯m not sleeping with you while you occupy Natalie¡¯s body. It would be disrespectful and¡­ unwise for all parties involved.¡± A melodic laugh escaped Isabelle. ¡°Oh, Natalie¡¯s of much the same opinion, but seeing you all glistening and brooding is making her reconsider.¡± Turning away from his two lovers (fire-and-iron, it was strange to think that.) Cole hid his blush and finished drying his short hair. Natalie still trimmed it for him, and Cole was glad for it; he despised how long bangs got in his eyes. ¡°Even if you both come to some kind of agreement, I¡¯d not feel comfortable with it.¡± A low note of amusement escaped Isabelle, and then a series of wet cracking sounds started. Whirling around, Cole watched as Natalie¡¯s body shifted. Long black hair turned white, gentle features sharpened and matured, her curves thinned, but she grew taller with longer legs. Soon Isabelle, in both mind and appearance, sat before Cole, holding her head up with one hand. Smiling like some Devil of the highest order, Isabelle asked, ¡°Better?¡± Shaking his head, trying not to respond to her flirtations, Cole started dressing. ¡°That¡­ that is somehow even more unsettling.¡± Clicking her tongue and letting the mild shapeshift fade, returning her to Natalie¡¯s form, Isabelle remarked. ¡°Come now; it''s not like we haven¡¯t played with my powers like that before?¡± Quickly throwing on a shirt, Cole tried to stop his mind from wandering there by asking,. ¡°How are you, Isabelle? We¡¯ve not spoken outside of fragmented dreams for so long.¡± Disturbingly, Natalie and Isabelle wore identical expressions when surprised. Recovering herself, Isabelle crossed her legs and said. ¡°Your ability to pierce my defenses remains impeccable.¡± Offering him her hand, Isabelle let Cole help her to her feet and guide them both to the apartment¡¯s main room, where they lay down facing each other on the bed, and Isabelle sighed. ¡°It''s been horrible; I¡¯ve been ¡®living¡¯ in a state caught between life, death, consciousness, and dreams for twelve long years. Only the past four months have been anything resembling a proper existence. I suppose, despite our squabbles, I should thank Natalie for her aid. Even if it wasn¡¯t originally given voluntarily¡­¡± Isabelle frowned then and said. ¡°Natalie wants to try something; she says I need to drink a little from you.¡± Cole raised an eyebrow and considered remarking how awfully convenient that was for Isabelle but decided against it. Reaching up to his collar, he pulled on his shirt and exposed his other collar. Isabelle planted a fanged kiss upon his scarred skin, and something brushed against Cole¡¯s mind. It smelled of lilies and blood; it felt like Natalie¡¯s lips and smile. Tentatively, Cole touched the presence and felt it seep into his mind. A sudden spike of terror exploded in Cole as the worming influence grazed old wounds. Flashes of knives and fangs filled Cole¡¯s mind, along with glowing red eyes and pale, pale skin. Panic bloomed like blood from a wound, so much panic, the feeling of blades, the sensation of soft lips and sharp teeth. Pulling, tearing, muscles ripping, skin splitting like stretched burlap. Burning, burning, burning, fire, sizzling fat, screams, screams, and shadows.
Natalie and Isabelle stood at the edge of a bloody river. They were back inside Natalie¡¯s mind and waiting for the third member of their strange little triad. Pulling Isabelle into Natalie¡¯s mind wasn¡¯t hard, but dragging Cole through the connection of consumed blood was proving a little more difficult. Sticky bubbles boiled up from the bloody river as Natalie tried to understand what was happening. She¡¯d reached out to Cole through the link and invited him into her mind. Instead of joining her as Isabelle or previously Pryia have, Cole reacted¡­ strangely. He accepted her invitation and then started fighting the link, leaving him in a strange limbo between mindscapes. Isabelle looked at the stirred-up river and commented. ¡°Using your mindscape to host a meeting between the three of us is clever. I¡¯m surprised I didn¡¯t think of it.¡± Frowning, trying to help Cole connect with her, Natalie said. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong. Can you help?¡± Isabelle answered. ¡°He¡¯s not a Vampire; this won¡¯t come easy to-¡± Pausing, a slight look of befuddlement crossed over Isabelle, quickly replaced by shock as the older vampire sensed something. Jumping into the knee-deep red stream, its metaphor changing depth as needed, Isabelle reached into the bubbles. Natalie joined her and did the same; she found thrashing limbs beneath the surface. Gripping where they could, the two vampires pulled something wretched from the blood. Exploding out of the crimson flow in a welter of ichor was a twisted mass of broken flesh. Its number of limbs and their condition shifted with every second as it thrashed. While its skin was rotting leather stretched so tight, it was tearing open, exposing red muscles and yellow fat. The creature¡¯s face was skinned, and tears of blood, both black and red, poured down from lidless eyes. But its eyes were a familiar cool blue, the color of clear winter skies; they were Cole¡¯s eyes. Isabelle and Natalie exchanged identical looks of horror. The older vampire tried to reach out to the thrashing behemoth, but it knocked her away with a multi-armed blow. Torn between her mentor and the monster with her love¡¯s eyes, Natalie cried out, ¡°What is that? Is that Cole? What happened?¡± Isabelle staggered to her feet, an ugly twitching palsy running through the flesh the Cole-creature touched. Forcing her lips to work, Isabelle spat, ¡°Mindscape¡­ how¡­ how¡­ we see¡­ see ourselves.¡± Swallowing uselessly, Natalie decided she was due for another act of brave idiocy. Ducking under a thrashing arm, Natalie rushed up to the Cole-creature. The knee-deep water was of no impediment to Natalie; this was her mind, her rules. With an effort of concentration, Natalie coagulated the blood around the creature¡¯s legs and sent out tendrils of red to bind its limbs. Pryia¡¯s training showed its merit as Natalie restrained the scarred monster and approached it safely. Staring into its skinned face and those so familiar eyes, Natalie reached out to touch its mutilated cheek. Isabelle¡¯s scream of ¡°NO!¡± came too late as Natalie touched the wounded mind before her. *Chains wrapping arms and legs, dangling over a vat, acrid smoke, lowered, lowered, lowered, BURNING! BURNING! BURNING! * * Wet warm flesh, sharp cold fangs, cruel laughter, sore muscles, blood dripping, fluids mixing, red eyes, baleful eyes * * The crunch of bone, the snap of ligaments, liquified innards, weight, so much weight, a castle atop a body * * Slit throat, slit wrists, bleeding over a basin, slit throat, slit wrists, bleeding over a basin, slit throat, slit wrists, bleeding over a basin, slit throat slit¡­* ¡°COLE!¡± Natalie screamed as the tide of putrid memories assaulted her. Forcing away the unnatural recollections, Natalie held the Cole-creature¡¯s gaze, trying to keep those blue eyes upon her face. ¡°I¡¯m here! I¡¯m here! You are safe! You are safe!¡± Perhaps once a week, Cole suffered night terrors, horrible screaming dreams where his unconscious mind let old horrors slip their leash. Natalie was by now something of an expert in rousing Cole from those fell dreams and helping him regain his composure. That experience and Natalie¡¯s own knack for psychic magic guided her actions. Holding the Cole-creature''s flayed face, she whispered to it and tried to pour as much safety and love into her voice as she could. Cautiously, Isabelle approached them, a mixture of curiosity and concern on her face. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Natalie focused on the Cole-creature and said. ¡°Helping him, at least I hope so. This¡­ this feels like his nightmares, and I¡¯m doing what I always do when he wakes up from them.¡± The Cole-creature was no longer spasming and seemed to be settling on a proper configuration of limbs. Refusing to break eye contact but still seeking aid, Natalie asked. ¡°Do you know what happened? When I first touched his consciousness, I could feel his consent and comprehension; but once I started pulling him into my mind, something went wrong.¡± Isabelle cautiously stepped next to Natalie and reached out, her fingers hovering over the Cole-creature¡¯s mutilated skin. ¡°I have a few guesses. A common side-effect of extreme longevity is mental degradation. Compacted trauma, cluttered memories, and other issues can ruin a mind if left untreated. I hoped to avoid those issues by designing Cole¡¯s mind with unique defense and coping mechanisms. They¡¯ve worked, but not perfectly.¡± Ruined skin and open wounds started to heal slowly as the Cole-creature settled into a weary stupor. Lidless eyes stared at Natalie with the type of soul-deep exhaustion only extreme pain can spawn. Watching this regeneration, Isabelle asked. ¡°Do you know about Sword Stress?¡± Gently massaging a cheek where new skin was growing, Natalie shrugged. ¡°It happens to soldiers, right? They do or experience something, and the war gets into their soul. Are you saying Cole has Sword Stress? It would make sense but aren¡¯t people with it more¡­ mad?¡± Even without looking at her mentor, Natalie could feel Isabelle purse her lips in a way signifying the answer was not satisfactory. ¡°The nuances are more complicated. Anyone who faces great pain can develop it. Actually, most people who suffer horribly do gain it to some form. Your aversion to Werewolves (even if it''s now lessened) is technically considered Sword Stress by Seers specializing in that sort of thing. But yes, people who¡¯ve survived even a tenth of what Cole has don¡¯t tend to be¡­ functional.¡± Pieces clicked together like a Concordian painting, and Natalie nodded to herself. ¡°Cole¡¯s mind is intact thanks to your modifications. But even they aren¡¯t enough to defuse the pain inflicted on him. The night terrors, the paranoia, this whole mess, it''s the cracks showing.¡± Fresh skin covered up old wounds, and lids grew over Cole¡¯s eyes. Slowly, Natalies released the binding blood and let Cole topple forward. Catching him and dragging his body to the shore, Natalie and Isabelle watched as old scars and fresh clothes wrapped around the recovering Homunculus. A soft uncharacteristic noise escaped Isabelle, something between a sob and a sigh. ¡°He sees himself with the scars. I¡­I hoped that wouldn¡¯t be the case, at least outside of dreams.¡± On either side of the Paladin, the Vampires watched as he stirred. Cole¡¯s eyes snapped open, and a rattling breath escaped him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Touching his cheek, thankful for the new skin, Natalie asked. ¡°Whatever for?¡± Wincing, Cole started to pull himself up, unwilling to meet either vampire¡¯s eyes. ¡°I broke just now; the last time someone other than Isabelle pulled me into their mind was the Larder. I trust you and love you, but my subconscious mind still panicked.¡± Natalie leaned her head against Cole and groaned in annoyance. Glancing at Isabelle, she asked. ¡°Was he always like this?¡± To both Natalie¡¯s and Cole¡¯s shock, Isabelle joined them, leaning against Cole¡¯s other side and saying. ¡°Taking the world upon his shoulders and blaming himself for any supposed flaw? Yes, yes, he has.¡± The three stood like that for a time until Natalie asked. ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡± Cole shut his eyes and softly said. ¡°They hurt me. I can usually forget how bad most of the time, but sometimes I¡¯m reminded, and it¡¯s like I never escaped, like I¡¯m back in that pit.¡± Sucking in a breath, Cole nodded to himself and said. ¡°But I¡¯m not there anymore. I¡¯m here with you both. Thank you.¡± Hugging him tight for a moment, then letting go, Natalie said. ¡°I thought the three of us being able to speak in my mind was a good solution. I didn¡¯t think it would cause you pain; I¡¯m sorry.¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. A low laugh escaped the Paladin. ¡°Weren¡¯t you just rebuking me for apologizing for something I shouldn¡¯t?¡± Shrugging, Natalie let go of Cole and said. ¡°Well, you seem to be doing better, so I suggest we start figuring this out.¡± Isabelle reluctantly detached herself from Cole and said. ¡°I suppose that would be wise. Considering Natalie and I haven¡¯t tried to kill each other out of jealousy, we are doing rather well with this situation.¡± Cole grimaced and bowed his head to both women. ¡°I owe you both apologies. Isabelle, I never stopped loving you; I¡¯m sorry for betraying your trust. Natalie, pursuing a relationship with you wasn¡¯t fair; I can only beg your forgiveness.¡± Despite the brevity of Cole¡¯s words, it was clear he¡¯d been thinking about this for a while now, his ever-present sense of guilt driving him to rectify where a lesser man might flee. The two vampires exchanged long looks; Cole wasn¡¯t the only one devoting thought to the situation. Isabelle went first. ¡°You didn¡¯t abandon me. I remember so many times you just stared into my skull¡¯s eyes for hours, begging for me to speak with you. I could hear but not answer, it tore my heart with guilt, and I wondered if my survival was worth the cost. Even while serving the Tenth God, you maintained my existence. Feeding, protecting, and speaking to me when I could offer nothing but cold bone and tortured dreams.¡± Glancing at Natalie, Isabelle explained. ¡°At first, I loathed you, viewing you as a threat to my survival. Slowly that changed, and you¡¯ve become¡­ important to me. A student, a friend, a fellow vampire, someone I¡¯ve grown to trust more than most. We have our issues, but I don¡¯t view you as a rival, more like a¡­ colleague in affection.¡± Natalie actually laughed, mouthing the phrase ¡®colleague in affection¡¯ before saying. ¡°I think Cole¡¯s being slightly unfair in saying he pursued me. If memory serves, I practically seduced him, something he tried to resist initially.¡± Gesturing to Isabelle, Natalie said, ¡°Well, I considered you just another Leech, a particularly monstrous one at that. I dismissed Cole¡¯s claims you weren¡¯t a monster, or at least trying not to be. Now¡­ well, you¡¯ve had numerous opportunities to betray my trust, and aside from a few¡­ prickly moments, we¡¯ve worked well together. I can understand why Cole loves you.¡± Isabelle grew very still then, her mouth opening slightly and then shutting with a snap. Hesitantly the older vampire said. ¡°Thank you.¡± Stepping forward, Natalie offered a hand to both of her companions. ¡°This situation is messy and complicated beyond words. It would be easy for hearts to be broken and stupid squabbles to happen, so I will do my best to ensure they don¡¯t. In my opinion, Cole is worth sharing.].¡± Cole took the offered hand and gently squeezed it. Slowly, tentatively, Isabelle did the same, her face a mask of cool indifference, as telling to her emotional turmoil as any pained expression. ¡°I agree.¡± In a heavy voice, Cole rumbled. ¡°Thank you. Thank you both for loving me and being people I can love. Thank you for¡­ for this.¡± Isabelle shut her eyes and sucked in a pointless breath. ¡°With the bleeding heart matter finished, let''s move on to the task at hand.¡± Letting go of both their hands, Isabelle snapped her fingers and summoned up a few projected memories. Phantom images of the Faerie, its larval form, and, disturbingly, Cole¡¯s plague-infested corpse materialized nearby. Natalie recoiled from the sights, but Cole simply frowned at Isabelle. ¡°Are you certain more doesn¡¯t need to be discussed?¡± Eyes on the fly-rabbit, Isabelle said. ¡°For now, I think the matter is sufficiently settled. Dynamics like what we are forming aren¡¯t uncommon in some cultures. Admittedly it''s usually an aristocrat with multiple spouses as signs of power, but that¡¯s not always the case. Now, back to the plague ravaging the city and my efforts to cure it.¡± Cole exchanged a glance with Natalie; they both got the sense that the third triumvir was avoiding something. For better or worse, they silently agreed on not pressing the matter. If Isabelle was unwilling to address it, then attempts to yank it out of her would probably end poorly. Hopefully, whatever it was, it could wait, whereas Vindabon and the surrounding region couldn¡¯t. Speaking quickly, Isabelle rattled off what she knew. ¡°My method of using the Fae larva to cure the plague is inefficient and dangerous. While my second attempt was head-and-shoulders above the first, and there is room for further improvement, it simply isn¡¯t logistically possible to use on large populations. Besides, I doubt the technique will be of much use to those treated to not become Screamers. The larval Fae is removed by the cleansing before it can grow strong enough to influence the infected. Without that larva, the technique won¡¯t work.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°Then why did it work on Mina? She¡¯d been cleansed? Hells, she was probably one of the first people to be.¡± Isabelle blinked and then said something Natalie never expected. ¡°Oh shit.¡± Gliding over towards Cole, she gripped his head and whispered in an occult tongue. Letting go of him, Isabelle visibly relaxed. ¡°Well, I have good news and bad. It seems those suffering from the plague can be reinfected, at least partially. Even if the original larva is removed, a new one can find purchase. We will need to inform the Temple the plague wardens need to be regularly cleaned. Another headache to make this a bigger mess. ¡± Tentatively, Natalie asked. ¡°I¡¯m hoping that is the bad news?¡± Isabelle nodded and said. ¡°Yes, the good news is Cole wasn¡¯t reinfected handling the sick Priestess or Catblood. That he wasn¡¯t gives me some ideas and some directions on where to go.¡± Turning to her magnum opus, Isabelle asked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to ask you, darling, but would you be willing to let a Screamer bite you?¡± Cole didn¡¯t even hesitate and nodded yes. ¡°If it will help, then of course.¡± Isabelle went over to the phantom copy of Cole¡¯s corpse and added. ¡°Oh, and I¡¯m reasonably certain the Sting provides a level of inoculation against the plague, which means Natalie is showing remarkable self-control. This immunity is another avenue of attack I will focus on and should allow for a vaccine to be developed.¡± Natalie asked. ¡°A vaccine? Is that some kind of medicine?¡± Shrugging, Isabelle briefly explained. ¡°Technically, yes. It will help prevent the spread, not cure those already infected.¡± Laying out the situation, Isabelle mused. ¡°So we have one feasible but inefficient method of treating Screamers, another potential path to prevent further infection, and an annoying usurper to deal with.¡± Eye¡¯s flashing with contained rage, Isabelle continued. ¡°Someone was given my notes by Voivoide Igori; I won¡¯t tolerate that.¡± Cole asked. ¡°Why don¡¯t you think the Voivoide is personally responsible?¡± Isabelle scoffed. ¡°He¡¯s a lazy schemer who prefers to profit off other¡¯s work. He¡¯d ¡®delegate¡¯ this task to another and rake in the spoils if it succeeded or discard his minion if it didn¡¯t.¡± Unsure if it was a good idea but unable to resist, Natalie remarked. ¡°But he still beat you, didn¡¯t he?¡± Isabelle¡¯s lip curled in disgust, exposing long white fangs. ¡°Igori¡¯s victory was built on my flaws, not his strength.¡± Pursing her lips, Natalie decided not to push the issue, even though Isabelle¡¯s logic seemed less than waterproof. Instead, she asked, ¡°Well? What¡¯s next then?¡± Tapping long fingers on the phantom slab holding Cole¡¯s corpse, Isabelle said. ¡°I need more information about the type of Faerie being used. My experiments involving Fae-manipulated pestilence used a captured Powrie, but this plague clearly uses something else. The Ninth Temple should have answers to that, and until I can meet with them, I¡¯ll need to focus on the medical aspect of the plague. If the city won¡¯t give me the resources I need, then I¡¯ll be forced to improvise.¡± Isabelle turned to Cole, and words started to form on her lips. They died, but their ghost called out to Cole. ¡°What were you going to ask of me, Isabelle?¡± Shaking her head, Isabelle tried to banish whatever notion she¡¯d murdered in its crib. ¡°Nothing I¡¯m currently willing to suggest.¡± Looking at Natalie, Isabelle said. ¡°I need some time in my memory palace to gather the information I stored away. Enjoy the rest of your birthday with Cole; I¡¯ll call when I¡¯m ready to use more of my agreed time.¡± Moving over, Isabelle planted a kiss on Cole¡¯s lips and then faded away. Natalie watched this, expecting a surge of jealousy, but it didn¡¯t come. Or at least not how Natalie expected¡­ Instead of being jealous of Isabelle, Natalie wondered what it would be like to join them, both of them¡­. Shaking the thought from her mind, Natalie sighed and went over to Cole. Leaning against him, she said, ¡°So what was that Isabelle said about using her powers in the bedroom?¡± Cole¡¯s back stiffened into an iron bar. ¡°Uh¡­ ur¡­ um¡­¡± Snickering, Natalie got into her toes and kissed Cole¡¯s cheek. ¡°You must tell me more after I get my birthday present.¡± Frowning, Cole asked, ¡°Your birthday present?¡± Natalie smiled like a hungry cat. ¡°It¡¯s not like you could get me flowers with the city like this, and Isabelle will be busy for a while, so¡­ I think we have some time without interruptions. Besides, Isabelle wasn¡¯t kidding about me enjoying watching you bathe.¡± Rubbing his face, a nervous laugh escaped Cole. ¡°This is so strange.¡± Natalie shrugged. ¡°I used to be a waitress from a mountain town barely even on the maps, now I¡¯m one of the strongest vampires in existence thanks to an ancient monster¡¯s final act of spite. You are an immortal artificial human who serves a God diametrically opposed to your existence. I think we passed the gates of strange a long time ago.¡±
Isabelle Gens Silva was used to profound revelations. She¡¯d swam the currents of the Beyond and touched alien minds in her dark pursuits. She¡¯d vivisected bodies and souls just to feed her curiosity. She¡¯d spat in the faces of Gods and Monsters, claiming powers they hoarded selfishly. But now, lying atop her lake of blood, staring up at an impossibly large moon, Isabelle was forced to accept a new and horrible revelation; on some deep level, she hated herself. When Natalie spoke of her growing trust and Cole apologized for the sin of falling in love, Isabelle felt sick to her soul. Here she was with these two gullible fools opening themselves up to her, and¡­ and she felt grotesquely unworthy. Cole suffered a year of unimaginable torture because of her arrogance and still refused to abandon her. The foolishly wonderful homunculus was left traumatized and alone for more than a decade and still didn¡¯t give up on her. Instead, he asked his new love to accept that she must share his heart. Then in spite of everything, Natalie accepted this arrangement with surprising ease, even forming a shockingly strong bond with Isabelle. Covering her eyes, Isabelle realized she couldn¡¯t keep dancing between choices. She needed to either commit to taking Natalie¡¯s body or discard the plan entirely. All this hedging of bets and hesitation wore on Isabelle. Now at the moment of truth, Isabelle needed to either harden her heart and expel any affection for Natalie or just accept the situation as it was. Of course, the idea of passively waiting for Natalie to grow in strength and trust she¡¯d honor the deal was anathema to Isabelle. Stasis in an ever-changing world is decay, and Isabelle refused to rot even in the slightest. If she was going to enjoy the love and trust offered, then Isabelle needed to abandon her plan. But she couldn¡¯t just tread water and let time flow past her. So as was her nature, Isabelle decided another option was required. With each night, war crept closer to Vindabon. Eventually, Cole would be required to stand against the Duchies with Natalie by his side. They would inevitably face other powerful vampires, horrible creatures who embodied the worst of her kind. If one could be captured¡­ well, it wouldn¡¯t be an Alukah, but it would be something.
Natalie lay upon Cole¡¯s chest, enjoying his warmth and the afterglow of their love. In a breathy voice, she started to sing. ¡°~ Another year I live! Another year I¡¯m loved! Oh, what glory! Oh, what goodness.~¡± She was off-key and forgetting half the lyrics, but Cole didn¡¯t mind a bit. Wrapping her up in his arms, he rolled her to his side and let out a long breath. Snuggling into his chest and ensuring his arms wrested comfortably on hers, Natalie asked, ¡°What? Not a fan of celebration songs?¡± Cole snorted in amusement and squeezed her tight. ¡°I¡¯ve got a feeling it might be some time until we can do this again, so I wanted to enjoy how you feel.¡± Natalie wiggled her hindquarters against Cole and said, ¡°I thought you felt me plenty?¡± As tempted as Cole was to resume their earlier activity, he resisted. ¡°I know I¡¯m asking a lot from you with all this. Thank you.¡± Sighing, Natalie was tempted to turn around and nibble on Cole for ruining the mood. Instead, she said. ¡°In the spirit of complete honesty, the idea of sharing you isn¡¯t particularly distressing. What bothered me was sharing you with Isabelle. From what I originally understood, she seemed a spectacularly twisted vampire, which she is, but not how I feared.¡± Reluctantly, Natalie slipped free of Cole¡¯s arms and did a complete roll on the bed, so she faced him. ¡°She created you and then fell in love with you. That is so creepy and just¡­ ugh. Not to completely taint the evening, but isn¡¯t she like your mother?¡± Cole¡¯s face twitched with disgust. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly familiar with typical family relationships, but I can say that isn¡¯t the case. Isabelle¡¯s emotions towards me were never¡­ matronly. I was closer to being her student and favorite creation than her child. Which still isn¡¯t ideal, but not anywhere as foul as your notion.¡± Thinking on that, Natalie remarked. ¡°She once told a story about an ancient Magi who fell in love with a Golem he created, comparing the legend to her relationship with you. It¡¯s a confusing mess, but you¡¯re right, much less gross.¡± Rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, Cole commented. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like she broke into my bed chambers a week after I was created. She was very aloof for the first year or two, really only paying attention to me when conducting tests. That changed when she started debating philosophy with me.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow at that. ¡°Really?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°She originally intended it as a method to measure my intellect and moral perspective. Then she started losing, and it became a personal challenge.¡± A snort escaped Natalie. ¡°You beat her?¡± Again, Cole nodded. ¡°Isabelle wouldn¡¯t admit it at first. We¡¯d be discussing some hypothetical quandary, I¡¯d make some point, and then she¡¯d get very quiet for a while. The first few times, she just got up and left, making me wonder if I¡¯d done something to offend her. Eventually, once my victories became consistent, Isabelle would just sit and stare at me for a time. Once, she actually dragged me to a ritual room to conduct an exorcism, fearing I was possessed by a Seraph or Devil. I think the notion something of the Beyond was influencing me was easier to swallow than her just being a terrible philosopher.¡± Sitting up in the bed and letting out a genuine laugh, Natalie said. ¡°She thought an Angel or Fallen Angel was inside you? Just because she couldn¡¯t beat you in a debate?¡± Sheepishly, Cole just shrugged. ¡°Isabelle is remarkably intelligent but too utilitarian and jaded to see some options. I don¡¯t know if it''s just an effect of being a five-hundred-year-old vampire or something else, but she has a bitter streak of pessimism, and it blinds her sometimes.¡± That lined up with what Natalie experienced, both with Isabelle and Cole. The Paladin was preternaturally wise sometimes, and Natalie could see how a domineering vampire used to only servants and rivals would be caught off guard by such a talent.¡± Staring at Cole, Natalie was reminded of her recent conversations with Isabelle about the deal they made and what was shared about Cole¡¯s origins. Keeping either bit of information secret would cause problems, so Natalie bit leather and said. ¡°Hey Cole, I didn¡¯t just agree to let Isabelle possess me to help with the plague.¡± Speaking slowly at first but accelerating with every word, hoping to get it over with, Natalie explained the twelve days she¡¯d bartered away and Isabelle¡¯s explanation for Cole¡¯s moral compass. Cole listened, his face calm as Natalie spilled every detail she remembered. Eventually, as the deluge of words petered off, Cole asked, ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me about Isabelle¡¯s offer before?¡± Letting out a huff, Natalie explained. ¡°Because I didn¡¯t want to think about it! The idea of letting her possess me was terrifying, and I tried to avoid the topic for as long as possible. Then she went and did it because of the plague, and it¡­ well, it¡¯s survivable. She didn¡¯t steal my body, alter my memories, or kill anybody I care for, even though this would be the perfect opportunity to do so. Sure, she pushed it a few times, but I expected so much worse.¡± Natalie frowned, ¡°Okay, but how do you feel about the other thing?¡± Cole was silent for a moment before saying. ¡°It doesn¡¯t surprise me.¡± In answer to Natalie¡¯s raised eyebrows, Cole elaborated. ¡°I¡¯ve traveled the continent and seen much over my life. I know I¡¯m different, not just because I return from death; how I view life is apparently abnormal. Thank you for telling me.¡± Natalie pursed her lips in confusion. ¡°You seem to be taking this very well.¡± Rolling off the bed and finding some clothes, Cole sighed. ¡°You didn¡¯t want to tell me about the twelve days because you feared making the possibility real by expressing it. I understand that perfectly. Isabelle¡¯s reluctance to share information about my creation scares me. So the idea that my mind is somehow primed for loyalty and empathy feels¡­ well, as you said, I expected so much worse.¡± Reluctantly, Natalie also started putting on clothes; the little reprieve she¡¯d shared with Cole was over; time to focus on the city rotting around them. ¡°You could ask her more about it now that you can speak with her through my mind. She doesn¡¯t have the right to deny you the story of your creation.¡± Cole looked down at his hands, one scarred, the other not, and said, ¡°I could; I just don¡¯t know if I want to. Book III: Chapter 12: Strange Medicine

Chapter 12: Strange Medicine

¡°Banes burn; that just a rule of existence. Put a Vampire in sunlight, they burn. Stab a Sidhe with iron, they burn. Bless a Demon, they burn. Sure, some burn different, like a Werewolf touched by silver, but they are still cooking. I don¡¯t know why banes burn; I just know they do. Some folks say it''s the world rejecting somethin that shouldn¡¯t exist; others say it''s the Gods¡¯ wrath. I don¡¯t really care, all I know is you find a Monster¡¯s bane, and then you burn the jagger with it.¡± - Words of (self-taught) Exorcist Fergus of Fallstone.
¡°I cannot believe you talked me into this!¡± snapped Cat-eyes as she stared at the mind-controlled Screamers on the other side of the cell bars. Cole sighed and rubbed his face. ¡°I asked if you would be willing to suffer a little to help Mina; you barely hesitated.¡± Cole, Alia, Rihan, and Yara stood before the jail door separating them from the Screamers. The four of them were Isabelle¡¯s improvisation; she¡¯d been denied criminals to experiment on, so she would make do with volunteers. Considering his nature and duties, Cole was the obvious choice, but Isabelle feared his resurrection from the plague would muddle the results. Natalie and Cole both expressed concern at Yara agreeing to the experiment, but the thrall seemed woefully unconcerned; she was just eager to be useful again. Alia didn¡¯t take much convincing, Mina was doing surprisingly well post-extraction, and the City-warden was tired of feeling helpless. If subjecting herself to Isabelle¡¯s ministrations was what it took to do some good, then she would. Rihan was let in on the secret of Natalie¡¯s possession and seemed interested in becoming immune to the plague, so she signed on to be a baseline test subject. As the quartet waited, Isabelle extracted a mixture of blood and saliva from the Screamers. As far as the Temple knew, Mina was the only person who¡¯d been reinfected with the plague, and the only abnormality she signified was being bit by a Screamer and surviving. Of course, every plague warden was undergoing additional purging, just to be sure. Hierophants Nyanmi and Bertram managed to produce a very large quantity of stable holy water they were using to purify infected at a much faster rate. With syringes filled with the foul concoction, Isabelle gestured for Cole to approach the jail door. He did and shut his eyes as Isabelle injected the mixture into him. Glancing down at the spot on his arm, Cole uncorked the bottle he¡¯d been given for this moment. Drinking down the healing draught, Cole ignored the metallic taste and hoped it would be enough. Saliva from even uninfected people was dangerous enough; the potion should protect him and the others from mundane diseases. The other three volunteers took the injection and the potion without complaint. They were just glad they wouldn¡¯t need to be bitten by a Screamer for this to work. Shutting his eyes, Cole called up his power and opened his Aether sight. Looking down at his arm and the injection spot, he saw a nodule of darkness bleeding into his flesh. Roots like rat tails extended out from the nub and quested into his flesh but found little purchase. A tiny leech mouth grew from the nub and tried to bite into the Aether but couldn¡¯t; it stretched itself like a sapling seeking sunlight, only finding cold death in its place. Some of the rat-roots were already withering away, and the central nub became shrunken and malformed. Cole didn¡¯t need to do much more than focus on the nub for it to dissolve into the Aether. Glancing at his fellow test subjects, Cole winced. The infected nub was burrowing into Alia, already fading into the swirl of emotions and thoughts representing her soul. There wasn¡¯t even a trace of the seed, just the black tendrils of plague seeping off Alia¡¯s soul. Rihan was worse; she¡¯d been infected fresh, and if Cole hadn¡¯t been looking for the tiny wisps of pestilence within her ice-like essence, he¡¯d not have noticed them. Yara was completely unaffected; as Cole watched, he saw the plague seed actually detach from her arm, trying to escape into the Aether, where the currents of emotions tore it apart. Cole then looked at Isabelle and Natalie. He¡¯d known about the possession without looking into the Aether but couldn¡¯t resist the morbid curiosity of seeing what Mina apparently noticed. Blinking in surprise, Cole felt himself rock back a little in shock. In the Aether, Natalie looked like she was wearing a blood-drenched skull as a helmet. A representation of Isabelle¡¯s current body, overlaying Natalie¡¯s soul in a very blunt metaphor. Additionally, half-formed bones floated close to the shared body, drifting in the Aether but attached to Natalie by tendrils textured like muscle fiber. Whenever the body moved, the few drifting bones would bounce and flow after Natalie¡¯s flesh, like sloppy puppets imitating her movements. Frowning, Cole let his Aether sight fade; he¡¯d dealt with Ghosts possessing people, but this looked different; it was more solid and coherent. Cole wondered if it was a side-effect of Isabelle¡¯s nature or something deeper; he¡¯d need to ask her and maybe check the archive if he ever had time. Isabelle, wearing Natalie¡¯s flesh, looked at Cole expectantly. ¡°Well? What did you see?¡± Cole returned his mind to the current problem and explained. ¡°The plague tried and failed to infect me; it actually refused Yara but infected Alia and Rihan. It seemed to move quicker with Rihan as well.¡± Isabelle nodded and went to the cell door. ¡°Well then, we best get started; I believe Glynn is waiting for us in the clinic.¡± The group left the Screamers, and made their way to a private room in the clinic. The chamber was set aside for surgery and healing rituals, or more often, both simultaneously. Hierophant Glynn was indeed there with a pair of Priests to assist him. Both wore the copper badge of mundane healers and seemed nervous to be dragged into this experiment. Glynn¡¯s eyes were unfocused, and he muttered to himself, only stopping when Isabelle stepped over the room¡¯s ritual circle. The chamber''s center was a cushioned stone slab inscribed with runes and blessings. It was surrounded by twin circles of Healer¡¯s Gold and Cleaner¡¯s Copper, both enchanted dwarven alloys. Glynn said. ¡°I take it you are ready to proceed with the operation? Also, I¡¯ve arranged for a Hierophant of Mistress Void to meet with us in three hours. Will that be enough time? Isabelle nodded to both questions and gestured at Alia. ¡°City-warden, you¡¯ve been infected for longer and have a hardier constitution; best if you go first.¡± Alia looked at the slab and cursed. ¡°Oh fuck¡­¡± Still, she stripped off her shirt, clambered onto the slab, and grumbled. ¡°Just get it over with.¡± Glancing at the assembled Priests, Isabelle rattled off instructions and started her magic. Ten minutes and one unconscious Alia later, the group stared at the malformed Faerie dangling from Isabelle¡¯s shadowy grip. This one was shrunken and ill-proportioned, even more so than the strange hybrids encountered before. Miscarried and mutated, the Faerie seemed similar to the mouse-silverfish extracted from Mina. Cole approached the twitching creature with a large glass specimen jar obtained for this purpose. The Faerie was deposited into the jar, and an iron cap was screwed into place. One of the two Priests working on Alia glanced up and gave his report. ¡°She¡¯s suffered some damage to her lungs and intestinal tract but well within our ability to treat. I think blood loss is what knocked her out, not shock. I¡¯ll cast a marrow ministration to help her recover.¡± With Cole¡¯s help, Alia was moved onto a waiting cott, and the Priest started his spell work while Rihan took her place on the slab. The Priestess stripped and revealed skin matching Natalie¡¯s pigmentation, and guessing by her occupation, Cole doubted her color had anything to do with the plague. Staring up at the painted ceiling of the room, Rihan said. ¡°Do it.¡± Rihan stayed conscious throughout the ordeal and now stared down at her left arm; a large bruise and freshly bandaged cut marked the limb. Considering she¡¯d only been infected for maybe twenty minutes, the plague wasn¡¯t as bad, and neither was the Faerie ripped from her flesh. The lump of chitin and fur was barely the size of Cole¡¯s thumb and died quickly upon ¡®hatching.¡¯ Its remains now sitting in another jar for later study. Looking at the two samples, one malformed, the other deceased, Rihan asked. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± Glynn answered instead of Isabelle. ¡°I assume, meeting with the Ninth Temple Hierophant?¡± Isabelle looked to Rihan and asked. ¡°Are you healthy enough for us to proceed with what we discussed?¡± Rihan flexed her arm and grimaced. ¡°We can try.¡± Glynn stepped into the circle then. ¡°Wait, what are you doing?¡± Reaching into her clothes, Isabelle produced a new syringe, another sample of the plague fluids acquired earlier. ¡°Rihan presents an opportunity for experimentation. She wasn¡¯t infected until now, and her biology is normal, unlike Cole and his regenerative miracle. We discussed if the extraction went well, then other experiments might be in order.¡± Lips narrowing into a perfectly straight line, Glynn asked. ¡°And you consent to this, Priestess Rihan?¡± The corpse-tender in question just shrugged. ¡°We need information, and I can help provide it.¡± The Hierophant gave the barest of nods, and Rihan settled back onto the padded slab. Cole watched as Isabelle gently tapped the syringe and prepared it for use. Fifteen minutes after the injection, Rihan lay on the cushioned stone, breathing heavily as a bean-sized lump of Faerie was deposited into a specimen jar. Both of the Priestess¡¯s arms were bruised, and she was missing a rather large amount of blood, but she was awake and intact. Shaking his head, Glynn hissed. ¡°No more, she¡¯s done enough.¡± Isabelle nodded and snapped her fingers at Yara. ¡°Attend me, please.¡± Cole noticed Isabelle¡¯s face spasm slightly after the command was given, something Cole was quickly realizing meant Natalie was swatting her headmate in annoyance. Clicking her tongue, Isabelle corrected herself. ¡°Yara, if you would, I could use some help.¡± The thrall scurried forward, and Isabelle gently bit her and took a few mouthfuls of blood. Everyone in the chamber watched this with varying levels of discomfort, which Isabelle appeared not to notice. Stepping over to the row of captured Faeries, Isabelle nodded to herself. ¡°This should be enough; I can start to compare them to learn more about the plague¡¯s spread and reinfection rates.¡± Spinning to face Glynn, Isabelle said. ¡°Now I believe I can meet with the Hierophant.¡±
They¡¯d arranged for the meeting in the Temple library, where one of Glynn¡¯s subordinates prepared a chamber and texts on the Fae for their use. Alia and Rihan were left in the care of the healers, so only Cole, Isabelle, Natalie, Yara, and Glynn to awaited the Hierophant of Mistress Void. Existing as a passenger within her own mind, Natalie was back to being conflicted about events. She¡¯d fully intended to go into the earlier mental meeting with plans to rebuke and interrogate Isabelle. But then Cole¡¯s damaged psyche proved a bigger issue, and the two women were unified by their shared love for him. Somehow in the shadow of Cole¡¯s night terror and the emotional exchange following it, Natalie¡¯s intent to pick a fight with Isabelle went forgotten. Now, back as a spectator, Natalie was free to think about events. So far, Natalie came to a few conclusions: Isabelle could be trusted to look after Cole, herself, and, to a lesser extent, Natalie. But Isabelle¡¯s moral compass and behavior were both erratic, ensuring her ¡®help¡¯ couldn¡¯t ever be fully trusted. The fact she was almost completely unapologetic about her research being used to create the plague while also willing to help cure it on a matter of pride and professionalism was a perfect example of this. Watching Isabelle flip through some of the texts about Fae as Cole and Glynn discussed matters of the city, Natalie decided she could trust Isabelle more than she initially thought. The idea of being possessed was unsettling on many levels, but what really scared Natalie was the possibility of Isabelle taking permanent control. The temptation of a new body, especially one with the Alukah¡¯s power, seemed the exact sort of thing Isabelle would scheme to acquire. But once fully possessed, Natalie realized it would be fairly easy to dislodge her mentor if need be, and better yet, people she knew recognized the possession, both through Isabelle¡¯s behavior and Aetheric presence. These factors turned the idea of lending Isabelle a body from a dangerous threat to an annoying chore. In light of these revelations, Natalie hoped the distance born of her refusal to acknowledge Isabelle¡¯s request would fade, and their mutual trust would continue growing. Even though Natalie knew she needed to press Isabelle on a few fronts the old vampire would not like, Cole¡¯s creation being chief among them. The door to the private room clicked open, and everyone turned to look at the newcomer. Natalie was getting much better at handling another person moving her head and eyes, but it was still discombobulating, especially when Isabelle actually blinked in surprise as the Hierophant of Mistress Void entered the chamber. He was very tall, probably taller than Cole, but also willowy thin, to the point of absurdity. This wasn¡¯t where his strange appearance stopped; the Hierophant¡¯s skin was black, not dark brown or ebony like those of the southern continent, but actually black, to the point he seemed dipped in glistening pitch. He lacked hair, his scalp was marked with rich purple tattoos, and loops of gold hung from his ears. A large fluffy scarf covered his neck and shoulders while he wore a strange mix of ritual robes and traveling clothes. Everyone in the room except Isabelle got up to greet the Hierophant. Glynn took one of the Hierophant¡¯s offered hands and shook the long fingers coated in rings. ¡°Ah, Walker Jacq! Thank you for joining us.¡± Jacq bowed his head and spoke in a Guyennian accent flavored with alien inflections. ¡°You spoke to my Temple, requesting an expert in the Sidewalkers, and here I am. Now tell me, is it true you have captured a few lesser Faeries?¡± Isabelle got up then and went over to the cart they¡¯d wheeled into the room and pulled the rune-sewn tarp off it. Revealing a collection of captured parasites. The three living Faeries hissed and warbled from inside their cages while the bottled remains started to rot. Stepping over to the captured Faeries, Hierophant Jacq bent down to observe them; as he did, his scarf fell to the floor and revealed itself to be no scarf at all but a strange creature. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Uncoiling from the Hierophant, the furry animal landed on six padded feet. It was covered in strawberry-blond fur, with a lanky body reminding Natalie of both a weasel and a fox. Moving with unsettling speed, the creature scurried onto the cart and poked its long muzzle into the fly-rabbit¡¯s cage. The Faerie shied away from the newcomer and squealed its displeasure. Pulling back, the weasel-fox went to the mouse-silverfish and repeated this before leaping from the cart to Jacq¡¯s shoulders, an impressive jump it made without issue. Secured there, it brought its fanged muzzle to the Hierophant''s ear and squeaked to him. Jacq nodded and scratched the creature behind its pointed ears; the weasel-fox shut its eyes, both sets of them, and purred in contentment. The Hierophant then said. ¡°This is my familiar, Tybert; he¡¯s a Pucka, a type of Faerie. He says your prisoners are mutants Galarwylls.¡± Natalie tensed up on realizing the familiar''s nature but settled down upon deciding if anyone was equipped to have a Faerie familiar; it was a servant of Mistress Void, the Goddess who watched the myriad worlds and movement between them. Isabelle cocked her head to the side and asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of a Galarwyll; what are they?¡± Jacq¡¯s eyes fell upon the vampire, and just then did Natalie realize how small his pupils were, tiny dots in large green-brown irises. Nodding his head to Isabelle, or maybe Natalie, the Hierophant said. ¡°Ah, I hear you are the undead we are entrusting to save the city. Well, to answer your question, Galarwylls are lesser fae, extremely lesser, in fact. They are parasites akin to fleas or ticks, attaching to mightier creatures and suckling upon their emotions for sustenance.¡± Tybert, the familiar, brought its head close to Jacq¡¯s ear again and whispered something more in melodic squeaks. Jacq smiled, reached into his robes, and produced a bit of candied chicken for his familiar. The Pucka gobbled it down, and Jacq said. ¡°Tybert would like to add there is something seriously broken within the Galarwylls. They grew wrong from mutilated larvae.¡± Isabelle pursed her lips and said. ¡°I force-fed them power to accelerate their growth; could that be responsible?¡± The familiar cocked its angular head at Isabelle and chirped something Jacq translated. ¡°He was wondering about that; he thinks you didn¡¯t help the situation but weren¡¯t the original source. Tybert seems to think someone crippled these Faeries before they were born, trapping them as larvae and pupa until you interfered and forced them to grow.¡± Isabelle drummed her fingers on the table, and a smile started to grow on her face, hints of mania reaching Natalie. ¡°That is interesting, annoying but interesting. Tell me, what do Galarwylls usually feed on? What emotions or ideas do they favor? And more importantly, what do they dislike.¡± Tybert cocked his head and made a whining noise that seemed to surprise Jacq. ¡°Really? Well that does answer some questions.¡± Scratching his familiar behind its ears, Jacq said. ¡°They are vermin by the standards of the Kaleidoscope Kingdoms and will feed on anything except for anger. It''s something of a metaphysical allergen, and they flee from it. This is interesting, considering you extracted these Faeries from Screamers, who appear to be nothing but rage.¡± Nodding, Isabelle said. ¡°This has been enlightening; I think I have everything I need to start working on a true bane for the pestilence.¡± Glynn¡¯s canted eyebrows shot up, and he said, ¡°Truly?¡± Isabelle gave the Keeper a cool look, clearly questioning his intellect if he doubted hers. Natalie just sighed internally; ego, thy name is vampire. The elder vampire in question started to list her needs. ¡°I¡¯ll need a fully stocked laboratory; Rihan¡¯s will make due; I¡¯ll also need blood samples from both Screamers, normal infected and Cole. I¡¯m taking the Faeries and will eventually need test subjects for the cure. Now, it''s time to get to work.¡± Before Glynn or anyone else could object or demand clarification, Isabelle scooped up the jars containing dead Faeries while handing the caged live ones to Cole before heading for the door. She started to step past Jacq, and Natalie realized she was needed. + Thank him. + Rolling her eyes, Isabelle snapped. ¡°Thank you, Hierophant Jacq, You¡¯ve been useful, and if I require more of your skills, I will inform you.¡± A bemused smile crossed Walker Jacq¡¯s face, and he said. ¡°As are you, the city is making great use of your talents. We are both valuable tools serving the common good.¡± Natalie couldn¡¯t help but laugh at this; Jacq didn¡¯t bridle or balk at Isabelle¡¯s noble entitlement but marked them both as equals in service. Isabelle ignored the slight and headed towards the door. Cole quickly followed, offering his own more acceptable thanks to the Hierophant. Isabelle moved towards her destination, half-jogging, forcing Cole to take long strides to keep up with her. ¡°What conclusions have you come to, Belle?¡± Isabelle licked her lips and said. ¡°I better understand the mechanism of the Screamers. The mutant Faeries consume every emotion the infected has but rage, pushing them into a vicious cycle of psychotic anger. It¡¯s also probably why the city is having such problems keeping order among the infected. I can¡¯t know for certain until I do further experimentation, but it seems likely rage might be a component in the pestilence¡¯s bane.¡± + How would that work? How do you put an emotion into medicine? + + Emotions alter the Aether, and those currents can be infused into a substance; it''s a standard practice in some types of alchemy. + Holding up one of the jars and examining the dead Faerie within, Isabelle remarked. ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain I can already brew a bane for the Screamers, but developing one for the cleansed will be trickier. Removing the Faerie is the right decision, but limits some of my avenues of attack.¡± Looking at the malformed lump of flesh in the jar, Cole asked. ¡°What do you need of me?¡± Isabelle glanced at him and smiled warmly. ¡°I always do better with someone listening and poking holes in my assumptions, which you¡¯ve always been good at.¡± + I take it Cole¡¯s replacing me in that duty? + Shrugging at Natalie¡¯s question, Isabelle replied. + You are lending me a body and your insight; I will need both of those to succeed. + Natalie frowned internally. + Usually, you dismiss my perspective; what¡¯s changed? + Isabelle¡¯s quick steps slowed slightly, the barest hints of a strange emotion filtering through her to Natalie. Warped, dusty with time, and coming from another mind, Natalie almost didn¡¯t recognize what Isabelle was feeling as uncertainty. + You could help Cole when I could do nothing but watch and worry. This is not the first time you¡¯ve done something like that, and I¡¯d be a fool to dismiss your potential value + Pride kept Isabelle from specifying what she meant, but Natalie understood. The older vampire wanted a fresh set of eyes upon matters, especially a set belonging to someone with Natalie¡¯s skills. Things were definitely changing between the two women, and Natalie prayed the direction they were headed was a good one. They reached Rihan¡¯s laboratory, and Isabelle quickly got to work. She cleaned off the main slab and started collecting tools for experimentation, the old monster diving into the project with zeal. Beakers were set out, ritual circles drawn, and the dead Faerie was prepared for study. Natalie watched with fascination and disgust as the malformed Faerie pulled from Rihan was placed within a rune-marked circle and dissected physically and metaphysically. Two separate but connected information flows passed through Isabelle¡¯s mind as she studied the creature''s anatomy and Aetheric echo. The dark art of haruspex perfected by Isabelle¡¯s steady hand and brilliant mind. Isabelle repeated the process with all but one of the Faeries, killing and dissecting each with methodical precision. Once the collection of Fae lay dead and disassembled upon the slab, Isabelle came to her conclusions. ¡°Mina was very, very lucky; she was probably within a few minutes of becoming a Screamer when she confronted us. It¡¯s probably why she attacked us; the nasty little parasite was increasing her aggression. Then, in an ironic twist, she saved herself by trying to kill me; the magic she cast slowed the larva¡¯s growth and bought some time.¡± Washing her hands in a basin of water, Isabelle continued. ¡°It seems the Faeries can¡¯t infiltrate people alone; they need the physical pathogen to provide a pathway, like those burrows and anchors seen in the Aether. But once secure inside the infected host, the Faerie larva grows into the pupa form, turning the host into a Screamer by consuming all their emotions but rage. Leaving them as a berserk shell of pain and wrath, spreading the disease until they die.¡± Clicking her tongue, Isabelle sighed. ¡°Whoever has my research isn¡¯t nearly as cautious as me. This plague is vicious and unwieldy, clearly a weapon of war, and a difficult-to-control one at that. My usurper seems to be counting on the Sting¡¯s protection to keep this pestilence in check. ¡± Gesturing at Cole, Isabelle said. ¡°I need a blood sample from you, Screamers, and the cleansed; Can you acquire them for me, please?¡± Cole nodded and said. ¡°I¡¯ll be back shortly; what will you do next?¡± Isabelle looked at the single surviving Faerie, the fly-rabbit, and smiled wickedly. ¡°I want to experiment with the Sting. Speaking of, could you let my servant in?¡± Raising an eyebrow, Cole opened the laboratory door, finding Yara standing there silently. The thrall bowed her head and said. ¡°I¡¯m here to serve.¡± Looking down at Yara, Cole blinked in surprise and asked. ¡°How long have you been out there?¡± Not meeting his eyes, the thrall asked. ¡°I followed Mistress Isabelle from the library. I¡¯ve been here waiting until I¡¯m called.¡± A look of guilt flashed across Cole¡¯s face; he clearly felt bad he¡¯d not noticed the thrall¡¯s presence. ¡°You didn¡¯t need to wait outside like that.¡± Yara shrugged slightly. ¡°You and the Mistresses are busy; I¡¯m happy to wait until I¡¯m needed.¡± Cole wasn¡¯t the only one feeling guilty and confused; Natalie was distinctly off-put by Yara. She remembered her coming with them to the library, but then the Thrall sort of ¡®dropped out¡¯ of Natalie¡¯s mind, going unnoticed until now. The more she thought about it, the more Natalie realized this was a pattern: Yara would slip in and out of events, barely being registered unless she was needed. A slight suspicion this phenomenon wasn¡¯t natural started to form in Natalie. + I completely forgot about her! How does Yara do that? Also, don¡¯t call her your servant. + Isabelle gestured for Yara to sit in a chair as she collected a few vials for use. + Just because you are unwilling to use her doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not. She¡¯s a good thrall, and I won¡¯t waste her value. + This was another point of contention Natalie refused to give in on; she truly hated how older vampires so easily dismissed her objections and justified keeping thralls. + As for your other question, I have no answer other than perhaps you forgot about her out of guilt, which is shockingly silly and self-defeating. Yara wishes to serve, and by denying that and dismissing her, you do far more harm to the girl than you might by using her properly. + Isabelle handed a few corked vials to Cole, instructing him on who to acquire samples from. Watching this from behind her loaned eyes, Natalie wondered if there was any truth to Isabelle¡¯s words. If she was being honest with herself, Natalie knew there was, but she still couldn¡¯t dismiss the fact that something about Yara¡¯s ability to be forgotten felt unnatural. After Cole left, Isabelle grabbed two empty vials and approached Yara. ¡°I need some of your blood; I trust you can provide?¡± Yara nodded and exposed her neck; Isabelle obliged the thrall and bit her. Instead of staying to drink, she pulled back and let warm red ichor flow free, filling one of the vials before leaning down and shutting the wound. Licking the little bit of blood on her fangs, Isabelle remarked. ¡°Ahh, this will make things easier.¡± Then she raised the second vial to her mouth and placed one fang into it. A strange sensation washed over Natalie, an involuntary tightening in her palate accompanied by a sharp stinging flavor. As Isabelle pulled back the second vial and capped it, Natalie saw it held a thick yellow fluid. Feeling the odd taste in her mouth, Natalie suddenly understood why the blood-spice venom was called ¡®The Sting.¡¯ Taking both samples to her workspace, Isabelle started whispering a spell and gently shaking the vial with Yara¡¯s blood. Natalie was getting better at interpreting her mentor¡¯s magic and was fairly certain the spell was meant to detect abnormalities in the blood. + Find anything useful? + + Not as much as I¡¯d hoped. This cantrip was created to determine blood quality, and my modifications aren¡¯t that effective. But I¡¯m getting a better idea of exactly how the Sting leaves its mark. + + Well, what¡¯s next? + Isabelle set the vial of blood down and turned to the sole surviving Faerie, while dancing the venom-filled glass tube between her borrowed fingers. + Next, we learn exactly how much our Fae friends dislike the Sting. +
It took Cole perhaps an hour to collect the blood samples and return to the laboratory. When he opened up the solid door to Rihan¡¯s lair, Cole learned an important thing about the room: it didn¡¯t leak smells or smoke. Cole was assaulted by a cloud of shining vapor that stunk like burning soap. Coughing violently and trying not to drop the blood vials, Cole ducked beneath the smoke and entered the laboratory proper. By the looks of it, a small explosion just went off; the ceiling was obscured by shimmering smoke, and dislodged papers were scattered everywhere. Yara was on her knees, trying to scrub away a multi-hued stain with a wet washcloth. Cole was no stranger to the scorch marks left behind by explosions, but he¡¯d never seen rainbow-colored ones like those currently marking the laboratory floor, stretching out from a split open cage. Isabelle or Natalie stood next to the broken animal cage and wore a maniacal grin, telling Cole who was controlling the body. Isabelle¡¯s arms and chest were smeared with faintly shiny gunk while her fingers finished regenerating from bad burns. Brushing off her healed hands, Isabelle said. ¡°That was slightly more dramatic than I expected but very informative.¡± Stepping closer, Cole checked over Isabelle and realized her hands weren¡¯t covered in the sparkling filth; she¡¯d not damaged her fingers; she¡¯d practically blown her hands off. Shocked by this, he asked, ¡°What did you do?¡± Finding a rag and starting to clean herself off, Isabelle said. ¡°I tested something on the Faerie, and the results were interesting. When exposed to a large dosage of modified Sting, the Faerie¡¯s body reacted¡­ intensely.¡± Setting down the rag, Isabelle collected the blood samples from Cole and placed them in a vial rack, joining four other glass tubes. One was filled with a pinkish-red fluid labeled faerie blood, another held sticky yellow Sting, and the last two were blood supplied by Yara. Going over to the Thrall, Cole got her to cease scrubbing the floor as he asked. ¡°You gave the Faerie Sting, and it exploded?¡± Isabelle shook her head side-to-side in a non-commital gesture. ¡°Not quite. I tried giving it the Sting at first, and that merely caused it pain.¡± Gesturing at the dissipating smoke cloud and stained floor, Isabelle continued. ¡°What did this was a substance I alchemically refined and concentrated from Yara¡¯s blood. It''s a byproduct of how she metabolizes the venom, not the actual Sting. I theorized this is what stops the plague from infecting thralls, and judging by what just happened, I¡¯m probably right.¡± Cole grimaced. ¡°An impressive discovery; just please be careful.¡± A slight laugh escaped Isabelle. ¡°I don¡¯t need your rebuke, darling. Natalie is cursing up a storm for blowing off her hands. I expected the substance to be toxic to the Faerie, not cause it to explode. With this in mind, I¡¯ll be more cautious going forward.¡± Frowning, Cole asked. ¡°Do you have any idea why the Faerie reacted like that?¡± Shrugging, Isabelle reached out to the blood vials and tapped the one holding Faerie blood. ¡°My extraction process forces the Faerie to build a body from infected tissue. The magic at work converts the cells into something the Faerie can use, but there is an echo of its original form. I don¡¯t know for certain, but I think the substance I refined acted like a very powerful bane, affecting every cell of the Faerie at once.¡± Isabelle paused then and rolled her eyes with theatrical exaggeration. Cole asked. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Shaking her head, Isabelle said. ¡°No, no, Natalie was pestering me until I explained what a cell is. It¡¯s depressing how poorly educated she is.¡± A spasm of pain went across Isabelle¡¯s face, and she bared her fangs in annoyance. The sight of Cole¡¯s two lovers squabbling within the same brain danced the line between humorous and disturbing. Sighing, the Homunculus said. ¡°Please be nice to each other.¡± Lips curling in a mixture of smile and snarl, Isabelle said. ¡°We will take it under advisement. Now, much work needs to be done. The substance, the Sting byproduct, its pure form, won¡¯t work as a cure. I fear it would simply cause infected tissue to explode, which, while interesting, doesn¡¯t suit our needs. I must find something to modulate and better direct the effect.¡± Glancing at the rainbow scorch marks on the floor, Cole said. ¡°That sounds like a good idea.¡± Book III: Chapter 13: Divine Intervention

Chapter 13: Divine Intervention

¡°Fire and its children burn and break. Earth and its children preserve and protect. Water and its children reflect and redirect. Air and its children travel and touch. Mind and its children create and control. The five primordial elements compose the Mundane and change the Aether.¡± - Witch Rochia of Magyuviv to her apprentices.
:: Castle Tya, on the border between the Blood Duchies and Southern Marches :: One of the lesser-known flaws of Vampirekind is their tendency to become stuck in their ways. Unlifetimes of habit could burn behaviors and perspectives so deep into a Vampire¡¯s mind they might be blinded to any alternative. This weakness, more often than any other, destroyed ancient Nobles. Unable to adapt to a shifting world, the eldest Vampires were reduced from immortal nightmares to vulnerable relics. Fear of this possibility manifested differently in most Vampires aware of it. Some obsessively reinvented themselves every century; others kept harems of mortal confidants to reflect upon; a few worked to stay educated on modern trends, and some simply slept through ¡®troublesome¡¯ eras. Of course, no method was perfect, and many Vampires revealed their age in ways they¡¯d never understand. One particular pattern of this was taste in architecture and design; no matter how they tried, most Vampires kept hints of their origin in how they decorated their surroundings. Some Nobles hid it better than others, but the signs were obvious if you knew where to look. This principle was reflected in Duke Mika Gens Umbria¡¯s office within Castle Tya, where Lord Aloysius Wolfgang now sat. Glancing around the well-ordered office, the Black Fly noted the crisp military style of its layout and how that contrasted with the opulence of each individual piece of furniture or decoration. A small scroll rack made from carved ivory sat on the Duke¡¯s desk, holding missives to be read and sealed. One office wall held a huge map of the Roloyo Duchy and the surrounding region, its detail and artistry making it perfect for planning strategies or gazing upon its beauty. Even the Duke¡¯s two assistants fit this theme of efficiency and extravagance; bustling around the office were a pair of Succubi busy filing paperwork and watching the Duke¡¯s guests for any possible weakness. Wolfgang kept his eyes on the two Demons while waiting for the Duke, but not for the typical reason. Unusually ¡®stable¡¯ by Demon standards, Succubi were intelligent shapeshifters who could be trusted to seek their necessities. Which, like most Demons, was sustenance, safety, and souls, things the Duke could easily provide in exchange for their service. To Wolfgang, the two Succubi appeared as faceless humanoids wearing crisp uniforms. His disinterest in physical pleasures interfered with the Demons¡¯ camouflage, reducing them to these nondescript forms. Still, despite their reputation for consistent service, Wolfgang would be a fool to let either of the soul-drinking seducers out of his sight for long, especially with their master not present. Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting, the door to the office opened, and Wolfgang rose, turned, and bowed to the Duke. He didn¡¯t even need to see who entered the room; the wavefront of dominating power was confirmation enough for Wolfgang. More than a thousand years old, Duke Mika was a second-generation Wyrmoi, formerly a Centurion under the Archduke¡¯s command until he was turned by his liege. Head down, arm over his still heart, Wolfgang offered his respect to the ancient Noble. ¡°Duke Umbria, I am here as you command.¡± A large hand clapped Wolfgang on the shoulder, and a voice like a brass horn said. ¡°Ah, Black Fly! I was delayed; two of my vassals were arguing over requisition rights.¡± In another Noble, Wolfgang would assume Umbria¡¯s tardiness was a power play, an attempt to reinforce the difference in status between the two, but that wasn¡¯t how Umbria worked. Looking up from his bow, Wolfgang examined the boisterous Vampire as he said. ¡°Greetings, my lord Duke. I understand matters have gotten more complicated, and one with such august authority is needed for many tasks.¡± The Duke barked a laugh, went around his desk, and sat in the gilded curule he favored. Resting on the archaic folding chair, Duke Umbria looked every bit the ancient warlord he was. Large of frame and thick of feature, Umbria looked like he¡¯d been carved from a particularly uncooperative granite block. His hair was in the short military style and colored silver with undeath, while his skin was the milky white of a corpse. He wore a maroon tunic of fine weave and, over that, a leather cuirass etched with a mixture of protective runes and military iconography. One of the Duke¡¯s large, calloused hands rested at his side, rubbing the gilded pommel of his dueling sword. Fixing Wolfgang with intense red eyes, the Duke said. ¡°Bah! No need for all that flower-tongue when we are in private. Besides, the dispute I broke up was technically your fault, so my meeting with you being delayed is only fitting.¡± Wolfgang kept his expression neutral. ¡°I take it the dispute was over infected or their corpses?¡± The Duke nodded and reached for the ivory scroll carrier on his desk. He picked up a tiny rolled tube, unfurled it, and scanned the contents. ¡°Your weapon is proving to be extremely effective. It¡¯s culled so much of the feral livestock that my Necromancers are having difficulties binding all the Grinners spawned.¡± Keeping the slight frown he felt from showing, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Even with the preparations the plague inflicts upon the dead?¡± Setting the flimsy scroll down, the Duke shook his head. ¡°The issue isn¡¯t magical power but expertise. Most of the Nobility lacks experience in commanding large forces of Undead. It has been too long since the last true war, and it shows. Most of our kin less than two hundred years of age can¡¯t do much more than order about a few squads of Rattlers, let alone direct hundreds of Ghouls.¡± Pursing his lips in the first display of emotion all evening, Wolfgang asked. ¡°I might have a potential solution to that issue; I¡¯ve been conducting additional experiments and-¡± The Duke held up a single finger and silenced his subordinate. ¡°If you sought this meeting to request the bindings upon your prisoner be weakened, I will be sorely disappointed.¡± A wavefront of steely power smashed into Wolfgang, a metaphorical phalanx of will battering his mind in the Ducal equivalent of a terse warning. Gritting his teeth, careful not to bare his fangs, Wolfgang let the psychic blow wash off of him. ¡°No, my lord Duke, I would not question your judgment on that matter. Instead, I¡¯d like to investigate methods of converting large quantities of corpses into more elite Undead. Something that might ease up the burden on the Necromancers.¡± As the last bits of the mental assault faded, the Duke narrowed his eyes and asked. ¡°I¡¯m assuming you have ideas on how to minimize the magical and logistical costs for such an endeavor?¡± Nodding, Wolfgang elaborated. ¡°I recently received a powerful necromantic ritual from a member of my Sire¡¯s court. While further study is needed, I¡¯m fairly confident it could be used to turn a large quantity of Ghouls into a single siege-capable Rattler that would be easy to control while possessing several potent abilities.¡± That got Duke Umbria¡¯s attention. ¡°That sounds useful; why has it not been used already?¡± The tiniest flicker of excitement stirred in the Black Fly. ¡°The ritual is from the far-east, a gift from an elder refugee. It was unknown to the Duchies until now and requires fairly specific circumstances to work correctly, circumstances the plague provides.¡± Hand resting on his sword¡¯s pommel, Umbria glanced at his two assistants and said. ¡°Write up a notice of requisition for Lord Wolfgang, give him ownership of one hundred Ghouls and twenty-five Screamers for his experiment.¡± Lip twitching in a tiny smile, Wolfgang said. ¡°Thank you, my lord, Duke; I will report my progress as soon as possible.¡± A sheet of parchment was placed in front of the Duke, and he stamped it with his seal of office. Setting it on his desk, Umbria asked. ¡°Before I give this to you, I¡¯m curious if you have any speculation about events with Prince Franz¡¯s army. My spies say the plague is not taking hold among his main force. It''s ravaging Harmas, Vindabon, and everywhere else it touches, but not Franz¡¯s camp. Infected and Screamers come in contact with the army, but the plague refuses to spread with any real vigor.¡± Glancing at the rack of scrolls, Wolfgang suspected a trap or a test. He¡¯d heard rumors the plague wasn¡¯t devastating the army as it should, but having them confirmed from such a source was worrying. An army camp, especially as large and ill-supplied as Prince Franz¡¯s, should be the ultimate breeding ground for pestilence. For it to be the one place relatively safe in an entire region beset by plague defied logic. Reaching to his neck and the locket he wore there, the Black Fly whispered the most likely answer. ¡°The Pantheon is involved.¡± The Duke picked up another scroll from his rack and used it like a baton to gesture at the large map of the region dominating one office wall. ¡°One of my spies, a valuable source of information, has gone silent. His last message was annoyingly cryptic but contained a very jagging big clue as to why this is happening.¡± Setting the scroll down, the Duke unrolled it and pointed to a fragment at the very bottom. Upon reading it, the Black Fly went perfectly, unnaturally still. ¡®Newcomer to the Prince¡¯s Court. Possible Seraph-spawn?¡¯ Remembering to move his face again, Lord Aloysius Wolfgang said. ¡°Ah¡­ This might prove difficult.¡±
:: Rihan¡¯s Laboratory, Vindabon :: Cole was no stranger to blood loss; in fact, he was probably more familiar with it than any person alive or dead. Slumped into a chair in Rihan¡¯s laboratory after giving close to a bucket''s worth of blood, Cole tried to keep himself awake as Isabelle worked. His lover, or at least one of them, was fussing over an alchemical apparatus she¡¯d dug out of a cupboard, trying to refine and titrate the Sting byproduct. To help this endeavor, Cole and Yara gave a probably unhealthy amount of blood for experimental purposes and to keep Isabelle¡¯s magic powered. The Thrall in question was curled up asleep on the floor nearby, recovering from her own exsanguination, using an anatomy text as a pillow. Isabelle worked with a speed and precision impossible to mundane mortals. Her hands were a blur of movement as she combined material studies with arcane techniques. Cole watched as Isabelle mixed congealed vampire venom with the ground-up bones of rats while telekinetically spinning vials of treated blood and adjusting the placement of a bubbling beaker over a small flame. As she danced between tasks, Isabelle muttered a never-ending stream of arcane words and biting comments under her breath. Cole still couldn¡¯t tell if the whispered insults and annoyed noises were directed at Natalie, some problem in the research, or both. Four hours had passed since the Faerie detonated, and Isabelle spent the entire time flitting between projects and possibilities. Her second corporeal day was reaching its halfway point, and Isabelle was clearly pushing to make significant progress. Cole asked for details multiple times, but Isabelle barely responded; she was deep in the flow of genius, unwilling to break from her puzzle unless it was to request something. To that end, Cole and Yara spent much of the time they weren¡¯t giving blood running errands, collecting whatever Isabelle needed for her research. Leaning in his chair, trying not to let Isabelle¡¯s movements hypnotize him into sleep, Cole felt a strange mixture of nostalgia, grief, and trepidation. He¡¯d spent many nights like this in the past, watching Isabelle work, waiting for her to surface from her mental currents and eager to discuss whatever progress or problems she¡¯d encountered. Of course, in those days, there had been a flock of servants and assistants, both living and undead, helping Isabelle with the minutia of her work. Friendly faces now consigned to ash and rubble by the Archduke¡¯s purge. Leaving just Cole, two Vampires tentatively sharing a body, and a profoundly damaged Thrall with a knack for slipping through the cracks of awareness. The creak and clatter of the laboratory door opening startled Cole from the edge of sleep. Blinking away bleariness, Cole found an exhausted-looking Glynn shutting the door behind him. The quarter-elf usually appeared to be in his mid-thirties or early forties, but stress seemed to sap some of the inhuman youth from him. Sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose, Glynn asked, ¡°What is that smell?¡± Not pausing her work, Isabelle remarked. ¡°Bane-combusted Faerie. Having your entire cardio-vascular system super-heated tends to have an unpleasant effect on an organism, no matter how Aetherically influenced they are.¡± Noting the multi-hued scorch marks, Glynn¡¯s lips formed a perfectly straight line, and he said. ¡°The Screamer you first experimented on is dead.¡± Isabelle didn¡¯t even look up from the vial she was inspecting. ¡°Unfortunate but not unexpected. I chose him because of his poor condition; it seemed foolish to risk someone with a conceivable chance of survival.¡± Finally stopping her work, Isabelle looked at Glynn and said. ¡°Speaking off, I need access to more Screamers. I¡¯ve made good progress with the Faeries and blood samples provided, but I need more.¡± The temperature in the room noticeably dropped a few degrees, and Glynn¡¯s face twitched in rage. Cole slowly got to his feet and prepared to put himself between the elder Vampire and elder Priest. Shutting his eyes, Glynn took a deep breath, and a tear of silver dripped down his face and puffed into icy vapor. ¡°You do not have the right to subject a critically ill person to experimentation without any kind of consent. More blood and other samples will be possible, but you will not extract more Faeries.¡± Red eyes brimming with dispassionate intellect met the Hierophant¡¯s rage-filled orbs, and they stared at each other for a long moment. The Aether crackled with psychic discharge, and Cole could feel the intense telepathic conversation occurring, even if he couldn¡¯t hear it. Finally, Glynn looked away and bared his too-small teeth. ¡°Natalie is right; you are the best option we have. Hopefully, between Cole, her, and myself, we can keep you under control, Countess Gens Silva.¡± Shaking her head, Isabelle let out an annoyed sigh. ¡°I agree with my student; debating this matter is pointless. Additionally, she and I would both like to know why you were delayed? From the way you spoke, we expected you to accompany us to the laboratory at once.¡± This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Glancing at Cole and his unsteady posture, Glynn said. ¡°Hierophant Morri has finally resurfaced.¡± Blinking in surprise, Cole asked. ¡°He was missing?¡± Glynn nodded. ¡°He only just returned to the Temple shortly after you left the meeting with Walker Jacq. My fellow Keepers and I knew he wasn¡¯t dead or injured, but we couldn¡¯t locate him. We assumed he was engaged in some duty of utmost importance and didn¡¯t wish to interrupt him unless it was truly necessary. Thankfully, our assumptions proved correct, and he has returned to us with valuable information.¡± Rolling her hand in a way to indicate annoyance, Isabelle said. ¡°And? What was the Keeper of Rest doing?¡± Lip quivering in a quickly muted snarl, Glynn explained. ¡°Working with the Lych to save the Holy League and perhaps the city if you succeed.¡± Isabelle¡¯s aristocratic arrogance cracked slightly upon hearing who was involved. ¡°I¡¯d honestly hoped the Lych had discorperated fully. What is old Lupa up to with a Hierophant of the Tenth?¡± Cole watched with bizarre interest as Isabelle and Glynn wore near-identical expressions of grim concern when the Lych was brought up. Thinking of his own encounters with the obscenely powerful Undead Magi, Cole really couldn¡¯t blame them. Glynn glanced around the room, his eyes laying on the sleeping Yara for a moment before he said. ¡°We don¡¯t know, which is what concerns me. Morri staggered into the Temple, showing signs of severe physical, mental, and arcane exhaustion. He told us he¡¯d been working with the Lych as Master Time commanded and asked if you¡¯d completed the cure yet. When I told him no, he said, ¡®Wake me when she does,¡¯ then passed out.¡± Slowly, Isabelle stepped away from her workspace, went to a cabinet, and plucked out two objects: a vial and a copper basin. Setting the sturdy metal bowl on the floor, mouth to the floor so it''s rounded side stuck into the air, Isabelle snarled and stomped down on the copper basin. The metal bowl was flattened into a crumpled disk with a loud crunch. Yara practically jumped to her feet, eyes wide with well-trained terror. Before the ringing sound of smashed copper could fully fade, Isabelle put the vial to her fangs and filled it with fresh Sting. Capping the vial and setting it down, Isabelle said. ¡°Thank you, Glynn; I needed a sample of Sting tainted by pure rage.¡± Cautiously, Cole approached Isabelle and asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Lips pulled back into a feral rictus, Isabelle spat. ¡°In the eyes of Mortalkind, the greatest sin of Vampires is how we treat people like commodities and livestock. Yet somehow they refuse to see how the worst culprit of that are the Gods they bow and scrape to.¡± Cole reached out and gently but firmly touched Isabelle¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t see how Master Time working to help save thousands of lives is in any way comparable to what the Duchies do.¡± Looking at his hand, Isabelle let out a sigh. ¡°The Pantheon enforces a moral consensus and limit our growth. They farm our emotions and souls just like the Fell Gods; they¡¯ve just trained us to accept it far better than their rivals.¡± Shaking his head slightly, Cole sighed. Ever since she''d become more lucid, he¡¯d feared having this argument with Isabelle. Her opinions on the Gods and the Beyond were violently heretical, finding any diety or Beyonder, no matter their nature, equally abhorrent. ¡°The Pantheon protects and nurtures the best attributes of people. If that counts as raising livestock, then every good parent across the myriad worlds is guilty.¡± Staring up at Cole with Natalie¡¯s borrowed face, Isabelle spat. ¡°They don¡¯t protect and nurture; they coddle and control. With time and resources, I will find a method to cure this plague, using nothing but my own intellect and skill. Whatever the Lych and the Tenth conspire to do, it will rob me of discoveries. Their ¡®aid¡¯ is merely a way to limit people from reaching their full potential. Adversity breeds strength, and problems necessitate invention. By pampering us, they limit our growth and keep mortal kind dependent on them. If we were allowed to succeed and fail under our own merits, people would eventually wake up and realize the Gods are parasites, pushing us towards an outcome they deem beneficial.¡± Letting go of Isabelle¡¯s shoulder, Cole asked. ¡°So?¡± Clearly surprised by that, Isabelle started to speak, but Cole did something out of character; he interrupted her. ¡°I can understand your perspective, Belle, and see the pieces of truth in it. But does that change the fact the Pantheon¡¯s efforts make the world a less painful place? Perhaps they do limit what we could be. But I prefer that over becoming something we shouldn¡¯t be. I know I won¡¯t change your mind, but I also know how much suffering the cosmos can spawn, and anything working to dull that jagged edge is worth listening to.¡± A long sigh escaped Isabelle; the old vampire shook her head in annoyance. ¡°Fine, I will return to my project and see what secrets are yet within my grasp.¡± Moving to her workstation, Isabelle paused and said. ¡°Natalie says she will pay for the bowl.¡±
:: A sickly dream :: A little girl hid in a dark cellar, curled up behind sacks of grain and desperately trying not to sneeze. Garlic powder, a year''s worth of spice, covered her hair and clothes, a final desperate effort to protect the girl. Quivering with fear, the girl clamped clammy hands over her ears and tried to silence the screams coming from the world beyond the cellar. Of course, the screams stopped hours ago, but nobody bothered to tell the panicked mind of Mina Vrock. Reliving the worst moments of her life, Mina prayed for the nightmare to end. She knew this was a nightmare; horrible dreams of her family cellar were unfortunately common for the Priestess. She was transported back to the night when she lost her family, reduced to a panicked eight-year-old unable to help her parents or older brother as her home village died a gruesome death. Knowledge it was a nightmare did little to help Mina; she couldn¡¯t alter the dream, only wait for it to end. Usually, the dream ended with, Morri and his fellow Restbringers opening the cellar hatch and rescuing her. On other worse nights, the Vampires and their minions found her. Ghouls wearing her parent¡¯s face dragged her from the cellar and started to feed. Curled into a ball, trying to ignore the stink of garlic soaking into her being, Mina waited for the dream to take one of its usual paths. But the cellar door didn¡¯t open, and nothing holy or undead clambered down into the earthen bowls of the basement; instead, the world started to shake. Eyes snapping open, Mina stared into the dark, feeling the ground beneath and around her vibrate. Trapped between conscious awareness and dreaming stupor, Mina couldn¡¯t do anything. Her mind and body both refused to work, leaden with the strange fatigue of nightmares. With an effort of will, Mina forced herself to look up at the cellar door. The sturdy wooden hatch was vibrating as the tremors grew stronger and stronger. A loud crack split through the cellar as the trapdoor exploded upward, letting a shaft of silver light flood into the cramped space. The world stopped shaking, but the light grew brighter and brighter until it passed over Mina, carrying a message with it. ¡°Come to me.¡± Fighting terror and lethargy, Mina crawled towards the cellar hatch. Slowly getting to her feet, Mina felt the cellar shrink around her as she grew to her true age. Gone was the scared little girl; in its place was the ordained Priestess. Reaching up, Mina gripped the hatch¡¯s lip and pulled herself up, the dream exhaustion fading with every movement. Blinded by light but powered by faith, Mina hauled herself out of the cellar and into the unknown. As her eyes adjusted, Mina tried to understand where she was. Instead of pulling herself up into the home she once shared with her parents and older brother, Mina stood in a broad salt flat, extending out in every direction until it met distant eroded mountains. Among the rippling lines of wind-sculpted salt were bones and debris. Sun-bleached skeletons covered in rusted scraps of weapons and armor, a terrible mixture of whites, reds, and greens as life and metal decayed into nothingness. Other larger, strange skeletons could be spotted in the distance. The scattered remnants of Dragons, Giants, and things Mina couldn¡¯t even guess at, now encrusted in salt, monuments to whatever carnage once bathed this desert. In place of the brilliant silver light of the cellar was the roiling sun of the salt wastes; it beat down on Mina, and she tried to shield her eyes with little effort until something blocked out the sun. The thunder of huge wings and the sudden darkening sky captured Mina¡¯s focus as something colossal descended from above. Calling on her powers, Mina wrapped herself in dancing light, enjoying the cooling touch of her magic in the blistering heat. With the sun behind it, telling what the creature was was virtually impossible. Hurtling down like some winged comet, the monster shot toward Mina. Torn between running and trying to defend herself, Mina realized she couldn¡¯t escape a giant flying creature, so she called up a magical barrier. As it got closer, Mina could tell the monster was avian, with black-brown plumage and a sharp beak. Through the shimmer of Mina¡¯s magical shield, she swore the thing was shrinking as it got closer. Going from a building-sized Roc to a more manageable Dire-Eagle within a few seconds. When the bird finally slammed into the ground in a puff of disturbed salt, it was not much bigger than a human. As the cloud of biting dust fell away, Mina examined her dream-guest. It was a vulture with thick, fluffy plumage around its collar and large, almost tattered-looking wings. The vulture¡¯s eyes were pure silver, and brown down feathers covered much of its wicked-looking head. Staring at her for a long moment, the vulture opened its beak and said. ¡°I apologize for scaring you, Mina. I¡¯d hoped to pull you from that nightmare more gently, but ironically, your recovering health impeded me.¡± Staring at the vulture, Mina slowly knelt down; she knew who this was; even without Natalies¡¯ stories, she¡¯d know what being visited her dreams. ¡°Praise be to the Final Judge; I kneel to your mercy and wisdom. Praise be to the Rest Keeper, who guides the dead till they live again. Praise be to Master Time, first and last of the Pantheon.¡± Bobbing its head, the Vulture replied. ¡°I witness your devotion, Mina Vrock, Priestess of my Temple and servant of my will. I find you worthy of my blessing and my presence; now hear my will.¡± Slowly, tentatively, Mina got to her feet and dusted the salt grime off her knees. ¡°What do you wish of me, Master?¡± Adjusting its feathers, the Vulture hopped towards Mina and looked at her with unnatural eyes. ¡°To offer warnings of the future and to correct a mistake.¡± Spreading its great black wings, the Vulture gestured to the salt flat around them, and it transformed. Water rose out of the ground and with it greenery. Soil grew like verdant moss over marshy ground, and thickets of reeds bloomed forth. Small boats of woven grass paddled along in the growing marsh, piloted by brown-skinned people in plain but practical garb. Mina watched as one of the grass boats landed on a muddy beach where a house woven of reeds awaited. A quartet of smiling children burst from the reed house and practically tackled one of the boatmen into the marsh. The man laughed as his children crowded around him, speaking to him in a language Mina couldn¡¯t even guess. Slowly turning around, Mina realized the woven house was not alone; she was in the center of a town, its buildings either floating atop huge grass mats or perched upon dry outcroppings. The Vulture then folded its wings, and the landscape melted away, returning to the salt flats and the dead army scattered across it. The difference couldn¡¯t be starker, but still, Mina recognized some of the terrain features, boulders, or other rocky lumps telling the truth. Both visions depicted the same place, just separated by time. ¡°What was this place? What happened here?¡± The Vulture picked at a bone near its talons and said. ¡°This was the heartland of the Zutif people, an ancient kinfolk to the city of Akzad. It was where one of the final battles against the Rabisu was fought. Mazkim, first of the Alukah, died here, and with him, the threat of his kind. Or so Mortalkind hoped. ¡± Staring at Mina, the Vulture continued. ¡°I do not believe Natalie Striga will fall. Too much has been built upon a strong foundation for her to crumble. What worries me is another usurping her destiny; someone, her warden, could not strike down if need be.¡± Flashes of Mina¡¯s confrontation with the creature possessing Natalie went through her head. ¡°Who was that?¡± Clicking its beak, the Vulture said. ¡°A powerful ally and enemy. She spoke the truth to you during your confrontation, but she still represents a formidable threat. Especially in the light of my mistake involving the Miracle, I gifted you.¡± This wasn¡¯t the first time Mina spoke with her God; he¡¯d appeared to her before during meditation and offered a powerful spell. Binding magic created to shackle a Vampire, limiting their powers, physical, magical, and psychic. Thinking about events and what Master Time just said, Mina asked. ¡°If this ¡®ally¡¯ was telling the truth, then my magic interfered with Natalie?¡± It was a strange thing watching a Vulture sigh. ¡°Yes, part of the spell is intended to help Natalie keep control if the Alukah¡¯s worse instincts start to dominate. But whatever mechanism Isabelle is using to possess Natalie proved¡­ unique. Instead of locking away Natalie¡¯s power and the Alukah¡¯s malice, the magic sealed away Natalie¡¯s mind, leaving a crippled Isabelle in full control. Something I didn¡¯t anticipate, and that worries me.¡± Ruffling its feathers, the Vulture said. ¡°Be careful; that spell might be needed in the future, but Isabelle continues to prove a confounding factor. Her presence creates opportunities and threats in equal parts. My Paladin is trammeled by his affection for her, and Natalie is too close to both parties to be objective. Someone else must watch and ward those two, a task I¡¯m leaving to you.¡± Confused and nervous, Mina asked. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± The Vulture¡¯s head turned to look at the distant mountains, and it said. ¡°Be a Priest. Offer aid, guidance, and advice when you can. My two champions will leave Vindabon soon, but they should not do so with just an ancient vampire for company. Join them on their journey and bring those you think could help. Cole and Natalie will take a difficult path because that is their nature; I ask you to try and help because that is yours.¡± The dream started to shake again, and Mina watched as one of the distant mountains crumbled away, revealing a tidal wave of water ready to cover the salt flats. As the sound of breaking rock and rumbling water swallowed everything Adjusting its plumage, the Vulture quickly spoke. ¡°Ironically, for me, time is short. Let me leave you with this. Morri is one of my greatest living Priests; it is no coincidence his path crossed with my favored Paladin, nor is it a coincidence he took you under his wing.¡± Spreading its wings, the Vulture started to flap them. ¡°I am honored to count you among my Priesthood, Mina Vrock. I place you upon this course because my faith in you matches yours in me.¡± The Vulture took to the sky then, growing with every wingbeat until it''s great pinions blotted out the sun. Staring up at the soaring titan, Mina didn¡¯t even notice the tidal wave arrive and knock her from the dream.
Sucking in a rattling breath, Mina¡¯s eyes shot open. She was thirsty, hungry, tired, and sore in ways she¡¯d never imagined. Blinking away the dust of sleep, Mina tried to get her bearings. She was in a treatment room of some kind, lying on one of four cotts within the chamber. The other three were also occupied; Alia, Rihan, and Yara each lay on one of the folding beds. Trying to sit up, Mina groaned as the room spun. Movement caught her eyes, and she realized Cole was also in the room; he stepped over and offered a cup of water. Eagerly taking it, Mina gulped down the wonderful liquid. Handing the cup back, she rasped. ¡°What happened? What¡¯s going on?¡± Cole gestured to another part of the chamber, and Mina realized it was larger than she initially thought. They were in a secondary ward with eight more cotts arranged elsewhere, each holding a patient. A trio of nurses walked between the folding beds, checking the unconscious bodies nestled in them. Finally answering in that accented voice of his, Cole said. ¡°Welcome to the experimental treatment ward. Where all those cured of the Plague are sequestered until further information is available.¡± Mouthing the word ¡®cured.¡¯ Mina asked. ¡°Tell me everything that¡¯s happened.¡± Cole obliged, explaining how Mina was the second person to undergo the Faerie extraction and how she¡¯d been in a healing sleep for nearly three days as her organs healed. The Paladin described that he, Alia, Rihan, and Yara, were used in later experiments by this ¡®Isabelle¡¯ with varying results. Looking at the eight occupied beds, Mina asked. ¡°So those are others she experimented on? People the Temple let Isabelle extract Faeries from?¡± A smile spread across Cole¡¯s face. ¡°No, those are the first people given the true cure.¡± Blinking in surprise, Mina looked at Cole and said. ¡°You mean¡­?¡± Nodding, Cole elaborated. ¡°Isabelle found the cure, and those eight were given it. The Temple decided to stick them with us for observation, but the initial results look good. Isabelle found a true Bane for the Pestilence and is working to make enough for the whole city.¡± Mina let out a slight sigh as she watched Cole¡¯s expression. The scarred warrior was practically glowing with pride and adoration; he loved Isabelle, whoever this strange monster was, which could be a problem. Master Time spoke of Isabelle as a true threat, implying she might try and steal the Alukah¡¯s power for herself. If it was Cole¡¯s duty to protect Natalie and the power she held, then Isabelle presented a very serious blindspot. One that Mina was tasked with covering, God help her. Book III: Chapter 14: Blood Soaked Answers

Chapter 14: Blood-soaked Answers

¡°Brave Iskandar marched with ten legions and a host of Auxillia to face the Razor-Thorn Host at the Garden of Singing Briars. Rage in his heart, the Hero Emperor sought vengeance for his sworn-sister Carpia, who died to the Rose Lord¡¯s embrace. Twenty-five thousand boots and half that many spears drummed out the rhythm of war upon the rocky ground as the Free Peoples met the Sidhe Host.¡± - Chronicles of the Last Sidhe War. (Author Disputed)
:: A day before Mina Vrock awoke :: Natalie was quickly becoming unfortunately familiar with many different types of pain. The life and unlife she lived ensured adversity in its most ugly forms were something Natalie knew well. Still, the sensation of having her jagging hands blown off by Isabelle¡¯s experiments was among the worst things she¡¯d felt. A fact Natalie was eager to remind her mentor whenever she complained about anything. + Will you get over that already? I¡¯m being more careful, and besides, the sensation was muted for you. + + You. Blew. Off. MY HANDS! + Isabelle rolled their shared eyes as she continued working. Three hours passed since Glynn joined them, and thankfully, no further arguments erupted between the senior Priest and Isabelle. With the plague as a shared enemy, there was enough common ground Natalie could keep them both standing on it. At first, the old Hierophant simply watched Isabelle work. Then, as he grew more comfortable, he started offering suggestions and insights. At first, Isabelle tried to ignore them as she was want to do, but to the former Countess¡¯s surprise, the dismissed words were potentially useful. Glynn held lifetimes of experience in matters of pestilences, curses, and Aetheric phenomena. While his knowledge couldn¡¯t match the near library of Isabelle¡¯s mind, he¡¯d weathered multiple plagues and offered a perspective the ever-aloof Isabelle lacked. With everyone getting along reasonably well, there was little for Natalie to do but try and follow Isabelle¡¯s work. Considering Natalie''s paltry education, it was a difficult task, but curiosity and caution provided strong motivators. From her unusual perspective, Natalie could watch the constant flow of magic and information dancing through Isabelle¡¯s mind. The closest metaphor Natalie could find for the experience was watching someone work a craft from over their shoulder. Natalie witnessed the resources and techniques Isabelle brought to bear but could not understand their purpose or secrets until the result was shown. Still, a novice could learn scraps from watching a master work, and that was exactly what Natalie intended to do. Of course, Natalie could, in theory, just ask Isabelle what she was doing, but when the former Countess really started working, she didn¡¯t respond to questions or answered with mumbled threats to anyone who¡¯d dare distract her. So now Natalie just watched and tried to interpret what she witnessed. Isabelle seemed reasonably certain she could dislodge Faerie pupa from Screamers, turning them into normal infected. The modified Sting byproduct would hopefully force the Faerie pupa to release its host or risk death by Bane. Glynn was still concerned and unwilling to experiment on people, but Isabelle¡¯s confidence was heartening to Natalie. No one as intelligent and egotistical as Isabelle spoke with such certainty unless they were convinced they were right. Texts dredged up by Glynn and Walker Jacq shed some light on the Galarwyll, the technical name for the Faerie involved with the plague. The Faeries possessed a strange arcane version of an insect lifecycle. Starting as an egg laid in the Beyond, before hatching into larva in the Aether, then finding a Spirt/Soul to host them as they grew into a pupa and eventually an adult. The bastard responsible for the plague found a way to halt the Galarwyll¡¯s development at the pupae stage while binding their eggs to the pestilence. Natalie didn¡¯t understand most of what Isabelle and Glynn discussed, but she was reasonably certain the plague acted like a summoning spell. Plucking a Galarwyll egg from the Beyond and depositing it within the infected. The whole thing was confusing and disturbing to Natalie. Something not helped by Isabelle¡¯s worrying familiarity with all the factors involved. When Natalie asked about the original project this ¡®usurper¡¯ stole notes from, Isabelle changed the subject. As more about the plague became clear to Natalie, this fact weighed heavier and heavier. There seemed no good reason to combine plagues, summoning magic, mind control, and the jagging Fae. Or at least Natalie couldn¡¯t imagine any purpose that would outweigh the insane risks involved. So when a lull came in Isabelle¡¯s work, Natalie decided to look for the truth. + Could you show me more of the memory at the Hillock? + Isabelle paused and frowned. + Why? + + Curiosity and concern. I want to know what happened, and what was within the Faerie Circle. + Tapping her fingers rhythmically on the table, Isabelle made her decision. + If it means you stop distracting me with your questions and complaints. Then fine, I will acquiesce. + A strange sense of vertigo washed over Natalie, and she sank deeper into Isabelle¡¯s mind. The senses Natalie shared with her mentor became distant and muted as she floated down into the memory and the answers it hopefully held.
Natalie was back atop the hillock in South Atredia, and much had changed since her last dive into Isabelle¡¯s memories. Stumps and brush were cleared away, scalping the hillock down to its stony soil. The faerie ring at the mound¡¯s peak was covered in iron: forge slag, old horseshoes, rusty nails, broken pots, and every other bit of ferric refuse the nearby village could provide. Surrounding the buried ring was another circle made of enchanted chains anchored into the ground by ritual knives, much like the one Isabelle used to test the circle in the previous vision. At each point where a knife kept the chains steady, a line of iron filings slithered out across the hilltop in a strange runic pattern. Even to Natalie¡¯s uninformed mind, the purpose of the chains and iron powder was obvious; this was an incredibly powerful ward assembled to keep whatever slept in the hillock trapped. Glancing behind her, Natalie realized the mound''s slopes had also changed. Squads of undead soldiers waited with unnatural stillness for orders to be given. Eternal Soldiers in their solid plate, supported by lumbering Flesh Golems and strange Shadows slithering along rocky ground. At least a hundred undead waited with weapons and armor for whatever threat their mistress anticipated. Standing maybe half a dozen meters from Natalie was the mistress in question. Isabelle was bedecked in a full panoply of war; finely wrought scale mail covered her body, and a high-crested helm sat upon her head. In one hand, she held a large hooked dagger carved from monstrous ivory; in the other was a magister¡¯s staff of pure white wood capped by a fell sigil cast in bloody rose gold. Eyes blazing with focus, Isabelle whispered arcane words under her breath, and the top of her staff glowed with witch-light. The Countess was not alone; an honor guard of nightmares surrounded her. On her right was a Flesh Golem stitched together from Ogres and Trolls. Armored plates were bolted to its flesh, and it held a huge great axe in one hand, a castle door-sized shield in the other. To Isabelle¡¯s left was a gaunt woman with empty eye sockets and long tangled hair, whose body and clothes seemed perpetually damp. A cloud of fog that was certainly not natural swirled around Isabelle¡¯s feet, and a squad of ten armed and armored corpses with bronze death masks stood at attention behind the Vampire. While she¡¯d never let her mentor know, Natalie had to admit Isabelle really was impressive at the zenith of her power. Even through a memory¡¯s inherent murkiness, Natalie could feel the Aether droning with dark power. A legion of corpses and their dread mistress imprinting their nature and purpose upon reality by presence alone. The creak of poorly made wheels and the clatter of bones caught Natalie¡¯s attention, and she watched as a strange collection of Rattlers shuffled up the hill. The animated skeletons pushed and pulled a wheelbarrow up the hillock¡¯s slope. The Rattlers were chipped and scored by time and unlife, missing parts of skulls, or lacking digits. Still, they completed their task and got the wheelbarrow up next to the buried faerie ring. Unloading shovels from the cart, the Rattlers stepped onto the pile of scrap iron and started digging. Confused, Natalie watched as the skeletons started undoing the earliest defenses Isabelle erected, emptying shovelfuls of scrap iron into the wheelbarrow without disturbing the enchanted chains. When the Rattlers finished excavating the circle, they started digging into the rocky ground. Then as if an undead work crew shoveling dirt, surrounded by a Vampire¡¯s army, wasn¡¯t unsettling enough, a haunting voice started to sing. The eyeless woman standing near Isabelle opened blue lips and let a beautiful aria flow forth. The song was in old Imperial, and Natalie only knew enough to catch bits about ¡®souls¡¯ and ¡®chains.¡¯ Whatever the song''s meaning, it was clearly magical; the wind shifted and started to add its own low groaning voice as the surrounding shadows danced. Natalie watched as humanoid shadows slithered up the hillock and into the air. Spots darker than night floated around the hilltop, forming great rings of interlinked darkness in the sky. It reminded Natalie of the ritual involving the Seraph, only grotesquely reversed and magnified. As worn shovels hit solid rock and the Rattlers stopped their work, Isabelle lifted up her staff, and the green witch-light floating about it grew brighter and brighter. Squinting her eyes, Natalie watched the Rattlers form a circle within the chain, clutching each other''s skeletal hands as their eyes glowed with green fire. Natalie then understood why such shoddy bones were called for this task; Isabelle wasn¡¯t the type to waste good material. A blinding flash of green energy erupted across the bald hilltop and shot into the sky like some inverted lightning strike. Strangely, there was no sound to the light, no thunder or rumble. Natalie felt that made the whole thing just that much more unsettling. As the light faded, Natalie gazed upon the faerie ring and what Isabelle did to it. The Rattlers were gone, as was all the stone and soil within the circle of chains. A deep well was dug into the rock, carved into being instantly and terribly by Isabelle¡¯s magecraft. As if to answer Natalie¡¯s silent wish for thunder in the wake of lightning, the Hillock started to shake. Deep pulsing tremors vibrated the entire mound like drums in the deep. The clatter of steel and bones warred with the rumbling depths as Isabelle¡¯s army readied itself for war. The hulking Flesh Golem, acting as Isabelle¡¯s bodyguard, stepped forward, marshaling its slab shield for whatever came next. Damp darkness started to drip off the blind woman and float up into the spinning circles of shadow. The ten undead soldiers unsheathed swords shining like polished bones, and their bronze death masks warped into snarling visages. Isabelle stood still, her staff and dagger raised as a nimbus of green-tinged shadow swirled around her. She and her army were waiting for something, and as the earthen drumbeat grew faster and faster, Natalie guessed they wouldn¡¯t be waiting for long. Natalie¡¯s prediction was right. Just as the rumbling grew fast enough, there was no break between pulses, it suddenly stopped. In the drumbeat¡¯s place was an unnatural musical note, perfectly pitched and unwavering; the sound held for perhaps ten seconds. Isabelle bared her fangs and aimed her staff at the chain circle, which started to glow faintly. Before the Countess could work whatever magic she planned, a strange shape started to press out of the well. Ruddy red and twitching, a road-sign-sized growth swelled out of the hole. Its cap unfolded as it passed the aperture, giving it a bulbous flared head. Anywhere else, Natalie might have laughed at how grotesquely phallic the shape was, but in context, the resemblance to genitalia was fundamentally unnerving. The similarity thankfully diminished as the scarlet head spread out, revealing itself to be a fungal cap. Now the width of an adult tree and growing every second, the mushroom resembled a bright red toadstool. From where Natalie stood, she could look up into the faerie toadstool¡¯s underside and see its gills changing. Instead of the wicked blades of its smaller cousins, this mushroom¡¯s gills formed into long, slitted mouths brimming with hundreds of sharp teeth. To her incredulity, Natalie watched as the mouths, every one of them, opened up and started speaking. ¡°Kindred? Yee are kindred? Why do ya poison me? Ta cursed metal burns; it burns me roots and me heart. What do ya ken, kindred? Do ya seek to slay yer kin or ta bind me for a boon?¡± All of the gill mouths spoke in harmony, a choir of musical voices accented by some archaic tongue. Isabelle stared up at the Faerie creature and said. ¡°I am no kindred of you, Sidhe! I come to free my land of your taint and shackle you to my will!¡± A weird humming, warbling note escaped the Faerie, and its gills flapped, showing countless glittering fangs. As the noise died, Natalie realized what it was; the Faerie was laughing at Isabelle. ¡°Sidhe? I am no Sidhe! I dinna walk high halls of ta Starsong Court! I dinna share bread and salt with lairds and ladies. Nay, I be no maester of names and colors. Well¡­ except for one color. Tah finest of all, and why I call me self kindred to ye.¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. The hillock started to shake again, and the Faerie¡¯s voice grew louder. ¡°RED! GLORIOUS RED! The color o¡¯life and o¡¯death! Found in its truest shade within veins of Straight-walkers! You who prowl tah night, but only in one path, you are my kin! Childer of tah Queen and er brood-o-nine!¡± Isabelle pointed her staff at the Faerie Mushroom and said. ¡°If you are not Sidhe, then you must be a Redcap. Why does one of the blood-soaked sons of Queen Hag nest in my lands?¡± The Redcap warbled with that strange laughter and said. ¡°Cause you and yours are kindred to me! When the Iron Lord and his Divine Whore shattered the Razor-Thorn Host, I fled to these lands. For in tah death-throws of my laird, I felt tis land¡¯s destined path. In another epoch, a kingdom of red death woulda rise from the Iron Lord¡¯s slag. And I was right! Lookapon this land! It bleeds and bleeds and bleeds!¡± Trying to decipher the garbled words of the Faerie, Natalie was reasonably certain this creature was implying it faced Iskandar the Hero and Mira the Martyr during the Last Sidhe War. As that harrowing thought sunk in, it reminded Natalie of the Demon beneath Vindabon; Also, a survivor of an ancient conflict, sleeping away the ages until something disturbed its healing rest. That commonality frightened Natalie. How many more sleeping monsters waited to be awoken by those foolish or unlucky enough to stumble upon them? Isabelle seemed unbothered in facing a horror dredged up from the Book of Miracles. ¡°Your kind has no place in this world any longer. Submit to my will or learn what ¡®mere scraps¡¯ reforged in blood and iron can do to you Side-walker!¡± The hill¡¯s vibrations became softer but more frequent; the ground beneath the war party hummed slightly with eldritch power. ¡°No no no! Tis no need for this! Take me to yer Lord-o-lords and leta me pledge me self to his name. Any who shed such blood can earn my leal service for an age-and-a-day!¡± Green fire glowed brightly at the end of Isabelle¡¯s staff, and she said. ¡°That may be true, but it matters little. I don¡¯t negotiate with specimens.¡± Isabelle flicked her dagger, and the enchanted chain lashed out. Detaching from the soil, the chains uncoiled and struck the Faerie mushroom. Three dozen ritual knives cut into the Redcap¡¯s stem as the iron links pulled taught. The chain snaked around the pierced Faerie, constricting its stalk like a snake with prey. The Redcap¡¯s mouths squealed in pain, a noise like a horn playing as it was crushed. The ground shifted and roiled, serpentine tendrils similar to roots and nerves pulled free from the rocky soil lashing out at Isabelle and her honor guard. Isabelle spat arcane words and cut the air with her dagger, its ivory tip glowing a sickly red as reality split open. From the gash in space came a tide of monochromatic fire, licking out at the Redcap with black and white flames. The top of Isabelle¡¯s staff sputtered as seven balls of green fire detached from it and shot forward, whizzing around the battlefield, scorching fist-sized holes in anything they touched. The ten masked Undead encircled their Countess, each of their swords glowing with sickly white light as they hacked away at any root tendril that got close. Stepping forward, the armored Flesh Golem slammed the flat of its war axe into its shield, igniting a series of baleful eye-shaped runes upon both. The blind woman leaped into the air, catching herself on a curtain of shadows, her song reaching a faster tempo as animated darkness joined the chains in wrapping up the Redcap. Natalie watched as the battle grew with every passing second. Tendrils exploded from the hillock¡¯s slopes, bringing the conflict to Isabelle¡¯s army as she battled the Faerie¡¯s main body. The Redcap¡¯s gills spat forth razor-sharp spores that danced through the air, catching in any exposed flesh like balls of animated fish hooks. Tendrils grew into reaping blades and fanged maws, seeking gaps in armor or simply crushing unlucky Rattlers. Knee-high toadstools with spinning fangs erupted out of the soil and skittered along the hillock. Balls of pearlescent light boiled off the Redcap¡¯s bell and shot through the air, dueling Isabelle¡¯s green spheres. No expert on magical warfare but also no longer a stranger to fights, Natalie could tell who was winning. The Redcap¡¯s fungal flesh burned and rotted with every second as Isabelle¡¯s magic and monsters tore into it. Enchanted chains squeezed tighter and tighter as the Faerie¡¯s defenses faltered; the Redcap unable to halt the unholy wrath assembled against it. As the armored Flesh Golem swung up with its huge axe, splitting one of the Redcap¡¯s mouths open, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but marvel at what she was watching; a fight between two different breeds of her childhood nightmares. The sound of tearing tissue and sizzling flesh signaled the battle¡¯s end. Like some Giant¡¯s garrote, the enchanted chains finished cutting through the Redcap¡¯s stalk, sending its burnt and broken bulk crashing down. The gill mouths wailed, their harmony finally breaking in defeat. Isabelle and her masked bodyguards stepped toward the top of the collapsed mushroom. The Countess snapped her fingers and summoned the enchanted chain to float about her like a cursed halo. At the peak of the Faerie¡¯s cap, Isabelle waited as her guards cut into the blood-red meat of the mushroom. A shape exploded out of the incision and slammed into one of the masked corpses. Long, ugly claws tore apart the Undead soldier in the time it took Isabelle to unleash her chain. Snaking out, it coiled around the new threat, drawing forth a melodic scream that went on impossibly long. As bits of damp fungus flesh dripped away from the newcomer, Natalie tried to understand what she was looking at. At first, she thought it to be a disfigured knight in rusted plate. But upon seeing how the uneven, mismatched lumps covering it started to burn on touching the chain, Natalie better understood the creature; it was the Redcap''s true form. Humanoid but horrifically hunched over, the Redcap was either composed of or covered by thick sheaths of fungus, giving its flesh a lumpy, mottled color and texture. Long scythe-like claws extended from its hands while a huge swollen growth protruded from its upper back and head, covering everything from its shoulder blades to brow in a red fleshly sack. Part tumor, part cyst, part mushroom cap, the squishy red growth seemed to be the monster¡¯s namesake. Yet among all these disturbing features, what unnerved Natalie the most was its face. Unlike the rest of its body, the Redcap¡¯s face was unearthly beautiful. With sharp, handsome features, the Redcap looked like some roguish bravo out to steal hearts. Which, as Natalie thought about it, was probably what the Faerie was, except perhaps a tad more literal. Wrapped in chains, wriggling in the air, the Redcap sang its final pleas. ¡°Mercy! Mercy!¡± Isabelle ignored the monster¡¯s whimpered cries and advanced towards its bound form. Raising up her bone dagger, she drove the blade into the Redcap¡¯s heart. Slowly but steadily, the ivory blade sunk past fungal plates, eliciting a shrieking musical cry from Isabelle¡¯s victim. The Countess sang a spell as she skewered the Redcap, the ruby hilt of her dagger glowing as she did the fell work. Natalie couldn¡¯t tear her eyes away from the gruesome sight as the Redcap started to wither away. Its body shrunk and contorted like a waterskin being sucked dry, draining away into the dagger. The Redcaps¡¯s cries increased in pitch but lost volume as its essence was slurped up by the bone blade. Soon, all that remained was a sizzling pile of rotten fungus and Isabelle holding up her ritual knife. The large ruby capping the dagger¡¯s hilt glowed shockingly bright, and rivulets of blood dripped from the weapon¡¯s tip, fading into nothingness before they hit the ground. Turning away from the shriveled remnant of the Redcap, Isabelle examined her ritual knife and said. ¡°Pity, I was hoping it would be a true Sidhe. No matter, a Powrie will still be useful.¡± Carefully reversing her grip on the dagger, Isabelle stared at the shining ruby with unnerving focus. ¡°The binding is stronger than I hoped! That manuscript on Djinn bottling was perfect; thank you for retrieving it, Pavlos.¡± The shifting fog at Isabelle¡¯s feet transformed in response to her words, materializing into a humanoid form. Short and wiry, the Wraith was clad in archaic robes and wore an odd pair of spectacles barely hanging from its hooked nose. Natalie knew of Pavlos, the Manei Ghost sworn to Isabelle, but she¡¯d never seen the man Cole considered his first friend. The Wraith bowed to Isabelle in a strange flickering motion before saying. ¡°Of course, Mistress.¡± Isabelle sheathed the dagger and the Redcap now sealed within it. It took the Vampire two tries, her fingers locked around the hilt in a twitchy death grip. Natalie looked at Isabelle¡¯s other hand and saw what she expected. The digits clutching the staff were spasming slightly, and the attached wrist was shakey with taught energy. Exhaustion among Vampires looked very different from the living; their muscles started to lock up in a palsy-esque version of rigor mortis. Facing the Redcap hadn¡¯t been easy for Isabelle; her powers were drained massively, and she struggled to keep her body functioning. Gesturing with her staff, Isabelle called for the armored Flesh Golem. ¡°Golgoth, aid me.¡± Golgoth stuck its axe into the ground and knelt beside Isabelle, helping her onto its steel-covered shoulder. Standing back up to its full height, the Flesh Golem, acted as Isabelle¡¯s palanquin. Staring up at his liege, Pavlos the Wraith asked. ¡°If I may be so bold, mistress, I must ask. Is studying abominations like the Powrie or ¡®Redcap¡¯ a wise endeavor?¡± Stroking the ivory dagger at her side, Isabelle said. ¡°Like all things, there is risk and reward to balance. In your lifetime, I¡¯d say you were correct to be so concerned. But in this epoch, the Fae are merely scattered remnants to be culled or crushed. They cannot enter our world unbidden, and relics from before the Final Gates, like this creature, can be dealt with.¡± The Manei Wrath seemed unconvinced but did not voice any more objections, instead moving on to more practical matters. ¡°Now that you are victorious, what is next?¡± Glancing around at her army, Isabelle said. ¡°I must return home to rest and continue research. Prepare the army to march and have a work crew clean up this mess. I¡¯ll need to draft an order of quarantine once back at the citadel.¡± Pavlos bowed. ¡°Of course, I take it the village is to be relocated?¡± Isabelle nodded absently as she leaned against the hulking Flesh Golem¡¯s skull. Natalie knew her mentor well enough to tell the old Vampire was already thinking of other matters. Her spectral Majordomo dissolved into fog, leaving to carry out her will as the Flesh Golem started to lumber down the hillock. Floating to Isabelle, Natalie frowned as she watched her mentor¡¯s labyrinthian mind start working. This was the largest downside to viewing memories this way: Natalie wasn¡¯t privy to Isabelle¡¯s thoughts. The old Vampire provided an informative stage play of her recollections but not her internal workings. Staring into Isabelle¡¯s unfocused eyes, Natalie had a sudden notion: could she enter the memory of a memory? Reaching out through the eye contact, Natalie felt a link form, and she quickly slithered through it, slipping deeper into Isabelle¡¯s mind. Vertigo washed over Natalie as she dived into Isabelle, settling inside her mind as passenger and observer. The sensation was remarkably similar to when Natalie let Isabelle possess her. Something about that parallel felt worrisome, but any such concerns were pushed aside by the deluge of information assaulting Natalie. Exhausted as her body and magic might be, Isabelle¡¯s mind was still working at breakneck speeds. Natalie was buffeted by three separate streams of thought that intersected, diverged, pooled in memories, or boiled with emotions. Finding her metaphysical footing after a few seconds of tumbling through a mad genius¡¯s musings, Natalie started to piece together Isabelle¡¯s thoughts. It was difficult work, but Natalie started understanding Isabelle¡¯s interest in the Redcap. Like all Faeries, it could influence emotions, inspiring fear, anger, lust, or similar in unshielded minds. Reasonably powerful but cruel in temperament, the Redcap used this ability to terrorize its prey, feeding off their heightened emotions as they died. Natalie couldn¡¯t fully understand the details of how and why the Faerie fed like this, but it was enough to know it did. Apparently, normal Redcaps were little more than soldiers and enforcers, at least according to the legends and records Isabelle read. Petty thugs more interested in hunting, killing, and soaking up their victim¡¯s blood. The one Isabelle captured was clearly something of an outlier, being smart enough to hide beneath an olive grove, feeding on the plantlife until it grew strong enough to make its presence known. A slight headache grew in Natalie¡¯s skull as she picked through information and context she wasn¡¯t fully equipped for. She¡¯d stumble upon alien words and terms just to have their definitions dragged up by her focusing on them. The whole endeavor was worse than following Isabelle¡¯s stream of thought in real-time. Without Isabelle¡¯s actual consciousness as a safety line, Natalie was stuck bouncing between thoughts and concepts faster than she could manage. Schemes, plans, and theories boiled up inside Isabelle as she mused on the possible uses for her newest specimen. Natalie had a front-row seat as ideas congealed from information and inspiration. It was strange, seeing the seeds of thought sewn and nurtured when Natalie knew exactly what fruit they¡¯d bear. Isabelle was interested in the Redcap''s abilities, how it could alter emotions, parasitize lifeforms, and even spawn offshoots of itself. The labyrinthian mechanisms of the Countess''s mind were churning towards a conclusion, one Natalie finished piecing together. Watching Isabelle¡¯s stream of thought, Natalie felt a horrible spark of insight kindle a pile of evidence into a fire of understanding. Isabelle thought of the Screaming Plague as a crude mockery of her work. Pieces of her research turned into a brutally effective tool of war, which wasn¡¯t their original purpose. A purpose the elder Vampire avoided sharing but spoke volumes about with her silence. Of course, Isabelle was not the type of creature to unleash dreadful diseases or mind-ruining pestilences on a whim. In fact, such purely destructive purposes didn¡¯t match Isabelle¡¯s personality. She was pragmatic, controlling, egotistical, and violently self-assured in the value of her work. No, Isabelle wouldn¡¯t use the Redcap and any research derived from it to make a simple weapon. The Countess Gen Silva would, of course, make something so much worse. ¡°Emotional control, Hells¡­ infectious emotional control,¡± whispered Natalie, putting words to the idea stirring in Isabelle¡¯s mind. Working at it from both directions, the Redcap and the Screaming Plague, this was the most logical conclusion. The Redcap and the Galarwyll were both faeries; both could influence emotions; both could connect to other organisms, be it olive trees or a contagion. The Galarwylls inside the pestilence turned their victims into rage-filled monsters. Perhaps another Faerie and another pestilence could have different effects? Natalie could imagine a flu spreading across the continent, dulling the hearts and minds of whoever was infected. Winnowing away anger, compassion, bravery, and anything else a Vampire might find objectionable in their livestock. Gritting her teeth, ignoring how her fangs stung, Natalie pulled herself out of the memory within a memory and kept going. Standing beside the red stream of her mindscape, Natalie debated a course of action. Her instinct was to explode out into the waking world full of righteous rage, seize back control of her body, and attack Isabelle with what she¡¯d learned. But some mixture of growing maturity and pragmatism offered up a different strategy. Instead of revealing her hand, Natalie could keep this information and the technique she¡¯d discovered hidden. The ability to extract more from Isabelle¡¯s memory than the old Vampire intended could be worth its weight in gold. Staring at the flowing stream, Natalie felt a twinge of guilt and hypocrisy as she considered this course of action. Thinking about the moment she¡¯d shared with Isabelle and Cole on this very bank, Natalie wondered if, instead of fiery rage, or cold scheming, she might find a middle path. Sighing as her anger faded into hollow embers, Natalie decided she¡¯d keep what she learned to herself and not go poking around Isabelle¡¯s memory unless absolutely necessary. Cole seemed unwilling to delve into the secrets of his creation, and perhaps Isabelle¡¯s reluctance to share details was wise. Shutting her eyes, Natalie started pulling herself out of mindscape, curious to see what progress Isabelle made while she was gone. Book III: Chapter 15: Ritual Work

Chapter 15: Ritual work

¡°Takezo of the Five Cuts, Sword-saint and sworn brother to Dragons stood alone against the Yokai and its traitor witch mistress. Armed with his two killing edges and armored by a warding pentacle, honorable Takezo faced the fiends on the red-stained fields of Azusa. As was his nature, the Sword-saint felled the Yokai with five strikes. Proving the truth known to all honorable masters of the cutting art; only those who can cut nothing can cut everything.¡± - Book of the Sword-saints.
:: A field in the Southern Marches:: Spring rain beat down on the Eastern Marches, turning fields into fens and streams into swamps. Beneath this icy downpour, a cohort of corpses and soon-to-be corpses trudged along a muddy road. Grinners and Screamers, united in slavery, shambled after Aloysius Wolfgang as he searched for a place to continue his research. The Black Fly sat in a small buggy drawn by two skeletal horses; his bodyguard, Cleanor the Lamia, was curled up in the seat next to him. Staring out at the drenched plains around them, Wolfgang fiddled with his glasses, peering into the Aether. He was looking for a place soaked in suffering; somewhere, the plague inflicted a particularly ugly tragedy. The ritual gifted to him by Lady Takiya called for such a location, but so did most Necromantic rites. Ritual magic worked best in places Aetherically sympathetic to the spells being used. Which for Necromancy usually meant locations of death and decay. As he scanned the fields, Wolfgang found what he was looking for. Reaching down to his horses¡¯ reins, he sent a spark of intent along the rune-inscribed leather, giving the Undead equines new orders. Glancing behind him, he checked the hundred and twenty-five research subjects trudging after the buggy. He¡¯d hoped some of the Screamers survived to their destination, but in this weather, it was unlikely. Ten of the plagued had already died from exposure, now raised up and shackled to Wolfgang¡¯s will before they even cooled. Glancing at his bodyguard, who slept beneath a thick blanket, Wolfgang said. ¡°We are close.¡± Cleanor¡¯s slitted brown eyes snapped open, and she let out a hissing sigh. ¡°I hope someone tries to kill you tonight, Little Fly.¡± Watching the undead horses as they pulled the buggy down a muddy path and toward their destination, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Why?¡± Pulling her head fully out from beneath the blanket, the Lamia said. ¡°Otherwise, I¡¯d have no reason to be out in this cold. Why do humans insist on nesting in such horrid locations? Don¡¯t your kind descend from jungle apes? Surely, a nice rainforest would be better than this miserable place.¡± Ignoring the insult, Wolfgang remarked. ¡°Warmer clothes would help.¡± Cleanor scoffed and pushed her blanket aside, revealing her practically naked form. An ornately woven brassiere, loincloth, and heavy jewelry were all that covered her. Gesturing at herself, the Lamia snapped. ¡°The skin half of me actually stays warmer! It''s the scales that really suffer! I can¡¯t exactly wriggle my way into some massive stocking, can I?¡± Deciding further conversation on this front would be pointless, Wolfgang pointed at a pile of rubble barely visible in the heavy rain. ¡°That¡¯s our destination.¡± Crossing her arms and peering out at the ruins, Cleanor said. ¡°No heat, no light, but a lot of death magic.¡± Wolfgang nodded as the buggy trundled closer to their destination. Cleanor¡¯s ability to sense the Aetheric currents and body heat was another reason her kind were prized as bodyguards. While no Lamia could compare to a trained Magi or Priest, the ¡®bestial intuition¡¯ they possessed was more than enough to sense most magical dangers. Now, just a stone¡¯s throw away, the identity of the stained location became clear to Wolfgang. Scattered stone and splintered timbers marked the remains of a destroyed farmhouse. Pulling himself from the buggy, Wolfgang stepped into the pouring rain and went to examine his prize. The small horde of Grinners and Screamers shuffled towards the farmhouse as well, the usually energetic monsters¡¯ kept sedate by Wolfgang¡¯s tight control. Stepping onto the surviving foundation, Wolfgang examined the destroyed farmhouse and understood what happened there. Hunks of incongruous masonry were scattered about, the type a catapult or trebuchet might use as ammunition. Moving over to a splintered beam, Wolfgang used a little blood to kick the water-logged wood, rolling it a few steps. A broken Ghoul stared up at him with burst eyes, its jaw pointlessly opening and shutting. Looking at the sky, Wolfgang said. ¡°Skorg Trollbreaker used this place as target practice.¡± Cleanor had slipped out of the buggy and slithered closer, an oilskin wrapped around her upper body. ¡°The idiot you bought the Wyverns from?¡± Nodding, Wolfgang elaborated. ¡°When he realized he couldn¡¯t sell them as mounts, Skorg started looking for other uses for his investment. Raining down rocks like this was one of his ideas. Not a completely foolish notion, just underwhelming.¡± Skorg was an up-and-coming Strigoi of the Clawbrother Knights, a prodigy at breaking monsters to his will but otherwise not particularly bright. When the Duke called his banners, Skorg leaped at the call, eager to prove his strength to the court and his fellows of the ranging order. He¡¯d found three great broods of Wyvern¡¯s and broke them to his will. Bringing them to the first muster in an honestly impressive showing. But the old adage ¡®only a Wyrm can control Wyrmspawn¡¯ proved true, and the enslaved Wyverns proved erratic to the point of being useless. After two prospective Wyvern riders fell to their true deaths and another was eaten, Skorg became desperate to part with his monstrous thralls. It took Wolfgang an annoying amount of politicking and several favors to acquire the surviving Wyverns. The wyrm-spawn were teetering on the brink of full mental collapse by the time Wolfgang took possession of them, and only Skorg¡¯s skill got the Wyverns to carry out Wolfgang¡¯s orders. Still, they succeeded, spreading their cargo and diseased flesh all over Vindabon. With a thought, Wolfgang ordered his servants to start clearing away rubble. Under his command, the Ghouls and Screamers worked quickly, hauling away debris with ragged hands and stiff muscles. By the time a seven-meter by seven-meter circle was exposed, Wolfgang was suffering a minor headache. He lacked experience controlling this many Undead, and his mind suffered as unused muscles might after exercise. But the task was done, and now Wolfgang could move on to the interesting work. Clambering onto a pile of rubble to get a better view, Wolfgang started his experiment. Twenty-one Ghouls stepped into the cleared circle and locked hands, forming their own ring of dead flesh. Thirty more Ghouls formed a second ring, then forty-eight more created a third. Of the remaining Ghouls, Wolfgang ordered ten to retrieve the luggage strapped to the buggy¡¯s rear and continue preparations. Some of the worker Ghouls dipped their rotting fingers in jars of cremation ash and started marking the circle Ghouls; others unsheathed strange eastern swords, especially forged for this event, and a single Screamer stepped into the center of the three circles, ducking under linked arms and kneeling between the corpses. Peering into the Aether, Wolfgang started collecting strands of power, weaving currents together in a cyclone of mortal echos. Whoever lived on this farm died in it, turned by the plague, and crushed beneath dropped stones. A slow march towards dreadful death interrupted by casual violent cruelty, a fitting atmosphere for the ritual. Holding his arms up like he was reciting a benediction, Wolfgang started the rite. Speaking in the ghost tongue of Takiya¡¯s homeland, he started to recite story-spells as the elder Durugo instructed him to. He wove tales of despair, destruction, death, and desolation, infusing his words with magic as his Ghouls followed his orders. As the first story ended, one of the circle Ghouls was decapitated, its head struck from its shoulders by another Ghoul wielding an eastern sword. The severed head was placed before the kneeling Screamer, staring up at it with undead eyes. By the time the Ghoul¡¯s body was dragged away, the second story finished, and another Ghoul was decapitated and its head set by the Screamer. Four hours later, all ninety-nine Ghouls were piled nearby, their severed heads placed in rings around the kneeling Sceamer. As the last story rolled from Wolfgang¡¯s lips, the Screamer unsheathed a one-sided shortsword and plunged the blade into its gut. As sick blood and rotting guts spilled out onto the rain-soaked ground, the cyclone growing in the Aether shrunk, collapsing under its own weight into a singular point. So dense and so putrid, the Aetheric current was visible to mundane eyes, a sphere of greasy darkness coming into view. Wolfgang watched with sickly fascination as the sphere of darkness transformed into an alabaster human skull. With every second, the skull swelled, growing from human-sized to ogre, then giant. Once it was the size of the buggy Wolfgang rode to this location, the skull opened its mouth and let a stream of black ectoplasm dribble out onto the severed heads below it. The Screamer corpse and decapitated heads were swallowed by the shadows. Reality bent as the offerings sank into solid ground, leaving an oily mirror of darkness. Wolfgang gazed down into the pool of rotten ectoplasm and saw the giant skull¡¯s reflection. The mirror depicted a monumental skeleton attached to the skull, a colossal Rattler submerged up to its waist in reflective darkness. The giant skull shut its mouth with a snap, and its mirror arms reached to either side of the pool and braced the skeleton. The crunch of rubble and wood caught Wolfgang¡¯s attention; he looked up from the reflection and saw parts of the floor were cracked, the parts the reflected skeleton was putting its arms on. The old stone of the farmhouse protested as the giant skeleton pulled itself from the portal. Wolfgang¡¯s eyes flicked up and down as the Undead horror extracted itself. Outside its reflection, the monster was simply a colossal skull floating high in the air, but its true body could be seen in the mirror. As the monster stepped from the pool, Wolfgang watched soggy timber and piled corpses burst under colossal invisible feet. Even if the monster¡¯s body couldn¡¯t be seen, it could be felt. Staring up at the monster, Aloyisus Wolfgang spoke the Undead¡¯s name and completed the spell. ¡°Gashadokuro.¡± The Gasha¡¯s jaw started to open and shut in a rhythmic clacking as its eyes came alight with green witch-fire. Staring into those eyes, Wolfgang felt a connection between him and Rattler snap into being. Sending his order through the link, Wolfgang watched as the fifteen-meter-tall semi-invisible monsters stomped over the sodden ground toward a nearby tree. Hands that weren¡¯t there gripped the old pine and yanked it from the soil. As Wolfgang directed, the Gasha threw the pine like a javelin, sending the entire tree flying into the rainy night. Cleanor, who¡¯d been watching this from the buggy, having returned after the twentieth story, slithered free and said. ¡°Well¡­ that is certainly impressive.¡± Staring up at the baleful Gashadokuro, Wolfgang allowed himself the tiniest smile. ¡°It¡¯s a good start.¡±
:: Tenth Temple of Vindabon :: The third day of Isabelle¡¯s possession was proving to be dullest for Natalie. There were no arguments, explosions, armed clashes, or awkward romantic discussions. The third day proved to be a time of methodical research and experimentation. Hour after hour, Isabelle poured over alchemical texts, making minute adjustments to her concoctions. At first, Natalie actually enjoyed the peace and quiet inherent to boredom. But after four hours of Isabelle repeating the same basic methods repeatedly, an emotion other than boredom was rising in Natalie: worry. + Are you stuck? + Isabelle hesitated, her index finger tracing a line in a dense text on bane brewing. + I¡¯m working with limited resources, and it''s slowing me down. + Natalie knew what Isabelle meant by ¡®resources.¡¯ Glynn still refused to let Isabelle conduct humanoid trials, and the elder Vampire was utterly incensed by this fact. She¡¯d been making do with a cage of rats and vials of blood, but as Isabelle loudly complained, this was no substitute. The Hierophant was unmoved by any of Isabelle¡¯s arguments; his moral compass and the three rats Isabelle cooked from the inside out were all the justification he needed to limit her options. But at this point, even Natalie was starting to wonder if Glynn was being overly cautious. In a little over forty-eight hours, Isabelle had already developed multiple methods of treating and preventing the pestilence. She¡¯d just not found the silver (or, more accurately, iron) spear-tip to fully cure the plague. If Isabelle was finally reaching the limit of what theory and animal subjects could teach, Natalie thought it was time for something new. Natalie¡¯s eyes, controlled by Isabelle, flicked to Glynn, sitting in one corner of the laboratory. The Hierophant poured over a scroll detailing the origin of the Buboes, looking to find any connection between the accursed plague and the Fae. As Keeper of the Anchorites and, by extension, the archives, Glynn was a talented researcher, a skill Isabelle wasn¡¯t arrogant enough to dismiss. She¡¯d set the quarter-elf on several obscure but possibly useful trails. Opening her borrowed mouth, Isabelle said. ¡°I need to find more volunteers. Without better test subjects and more samples, I might take weeks to break through this deadbolt.¡± Glynn looked up from the scroll and said. ¡°How did the most recent rat trials go?¡± Isabelle clicked her tongue in annoyance and gestured at the cage containing a quartet of ill but still living rodents. ¡°Nine and Ten are alive but still sick; the treatment purged the Gallarwyll and slowed the infection but didn¡¯t stop it. Eleven and Twelve are still infected but show no worsening or improvement.¡± You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Getting up from his chair, Glynn watched Rat Eleven and unconsciously rubbed his left arm. He¡¯d undergone the Faerie extraction to render himself immune, and his forearm carried a fresh wound as proof. ¡°Can you replicate this?¡± Tapping her fingers on the top of the rat cage, Isabelle said. ¡°Yes and no, Eleven and Twelve were infected and treated in concert. I fear if I continue to experiment with rats, I might fine-tune the Bane for rodent biology instead of humanoid.¡± Natalie could follow this exchange fully and was pleasantly surprised by that fact. An unexpected side-effect of events was Natalie¡¯s growing medical knowledge. She was learning terms and concepts at a breakneck speed, her own curiosity and some mental bleed from Isabelle facilitating things. Everything Natalie learned showed how much more there was to the world, and it was humbling. Especially since Natalie got the impression much of Isabelle¡¯s knowledge was unknown outside the most talented Magi and scholars. Infinite Hells, Natalie suspected some things Isabelle knew weren¡¯t even written down anywhere outside Aunt Seeress¡¯s library. Glynn started to open his mouth to answer when the laboratory door opened to reveal a haggard-looking Cole. Stinking of cleansing chemicals, the Paladin held a fresh bandage over one arm. He¡¯d been called to help with an outbreak of Screamers and clearly hadn¡¯t come through it unscathed. Eyes sunken with physical and emotional exhaustion, Cole held up his bandaged wrist and said. ¡°I got bit, and something interesting happened.¡± Isabelle and, by extension, Natalie rushed over to Cole. Quickly removing the bandage, Isabelle examined the bite. It was right on the wrist bones, and it was a small miracle Cole hadn¡¯t broken anything. As Isabelle checked his injury and prepared a healing spell, she said. ¡°You aren¡¯t reinfected, but that¡¯s to be expected considering our earlier experiments. So what happened?¡± Wincing as Isabelle used a bottle of disinfectant and a skin-growth cantrip, Cole said. ¡°The outbreak was in Walltown; some poor sick fool helped prepare a meal for a group of refugees and turned close to six dozen of them into Screamers. I went with some plague wardens and helped keep quarantine until a Seer arrived with a sleep spell. A couple of us got bit, and I started cleansing people.¡± Flexing his wrist, checking the newly grown skin, Cole received a swat on his arm from Isabelle. ¡°Don¡¯t do that; you know how easy it is to tear fresh skin.¡± Gesturing with his uninjured arm, Cole pointed to his bite. ¡°Some of the plague wardens were among the bitten, but not all of them were infected.¡± That caught everyone''s attention. Isabelle¡¯s eyes widened, and a smile spread across her face. Turning to Glynn, she said. ¡°I need to examine them!¡± Cole pulled a crumpled note out of a pocket and handed it to Isabelle. It was a list of the plague wardens at the outbreak, documenting their names, professions, and infected status. Looking at it, Isabelle deciphered Cole¡¯s scribbled notes in the margins. Writing with a bitten wrist didn¡¯t lend itself to an easily understood script, but Isabelle was used to terrible academic scrawls and could understand what Cole recorded. ¡°Grief¡­ they¡¯ve all lost someone.¡± No stranger to this kind of work, Cole found a common factor between those uninfected. Hunting the Undead was more often a matter of investigation than strength of arms; not that good steel didn¡¯t hurt. So Cole spoke with the plague wardens and discovered what they shared. The first batch of plague deaths was hitting the city, claiming the old, the young, the sick, and the poor. Every warden not reinfected counted a loved one among that grim tally. Quickly taking the note and returning to her equipment, Isabelle read and reread it in a motion Natalie once would have found nauseating before her extended period of possession. Isabelle¡¯s smile slowly turned to a frown, and she muttered. ¡°This doesn¡¯t make sense. All my experiments and research show rage should be the infused emotion, not grief. The Gallarwylls can¡¯t feed on rage, and the treated rats are showing signs of improvement. What is going on here? A plague like this should only have one proper Bane, not this level of variation!¡± Information flicked through Isabelle¡¯s mind as she assessed events and tried to understand the nature of this new phenomenon. Natalie caught fragments of this deluge, and two in particular stuck out to her: A familiar hillock and an unfamiliar cage filled with dead rats. She knew the hillock, so the fact that memory stuck out didn¡¯t seem strange; the rats, on the other hand¡­ Tentatively unsure of what she was doing, Natalie poked at the memory, reaching partially into it. If her earlier experience with entering memories was like diving headfirst, this was more akin to sticking in a hand and groping around. Still, Natalie got results as flashes of recollection danced through her mind. * Isabelle dissecting a rat with black gunk oozing from every orifice * * A twitchy rodent dropped into a cage of its fellows; they shy away from their shaky cousin * * Rows of vials, each containing a specific type of death. The rows form a shelf; the shelf forms a wall, and the wall forms a collection. * Pulling herself free from the vision, Natalie couldn¡¯t understand why the memory stood out to her. It just seemed another example of Isabelle¡¯s strange experiments. + What are you doing? + Startled, Natalie quickly tried to compose herself. + Something stuck out to me in your thoughts, and I touched the memory. + Isabelle was silent for a moment before asking. + What memory? And did you find something? + Natalie shrugged internally and decided honesty was the best course. + Something to do with rats and vials of pestilence. + Waiting with bated breath, Natalie hoped Isabelle didn¡¯t think to focus on this. Natalie just decided to keep her ability to dive deeper into Isabelle¡¯s memories secret and not to use it unnecessarily, so failing both goals so spectacularly would truly sting. The memory of the rats surged up again, and Natalie caught more of its content. Isabelle was working on creating a plague capable of targeting or sparing certain populations. Something Natalie guessed was the bedrock of how the current pestilence avoided Thralls. Deciding not to think what reason Isabelle might have to be concocting a plague of that sort, Natalie had a burst of intuition. The two memories she¡¯d connected to were both key elements to two different projects; bits of both were stolen to create the Screaming Plague. Despite dealing with magical diseases, the schemes were radically different. Each a product of different periods of Isabelle¡¯s unlife, only united by their genre or horror and creator. Natalie''s flare of intuitive reasoning started to burn brighter as she considered a possibility. + Hey¡­ What if the two aspects of the plague aren¡¯t as connected as you thought? + Isabelle¡¯s attention refocused on Natalie, and she asked. + What do you mean? + + Well, you did research with Faeries and research with plague immunity, but you never connected them, right? + Natalie was playing dumb while trying to be smart, which was proving difficult. Isabelle did connect the Faerie and plagues, but not the immunity research; at least, Natalie didn¡¯t think so. + Maybe this ¡®usurper¡¯ could not connect the research completely, and this isn¡¯t as advanced as you think. Didn¡¯t you just say a pestilence has only a single true bane? So what if the faerie and plague aspects aren¡¯t as interwoven as you¡¯d thought? + Without a word, Isabelle approached her cage of fresh rats and grabbed a squealing rodent. She quickly injected it with plague fluid and shoved the irate rodent into Glynn¡¯s face. ¡°Cleanse this for me.¡± Raising an eyebrow but still cooperating as the rat was shoved closer to his face, Glynn let holy power pass over the rodent. With a punch of will, Isabelle knocked the rat out and set it nearby. Glynn snapped. ¡°You could have done that before brandishing the thing at me.¡± Ignoring him, Isabelle went over to one of the control rodents, a hissing spitting Screamer rat caked in blood, both its own and its fellows. Peering into the Aether, Isabelle saw a tiny malformed Gallarwyll clinging to the rat, its shrunken form a testament to the weak animal soul it anchored to. Knocking this rodent out as well, Isabelle plucked it from its cage and turned to Glynn again. ¡°Can you cast an iron dirge ward?¡± Thankful she hadn¡¯t left the insane rat awake, Glynn nodded yes. Isabelle pointed at the rodent. ¡°Create one around the rat.¡± Glynn complied, locking the rat¡¯s soul and the parasite attached to it inside a metaphysical cage. Once that was done, Isabelle said. ¡°Don¡¯t drop it until I say so.¡± then snapped the Screamer Rat¡¯s neck. Whirling on Cole, Isabelle glared at him and hissed. ¡°Do not interfere; I know what I¡¯m doing.¡± Both Cole and Natalie were stunned by the venom in her voice. From her unusual vantage, Natalie quickly realized the words weren¡¯t meant for Cole. Isabelle wasn¡¯t addressing the Paladin; she was speaking to the God who could see through him. Shutting her eyes, Isabelle hissed words that hurt the ears to hear as a stream of black fog billowed from her mouth and into the rat. Glynn and Cole both reacted to the Necromancy and the impossibility of it working inside a Temple of Master Time. Shakily, the undead rat spasmed to life, and Isabelle went over to the clean rat cage and plucked out another rodent victim. Slamming her will against the control rat¡¯s mind, Isabelle brought the two rats together and forced them to stare into each other¡¯s eyes. ¡°Glynn, drop the ward now,¡± Isabelle said as she wove a bridge between the two animal minds under her control. After a moment of hesitating, Glynn complied, and the iron dirge ward faded. Everyone in the room watched in the Aether as the suddenly freed Gallarwyll fled its dead host to the prepared soul. Utterly enslaved by Isabelle¡¯s magic, the living rat let the parasite worm into its soul and take up residence. Isabelle let the undead rat fall to the floor, where it scampered over to a waste bin, its broken neck flopping as it did. Holding up the mind-broken, Faerie-infected rat, Isabelle smiled manically. ¡°Getting a rat with the plague but not a Faerie was easy. Getting a rat with a Faerie but not the plague proved a bit more difficult.¡± Using the empty-minded rat like a pointer, Isabelle gestured to Cole. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for my harsh language; I needed to do a little necromancy and needed to let the Tenth know quickly.¡± Turning the rat towards Glynn, she continued. ¡°I¡¯ve been approaching this incorrectly. I¡¯d assumed the plague-smith was clever enough to interweave both elements of the pestilence perfectly. Doing so would make finding a bane more difficult, and that is what I would have done. But my enemy isn¡¯t as smart as I am, and my pilfered notes can only do so much. My blockage was caused by trying to find a single bane when two were required!¡± Looking down at the rat, Isabelle said. ¡°I¡¯m going to need more of these; I hope you can cast more wards.¡±
Eight hours and thirty rats later, Isabelle Gens Silva stared down at two vials sitting on her desk. The first was a mixture of the rage-infused Sting byproduct, iron salt, and artificial tears. The second was Cole¡¯s blood taken while he was focused on loss, mixed with ground-up rat bones and healing mold extract. Vial one would force the Gallarwyls to detach from a host and then hopefully protect them from re-infestation. Vial two would stop the plague from spreading to new tissue and dramatically boost the body''s ability to purge the infection. Banes for the Screamer plague, created from Isabelle¡¯s genius, Natalie¡¯s intuition, and Cole¡¯s observations. Five tired rats sat in a cage nearby, enjoying the lump of cheese awarded to them for surviving Isabelle¡¯s experiments. All five were infected and dosed with the two vials at different points. One right after infection, two were cleansed and then dosed after three hours, and the last two were allowed to become Screamers before treatment. All five were now in good shape, the plague steadily being purged from their bodies as they nibbled on cave cheese. While gesturing at the rats, Isabelle snapped at Glynn, who stood beside the cage examining the rodents. ¡°Now, can we move on to proper subjects?¡± Elvish beauty was cracked by mortal worries as Glynn frowned down at the rats. He¡¯d been rattled by Master Time allowing Isabelle to practice necromancy inside the Temple. Isabelle hadn¡¯t even been certain the Tenth would listen to her request, but the God''s quick response was tantamount to tacit approval of Isabelle¡¯s work. Which, while she¡¯d never admit it, rattled her as well. Jerkily, Glynn nodded. ¡°Yes, I think it''s time.¡± Picking up both vials, Isabelle turned to Cole, who was slumped in a nearby chair. Yet again, he was low on blood, his ichor siphoned for Isabelle¡¯s magical and medical use. Blinking up at her, he grunted and got to his feet. ¡°To the Screamer ward?¡± Isabelle nodded and turned towards the door; they needed to see if the cure truly worked before she could tackle the headache of mass production. The two Banes were difficult to produce, relying on rare ingredients and fairly complicated alchemy. Hopefully, the blood of anyone immune to the plague would work for the second Bane; Isabelle was loathed to ask Cole for more of his blood. It was one thing to feed on him a little and take medical samples; it was another to bleed him dry to help an entire nation. Quickly retreating from that painful thought, Isabelle left the laboratory, Glynn and Cole flanking her. Yara was still sleeping off blood loss and general exhaustion by Natalie¡¯s order. Thralls generally could produce more blood than normal, a side effect of the Sting, but it wasn¡¯t comparable to Cole¡¯s atypical biology. It didn¡¯t take the group long to reach the Screamer ward, and Isabelle proactively shut off her sense of smell before they entered the rancid prison. They easily passed the tripled guard, Glynn''s presence smoothing over any issues before they could arise. Still, as the reinforced doors clattered shut behind Isabelle, she heard one of the templars mutter. ¡°I hope the crazy bitch doesn¡¯t summon up another jagging Faerie.¡± A mental push from Natalie got Isabelle to drop the idea of turning back and forcing the soldier to shit himself. The gentle but firm prod of her student brought up another concern to Isabelle. Something odd was happening with Natalie; the linking of their minds was producing unusual results. Isabelle was confident she would have reached the conclusion Natalie pushed her towards eventually, but the younger Vampire¡¯s prodding helped her make the intuitive leap. It seemed Natalie found a connection Isabelle¡¯s unconscious mind created and pulled it to the forefront before Isabelle could; something about that was deeply concerning. A haggard-looking plague warden met the group and guided them past lines of cells packed with drugged Screamers. Mass administration of soporifics seemed to be the method the Temple used to keep the feral infected under control. Still, as they delved deeper into the ward, Isabelle noticed dozens of glazed eyes following their progress and twitchy limbs occasionally jerking towards them. The plague warden guide spoke then. ¡°We are quickly running out of room; the newest patients are confined in a storage closet.¡± Glynn wanted Isabelle to test the cure on the freshest Screamers, hoping their marginally better health would handle the Bane better. They entered the storage closet and found six Screamers tied up and chained to the floor. These fresh monsters weren¡¯t yet drugged, snapping and wailing at their approach. With a thought, Isabelle ordered them to stop their struggle and approached the infected. With deft hands and basic telekinesis, Isabelle filled syringes with the Banes and prepared them for use. Leaning down over one Screamer, Isabelle got it to expose its neck and then injected her creation. Licking her thumb and using her saliva to shut the injection wounds, Isabelle stepped back and let her control of the Screamer fall. Instantly, it started to thrash and snap at the humanoids in the room. Isabelle, Cole, Glynn, and two wardens watched with bated breath as the Screamer twitched and wailed. For a long, perilous moment, there was no change, and just when Isabelle felt the first hints of doubt wriggle free, the screams stopped. Suddenly, like a candle being doused, the Screamer fell silent and stared at the floor with glassy eyes. The twitches and shakes of the infected steadily slowed, ending after perhaps a minute. Then, in a voice shredded by screaming, the infected woman said. ¡°H-he-help me.¡± Glynn and the wardens rushed to her side, examining her condition. Isabelle watched as Cole¡¯s eyes glowed with silver light, and a slow frost-kissed exhale left his lungs. ¡°The Gallarwyll is gone, and the infection is already receding.¡± Smiling with all the warmth of Cole¡¯s god, Isabelle addressed her distant foe. ¡°I win.¡± Book III: Chapter 16: The Sages Stone

Chapter 16: The Sage¡¯s Stone

¡°It was the strangest thing; she just right walked into the camp with nothing but rags on her back and a walking stick in her hand. Another refugee, I thought, till she comes up to me and says she needs to speak with the Prince! I didn¡¯t know if I should laugh at her or get an Eighth Priest. Before I could do either, she looked me in the eyes and¡­ and well I saw what she really was. I know letting her pass was breaking protocol and damn stupid to boot, but¡­ well, go talk with her and see if you¡¯d do any different.¡± - Man-at-Arms Manderlay¡¯s report about the ¡®Stranger¡¯s¡¯ arrival to Prince Franz¡¯s war camp.
:: Three days after Isabelle discovered the cure :: Mina Vrock felt like shit; more specifically, she felt like she¡¯d been messily devoured by some dire beast, passed through its bowls, and then crapped out while still conscious. Washing her face and trying to stay bipedal, Mina stared into the washroom mirror. A gaunt woman with greasy blond hair and eye bags large enough to carry produce stared back at her. Letting out a sigh that quickly turned into a dry cough, Mina slumped against the counter. Cold wood did the work of a chilled compress, and Mina let out a miserable groan at the material¡¯s touch. Eventually, Mina forced herself to stand up straight, resisting the urge to pass out in the recovery ward¡¯s bathroom. Shuffling out of the chamber, she rejoined the few dozen recipients of the experimental cure. Collapsing into her cot, Mina looked at her fellow plague survivor. Most of the people Isabelle tested her cure on were Screamers, and they could be easily identified by the dead-eyed stare they all shared. No one expected them to retain memories of what they did while infected, and some bitter part of Mina wondered if simply euthanizing them might have been kinder. There had already been three suicide attempts among the former Screamers. Priests of Aunt Seeress were trying to help, but the memory of ripping out a loved one¡¯s throat with your own teeth isn¡¯t easily suppressed. A familiar face came over towards Mina, and the sight of Alia managed to distract the Priestess from those grim thoughts. The City-warden was carrying two cups of herbal tea and offered one to Mina. Reluctantly sitting up, Mina took the cup and mumbled a thank you before imbibing the warm draught. Alia plopped down next to Mina on her cot, feline agility sparing the tea from any spilling. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Shrugging her shoulders, Mina blew on her tea and said. ¡°A little better, I think. I can use my magic, and breathing doesn¡¯t hurt anymore, just coughing. What about you?.¡± Leaning so their shoulders touched, Alia said. ¡°Half my body hurts, and the other half thinks it should hurt.¡± Snorting in bleak amusement, Mina savored the drink. ¡°This is good; where did you get it?¡± Bobbing her head to the left, Alia explained. ¡°It''s supposed to be a mild healing potion. They¡¯ve got a big cauldron of it out in the main clinic.¡± Mina narrowed her eyes and asked her girlfriend, ¡°Aren¡¯t we still confined to the recovery ward? At least until the Hierophants are certain, Isabelle didn¡¯t slip anything nasty into the cure?¡± Alia¡¯s mouth split in an impish grin. ¡°Yeah, but it''s nearly shift change, and the templars are so overworked I doubt they¡¯d notice a jagging Hippogryph walk by.¡± Staring into Alia¡¯s slitted pupils, Mina remarked. ¡°It''s concerning how good you are at things like that.¡± Sipping her tea, Alia just shrugged. ¡°There is a shocking amount of overlap in the skills of a criminal and warden. Like a poacher and Woods-warden, both know how to track.¡± Despite her laidback and crass attitude, there was no disputing the fact Alia Cat-eyes was excellent at her job. She took the bestial potency of a jungle cat and married it to calculating weapons craft. Despite dating for a little over three months and working together for a few years before then, Mina sometimes forgot this fact until Alia reminded her; like when the City-warden squared up against a Faerie and undead monster without a moment''s hesitation. Licking her lips nervously, Mina decided it was time to breach a topic she¡¯d been thinking about since waking up from her healing coma. ¡°Hey, Alia, I have something I want to ask you?¡± The Catblood frowned at her girlfriend, recognizing the serious tone in her voice. ¡°Are you breaking up with me or asking to move in with me? Cause, either way, I¡¯m going to need something stronger than this tea.¡± An undignified snort escaped Mina, and she barely avoided spilling her remaining drink down her front. ¡°No, no, nothing like that. Or¡­ well, not really like that.¡± Sucking in a breath, Mina said. ¡°When I was asleep, someone visited me in a dream. A¡­ mutual friend of Cole and myself.¡± Alia frowned, trying to understand what Mina meant, and then it clicked. ¡°I guess you¡¯ve gotten your boss''s attention then¡­¡± Somehow, giving words to what Mina experienced felt wrong; there was no way to translate the experience adequately. Saying ¡®God visited me in my dreams¡¯ sounded either insane or trite, so Mina defaulted to euphemisms. Alia would be the first person Mina shared her interaction with, and for good reason. Divine messages are rare; over-eager Priests mistaking dreams or flat-out lunatics embracing delusions are comparably common. Most Priests never receive a proper ¡®audience¡¯ like Mina did; instead, they experienced echoes of emotion and intent during their prayers. So, for Mina to speak with avatars of Master Time twice in a short span, this must be important. Bobbing her head in agreement, Mina elaborated. ¡°He said I¡¯m going to leave Vindabon for a while. My presence is required closer to the frontline, or at least not here. He also said I should bring anyone I think could help in my quest, and well¡­¡± Mina let the implication hang like a gibbet as Alia thought on this. ¡°What does he want you to do?¡± Before Mina could answer, the doors to the ward swung open, and a parade of stretchers entered the room. Ten more Screamers successfully cured and ready for recovery were deposited on empty cots and fussed over by a swarm of healers. At the end of this parade, an imperious woman with long black hair strode into the room, a scarred giant at her side. The woman snapped orders to the healers, relaying best practices and instructions in a South Atredian accent. As the new batch of healed Screamers were settled in, the woman shut her eyes and shifted posture. Her shoulders relaxed, she started breathing, and one hand rested lazily on a hip. This was maybe the fifth time Mina witnessed Natalie and her head-guest change places, and it wasn¡¯t any less disturbing than the first time. Isabelle moved and talked with the type of domineering authority Mina associated with competent, if controlling, leaders. All sharp movements and firm gestures compared to Natalie¡¯s more flowing body language. Gesturing with her now empty tea cup at her friends, Mina answered Alia¡¯s question. ¡°He wants me to keep an eye on them.¡± Watching as Natalie flopped against Cole in exhaustion, Alia said, ¡°This Isabelle bitch really has him worried, huh?¡± Mina nodded. ¡° Natalie is a good and trustworthy person, but she¡¯s much more powerful than you¡¯d imagine. If anyone other than her was hosting the Alukah, the whole continent would be in deep shit. So having Natalie share mind space with this Isabelle is really concerning. Isabelle is an old and incredibly intelligent Vampire with a Paladin wrapped around her finger. Not the type you want jagging with ancient nation-destroying powers. ¡± Sighing, Mina frowned and looked at your girlfriend. ¡°You need to stop swearing so much; it''s rubbing off on me.¡± Alia smirked, clearly thinking up some entendre relating to rubbing, but Mina¡¯s clammy hand on hers stopped that chain of thought. Looking into her partner¡¯s feline eyes, Mina said. ¡°I understand if I¡¯m asking too much, but having you with me during this would mean a lot to me.¡± The immature smile growing on Alia¡¯s face died, and she interlaced fingers with Mina. ¡°Of course. You need me, so I¡¯ll be there.¡± Gently, Mina leaned forward, set her forehead against Alia¡¯s, and said, ¡°Thank you.¡± Alia shrugged and remarked. ¡°It might be good to get out of the city; things will be jagged up here for months. Besides, I need to get Cole alone and ask him how he did it.¡± Mina pulled back slightly, frowning, trying to figure out what Alia meant. When realization struck, the Priestess let out a low groan as Alia elaborated. ¡°I mean, he¡¯s a literal Paladin of Master Time, and he¡¯s managed to bag not one but two different Vampires. Then, as if that wasn¡¯t ridiculous enough, he¡¯s got them not just to share him but share a body! Do you think he¡¯s just an Incubus in the sack, or is there something else at work?¡± Letting out a groan, Mina said. ¡°You are incredible, and I think I love you, but you are also terrible, and I think I hate you.¡± Cackling, Alia got off the cot and helped her girlfriend up. Moving in closer, Mina whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t say anything to them yet; I want to get a better idea of things before bringing this up.¡± Nodding, the City warden took the Priestess¡¯s hand, and the two walked towards Cole and Natalie. Upon seeing them, Natalie brightened. ¡°How are you both feeling?¡± Alia shrugged. ¡°Like I had the plague until someone ripped it out of me.¡± Natalie¡¯s smile faltered slightly; there was still some awkwardness between them since the fight with Isabelle. If Cole noticed this, he didn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°We were just coming to speak with you, Mina; Morri is awake and requested you alongside us.¡± Eyes wide, Mina swallowed nervously. Her mentor¡¯s mysterious disappearance and collaboration with the Lych was something she still couldn¡¯t wrap her mind around. She¡¯d missed a lot thanks to nearly dying of the plague, and events around Morri were a great example of that. ¡°We should go to him then. How is he doing?¡± Cole grimaced, an expression that stretched his scarred face into an even more unsettling configuration. ¡°I don¡¯t know much, just that Hedwig seems relieved he¡¯s awake.¡± The group departed the recovery ward, Cole and Natalie¡¯s presence being enough to let Mina and Alia break the shoddy quarantine around the ward. As they walked, Natalie talked about how she and Isabelle were switching fairly regularly so the older Vampire could oversee the creation and distribution of the cure. The Temple was starting to lay the groundwork for mass production of the two serums, but caution over potential side effects and sabotage was slowing matters. The topic of treatments and medication eventually turned into complaints about the city¡¯s preferred cleansing mixtures. Natalie and Alia started bonding over shared annoyance, their enhanced senses of finding the acrid cleaning chemicals horrible. As they talked, Mina silently watched Cole. Unlike everyone else cured of the plague, he seemed perfectly fine, showing no after-effects of a brutal illness. When he was sick, Mina saw him sprawled out on his cot, creeping closer and closer to Master Time¡¯s halls, but now he was apparently in perfect health. While she¡¯d never admit it to anyone, part of Mina feared the Paladin. Huge, horribly scarred, and clearly entwined with dark powers, his presence always put Mina on edge. Of course, in every interaction they¡¯d shared, he¡¯d been surprisingly kind and polite, except when he acted under his mantle and then inspired something close to holy fervor in Mina. But ever since the disastrous solstice ball, Mina couldn¡¯t help but wonder what the tattered warrior was hiding. This would be the second time she¡¯d seen him bounce back from mortal injuries, and she knew Cole was keeping something secret. Still, Mina found some comfort in knowing if Master Time chose Cole as his champion, so his secret couldn¡¯t be too horrible. To Mina¡¯s surprise, Cole didn¡¯t guide the group towards the fane or Morri¡¯s quarters as she expected. Instead, the Paladin took them to the Temple¡¯s main doors and into the statue garden surrounding the structure. Cole moved slowly, accommodating the sedate pace plague recovery forced Mina and Alia to take so the group had time to enjoy the collection of sculptures. Twelve great hour statues circled much of the Temple, but over a hundred smaller works filled the space between them. Many were salvaged from damaged burial sites and given new purposes and better care. (After a proactive exorcism and cleansing, of course) But others were donations to the Temple or even the work of its Priests. Stone carving was a common hobby among Priests of Master Time, a side-effect of their work with tombs and tombstones. Reaching one of the hour statues, a granite sage in flowing robes marking six-in-the-evening, Mina noticed two people sitting on the bench beside the statue. They were both old men with stooped postures and weary shoulders, but Mina recognized one of them. For the first time since Mina met the old Restbringer, Morri looked his age. Withered and gaunt, the Hierophant let his hands rest on a cane standing between his legs. Mina winced when she noticed his fingertips were black with necrosis. Hierophant Morri was sick with the plague and horribly so. Stepping forward towards her mentor, Mina was stopped by a cold, hard grip on her shoulder. Looking at Cole and seeing his other hand resting on his axe, Mina felt a spike of concern grow in her; she wasn¡¯t in any position to fight whatever threat the Paladin noticed. Maybe three meters away from the men on the bench, Cole spoke firmly. ¡°I understand why this is where you requested the meeting; is it safe for us to be here, Morri?¡± The other old man, a somber-faced Magi with a long beard and robes, let out a rolling laugh. ¡°I mean, you no harm, Paladin. Besides, I might not look it, but I¡¯m in a similar state to the Hierophant.¡± Mina¡¯s blood ran cold; she knew that voice even though the body it came from was different. On hearing the words spoken, Mina was reminded of Morri¡¯s lessons about accents and one in particular: old imperial. Nothing human or still human spoke the ancient tongue as their first language; its accent was a clear sign of something old and terrible, like the Lych of Vindabon. Eyes locked on the undead monster, Cole growled. ¡°Respectfully, the question was meant for the Hierophant.¡± Morri nodded his head. ¡°You are safe; Leonid is here as an ally and has no interest in Natalie or Isabelle.¡± This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Cole visibly relaxed, and Natalie spasmed slightly. Nodding in her direction, Leonid Lupa, the First Preceptor of the Ivory Tower, said. ¡°I can see young Isabelle has managed to avoid true death yet again. I was saddened to hear of her fate, and it pleases me to know she persists. But I must play the stern schoolmaster and insist she¡¯d not have met such a curious fate if she took my original offer.¡± Natalie¡¯s expression cycled through expressions too quickly for any of them to be identified. Eventually, she carefully chose her words, probably translating her head-mate¡¯s dialogue into something more diplomatic. ¡°She thanks you for your kind words but speaks¡­ poorly of the cost you lay on your students.¡± The Lych made a noise of exasperation. ¡°Not every prodigy can be trusted to use their talent wisely, as demonstrated by the crisis befalling my city.¡± Morri cleared his throat, making a phlegm-filled noise that got everyone''s attention. ¡°Let''s refocus on the matter at hand. Natalie, did you bring an example of Isabelle¡¯s cure?¡± Nodding, Natalie produced two vials and handed them to the Lych, careful not to touch him as she did. Offering a polite smile, the Lych uncorked both vials and said. ¡°As for you, heir to the Alukah, we must talk sometime. But my current antithesis is right; my city needs our attention.¡± The Lych flipped both vials over and dumped them into the air; instead of splattering on the ground, the contents swirled through the air. Mina watched as the two cures took strange occult shapes, their fluid shaped into floating runes. Setting the vials down, the Lych let his fingers trace along the liquid sigils. A strange sense of pressure pulled on Mina as if the Lych possessed his own gravity, not enough to move her, but enough to be felt. This was a common side-effect of powerful magic, the Aether, and, by extension, reality shifting in response to mighty spells. The two fluid runes melted into floating streams and flowed down into the empty vials and filled them. Picking both cures up, the Lych smiled with almost paternalistic joy. ¡°This is good, very good. I don¡¯t know how you acquired plague immune blood so quickly, but using it was inspired. Separating the two halves of the plague and attacking them independently is clever but unduly complicated. With a little refining, the formula could be boiled down into a simpler combined Bane, but considering the deadline, this is perfectly acceptable.¡± Natalie kept her face very still and said. ¡°Thank you?¡± Looking to Morri, the Lych added. ¡°It¡¯s safe and potent; we can continue with the next step.¡± Shutting his eyes, Morri took a shaking hand and reached into his robes, removing a rune-marked reliquary. Holding up the ornately gilded and lovingly inscribed box, Morri rasped. ¡°Mina, come here, please.¡± Mina complied, looking down at the box; she felt a strange prickling on her skin, a curious sensation she almost didn¡¯t recognize. Stargent, the rare metal found in meteorites, can interfere with magic, masking, shielding, or crippling people and spells. But like any barrier, stargent isn¡¯t perfect, and extreme power can bleed through insufficient amounts of the metal. The buzzing, prickling sensation playing on Mina¡¯s skin was how the mortal mind interpreted magic ¡®leaking¡¯ through a stargent barrier. Whatever was in this reliquary was powerful, worryingly so. Running a hand along the top of the reliquary, Morri said. ¡°My magnum opus, and Gods willing, what saves this land. Inside this box is a Sage¡¯s Stone.¡± After a few seconds of dead silence, Alia asked. ¡°A what?¡± All eyes turned to her and the City-warden for once her life seemed sheepish. The Lych smiled at her. ¡°All around us is the Aether, the atmosphere of magic that reflects and affects the world. The Aether can be diluted, concentrated, corrupted, and purified like any substance.¡± Gesturing at the reliquary, the Lych continued. ¡°Inside that little container is Aether concentrated and attuned so thoroughly it gains a physical presence and remarkable properties. It is magic given physical form, if you will.¡± In a hoarse voice filled with shock, Cole whispered the common name for such an object. ¡°A Philosopher¡¯s Stone.¡± The Lych smiled like a pleased tutor, ¡°Yes and no. A simple Philosopher¡¯s Stone relies on pure Aetheric concentration to create an arcane singularity. A Sage¡¯s Stone requires not just concentration but consecration. The Aether focused into making the stone must be purified and attuned by a Priest.¡± Mina understood then where Morri disappeared to and why the Lych was involved. ¡°You worked together to make this,¡± Morri grunted. ¡°He was the forge fire and anvil; I was the smith and the hammer.¡± Comprehension bloomed in part for Mina; she¡¯d heard of what a Philosopher¡¯s Stone could do but didn¡¯t understand how that was relevant. ¡°What will the stone transmutate?¡± Leonid Lupa stroked his long, silvery beard as he replied. ¡°Nothing, it doesn¡¯t transmute, it transubstantiates. A Philosopher''s Stone changes the form and configuration of matter; a Sage¡¯s Stone gives matter the magical properties of another substance.¡± Natalie spoke then, her voice low and guarded. ¡°Isabelle says a Sage¡¯s Stone is impossible. She¡¯s ranting about different alchemical laws and warning me you are lying.¡± The Lych¡¯s face, or at least the face he wore today, wrinkled in an amused smile. ¡°Isabelle was never good at playing with others. The magic required to create a Sage¡¯s Stone is not something we Undead can grasp without aid. Besides, of all of us, Isabelle has the least merit to claim something is impossible.¡± Cole tensed, a white-knuckled grip on his axe. Mina knew enough about politics and people to guess some sub-rosa meaning was being exchanged. In a clear attempt to cool matters, Natalie said. ¡°If I¡¯m following along, you want to use the Sage¡¯s Stone to mass produce the cure?¡± Morri leaped at the opportunity. ¡°Yes, we should be able to turn any mundane liquid into more of the cure.¡± Natalie actually smiled. ¡°Perfect! Do you need more of the cure? It shouldn¡¯t take Isabelle too long to make a larger batch!¡± Instead of answering, Morri gently handed the reliquary to Mina, and the buzzing sensation became almost painful. ¡°Hold it and let Natalie touch it as well.¡± Confused but obedient, Mina complied. She held one side of the box, and Natalie held the other, wincing at the strange sensation it provoked. Morri and the Lych both reached out to the reliquary¡¯s lid. When all four touched the box, a jolt of power snapped through Mina. It was a physical shock, like a huge static discharge coursing through every nerve. By some (perhaps literal) miracle, Mina didn¡¯t drop the reliquary. Looking at Natalie, Mina saw the vampire looked as frazzled as she felt. Ignoring the metallic taste coating her tongue, Mina asked. ¡°What was that?¡± The Lych removed his hands and said. ¡°The magical protections of the reliquary will recognize you both as its keeper. You must both desire its contents, by your own free will, to help others to open it.¡± Natalie and Mina exchanged confused looks, and the vampire spoke their shared thoughts. ¡°Okay, you told us what, now tell us why?¡± Morri explained. ¡°Because knowledge of the cure and the power to create more of it needs to reach Prince Franz before the being defending his army falters.¡± Pointing at Mina, Morri elaborated. ¡°The stone cannot fall into incompetent or malicious hands; to ensure this, Leonid and I have ensorcelled the reliquary in a highly specific way. Only a Priest and Undead recognized by the reliquary and united in consenting purpose can use the stone. With your skills and a Paladin to guard you, the stone should fulfill its purpose unmolested by zealots or monsters.¡± Frowning, Natalie pointed out the obvious. ¡°Why leave Vindabon? Even ignoring all the people we¡¯d be condemning by not staying with the stone here, the city would be the best place to produce and distribute the cure.¡± The Lych of Vindabon nodded his head in agreement. ¡°I concur, which is why Morri and I made two of them.¡± Nonchalantly, the Lych reached into his robes and pulled out a thumbnail-sized gemstone. Perfectly smooth, white in color with a bluish sheen, the Sage¡¯s Stone pulled all eyes and refused to let them go. Despite sitting snuggly in Leonid¡¯s palm, the rock was incredibly heavy, not physically, but magically. The very air distorted in its presence, giving the stone a faint halo of not-quite-real colors. Cole was the first to recover from the stone¡¯s presence, and he growled. ¡°I don¡¯t see why Natalie or Mina have to be the ones to take the stone. Placing the Alukah that close to the Duchies is unduly risky.¡± Hands back on his new cane, Morri hesitated before speaking. ¡°Sage Stones are temperamental things; all that magical power packed into a tight space is literally explosive. Leonid and I were limited in the defenses we could put around the stone. If we wanted to keep it safe, we could only attune the stone to ourselves or people similar to us.¡± Natalie reached towards her throat and rubbed the hidden stigma there. ¡°And I¡¯m the only Undead you can trust to have one of the keys.¡± frowning, she asked. ¡°Why can¡¯t the Lyc- I mean the First Preceptor do it?¡± The Lych gestured at himself. ¡°Because if I were to approach the frontlines, it would be a sign of total war, and your distant cousins would do something rash in response.¡± Mina wanted to ask what in the jagged hells the Lych considered ¡®rash¡¯ compared to unleashing a plague on the Holy League. Instead, she asked Morri. ¡°Is there a reason I¡¯m going in your stead? I can understand that being your student helps me attune to the stone, but why aren¡¯t you just going yourself?¡± The Hierophant smiled sadly and held up his fingers. ¡°My condition would make travel difficult.¡± Glancing at the necrotic tips of her mentor¡¯s hand, Mina started to say. ¡°With the cure and some proper treatment, I¡¯m sure you-¡± This close, Mina actually got a proper look at the blackened digits and felt her heart miss several beats. Morri¡¯s fingers weren¡¯t black with dead blood and rotting flesh; they were the shiny, smooth obsidian of an Anchorite. ¡°N-no.¡± The moment the words left Mina¡¯s mouth, she felt like an idiot. She was a Priest of Death himself; denial and the other stages of grief were beneath her. Sucking in a breath, she tried again. ¡°How long do you have?¡± Morri shrugged. ¡°Months? Maybe a year if I¡¯m miserly with my power. But that doesn¡¯t really matter; what does is the responsibility I¡¯m putting on your shoulders. I¡¯d prefer to carry this burden myself, but I cannot, so it falls to you, my prodigy. Mina, this won¡¯t be easy, the portents are fell, but it must be done, and you are the only one I trust to finish this.¡± Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Mina said. ¡°I will do it.¡± Cole came forward then and took a knee before Morri and Mina. ¡°I will offer my steel to this task, not just for Natalie¡¯s sake, but yours as well.¡± Glancing at the Paladin, Mina felt several emotions curdle in her. It almost seemed like Cole was a stranger intruding on the moment between her and Morri, but rationally, she knew he was also a student of the Hierophant. Aside from that nugget of anger, Mina still felt guarded around Cole; the abnormalities around him raised her hackles. But despite that, she knew Cole would fight and die to protect anyone he was oath-sworn to, and Master Time pretty much ordered her to keep an eye on him. ¡°I accept.¡± then, turning to Alia, Mina asked. ¡°You still coming?¡± Inflating her cheeks and blowing out a long breath, Alia said. ¡°Iron-teeth is gonna be pissed, and I will need new knives, but what the hell? Maybe the two of us will join Cole on the triumph arch next year?¡± Cole visibly winced at Alia¡¯s words and then asked. ¡°I¡¯m still concerned about Natalie being so close to the Duchies. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the Alukah is the entire reason this war has grown into the beast it is. Putting the enemy''s goal so close to them feels¡­ ill-advised.¡± Morri wrapped his fingers around his cane, the obsidian tips clattering against the metal. ¡°That¡¯s very true, but there are a few other factors. Many of the worst defeats we¡¯ve faced have been because of Daywalkers tipping the balance. Natalie is our best option to detect and eliminate Vampires using the Alukah¡¯s blood. Also, let''s not forget wherever she goes, a Paladin follows. Having the two of you working together at the front might be enough to salvage this ugly conflict and push back the Duchies.¡± Natalie finally spoke up then. ¡°Do I get a choice in this matter?¡± Without tact, the Lych replied. ¡°Depend on how sturdy your conscience is. With the stone in the city, the plague will be stopped, but we will probably lose the southern army and Marches in their near entirety.¡± Rolling her eyes, Natalie bit back. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant. If I can help turn the tide or, hells, just save some people, then I will. The leeches need to be stopped, and if that means risking myself, then I¡¯ll do it. Besides, I¡¯m not exactly the scared village girl who couldn¡¯t control her thirst like I was six months ago. I want to go, so there is no need for this debate.¡± Cole nodded his head and shut his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s the next step?¡± Morri looked at the Sage stone held in Leonid¡¯s hand. ¡°Well, we should probably check to ensure the stone works before making other plans.¡±
Natalie watched as Cole helped a pair of beleaguered workmen haul a massive cauldron onto the ritual circle prepared for it. The two laborers were stunned when Cole offered his assistance but gladly took the aid, moving the steel vat. Requisitioned from an Ivory Tower alchemist lab and now delivered to the Temple plaza, the cauldron would hold the first batch of transubstantiated cure. Nearby, other workers were delivering fruit juice barrels; apparently, wine worked better for these rituals, but there was some justifiable concern about an intoxicating cure. Because as Natalie was learning, the Sage¡¯s Stone didn¡¯t change the physical properties of a substance but only its magical and metaphysical ones. With the cauldron finally in place, Cole quickly went to help the barrel movers. Natalie pursed her lips as Cole tried to distract himself with simple tasks. He was clearly worried about heading towards the frontlines, and she couldn¡¯t blame him. Escaping the Duchies hadn¡¯t been easy, and now events were conspiring to put the pair of them dangerously close to the leech lands. Of course, they¡¯d both known this was coming, but ominous warnings about distant threats were a different species from an immediate dangerous task. ¡°You know, this will be the second time I¡¯ve spoken with an Alukah. And I must say, you are proving far better company than Lilu ever was.¡± Natalie just about jumped out of her skin upon hearing the Lych¡¯s voice next to her. Whirling about, she found Leonid Lupa standing to her right, about a meter away. Smiling at her like a teacher observing an amusing student, the Lych said. ¡°We¡¯ve never been properly introduced. I am First Preceptor Leonid Lupa, and meeting you, Natalie Striga, is interesting.¡± Her racing mind slowed enough to actually comprehend what the Lych just said, and Natalie asked. ¡°You¡¯ve met the second Alukah?¡± Leonid nodded. ¡°Yes, I think it was what¡­ maybe four centuries ago? She showed up in Vindabon seeking a consultation on certain occult matters. We traded a few secrets, and she went on her way. Fascinating women, utterly terrifying but still fascinating.¡± Trying to digest this information, Natalie asked. ¡°I assume asking what she wanted your help with would be pointless?¡± The Lych smiled. ¡°Give it a century or two, and you might have information or favors worth the trade; but until then, enjoy that little mystery niggling at the back of your mind.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Natalie said. ¡°You speak like a God, and I don¡¯t mean that as a compliment.¡± An actual laugh burst forth from the Lych. ¡°So impertitant! Most people with wits walk on eggshells when my very name is mentioned. Which leads us to the question, are you stunningly brave or blindingly foolish?¡± Sighing to herself, Natalie answered. ¡°Both, but more importantly, I¡¯m tired, stressed, and can¡¯t find the mental energy to be scared of another monster at the moment.¡± The first barrel of grape juice was emptied into the cauldron, then with a huge splash. As the second barrel was opened, the Lych said. ¡°Fair enough, now shall we see if Morri¡¯s sacrifice is in vain?¡± Rubbing her face, Natalie nodded and started walking towards the cauldron. She¡¯d let Isabelle ride along during their meeting with the Lych and was very much regretting it. The pair spent the past few days switching and sharing control more than ever before, and not without consequences. A throbbing headache and phantom sensations were accosting Natalie, symptoms that reached a terrible peak while meeting Leonid. Isabelle¡¯s stress was so great, and her thoughts so intense it violently bled into Natalie¡¯s mind. True to the Lych¡¯s words, Isabelle didn¡¯t play well with others, and being confronted by a superior colleague while trammeled was not pleasant for either her or Natalie. Something that only got worse when the Lych alluded to knowing about Cole or at least things related to him. Natalie wasn¡¯t used to Isabelle panicking and spent a lot of psychic focus trying to soothe and eventually ignore her mentor. As worn out as she was, Natalie didn¡¯t have the will to be stressed; besides, if the Lych held ill intent, he would have already acted. With those tiring thoughts, Natalie watched as the Lych produced the Sage¡¯s Stone and one of the cure vials. Judging by the marked cork, this vial was the Faerie bane, which made sense to Natalie. The Sage¡¯s Stone could only attune to a single substance at a time, and there were fewer Screamers than simple infected in the city. Hopefully, it would only take a few batches of transubstantiated cure to treat all the Faerie-cursed. Uncorking the vial, Leonid Lupa telekinetically plucked a single drop of the cure and placed it on the Sage stone. As bane and stone made contact, the Lych muttered a word of power, and the droplet melded into the magical gem. Holding up the Sage stone, the Lych dropped it into the juice-filled cauldron with another arcane word. The cauldron started to vibrate, humming with an oddly melodic tune for a few seconds. Once the vibration stopped, the Lych scooped up a handful of the liquid with his mind. The sphere of shining grape juice formed into an occult shape and then was dropped back into the main body of liquid. Turning away from the great cauldron, the Lych smiled. ¡°It¡¯s perfect. Now, let''s finish saving my city.¡± Book III: Chapter 17: Plan of Action

(Stuff is reaching a point where a world map is kinda needed. Enjoy my WIP version, I''ll add it to the world encyclopedia for easier access as well. Inkarnate is the tool used btw)

Chapter 17: Plan of Action

¡°Animals have magic; they just ain¡¯t bright enough to use it right. That''s what Dire beasts are: animals with a bit more magic than normal. A person can use that power to cast spells and similar, but an animal can¡¯t do much more than wish to be bigger and stronger. The one thing animals have over people is better magical senses, least compared to a normal person. So word of advice, if you suspect bad magic and your steed is skittish, pay attention to em.¡± - Grettir of Jokulstead, Monster Hunter, and Werewolf.
Cole threw one of his knives at the practice pell and watched it sink into the leather-coated wood with a resounding thunk. Yanking his hand back, he focused on the geode bound to his wrist, activating its enchantment. The knife detached from the pell and shot towards him fast enough to make Cole duck. As the throwing dagger clattered onto the sparring room floor, Cole had to admit Rellim knew his magecraft. Carefully moving his left hand, Cole telekinetically dragged the knife towards him, resting the blade at his feet. With a thought, he unbound the knife from the enchantment and reached down to pick it up. Examining the now slightly blunted weapon, Cole reignited the spell woven into the quartz artifact and threw the knife again. This time, when he yanked his arm back, he did so with less force, the knife returned to him at a manageable speed, and he caught it. Dropping the knife onto the ground, Cole slowly lifted his hand, feeling the phantom weight as the dagger wobbled into the air. Slowly, deliberately, Cole worked to keep the knife floating. Once he had the blade consistently hovering about chest height, he lurched his arm towards the practice pell and watched the knife hurtle in that direction. Unfortunately, Cole¡¯s aim was off, and it missed; fortunately, he was alone in the practice yard, and the stray knife harmed only the stone pillar it bounced off. Grimacing, Cole worked his hand in such a way as to drag the knife back towards him. The quartz runestone Cole received from Rellim was an impressive bit of enchantment; it let him telekinetically control the last object he held by moving the hand he touched it with. After nearly two hours of experimentation, Cole was reasonably confident he understood the spell¡¯s mechanics. It felt like an adjustable rope attached him to the knife, and whenever he moved his hand, the blade responded, being pulled or pushed by Cole¡¯s movements. Of course, the enchantment wasn¡¯t just powered by blood; moving the linked object required slightly more physical exertion than moving it normally would. The cost seemed to increase the farther the object was from Cole, but with his unnatural strength, he barely noticed. Thinking on that, Cole decided to try something he¡¯d considered but been unwilling to attempt. Carefully, he moved the knife, so it was maybe two meters from the practice pell and hovering at waist height. Once the blade was suitably positioned, Cole muttered. ¡°Here goes nothing,¡± and thrust his hand forward with all his strength. A shockingly loud crack of splitting wood echoed through the Tenth Temple sparring hall, and Cole looked at his handiwork with shock. The knife went clean through the practice pell and out the other side, sundering the training dummy before lodging itself a centimeter deep in the stone wall. Carefully snuffing the enchantment, Cole looked down at his arm and tested his muscles; they felt a little stressed, like he¡¯d chopped through a particularly sturdy spine, but nothing was damaged. Looking up at the now ruined knife protruding from the wall, Cole muttered to himself. ¡°This has potential.¡± Recovering the knife, Cole winced at the torment he¡¯d put the poor blade through; he¡¯d need to apologize with a whetstone later. Putting the knife into his bandolier, Cole rolled his shoulders and sighed. Two days had come and gone since the meeting with the Lych, and with the cure complete, production and distribution of the two Banes fell to the Temples. From what Cole witnessed, the city was doing a good job of it, requisitioning every drop of juice and wine for this purpose. Isabelle¡¯s formula was now widely known, and thankfully, it could be made with any Vampire¡¯s venom. Apparently, Pryia, the Vampire madam, was extracting all manner of tax concessions from the city in exchange for buckets of her Sting. Unfortunately, The other Bane, made with Cole¡¯s blood, was proving to be slightly trickier. It still worked when made with a cured or immunized person¡¯s blood, but not quite as well compared to when Cole was the chief ingredient. So, the few vials of ¡®prime¡¯ cure Isabelle prepared were saved for transubstantiation. In these two days, Cole¡¯s ¡®inner circle¡¯ of Natalie, Isabelle, Alia, Mina, and, oddly enough, Yara were busy preparing to leave Vindabon. As much as Cole didn¡¯t like it, he knew heading towards the frontlines was necessary. Even if everything with Natalie and the Sage¡¯s Stone hadn¡¯t happened, he¡¯d still need to go; the cold throb in his chest pulling him southeast said as much. This was the first time he¡¯d felt the god-touch since winter, and Cole wondered if Natalie¡¯s joke about Master Time ¡®giving him a vacation¡¯ was true. Checking his kit, Cole stewed in his concerns. Reclaiming the Alukah was almost certainly one of the Duchies¡¯s goals, and putting Natalie so close to the enemy¡¯s grasp seemed extremely risky. If it were up to Cole, he¡¯d just go himself and do what needed to be done, but that wasn¡¯t an option. Forces were pushing both him and Natalie toward the Southern Marches, forces Cole couldn¡¯t easily countermand. Even if Cole found another option to move the Sage stone to Prince Franz and Master Time were to send another Paladin, he¡¯d need to contend with Natalie¡¯s will. The idea of using her powers to help people and fight the Duchies was becoming core to Natalie¡¯s identity and purpose. Cole could do a lot, but he couldn¡¯t protect Natalie from her allies or herself. So, it was time to discard his worries, pick up his steel, and get to work. Adjusting his traveling leathers, Cole left the sparring yard and headed towards the apartment. Even with his new armor and equipment, Cole traveled light; packing for the trip hadn¡¯t taken much time. The same couldn¡¯t be said of anyone else he was traveling with. Even Yara managed to take more time to prepare than Cole, which, to be fair, was mainly because Natalie took the thrall shopping for proper clothes and equipment. Natalie and Isabelle both agreed to bring Yara with them out of necessity. She couldn¡¯t be left in Vindabon, or more accurately, wouldn¡¯t let herself be left in Vindabon. Yara was willing to flee the city and chase after Natalie through dangerous wilderness and hostile country. Instead of trying to bribe Pryia into looking after the Sting-addict, Natalie decided bringing her was less of a hassle. Stepping into the apartment, Cole found Natalie putting the finishing touches on the two traveling trunks she¡¯d been preparing. Cole¡¯s pack and armor trunk sat next to the door, and atop them was the case containing Isabelle¡¯s skull. The box was now adorned in runes and shut by a hexed padlock, Isabelle¡¯s personal improvements to her defense. According to Natalie, the past few days were shockingly draining on Isabelle. Even with Natalie¡¯s loaned body, she¡¯d overtaxed herself, so now the former Countess slumbered. Cole approached Natalie and wrapped his arms around her, gently pulling her towards his chest. Natalie leaned back into Cole and looked up at him. ¡°I¡¯m just about done. How are you feeling, love?¡± Holding her close, Cole said. ¡°Stressed and worried, but that¡¯s about normal.¡± Natalie sighed. ¡°How can I help you feel better? I know me going is what has you nervous.¡± Exhaling slowly, Cole dredged up an old memory. ¡°Do you remember what I told you when I hunted the Walking Charnel of Lungu?¡± Frowning, Natalie searched her memory. ¡°If things went wrong, I should run and leave you?¡± Cole confirmed her recollection with a nod, and Natalie¡¯s frown intensified. ¡°No, I¡¯m not going to leave you to the Duchies. It was pure luck you escaped them last time, and you still wake up screaming because of what they did to you.¡± Despite himself, Cole shivered at Natalie¡¯s words, and her expression softened at his discomfort. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t want to poke those wounds, but I¡¯m not letting you plan to martyr yourself.¡± Resting his forehead on Natalie, Cole explained his reasoning. ¡°I¡¯m not planning to martyr myself; I¡¯m trying to minimize damage. If the Duchies capture you, they will most likely kill you to extract the Alukah, Otherwise, they will bind you away to replace Annoch as a blood source, or at worst, they could break your mind, ripping your humanity and empathy from you.¡± Natalie¡¯s face contorted like she wanted to be sick, and Cole felt his heart ache, but he needed to be honest with her. ¡°If they capture me, I will be experimented on and tortured. Given time, they will break me, but it wouldn¡¯t be the first time. But no matter what they do, I can be eventually rescued; that isn¡¯t guaranteed with you. I¡¯m not planning to sacrifice myself, but if it comes down to it, I can survive in a way you can¡¯t. ¡± Cole could see Natalie¡¯s mind chewing on this, hating the taste but unable to reject it. Reaching up to touch his cheek, Natalie said. ¡°Okay, if things become that bad, I promise I¡¯ll follow your wishes.¡± Some steel crept into Natalie¡¯s voice as she continued. ¡°But know this: if the worst comes to pass, nothing will stop me from rescuing you I¡¯m growing stronger every day, and even if it takes me a century and the deaths of every fucking Vampire in the Duchies, I will save you!¡± A lump formed in Cole¡¯s throat, and his heart actually skipped a beat. ¡°Thank you.¡± Natalie frowned up at him, head cocked to one side. ¡°Are you okay?¡± An amused snort escaped Cole. ¡°I¡¯m not used to being the one offered declarations of protection and safety.¡± Scratching his cheek and the long scar there, Cole elaborated. ¡°When I was in the larder, knowing nobody was coming for me was the worst part. There was no hope, no possibility of escape, just¡­ just an infinity of pain. So¡­ thank you, your words mean a lot.¡± Smiling up at him, Natalie said. ¡°You¡¯d do the same for me, Hells you already did back in Glockmire. Besides, isn¡¯t that what a relationship should be? Both of us willing to slaughter our way through an army of monsters for the other?¡± That got an actual laugh from Cole, and he bent down to kiss Natalie. As they broke the kiss, Natalie turned back to her packing. ¡°Gimme like five minutes, and we can head out. How am I doing on time?¡± Thinking about the last bells he¡¯d heard and trying to do a mental estimation, Cole shrugged. ¡°We should make it to the meeting without issue.¡± True to her estimation, Natalie was fully packed, and the pair were headed for the conference in the Temple¡¯s sky garden. Much to Cole''s chagrin, a quartet of Temple workers met Cole and Natalie outside their apartment and loaded their luggage onto a wheeled cart. He didn¡¯t like being waited on, especially by people who looked at him with undisguised awe as the workers did. It reminded him too much of the slavish, false loyalty the Vampires often burned into their servants. Natalie, for her part, was enjoying people not shying away from her; word of her aid in curing the plague seemed to have finally tipped public opinion in her favor. After a few minutes of walking, they reached the sky garden and approached the rotunda. They weren¡¯t the first to arrive; Mina, Alia, Glynn, and Morri stood at the rotunda¡¯s edge. In front of them, speaking animatedly, was Pankrator Marcus of the Eleventh Temple. Dressed in an arming doublet with a war sword at his side, the Hierophant of Misbegotten War happily explained his favored tactics for fighting the Undead. ¡°I¡¯ve always liked the ¡®sword and board¡¯ as the youths call it these days. A sturdy blade for cutting flesh and a shield to make space in a horde. Of course, a mace or warhammer will also work, but Ghouls have the nastiest habit of ignoring broken bones. I know this is not news to you, Morri, or your protege, but our City-warden friend here will need to learn daggers, and crossbows won¡¯t cut it against the walking dead.¡± The sound of Cole¡¯s boots caught Marcus¡¯s attention, and spun to see him and Natalie approaching. ¡°Ah! The Wyvern-slayer and the honorable Vampire, you are late but not the latest!¡± Cole glanced around the rotunda, ¡°Pankrator Marcus, good to see you. We are missing Argentari, and who else?¡± The sturdy warrior-priest scratched his beard and said. ¡°Aside from the rotund spy? Sir Ibram Falx, one of House Franz¡¯s Marshals. Arkweath Cantus, patriarch of the Cantus merchant family. Hierophant Dala of the Eighth Temple and someone from the Ivory Tower representing the Lych.¡± Frowning at that, Cole muttered. ¡°An eclectic selection, with lots of powerful groups represented. Any idea what Argentari is planning?¡± Marcus smiled, showing broad tombstone teeth. ¡°I have no idea; only that if Argentari called on me, then fighting is involved.¡± Over the next ten minutes or so, the rest of the assembly arrived. Ibram Falx, with his drooping mustaches, exchanged warrior greetings with Marcus and Cole. Hierophant Dala, a willowy old woman layered in shawls, asked Natalie about the cure¡¯s creation. Arkweath Cantus arrived by hippogryph, dismounting the beast and loudly complaining about Argentari¡¯s tardiness, personality, hygiene, and fashion choices. Just when Cole thought he might need to rescue Natalie from Dala¡¯s interrogation, Argentari finally arrived carrying a pile of scrolls. ¡°I must apologize for being late, especially since I called this meeting. But there were complications from the Ivory Tower and my own order.¡± Striding past the group and into the rotunda proper, Argentari tapped his foot against a stone and whispered a word of power. The slightly elevated speaker¡¯s podium extended upward into a serviceable table. Laying his scrolls on the table, Argentari grabbed a particularly large one and started unrolling it, revealing a detailed map of the Southern Marches. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Once the map was set up, Argentari nodded to himself and spoke. ¡°I will not mince words; we have a method to produce the cure in huge quantities quickly. This method requires an object of utmost value and potency called a Sage stone. Of the two stones we possess, one needs to be transported to Prince Franz and his army. As a further complication, the object can only be moved by our resident Vampire, working with Priestess Mina Vrock of the Tenth Temple.¡± All eyes fell upon Natalie and Mina as Argentari continued speaking. ¡°Then, if this wasn¡¯t tricky enough, Vindabon has a spy problem. At least three high-ranking nobles are compromised either materially or magically. Unfortunately, the most likely candidate for our spy is so well-placed that we cannot hide these events from her. Knowledge of the Sage stone and its properties has spread among the city¡¯s elite, and that''s a feline we can¡¯t get back in the bag. So to ensure the stone isn¡¯t intercepted or delayed, some trickery is in order.¡± Gesturing to Arkweath Cantus, the Quicksilver Player started to explain his plan. ¡°Your family is currently preparing a large convoy to take supplies to the Prince¡¯s army. I¡¯m dragging you from your last-minute preparations because I want to add to your cargo.¡± Arkweath sighed and scratched his stubble. ¡°Fuck you Argentari. What do I need to do?¡± The Hierophant¡¯s lip quivered in a smile. ¡°You will be transporting as many barrels of the cure as possible while under the protection of the Eleventh Temple and House Franz. The Sage¡¯s Stone and its carriers will also be on your barges¡¯ manifests but not actually present.¡± The merchant produced some impressively foul oaths. ¡°You want my house and its employees to be your distraction?¡± Argentari nodded. ¡°Yes, but you will have Pankrator Marcus, Hierophant Dala, and a whole company of soldiers as protection. But you aren¡¯t just a distraction; delivering the cure to towns and villages along the Alidon River will fall to your convoy. I¡¯m sure a canny merchant like you can find ways to benefit from such an act of charity, especially considering the tax incentives my ¡®official¡¯ office is willing to provide.¡± Pankrator Marcus clapped Arkweath on the back hard enough to make the merchant stumble. ¡°This will be a mighty challenge, and we shall rise to it! My battle-brothers and sisters will protect your convoy with sharp steel and strong arms!¡± Hierophant Dala spoke up then. ¡°That¡¯s all very good, but why am I required? I¡¯m not exactly a Battle-mage or war-priest.¡± The Quicksilver Player raised an eyebrow. ¡°You sell yourself short, Dala. I¡¯ve met only a handful of people with your illusion and magical detection skills. We must convince any prying eyes the Stone and its guards are in the convoy. Also, having someone who can warn of incoming attacks or magical subversion would be incredibly useful.¡± Examining the map, Cole asked. ¡°If they are acting as a diversion, how will the actual stone be moved?¡± Argentari grabbed one of the scrolls from his pile and handed it to Cole. ¡°You will go by land; the route and additional details are listed here.¡± Frowning, Cole started to say how walking such a distance wouldn¡¯t be feasible when the truth struck him. They intended him to go by horse, and horses hated Cole. Grimacing, Cole racked his mind for other options. He couldn¡¯t just say horses didn¡¯t like him; it sounded silly and didn¡¯t capture the magnitude of a typical equine reaction. Then, if he was forced to demonstrate, someone might start asking questions about why even placid workhorses panicked in his presence. Sourly, Cole decided he¡¯d just have to stay as far away from any horses as possible and hope for the best. Taking the scroll from Cole, Mina opened it and examined the route. ¡°This will take longer than by boat, and is there a reason we can¡¯t just journey with the main convoy? If you are layering all these protections upon it, then why not just put what needs protecting with it?¡± Argentari grimaced. ¡°Ironically, expedience. It is extremely likely the river convoy will repeatedly be bogged down by bureaucracy, sabotage, panicked citizens, genuine accidents, and enemy attacks. A large, well-protected convoy will better weather these incidents, but at the cost of speed and subtlety. Putting our enemy''s attention on an obvious target will spare the real stone carriers, letting them travel over remote but safe country towards their destination quickly.¡± Arkweath asked then. ¡°Assuming we do this and make it past Crowbend Castle and towards Harmas, what then? The city is lost, and I don¡¯t like the idea of taking a convoy this large past an occupied location.¡± A tense silence fell for a few seconds as the ugly fate of Harmas was renewed in their minds. From the reports Argentari shared with Cole, it seemed Harmas was one of the first places infected by the pestilence. In fact, it suffered an outbreak so early and so convenient the Quicksilver players didn¡¯t believe it was real for a time. As more information trickled in, a broader, uglier picture was being painted. Harmas locked itself away from the world, but not before the plague and enemy agents slipped inside. In the three months since the Quicksilver scout Griffin escaped, little information had leaked from the Southern Marches capital. Argentari picked up another scroll and actually smiled. ¡°Harmas has not yet fallen, or at least not into the enemy¡¯s hands.¡± Unrolling the message scroll, Argentari pointed to the proud sigil stamped onto the document¡¯s head. Depicted in enchanted ink was a pair of crowned towers separated by a river and linked by a great chain, the princely seal of Harmas. Tapping the sigil, Argentari said. ¡°A very brave and very ensorcelled messenger bird got this to us yesterday. The document''s author is Lord Matthis Janic, the grandson of Prince John, and his heir. In this letter, Lord Matthis pleads for aid and offers a little insight into events. According to him, the city¡¯s quarantine is enforced by a powerful Spirit bound to the princely throne. Prince John is in the clutches of ¡®conspirators¡¯ and unable or unwilling to call off the Spirit. Additionally, Lord Matthis claims most of the city is dead, with only a few pockets of survivors clinging to life among the Ghouls.¡± Argentari¡¯s smile turned sour as he recounted these details. ¡°We know Matthis penned this letter; the seal tells us as much, but it''s impossible to say if he speaks the truth. Considering what we know, I¡¯d wager at least part of the letter is accurate, and that is very worrying. It¡¯s been a mystery as to why the Leeches haven¡¯t properly conquered Harmas, and this would explain it. They¡¯ve subverted and ruined the city, but not before it could be locked away from their clutches. Which leads us to the decoy caravan¡¯s other task in this matter.¡± Gesturing at the large map and its depiction of Harmas, Argentari continued. ¡°Once the caravan arrives near Harmas, it will need to try and contact any allies within the city but, more importantly, ensure the Spirit maintains its quarantine.¡± Natalie recoiled at his words and asked. ¡°Why in the world¡¯s name would you want to keep the quarantine? You¡¯d be trapping the survivors in there!¡± Glynn answered for Argentari. ¡°We¡¯d also be trapping the thousands of Ghouls inside the city. It is ugly arithmetic, but the lives of potential survivors aren¡¯t worth the damage of unleashing tens of thousands of Ghouls upon a plague-stricken countryside. Our defenses are holding along the Alidon; the line of forts keep the Leeches from pushing past the river. But if Harmas were to be broken open and all those Ghouls spilled out, it would provide the Duchies new opportunities and a new army.¡± Natalie stared down at the map, and Cole could track her eyes tracing the Alidon River. How it journeyed east through Norica before turning sharply south at Crowbend castle, cutting the Southern Marches in twain before joining the River Tya at Scordis and turning back east into the Duchies proper. It was a familiar route for both Cole and Natalie, but they¡¯d spent much of it below deck during their barge trip; fear of exposing Natalie¡¯s nature kept them overly cautious. Pankrator Marcus also examined the map. ¡°I know of a few Temple lodges on the route; I should be able to pick up a few more sword-arms along the way. Also, I¡¯m curious as to why the Duchies haven¡¯t yet pressed the advantage. If Prince Franz¡¯s army is mired in the plague and Harmas is lost, why haven¡¯t the Leeches crossed the Alidon and made this bad situation worse?¡± Sir Falx coughed, getting the group''s attention. ¡°I can answer that in part. The plague is stymied at the Prince¡¯s camp; its spread and potency are much reduced by the arrival of a powerful ally. A Seraphtouched Priestess is protecting the army from the worst of it, but her powers are flagging, hence why the cure must be delivered. The Leeches are unwilling to attack the Prince¡¯s larger and divinely-protected army with their current force.¡± Offering a nod of thanks to the old knight, Argentari elaborated. ¡°Until the plague, the balance of power was in our favor. The Southern Marches are well-fortified and prepared for war. These lands have seen and resisted many invasions, and with Prince Franz¡¯s great host assembled from across the Holy League to aid them, the Marches should have been able to hold against the Leeches. Unfortunately, the isolation of Harmas and the plague have changed things, forcing our armies to the Alidon defenses, but that is still a position of strength. If the Leeches want to breech the river forts, they must cross the Alidon and then besiege a castle expecting reinforcements. Not an easy thing, even for the Undead, so they are waiting for plague to whittle the defenders down.¡± Cole grimaced; he¡¯d hoped to avoid messy schemes and complicated situations like this. But he was forced to admit this was a Paladin¡¯s lot; spending a decade hunting random Undead wasn¡¯t the true purpose of his mantle; standing as a champion against armies of darkness was. The meeting soon transitioned to minutia related to the decoy convoy, and it came time for the real stone carriers to leave. Cole, Natalie, Alia, Mina, and Morri detached from the assembled group as Argentari haggled transportation costs with Arkweath. Under one of Cole¡¯s arms was a collection of maps, documents, instructions, and reports Argentari deemed necessary. Clutched in Mina¡¯s hands was the reliquary containing the Sage¡¯s Stone, the runed box humming with occult power. Morri¡¯s age-worn face was creased in a heavy frown as he walked. ¡°The Ivory Tower was supposed to send someone. I¡¯m concerned about that absence, but time is of the essence. I¡¯ve seen to your transportation; a good wagon and horses are waiting for you.¡± Stopping, he placed a hand on both Cole and Mina¡¯s shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you both and honored to have taught you everything I have. Mina, a heavy burden rests on your shoulders, but I cannot think of a better person to carry it. Cole, remember the words you live by and know their truth still applies to you.¡± Looking down at his black-tipped fingers, Morri whispered. ¡°I will try to stave off the transformation until you return; this isn¡¯t a final goodbye. But I think this is the last time I will speak to either of you as a mentor. Take what you can from my wisdom, improve upon it, and when the time comes, pass it on.¡± Solem hugs were exchanged, and Cole felt a lump of grief build in his throat as the group left the sky garden. The quartet of Cole, Natalie, Alia, and Mina walked silently until the City-warden said. ¡°Well, this is some real heavy shit.¡± An undignified snort escaped Mina, which got Natalie snickering despite herself. Even Cole felt his lips break in a slight smile at Alia¡¯s irreverence. Looking down at the Catblood, Cole asked, ¡°Are you having second thoughts?¡± Alia shrugged, ¡°I probably should, but hells, I¡¯m really not. Someone needs to watch Mina¡¯s backside, and you are too busy staring at Natalie¡¯s to be much use.¡± That earned Alia an annoyed smack from both Priestess and Vampire. Smiling impishly, Alia remarked. ¡°I mean, can you blame us? You both have fantastic asses.¡± Cole let out a deep sigh. ¡°I¡¯m assuming this is your way of coping with stress, but perhaps find some other way than objectifying my girlfriend.¡± Shrugging, Alia took the warning and changed the topic. ¡°Why¡¯d you tense up when you found out we¡¯d be traveling over land? Is there something nasty on the path I should know about?¡± For a split second, Cole considered redirecting the conversation back to Alia¡¯s lechery but decided there was no point in hiding it. ¡°Horses don¡¯t like me. They don¡¯t react well to my presence.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow at that. ¡°The horses pulling the tirage cart didn¡¯t have a problem with you.¡± Cole grimaced. ¡°I was covered in Wyvern blood, and those animals were at the edge of panic even without me.¡± Frowning, Natalie thought on this. Cole could practically see her mind sorting through memories and fitting together pieces. ¡°A Centaur took us to the Ball, the Werefolk use oxen, and we walked from Zaubervold on foot¡­¡± A few minutes later, when the group finally reached the Temple stables, the truth of Cole¡¯s statement became clear. A farrier was in the middle of reshoeing a horse when Cole entered the stables, and the bay rouncey made her displeasure apparent. The horse pulled away from the farrier and let loose a shrieking whinny as its ears folded back. Other horses in the surrounding stalls echoed the call, and Cole winced at the cacophony. Thankfully well-built stall doors rattled as horses pushed against them and stomped on packed dirt floors. Alia, Mina, and Natalie stared at Cole as he let out a tired sigh. The farrier managed to get to his feet, then grip his ¡®client''s¡¯ bridle and bring her in line. Staring up at Cole, the farrier asked. ¡°Sir Paladin? You kill anything recently? Horses don¡¯t like the smell of death.¡± Keeping a careful eye on the reshoed horse as it pulled on the bridle, Cole said. ¡°Not recently. I heard there was a wagon prepared for my group¡¯s use?¡± Nodding his head towards the stable entrance, the farrier said. ¡°Ah yes, one of the stable boys was just getting the team settled. You¡¯ve got Cuff and Clout; they are good draft horses, perfect for a long trip but even-tempered enough to stay on a barge for some time.¡± Offering his thanks, Cole looked to his companions and grimaced. Alia leaned into Mina and whispered. ¡°Cole wasn¡¯t kidding¡­¡± Cole managed to thread the needle and not get too close to any horse in the stable. Upon reaching the stable entrance, the group found a sturdy-looking travel wagon with a pair of solid equines attached to it. Yara was brushing one of the grey horses and chatting with a stable boy, unnoticing of their arrival. One of the horses noticed Cole; its nostrils flared, and only Yara¡¯s steady grip stopped it from thrashing. Hushing the animal, the thrall managed to soothe the creature enough to look around and see what bothered it. Eyes fixing on Natalie, Yara smiled and bowed. ¡°Mistress! Everything is packed, and the horses are ready!¡± Natalie stifled an annoyed wince, which only Cole noticed before saying. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you knew how to handle horses, Yara.¡± The thrall shrugged and stroked the nervous draft horse¡¯s neck. ¡°I know my way around them. I¡¯m sorry Cuff here reacted like that; he must not know what a Noble smells like.¡± Letting out a breath, Cole said. ¡°They don¡¯t like me; I guess I smell like death or something.¡± Alia shook her head. ¡°Naw, you don¡¯t smell like death. You smell like¡­hells, you don¡¯t smell like anything. What do you wash with?¡± Frowning, Natalie stepped forward towards the nervous horse and looked it in the eye. Cuff, the draft horse stopped his fidgeting and simply met Natalie¡¯s gaze. Cole could feel the faintest buzz in the Aether as Vampire and horse connected telepathically. After maybe a minute, Natalie pulled away from Cuff and blinked rapidly. Going over to Cole, she grabbed his hand and hauled him towards the horse. Before Cole could protest, his fingers were resting on the animal¡¯s snout, and it stared at him with bored disinterest. Cuff¡¯s teammate, Clout, wasn¡¯t so placid and tried to pull against his harness and escape Cole. Slowly taking his hand from the horse¡¯s snout, Cole asked, ¡°What did you do?¡± Natalie shrugged. ¡°I looked into his mind, found the problem, and fixed it. Let me do Clout next, and then we can get moving.¡± In another minute, both members of the draft team were back to their normal selves, uncaring of whatever unnatural property of Cole distressed them before. Watching as the horses nibbled on some final bits of hay, Cole didn¡¯t know how to feel about this. Psychic magic always got his hackles raised, especially when it was used so nonchalantly as Natalie just did. Of course, what she did wasn¡¯t anything malicious and, in truth, probably necessary, but it still bothered Cole. After checking to ensure all their luggage and equipment was safely packed, including the box with Isabelle¡¯s skull, the group clambered into the wagon as Yara took the reigns. The stone carriers and their protectors needed to stay hidden until they left the city, so Cole, Natalie, Mina, and Alia hunkered down beneath sturdy canvas as Yara drove the horses onward. With Natalie nestled against him and his cloak wrapping them both, Cole managed to relax a little. Staring up at the canvas covering of the wagon, Cole took a deep breath. With a little luck, the trip would prove uneventful, and he could process the insane events of the last two weeks. But as he looked down at Natalie resting against his chest, Cole knew the odds weren¡¯t in his favor. Book III: chapter 18: Harm and Help

Chapter 18: Harm and Help

¡°Spirits are stories, stories we tell the Aether, and it repeats back to us. The emotions and actions we pour into the world coalesce in places thick with magic. From that seed, a Spirit grows, watered, and nurtured by the world around it, shaped by countless impressions over countless years, until it forms the fragile truth we call identity.¡± Madam Kistine Shohgard speaking to her daughter.
One of the key lessons impressed upon Vampires in Voivode Igori¡¯s court is the value of life. Life, especially the thinking kind, is precious and valuable. As Lord Wolfgang stared at the five Gashadokuro he¡¯d created, the importance of that lesson echoed in his mind. A hundred mortal souls went into each Gasha, a significant investment of a precious resource. An investment now ready to show its full value. The town of Ludaford was one of the few remaining Holy League controlled settlements on this side of the Alidon. Its sturdy walls and stern Priesthood proved a breaker against the tide of Undeath, stymying the few probing assaults sent against it. So, as was the nature of Vampires, they decided to leverage time against the town¡¯s mortal defenders and lay siege. This passivity didn¡¯t suit the Duke, and he saw the Black Fly¡¯s creations as a path to expedient victory. Thus, the potential of the Gashadokuros would be judged using Ludaford¡¯s death. This path suited Wolfgang just fine, except for one major issue: he was forced to work with the existing siege force. When he arrived at Ludaford, he found a pitiful collection of minor Nobles and their ill-kept soldiery treating the siege as something of a holiday. They¡¯d blocked off the roads leading to the town and sent forth a few waves of Ghouls but not much else. The rumors Ludaford was something of a spy nest made more sense in light of this. Sitting on the banks of a tributary to the Alidon, Ludaford was the perfect place for enemy agents to slip into and out of occupied territory, especially if the besiegers couldn¡¯t be bothered to patrol the river properly. The laxness and incompetence ended tonight; with the Duke¡¯s writ of command, Wolfgang took charge and prepared to end the siege. Staring out at Ludaford, the Black fly peered into the Aether, using his occult spectacles, and judged his prey. The town itself was crescent-shaped, hugging a bend in the Luda River, with a sturdy wall on the land-facing side of town. But not all of Ludaford fit inside the walls, and a second crescent of smaller buildings clung to the outside of the defenses, a common feature of League settlements. The outer town was long evacuated, its people pulled into the walled inner town, leaving a jumble of peasant-crafted structures behind them. The Baron formerly in charge of the siege explained the outer town was more than ramshackle hovels; it was also viciously trapped. Built on a poorly drained swamp, the outer town was a mess of planned and unplanned hazards with rotting walkways, warren-like roads, and surprises left by bitter locals. The outer town was also well within range of the wall¡¯s defenders, where magic, arrows, and ballista bolts could rain down on mired soldiers. While an Undead army wouldn¡¯t rout, neither would it react to changing circumstances effectively. Leaving any force of Rattler or Ghouls trying to pass through the outer town confused and disorganized. If a force could make it through the outer town, or weather the onslaught marching up the main road would unleash, they¡¯d find a reasonably sized moat surrounding strong walls with towers and mounted ballistas. The walls were magically defended as well, but the spells woven into them needed to be activated and powered, a far cry from the mighty wards of a city like Vindabon or Harmas. Still, all told, Wolfgang could understand why the choice of sieging down Ludaford was made. Taking the town through pure force of arms would have been prohibitively expensive; until now, that is. At the Black Fly¡¯s command, three of the Gashadokuro lumbered towards the outer town, their thunderous footfalls and glowing eye-sockets signaling the coming attack. Warning bells within Ludaford started to ring as the Gasha reached down with immaterial hands and scooped up entire hovels, throwing them like loose pebbles over the town¡¯s walls. The first volley of debris sailed over the walls and smashed into the inner town with a ruinous crash. By the second volley, the tower-mounted ballistas returned the favor and shot huge bolts toward the Gasha. Each of the enemy¡¯s shots missed, unable to connect with the giant bobbing skulls and passing through their semi-intangible bodies. This was what made the Gasahdokuro so dangerous; their bodies weren¡¯t just invisible but selectable intangible. A Gashadokuro could only be touched by what it wished to touch; only their skull lacked this property, but striking that part of them was its own challenge. In Wolfgang¡¯s readings, he¡¯d found the Eastern Necromancers used the Gasaha as terror weapons, unleashing them as wandering tools of death. To Wolfgang, this seemed a poor use of their potential; in the Gasha, he saw a near-perfect siege engine. Fast, durable, and horribly destructive, a Gasha could rain destruction on an enemy in ways a catapult or battlemage would struggle to do. As the fifth volley of debris smashed into Ludaford, the town¡¯s spellweavers finally acted. Lances of fire and light shot forward, smashing into one of the Gashadokuro¡¯s skull. Huge chunks of splintered bone fell to Vardis as the giant Rattler stumbled and slammed into the ground with an earth-shaking crash. Seeing this, Wolfgang ordered a pack of Ghouls towards the Rattler. Damaged but still functional, the Gasha reached out and grabbed the Ghouls, dragging the unliving bodies to its maw. The walking corpses were ripped apart as they passed the Gasha¡¯s chipped teeth, and the damage to the Rattler¡¯s skull started healing. The sixth volley met a shimmering force barrier stretching up from the town¡¯s walls and made a sound like a temple bell breaking on impact. Tons of debris slid down the barrier, landing at the base of the walls. Nodding to himself, Wolfgang gave the signal to the Wyrmoi Vampire of the original siege camp. Grunting with mental effort, the lay Noble unleashed his assembled army. Thousands of bats streamed through the night sky, a roiling cauldron of screeching slaves now set against the Ludaford. These were carrion bats, a magically altered subspecies more fecund and vicious than any normal breed. The bats flew toward the arcane barrier, slamming their thin-boned bodies into the shield over and over. Soon, the magical defense was covered in a carpet of leather wings. The Black Fly watched this through his spectacles, seeing how the barrier reacted to the teeming swarm. The constant pressure of countless bats let Wolfgang see flaws in the shield, places where the wards were more easily overtaxed. As the first streams of fire came from the town and started clearing away the bats, Wolfgang found what he was looking for. At the Blacky Fly¡¯s command, one of the Gashadokuro reached down to pick up a special load Wolfgang acquired for a moment like this. Hefting up a repurposed millstone, now etched with fell runes, the Gashadokuro threw its load towards a selected spot on the barrier. Wolfgang didn¡¯t know if the flaw resulted from an inexperienced spellweaver powering the wards poorly or a pre-existing defect in the shield. What he did know was the millstone proved too much for the flaw. With a sound like a screaming infant, the shield shattered in a wave of force. Nearly half the bats attacking the shield died instantly, but enough survived to fall upon the wall¡¯s defenders. The three Gasha continued their bombardment, sending more debris into the town as Wolfgang prepared the next phase of the assault. With a little time and luck, the defenders could re-establish the barrier, but for now, the town¡¯s spellweavers were helpless. All but the most hardy of them would be stunned by the breaking of their combined shield. Presenting an opportunity, Wolfgang now exploited with the two Gasha he kept in reserve. Standing up from where they¡¯d lain, the two Gasha stepped onto the road leading to Ludaford¡¯s main gate. The two fifteen-meter Rattlers charged the gate side by side, their thunderous footfalls echoing across the battlefield. As their kindred launched volley after volley of debris into Ludaford, the two reserve Gasha ran forward on invisible legs. Arrows and bolts filled the air around the Gasha as they approached the gate; few struck their skulls, and none damaged them. Some of the arrows had better luck among the tide of Grinning Ghouls loping after the Gasha in a swarm of hungry dead. As the first of the two Gasha reached the gate, it swung an invisible arm over the top of the gatehouse, clearing off defenders and crenulations like a man might bugs and crumbs. The second Gasha reached down to the iron portcullis and gripped it before suddenly pulling its phantom hands back. Silver studs in the portcullise¡¯s crossbeams warded off the giant Rattler. Wolfgang quashed the flicker of self-recrimination he felt; he should have guessed the Gasha couldn¡¯t touch silver, even if it couldn¡¯t touch them. Pulling back slightly, the Gasha slammed its invisible shoulder into the town wall, cracking masonry and scattering debris. Free from its task of clearing the parapets, the other Gasha joined its twin, and the two started ripping down part of the wall. Soon, a large gap became clear in the wall, and the Grinners surged forward, clambering over themselves to enter Ludaford. The bombarding Gashadokruo changed their aim to strike the walls, killing defenders and destroying fortifications as the next phase of the battle started. Hundreds of lockstep Rattlers marched down the main road, no longer threatened by enemy attacks. The four Vampires originally in charge of the siege also moved in, eager to salvage blood and glory. At the Vampire¡¯s heels were their minions, bound Wraiths, Gangerwights, and other pet monsters. The Vampires were under orders to quickly eliminate any enemy spellweavers but otherwise allowed to do as they pleased. As the breech in the wall widened to the point a horse could walk through it, twin bolts of brilliance smashed into one of the Gasha. Painfully bright, the lances of magic came from within Ludaford and struck simultaneously, their silver and gold light driving back the darkness for a split second. Wolfgang flinched as the struck Gasha was destroyed; its skull and the magic animating it were blown apart in a shower of incandescent sparks. Quickly recovering from the psychic backlash of losing such a linked minion, Wolfgang hissed. ¡°Cleanor, deal with them.¡± His bodyguard, who¡¯d been lying nearby watching events, sighed and uncoiled herself. Buckling on her twin scimitars, the Lamia complained. ¡°Surely our allies can handle a Priest or two? Besides, I doubt the enemy has much more left; if spells of that sort were easy, all of your giant pets would already be destroyed.¡± Hesitating, Wolfgang fed blood into his ears and listened to the sounds of battle. Behind the crunch of breaking stone and clash of steel was screaming, lots and lots of screaming. Not the mad wails of the plague-infected but a genuine lament of the dying and grieving. The surviving Gashadokuro continued to pull down sections of the wall, and Rattler soldiers started to press through the gap alongside Grinners. Cleanor was right; committing her at this point would be pointless. The enemy was spent, and the cost of a single Gasha was¡­ acceptable. Feeling at the psychic ache left by the lost minion, Wolfgang reminded himself perfection was a process. ¡°Your assessment makes sense. I¡¯ll have the Gasha join the assault,¡± replied Wolfgang as he listened to the ever-growing sound of screams. He¡¯d need to move closer to the battle soon; the Ghouls wouldn¡¯t stop feeding until commanded, and having a surviving breeding population would be better than a pure massacre. At Wolfgang¡¯s command, two of the Gasha marched forward, joining their kin at the wall. The portcullis started to creak open then; Wights or other intelligent servants must have taken the gatehouse. Seeing the Gasha were no longer needed as siege engines, Wolfgang lessened his grip on their leash and watched the Gasha clamber over the walls, heading deeper into the town. The Black Fly observed the Gashadokuros act on their instincts. They ripped open the roofs of buildings, reaching down with invisible hands and picking up screaming people. With palpable gluttony, the Gashas dropped people into their jaws and messily devoured them. Bits of their meals splattered down around them, falling through their jaw and non-existent throat onto the ground below. Peering into the Aether, Wolfgang watched as the souls of every consumed victim became bound to the Gasha; their spiritual weight added to the hundred souls used in its creation. Regretting he hadn¡¯t brought a proper notebook, Wolfgang muttered to himself. ¡°Interesting.¡±
Cole stared at a horse, and the horse stared at Cole. Carefully, the Paladin of Death brought the bucket of stream water to the equine¡¯s snout and let it drink. Clout, the draft horse, slurped down the water noisily and pawed at the ground with a single heavy hoof. Cautiously, Cole pulled the empty bucket away and stepped back from the horse, relief flooding through him. They¡¯d been on the road for five days, and the horses were still uncaring of Cole¡¯s abnormalities. Whatever Natalie did to them was staying, and that brought a mix of relief and worry to the Paladin. Glancing around at his surroundings, Cole placed the watering bucket back on its hook and stretched his back. They¡¯d stopped alongside a clear stream running through the surrounding farm fields. Natalie, Mina, Alia, and Yara were busy washing themselves and their clothes somewhere upstream. For reasons of modesty and practicality, Cole was left behind, leaving him to watch, water, and wonder about the horses. Returning to Cuff and Clout, the Paladin cautiously reached out and stroked Cuff¡¯s flank. Brushing the creature''s coat, Cole mused on how this was the first time he¡¯d touched a living horse without difficulty. Perhaps he could learn to like the animals; not having to walk everywhere would be a boon. Then, as if to rain on Cole¡¯s burgeoning hopes, Cuff started to urinate, splattering Cole¡¯s boots and legs. Jumping back, Cole cursed and glared at the animal; logically, he knew the horse was just following its instincts, but well-trained paranoia whispered a more insidious motive. Checking to ensure the horses were firmly tied to a farm fence, Cole headed towards the stream to clean his boots and pants. Looking down at the babbling brook, Cole peered into the Aether and reconfirmed it wasn¡¯t contaminated. The stream¡¯s Spirit looked simple but healthy, showing no sign of the plague or any other danger. During the two days of travel, Cole practiced using his Aether-sight in a more natural setting. Vindabon was a congested mess of emotions and magic; whatever Spirits inhabited the city were obscured by the sheer press of people. Out here in the farmlands, things were a bit more sedate, and Cole could achieve a better understanding. He¡¯d spent any time not in work or conversation staring out across the fields, getting a sense of the landscape''s spiritual currents. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Generations of farmers worked these fields and poured bits of themselves into the land. Slowly coalescing into the primitive Spirits personifying this patch of the world. From what Cole could interpret, the Spirits were, by and large, simple and sturdy things. Clusters of diffuse instincts and pondering thoughts that cared for little other than good rain, good sun, and good harvests. The stream¡¯s Spirit was a bit more lively, being both playful and sturdy, like an old woman watching over her grandchildren. It was that watchful strength Cole trusted to notice any sickness within the water. Letting his power drop, Cole rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh. Peering into the Aether like that was more the duty of Earth Priests; his burgeoning abilities were taxed getting the insight he required. Reaching down and letting his fingers glide through the clear water, Cole offered his appreciation and apologies to the Spirit before washing his boots. Returning to the wagon, Cole set his cleaned clothing atop the wagon¡¯s canvas top to dry. It was one of those cool spring days where proper warmth could be found in sunlight and little elsewhere, so Cole leaned against the sunned side of the wagon and let his mind chew on the Lych¡¯s implications. From what Natalie said, Isabelle seemed to have jumped to the worst conclusion; but Cole wasn¡¯t so certain. Considering he hadn¡¯t been abducted and locked away in a research oubliette, it seemed unlikely the Lych knew what exactly Cole was. It seemed more likely Leonid was referencing Isabelle¡¯s miraculous survival rather than her research into Homunculi. Staring down at his arm, Cole checked where he¡¯d been bitten by a Grinner; the skin was slightly discolored but otherwise fine. Flexing his wrist, Cole bitterly noted the limb was already collecting a new coat of scars and marks. While practically spotless compared to the rest of him, the limb Dietrich ripped off was no longer unblemished. A flicker of sadness passed through Cole as he thought about his appearance. Going through life scaring almost everybody you meet is hard, especially for someone who travels to places beset by monsters. The sound of feet on the stone road pulled Cole from his thoughts, and he looked to see Natalie approaching with a basket of laundry on her hip. She smiled at him, and Cole returned the expression. Even if his scars did frighten people, those who mattered learned to see past them. Waving to Natalie, he called out. ¡°Hey, where are the others?¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow at Cole¡¯s lack of pants but started laying out her laundry out on the wagon¡¯s top. ¡°It doesn¡¯t take me long to wash my clothes or me; another perk of undeath. I figured once I was done, I¡¯d come back and spare you from being with the horses alone.¡± Cole¡¯s lips curled in a smile. ¡°If you can clean up faster, then why do you spend so long in the bath? There been a few nights I swore you spent the entire time in the tub.¡± Scrunching her face in a mock pout, Natalie replied. ¡°I like warm baths, and I don¡¯t crinkle up in them anymore, so allow a girl her vices.¡± Snorting in amusement, Cole checked his pants and boots; finding them reasonably dry, he pulled them on. ¡°I think this is our first time alone since leaving.¡± Frowning, Natalie paused to think. ¡°Yes, yes, it is.¡± a smile closer to a leer spread across Natalie¡¯s face, and she replied. ¡°Shame our time is limited; otherwise, I¡¯d take full advantage of our privacy.¡± Natalie was wearing a rather thin smock, having not yet fully dressed, and Cole was tempted to pick her up and spend their time alone in a fun but frivolous way. Instead, he did the responsible thing and tried to get answers to a pressing question. ¡°Believe me, I¡¯m tempted, but I want to know what you did to the horses.¡± Hesitating, gently chewing on her lip, a nervous tic, Cole found strangely endearing, Natalie added. ¡°I¡¯ve been experimenting with animal minds, learning how to tweak minor things. It¡¯s¡­ it''s been practice for eventually helping Yara. One of the first things I figured out how to do was stop creatures from being afraid of me. So with the horses, I just reached into them, felt the fear, and smoothed it away.¡± Cole¡¯s jaw tightened, and he shut his eyes for a second. Mind magic disgusted him, but on the scale of unpleasantries, Natalie¡¯s efforts weren¡¯t objectionable. ¡°I suppose in comparison to Isabelle¡¯s experiments on small animals, yours aren¡¯t anything horrible.¡± Cole forced a weak smile onto his face, but it did little to buoy the joke as it fell flat. ¡°I¡¯m curious; why exactly are they afraid of me?¡± Natalie glanced at the nearby horses, both busy chewing on a patch of roadside grass. ¡°Well, there are layers to it, but most obvious is your lack of a smell, but you probably guessed that. The general odors of life and your clothes hide that fact from most people, but not animals. Animals can¡¯t smell you, and that¡¯s distressing to creatures relying on that sense. But horses focus on their eyes and ears more than anything else, so what distresses them about you is something more.¡± Opening and shutting her mouth a few times, clearly debating how to word things, Natalie eventually said. ¡°Animals have a sixth sense, a shitty ability to detect souls and magic. For most creatures, it''s not much more than a nervous instinct or similar, but horses are different. They are much more attuned to people¡¯s souls, sensing changes in them. It¡¯s probably why they make so good steeds; they can sense their rider¡¯s mood and notions. Well, horses can feel your soul, and it distresses them. Not your emotions or power, but something underneath that, there¡¯s a¡­ hunger in your soul.¡± Shutting her eyes, Natalie tried to translate the strange perspective of a horse. ¡°Hungry isn¡¯t the right word; maybe ¡®pulling¡¯ is more accurate? There is a gravity to your soul, kind of like when powerful magic is worked, but more subtle and constant.¡± Snapping her fingers as a clear metaphor fell into place, Natalie explained. ¡°Imagine someone dumps a load of boiling water down a drain. If you looked at the drain, you¡¯d see and feel the steam and heat, which is your soul. But there''s also the drain current, the water being sucked down, and people don¡¯t seem to notice it, but animals do, especially horses.¡± Cole digested this uneasy meal of information and mouthed the word ¡®drain.¡¯ It brought back a memory of a nightmare and a dead man visiting it. Cole hadn¡¯t experienced one of his falling nightmares in a while, and he¡¯d been doing his best not to think about the strange dreams. But, try as he might to live in a state of denial, Cole couldn¡¯t overlook the puzzle pieces coming together. Every time he used up his soul, he returned stronger, with powers roughly correlating to events surrounding his soul-death. After battling a mighty Vampire in the Alukah¡¯s tomb, he¡¯d become strong enough to bend steel with his bare hands. After a riot involving Werebeasts, he¡¯d gained a lupine sense of smell. Then there were the strange dreams involving falling corpses, corpses belonging to the recently deceased, who became copies of him on a field of lightning-scorched ash. Cole was absorbing something from the dead, his soul sucking up bits of people to power his existence. Soul-eaters aren¡¯t unheard of; some monsters like Lychs were infamous for the practice. But when Cole first started to fear he fell into that cursed category, he¡¯d made some checks. The souls of those seen in his dreams were intact and easily freed, waylaying the worst of Cole¡¯s fears. So the question remained: what exactly was Cole absorbing? What was going ¡®down the drain¡¯ to use Natalie¡¯s metaphor. Additionally, how was it empowering him? Healing his body, let alone resurrecting him, would require significant magical energy. So many questions, and the keeper of their answers was unwilling to share them. Somehow, Isabelle¡¯s reluctance scared Cole more than anything else. She seemed to genuinely think she was protecting him by hiding the truth, a very poor sign from a woman who views ignorance as a sin. Leaning on the wagon, Cole let out a breath he hadn¡¯t even realized he¡¯d been holding. ¡°Thank you for telling me.¡± Reaching out, he took Natalie¡¯s hand, seeking comfort in her touch. Seeing his stress, Natalie leaned against him. ¡°Hey, Cole, it doesn¡¯t matter what you are; it matters who you are.¡± Squeezing her hand, Cole started to say something when he smelled the rest of their group returning. ¡°They are back.¡± The three women appeared along the stream bank with fresh clothes and clean bodies. Alia was animatedly telling a story involving a crossbow, judging by her pantomime, and the other two were listening to her: Mina with amused patience and Yara with cautious uncertainty. Natalie wrapped her arms around Cole and gave him a large hug. ¡°Don¡¯t stew in your worries, please?¡± Mixing a smile and a grimace, Cole replied. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±
Mina stared at the map and then at the thick forests surrounding them. They¡¯d traveled another day and finally passed from the Norican farmlands into Norican woodlands. If Mina hadn¡¯t managed to get them horribly lost, the group was between the Great Marsh and the Alidonian Mountains. Taking a route parallel to the Alidon River but deeper south, using the old imperial road to reach the border of Norica and the Southern Marches. If all went to plan, they¡¯d be in the forest for a few more days before the landscape opened back up into the Lesser Marovian Plains. Once there, they¡¯d need to pass through the Alidonian Mountains and reach Albareg. Then, Gods willing, they¡¯d be able to make contact with allies and be near their missions'' end. Until that point, the group was passing through rough country with little support and a lot of potential dangers. To wit, Cole and Alia walked on either side of the wagon, keeping their senses on the surrounding forest. Both mundane and magical Predators stalked these wild places, and a lone wagon was the exact sort of prey to attract the most desperate or dangerous examples. As for the other three not on guard duty, Mina and Yara sat on the wagon¡¯s bench as navigator and driver respectively, while Natalie slept the day away behind them. The day-walking Vampire needed to enter torpor at least once a week to avoid problems. She¡¯d been keeping watch every night and staying up with them every day, so before things got ugly, Natalie was due for some rest. Glancing back at the sleeping Vampire currently nestled between two crates of supplies, Mina felt a stab of worry. Isabelle was still dormant, but how long that lasted was anyone''s guess. Despite her new miracles and responsibilities, Mina was not keen on facing the older Vampire again. Hopefully, Isabelle wouldn¡¯t put Mina in that situation, but somehow, the Priestess doubted it. Turning back to face Yara, Mina asked. ¡°Do you want me to take the reins?¡± The red-headed Thrall just shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Stretching the best one could on a wagon¡¯s front seat, Mina offered a new question. ¡°Where did you learn how to tend horses?¡± Yara shrugged again. ¡°My mom worked at the stables back home.¡± There was no elaboration, no additional details, just a quick answer, but it was better than the monosyllabic responses Mina got before. After days of trying to strike up a conversation with Yara and failing, Mina felt she owed Natalie an apology for her behavior on the first day they spent together. Trying to be civil or even friendly with someone who refused to make the barest conversation was not easy. Glancing to the right, Mina debated getting off the cart and walking alongside Alia for a few kilometers. Navigation shouldn¡¯t be much more than keeping the wagon on the road for the next day or two, so perhaps she could spend some time with her girlfriend. No sooner did those thoughts go through Mina¡¯s head than Alia trotted into view and grabbed Cuff¡¯s bridle. An intense frown was on the Citywarden¡¯s face, and she said. ¡°We need to stop. I hear something.¡± Yara tugged on the reigns and made soothing noises at the horse team, both of which were suddenly skittish. Unslinging her crossbow and spanned a bolt, Alia called out. ¡°Do you hear that Cole?¡± From somewhere to their left, the Paladin replied. ¡°No, what is it?¡± Alia checked her crossbow and said. ¡°Screams.¡± Mina and Cole spoke in grim unison. ¡°Jag.¡± Screamers this deep in the wilderness was not a good sign, speaking to the plague¡¯s spread and also proving a major impediment to their trip. Mina wasn¡¯t worried they¡¯d be overwhelmed and slaughtered by throngs of infected; she was more concerned about what to do with all of those infected once subdued and cured. Reaching to her belt, Mina started to grab the mace she kept for combat but realized there was a better option. Turning to Yara, Mina said. ¡°Can you wake up Natalie?¡± The Thrall nodded, handed the reins to Mina, and scrambled back towards the sleeping Vampire. A moment later, a grumbling Natalie appeared, blinking away the dappled sunlight. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Mina answered. ¡°Screamers, can you help stop them?¡± Natalie frowned and shut her eyes; after a few seconds, the Vampire said. ¡°That''s¡­ that''s not a Screamer.¡± Getting off the wagon, Natalie grew a set of black claws and moved forward like a cautious predator. Alia glanced at the newly awakened Vampire and asked. ¡°How can you tell?¡± Mina finally jumped off the wagon as well, joining Cole, Alia, and Natalie standing in front of the horses. Staring down the road they intended to travel, Natalie said. ¡°Screamers just scream; they don¡¯t swear and panic like whoever is coming towards us is.¡± Cole brought his halberd to bear. ¡°Friend or foe?¡± Natalie squinted down the road. They were on a long, straight track of imperial stone flanked by old trees on either side, shadowing the path beneath a tunnel of budding branches. Beyond the sight of mundane eyes, Natalie saw something in the distance. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but they are being pursued.¡± Mina¡¯s ears then caught what Alia and Natalie could hear: a long scream punctuated by shouts. Weapons drawn and muscles tensed, the group waited as the screaming figure came closer and closer. Cole glanced at the others and said. ¡°I¡¯m going to go help.¡± Alia shook her head. ¡°It might be a trap; we don¡¯t want to get separated.¡± The Paladin frowned in displeasure but stayed with the group; he clearly wanted to rush ahead but was willing to follow their advice. Another noise interrupted the distant screaming, a low, sonorous note any who travel the wilds knows and fears, the howl of a wolf. Nodding to himself, Cole said. ¡°Alia, stay with Yara and defend the wagon; Natalie, scout ahead; Mina, come with me in case they are injured.¡± Natalie slipped into the forest, fading into the foliage, and Cole charged forward. Mina hesitated, and Alia cursed. ¡°Fuck it, just do what Cole says; he probably has the most experience of all of us.¡± Mace in hand, Mina charged after the Paladin and Vampire, following Cole¡¯s flapping cloak. As they got closer, Mina could make out more of the stranger¡¯s screams. The man wasn¡¯t just yelling in fear or pain; he was saying something. ¡°FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUCCCCK!!!¡± Catching up to Cole, Mina got a better look at the situation they were entering. A lanky man with shaggy blond hair was running down the road in a dead sprint; at his heels were a pair of wolves, snapping at him as they got close. But every time the wolves lunged, they seemed to stumble, the man barely dodging their snapping jaws. By now, the stranger had seen them and was waiving his arms frantically. ¡°HELP! HELP! I CAN¡¯T STOP THEM FOR MUCH LONGER!!!¡± In answer to his pleas, Natalie exploded out of the brush, a blur of black and white that overwhelmed the two wolves instantly. A spray of red signaled the first¡¯s death, but the second simply toppled over like a dropped puppet. It took the running man another dozen meters or so to realize he was no longer pursued. Skidding to a stop not far from Cole, he nearly collapsed, puffing out wheezing breaths as he tried to recover himself. Carefully, Cole and Mina approached the man, both half-expecting a trap of some kind. The stranger¡¯s build was tall and wiry, a runner¡¯s physique, which was probably why he still lived. Clad in expensive traveling clothes and carrying a heavy pack, the man seemed to be in his mid-twenties with a roguish countenance. Clutched in his arms were a pair of cases used to hold delicate instruments. Looking to his rescuers, the stranger smiled, an expression Mina supposed would be charming if he wasn¡¯t still red in the face and slick with sweat. ¡°Thank you so much! I¡¯d be meeting Master Time if you¡¯d not found me.¡± Blinking away some sweat, the Stranger looked over at Cole and laughed nervously. ¡°I suppose maybe I¡¯ll still be meeting him in a way today.¡± Natalie returned then, with the surviving wolf padding behind her. The stranger spun to look at her and the blank-eyed lupine at her heels. To Mina¡¯s surprise, she saw recognition in Natalie¡¯s eyes. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Cole stepped forward, asking. ¡°You know this man?¡± Looking at her boyfriend, Natalie gestured at the stranger. ¡°Yes, and so do you! He¡¯s the fiddler, the one at the market square and the Ball!¡± Beaming at them, the fiddler¡¯ fit both instrument cases under one arm and offered a hand. ¡°My name¡¯s Kitthar Marono and the Ivory Tower sent me to help you.¡± Book III: Chapter 19: New Friends

Chapter 19: New Friends

¡°Death is messier than we assumed. When brain function completely stops, a large quantity of Soul-stuff is discharged into the surrounding Aether. I speculate this phenomenon is related to Souls not leaving dead flesh without magical assistance. Perhaps the discharge is an abortive attempt by the Soul to leave the Mundane? If so, what stops it and why?- ¡° Isabelle Gens Silva¡¯s notes of Soul Hollows.
Natalie stared at the fiddler with undisguised caution. Morri mentioned something about the Tower sending someone, but when they¡¯d not appeared at the sky garden meeting, Natalie discounted the notion. So now for this near-stranger to arrive under such odd circumstances¡­ Well, it got her hackles raised, especially since this wasn¡¯t the first time she and Cole encountered this odd musician. Cole was clearly thinking similar thoughts, judging by the heavy frown he wore. ¡°Do you have any proof the Lych sent you?¡± Kitthar nodded vigorously, reached into his coat, and groped at the inner pockets. After a few seconds of fruitless searching, he set down his fiddles and started checking other pockets. Once a minute of frantic rooting through his clothes and backpack was finished, the fiddler looked to the group and muttered. ¡°...must have dropped it.¡± With a thought, Natalie ordered the surviving wolf to pad towards Kitthar, a low growl bubbling in its throat. Staring at the hungry lupine, Kitthar swallowed nervously. ¡°Look, I¡¯ve had an eventful day; catching up with you wasn¡¯t easy, and I must have lost the letter the First Preceptor wrote.¡± Holding her elbow in one hand so her clawed fingers rested on her lips, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you three times, when I first came to Vindabon, next at the Solstice Ball, and now here. To quote a Hierophant of Uncle Trickster, ¡®Once is an occurrence, twice is an accident, and thrice is enemy action.¡± Eyes never leaving the wolf, Kitthar corrected her. ¡°Actually, it¡¯s ¡®''Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, three times is enemy action.¡± Mina let out an amused breath. ¡°Well, he¡¯s certainly arrogant enough to be a Magi from the Tower.¡± Nodding at that, Natalie replied. ¡°That¡¯s a point in his favor, but I¡¯m unconvinced. Argentari was worried about spies and enemy interception; ¡®Kitthar¡¯ here could be an examp-.¡± ¡°Kit, call me Kit; it¡¯s easier than my full name,¡± the prisoner interrupted, earning a glare from Natalie. Smiling unabashedly, Kit continued, ¡°I don¡¯t have the letter, but I might have another way to prove who I am. Take me to the Sage stone, and I can prove my identity.¡± Cole¡¯s frown deepened to chthonic levels. ¡°If he is a spy or thief, he¡¯s a spectacularly incompetent one, so perhaps he is telling the truth. But considering he couldn¡¯t fend off a pair of wolves, I doubt he¡¯s that magically potent.¡± Kit managed to look indignant even with a growling wolf a handspan from his nethers. ¡°Finding you took a lot of time and energy! Also, there was an entire pack of wolves! The two you helped with were just the most dogged ones.¡± While she was no expert on forest beasts, Natalie knew enough to know wolves were pack hunters who didn¡¯t separate easily. So unless the rest of the pack was lying in ambush, something was wrong with the wolf. Natalie looked at her subjugated lupine; it was scrawny to the point of starvation, and one of its back legs kept twitching erratically. Earlier, Natalie crushed its mind beneath her will and made it her creature out of pure instinct; now, with more time to assess things, she realized the wolf¡¯s mind folded like wet paper. Carefully kneeling down, Natalie reached towards the wolf and examined its emaciated body; it didn¡¯t take her long to find the first swollen lymph node. ¡°Jag¡­ the wolf is infected.¡± hissed Natalie as she ordered her servitor to step away from Kit. Cole¡¯s eyes glowed silver as he looked at the Fiddler. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s sick, but I¡¯m also not seeing much in the way of magical power around him.¡± Mina stepped forward and confirmed Cole¡¯s assessment. ¡°He could be lucky, or he could be immune thanks to the Sting. We know the Leachs have spies in the city, and a spy would most definitely be sniffing after you, Natalie.¡± Not liking where this conversation was going, Kit piped up. ¡°Seriously, just take me to the Sage stone, and I can prove who I am. It¡¯s not like I could steal it from you or at least get very far if I did.¡± Natalie thought on that. ¡°He has a point; I¡¯ve got his scent now, and with the enchantments on the box, he couldn¡¯t use the stone against us. What¡¯s the harm in letting him see it? If the Lych really sent us help, it would be useful.¡± Instead of answering, Cole gripped Kit by the collar and dragged him close, staring into the Fiddler¡¯s eyes as streams of silver fire dripped from Cole¡¯s own. Ignoring his prisoner¡¯s struggles, Cole said. ¡°Some powerful Moroi can look through their thrall¡¯s eyes; it''s a rare talent but not unheard of. Kitthar could be a disposable asset, sent to identify the box and its location for a more skilled thief. I can¡¯t detect any sign of a second presence, but that¡¯s no guarantee.¡± Trying unsuccessfully to free himself from Cole¡¯s iron grip, Kit squawked. ¡°Okay, okay! If you don¡¯t want to do that option, how about you help me go back to where I landed and help me find the letter!¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°Landed?¡± Bobbing his head vigorously, Kit elaborated. ¡°You don¡¯t think I walked all this way, did you? I flew from Vindabon and landed in a clearing not far from here; it¡¯s where the wolves found me, actually. My¡­ arrival was a bit messy, and I dropped some things; the letter of introduction must have been one of them.¡± Mina looked at the wolf and winced. ¡°So the wolves got your Hippogryph, and that¡¯s how you escaped? Not pretty, but it would make sense; the pack settled for the bigger meal.¡± Kit looked momentarily confused, and Natalie swore she could see his mental clockwork ticking to a conclusion. ¡°Oh! No, Hippogryph, I flew here by magic; it''s why I was so tired. Even with the First Preceptor¡¯s aid, flying for that long is extremely difficult.¡± Still holding onto Kit, Cole dryly remarked. ¡°So, instead of us showing you the Stone, you want to take us to a secondary location? That is¡­ violently suspicious.¡± Shrugging, a difficult gesture considering Cole was practically lifting him off the ground, Kit said. ¡°I didn¡¯t exactly plan things to turn out this way. Look, I get you are all jumpy, expecting spies and saboteurs, but that''s not me! I¡¯m one of the First Preceptor¡¯s students, and he sent me to help you.¡± Cole¡¯s eyes glowed with power as he examined Kit in the Aether. ¡°He¡¯s not lying, or at least he doesn¡¯t think he is, or perhaps his emotional control is simply phenomenal.¡± Moving over to Kit¡¯s dropped backpack, Mina started to open it up and let out a surprised yelp. The edge of Cole¡¯s halberd, now shrunken to an axe, was instantly at Kit¡¯s neck. Shaking her head and waiving off her companion¡¯s concerns, Mina said. ¡°I¡¯m alright; this just surprised me.¡± Looping a single finger around one of the backpack¡¯s straps, Mina pulled lightly, and the pack floated into the air, hovering for a second before slowly drifting down like a dandelion seed. Relaxing slightly and removing the axe from Kit¡¯s neck, Cole remarked. ¡°Clever enchantment, not the type of thing a vampire thrall would have.¡± Smiling, despite his precarious position, Kit replied. ¡°Thank you! It reduces the pack¡¯s weight to a tenth of what it should be! It''s partly why I was late; getting the spell to stick to the leather wasn¡¯t easy.¡± With this in mind, Mina carefully opened the pack and checked its contents. ¡°Let''s see here¡­ clothes, books, tools, books, papers, books, shaving kit, books, athame, books, mess kit, books, and¡­ more books.¡± Examining one of the texts, Mina read its title. ¡°The Annotated Tyar Chronicle. Isn¡¯t that a history of the Blood Duchies conquest of Roloyo?¡± Kit¡¯s smile broadened. ¡°Yes! I wanted to make sure I wasn¡¯t flying into this mess blind. Now, can we talk about all this like adults, without any of the threats or paranoia!¡± Frowning, Cole slowly let go of Kit but kept his axe in hand. ¡°I want to recover this letter from the Lych just to be certain. But for now, I¡¯m willing to entertain the idea he¡¯s telling the truth.¡± Natalie stared at the sick wolf standing a few meters away, its eyes glassy and unfocused. ¡°We should deal with the infected wolfpack as well; leaving a threat like that loose doesn¡¯t feel right.¡± The sound of hoofbeats and creaking wood pulled the groups, attention to the arriving wagon. An annoyed-looking Alia jumped off the driver¡¯s bench and strode towards them. ¡°I got tired of waiting; what''s going on?¡± After a brief explanation, a decision was reached; they¡¯d find this clearing Kit mentioned, retrieve his lost belongings, deal with the wolves, and possibly Kit (depending on how things turned out). The Fiddler took this news well, probably viewing it as an indefinite stay of execution; he even let Alia bind his hands without a fuss, seemingly content to be a captive for the time being. With Kit dealt with, Natalie was stuck making arrangements for the other prisoner. The wolf was broken. Its body and mind were well past snapped and moving towards inevitable death. Staring down at the sickly animal, Natalie debated her options and realized only one made sense. Even if the cure worked on a non-humanoid, there wasn¡¯t any way to care for the wolf or its fellows. Ending the wolf''s suffering was the only logical option, but also presented other challenges. Things would only become more difficult going forward, and Natalie would need every tool available, including undead minions. It had been months since Natalie used the strange form of necromancy Isabelle taught her on the road to Vindabon, but she was reasonably certain she could still do the ritual. Glancing at her companions, Natalie knew the only real problem was her friend''s objections. Just euthanizing the wolves would make the most sense, but¡­ it felt wasteful. At the same time, Natalie could understand the taboos around Undeath; even if she wasn¡¯t truly enslaving animal souls, she was still devouring part of them and using it as a weapon. Sitting at the back of the wagon, staring at the road behind them and the wolf padding along after the cart, Natalie reached out to the mind-shackled creature. The Gallarwyll parasite wasn¡¯t as effective on animals as people; they just didn¡¯t have the same capacity for hate. The wolf wasn¡¯t a suicidal berserker like a humanoid Screamer but rather extremely hungry and aggressive. So, with a little effort, Natalie pushed past the out-of-control instincts dominating the wolf and peaked into the remnant of its mind. She found a morass of confusion, fear, pain, and loss at the animal¡¯s core. Reaching out with a tendril of thought, Natalie asked the damaged mind. + What do you want? + + No more pain + It answered, not with words but ideas. Natalie carefully sculpted the wolf''s mind, soothing its suffering as gently as possible; this was more difficult than what she did with the horses, requiring more extensive modification without accidentally crippling the wolf''s mind. Many flies and mice paid for this knowledge with their lives, but to Natalie, it seemed a fair trade. Now, with the wolf calmed by her intent, Natalie¡¯s asked. + What do you want? + Images and concepts danced through Natalie¡¯s mind, forming a message she could understand. + To run through the woods with my pack, to hunt and eat alongside my kind, to sing to the moon and stars, to play with pups and sleep within a warm den, to be a wolf once again. + Reaching back to her memories of Grist, the dog familiar who slept within his skull, Natalie offered them to the wolf. + I cannot save you, but I can offer you the chance to hunt once again.+ The wolf pondered this for a moment, its mind deciphering the meaning of the words before answering. + My pack, let me hunt and sing alongside my pack. + The wagon started to slow and turn slightly as they left the road, following Kit¡¯s directions. + I think that would be possible +
The horses pulled the wagon off the road and into the large forest meadow that bordered the old imperial way. Cole glanced around the clearing and saw no obvious sign of danger. A stream cut through the meadow, fed by melting snow and so swollen its banks licked the budding grasses on either side. The first wave of spring wildflowers weren¡¯t yet in bloom, but give it a week, the meadow would be an idyllic oasis among the thick woods. Well, except for the heavy stink of decay and sickness that permeated the clearing. Crossbow at the ready, Alia looked to Cole and asked. ¡°You smell that?¡± Cole nodded and turned Requiem into a poleaxe. Glancing back towards the wagon, he said. ¡°Mina, Yara, stay with Kit and the cart. Natalie, can you come help?¡± Natalie appeared from behind the wagon, her enslaved wolf following close behind. Cole suppressed a grimace on seeing the wolf, jagging psychic magic, nasty stuff. Getting into formation, with Natalie to his left and Alia to his right, Cole moved deeper into the meadow, following the smell of death. The wolf bounded ahead then, moving towards a patch of disturbed grasses. Nose sniffing at the grass, the wolf let out a low keening noise, which Natalie translated. ¡°It''s a dead wolf, one of his pack. I don¡¯t think it''s a Ghoul.¡± Moving quicker, Cole reached the whining wolf and confirmed its discovery. Lying in the grass was a lupine carcass. Flies and other more disgusting scavengers swarmed around its bloated form, feeding on the feast of death. Reaching out with Requiem¡¯s tip, Cole prodded the wolf; its spine wasn¡¯t right, snapped by something powerful. Reaching into his bandolier, Cole poured a drop of pyre wine onto the carcass and then used his spark-stone to ignite the body. The living wolf watched this, its eyes barely focusing on the dancing flames. Natalie also observed the cremation, saying. ¡°The dead wolf was the oldest female of the pack; she probably didn¡¯t have many hunts left in her.¡± Alia made an interested noise. ¡°The wolf told you that? He mention how the pack got sick?¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Shutting her eyes for a moment, Natalie said. ¡°It''s a little hard to tell; I think they ate something¡­ or someone infected. The wolf just has memories of an easy hunt and then things going bad shortly after.¡± A rumbling sigh escaped Cole, and he turned away from the burning body. ¡°Where did Kit say he landed?¡± Slowly walking to the right, Alia looked at some of the grass and mud around them. ¡°He didn''t, but unless I¡¯m completely out of practice, something person-sized and clumsy was here recently. Let me follow the trail; it shouldn¡¯t be hard.¡± It wasn¡¯t; Alia took them a few meters closer to the right side of the clearing and revealed a rather curious sign of aerial arrival. A large furrow was cut into the ground as if something heavy and fast was dragged through the soil. At the end of the furrow was a mess of debris, clumped-up sod, and shredded grass surrounding a¡­ damaged skiff. The small boat was cracked open, and the remains of a traveler''s trunk covered its fractured form. Staring at the incongruous sight, Alia voiced what they were all thinking. ¡°What the fuck?¡± Moving closer, Cole examined the skiff, noting the intricate patterns carved along its hull, now warped and split by an ugly landing. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of these¡­¡± he muttered. ¡°But never seen one. It¡¯s a sky-boat; the Imperials used to use them as transportation. I thought they were lost magic, one of the things the Day of the Black Sun ruined.¡± Walking carefully around the no-longer-flying boat, Alia whistled, ¡°Well, if anyone would have one tucked away, it would be the Lych.¡± Leaping into the splintered boat and poking at the split open trunk, she added. ¡°You think he¡¯ll eat Kit¡¯s soul when he finds out he broke this antique?¡± Cole knew the rumors of what happened to Magi, who ¡®disappointed¡¯ the Lych, and he also knew the slightly less disturbing truth. ¡°I don¡¯t think this is an antique.¡± Pointing at the skiff¡¯s stern, Cole pulled his companion''s attention to the large maker¡¯s mark etched into the hull. ¡°Unless the Flam Family boat-builders have been in business for much longer than I thought.¡± Alia squinted at the mark and whistled. ¡°Yeah, the Flam¡¯s have been in the business forever, but not an imperial kind of forever.¡± Carefully stepping into the skiff, Natalie checked the contents of the trunk. ¡°More books, most of them wet, and some travel supplies, also wet. Oh? What¡¯s this?¡± Out of the corner of his eye, Cole watched Natalie reach down and pick something up from the pile; as she did, his ears violently popped. Momentarily disoriented, Cole moved toward Natalie and found her holding an envelope. Natalie¡¯s thumb rested on the wax seal she¡¯d just broken, and she looked like a cat with its tail caught in a door. Blinking away her discomfort, Natalie said. ¡°That¡­ that felt odd.¡± Looking at the envelope in her hand, Cole noted it was perfectly dry, unlike the rest of the wrecked luggage, and the now broken wax seal was pure white and depicted a lesser-known occult sigil. Putting a firm hand on Natalie¡¯s shoulder, he looked her in the eyes with as much intense focus as he could muster. ¡°Don¡¯t touch unknown magics; things are getting more dangerous, and I can¡¯t lose you to a stupid mistake.¡± Nodding and looking abashed, Natalie flipped the letter over and winced. Cole looked at the other side of the envelope and found a few words written in an elegant hand. ¡®For Natalie Striga or Mina Vrock¡¯s eyes only, upon penalty of extreme metabolic dysfunction.¡¯ Lips pursed in undisguised worry, Natalie gingerly slipped the letter from the envelope. ¡°Yeah, that wasn¡¯t smart of me.¡± Flicking open the folded paper, Natalie started to read. ¡°Natalie and/or Mina, if you are reading this letter, then my apprentice Kitthar Marono must have reached you safely. He is one of my younger students but shows great promise in certain fields; I¡¯ve commanded him to aid you to the best of his abilities and gifted him an experimental artifact to help your mission. The sky-boat requires atypical credentials to pilot, and Kitthar has them. Use his skills and knowledge the best you can, but please try and return him alive if possible.¡± Reaching the end of the letter, Natalie swallowed hard. ¡°P.S. Take care with any message from me. The popping you felt in your ears was the defense measures woven into the paper fading. If anyone other than Natalie or Mina opened this letter, they¡¯d have suffered a severe stroke followed near-instantly by this paper detonating into a reasonably-sized fireball.¡± Cole could see Natalie processing how close she¡¯d come to death. The stroke and fireball combination was an ugly attack and would prove effective even against the Alukah. Folding up the paper, Natalie said, ¡°Well, lesson learned, and now we know Kit is who he says he is.¡± Turning back to the sky-boat, Cole mused on their ¡®gift.¡¯ Reaching the vessel¡¯s prow, Cole found an odd figurehead shaped like a goose, a glowing lantern clutched in its beak. Something about the lantern and its odd light itched at the back of Cole¡¯s skull; he wasn¡¯t going to mess with it, especially after the letter. Stepping back from the lantern, Cole said. ¡°One problem solved; now, what do we do about the wolves?¡± Natalie¡¯s expression turned worried. ¡°I have an idea, but I¡¯m not so certain anymore.¡± Looking at the half-dead wolf, now sitting next to her, Natalie said. ¡°I can probably dominate them all, but I don¡¯t think they can be cured. They need to die before they hurt anyone else, but¡­ well, I want to try and make them my familiars¡­ once they are dead.¡± Cole thought to the undead farm dog bound to its skull and the ill-fated squirrel lost fighting the Shohgards. His gut reaction was disgust and distaste, Bone-bound-familiars were practically ethical by Necromancy standards, but they were still Necromantic constructs. Looking down at his hand, Cole bitterly noted that he might also fall under that category, and he doubted his creation was anything close to ¡®ethical.¡¯ Clenching his fist, Cole asked. ¡°You can speak with the wolf; could they consent to something like that?¡± Natalie nodded and gestured at her lupine thrall. ¡°He already has; I think the rest won¡¯t be hard to convince.¡± Muttering to himself, Cole said. ¡°Dark power put to a good purpose¡­ It¡¯s dangerous to do, but possible.¡± With a jerky nod, Cole added. ¡°Fine, just be careful and get their consent.¡± Alia watched this exchange and remarked. ¡°Well, before you start any fell rituals, I think we need to find the wolf pack first.¡± Natalie smiled morosely. ¡°That won¡¯t be hard.¡± Her wolf leaned back and howled, a loud warbling note that echoed through the meadow. As the last bits of the howl faded, Natalie gestured back at the wagon. ¡°Let''s go get ready.¡±
Natalie set her woodcarving tools down next to Isabelle¡¯s skull and reached out to the Soul, slumbering within the alabaster shell. Gently but firmly, Natalie nudged the sleeping consciousness attached to the skull. Slowly, like some great serpent roused from its hibernation, Isabelle¡¯s mind uncoiled and responded to Natalie¡¯s summons. + ¡­what is it? + + Sorry to wake you up, but I needed some advice about Necromancy. + That managed to get Isabelle¡¯s attention, and Natalie felt her mentor¡¯s presence grow with awareness. + I¡¯m surprised, but intrigued; what are you doing? + Natalie sent Isabelle a small stream of memories and accompanied them with words. + I have the opportunity to turn an entire wolfpack into familiars, and wanted to know if there was a less cumbersome way to bind them. Carrying around fifteen wolf skulls doesn¡¯t seem particularly efficient. + Isabelle mulled over this for a few seconds. + Interesting¡­ Yes, there is a way to consolidate your minions into a single bone totem, creating a simple reliquary, a centralized leash for large numbers of undead, if you will. Normally, I wouldn¡¯t suggest combining that magic with Soul Hollows, but with pack hunters, the side effects could prove useful. + A deluge of information flowed into Natalie, and she understood the modifications to the ritual Isabelle was suggesting. It wasn¡¯t that complicated compared to the original Necromancy, requiring steady hands and unwavering focus more than anything else. Looking at her woodcarving tools, Natalie knew she had both of those in heaps. Turning her focus back to the skull, Natalie said. + Thank you. + The psychic equivalent of an unconcerned shrug was Isabelle¡¯s response. + Inform me of the results¡­ after I have a few more nights of rest. + Placing the skull back in its box and locking it shut, Natalie picked up her tools and jumped out of the wagon. Gently patting Cuff as she passed the bored horse, Natalie found her friends examining the crashed sky-boat. Kit, with Yara¡¯s help, was trying to fit everything back into the splintered traveling trunk while Cole and Alia watched the clearing edge for the wolfpack. Mina was rereading the Lych¡¯s letter for maybe the fifth time and asking Kit a barrage of questions. ¡°So let me make sure I¡¯m understanding all this? The sky-boat is an experiment you, the Lych, and his other apprentices have been working on. It was powered by an enchanted crystal whose origin you can¡¯t share and can only be ¡®piloted¡¯ by you. This was the first attempt at long-distance flight and ended when you crashed the boat into this meadow, where you stumbled across a hungry wolf pack infected with the plague who chased you towards us, which happened to be your destination.¡± Kit nodded and thanked Yara for finding some rope to bind the broken trunk shut. ¡°That about sums it up. Honestly, I was lucky to get this far; the enchantment weaved into the boat started to crack kilometers ago. Thankfully, I held it together long enough to keep my landing from being fatal. But, I don¡¯t think the sky-boat is going anywhere. Still, we can salvage the crystal lantern. I¡¯m sure I can find something useful to do with it eventually.¡± From nearby, Alia let out a low whistle. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you are the most or least fortunate person I¡¯ve ever met.¡± A crooked grin split Kit¡¯s face. ¡°Not luck, skill! I have an incredible ability to get into horrible situations and then survive them!¡± Alia cackled at that and said. ¡°Any idea how much longer we have to wait for the wolves to show?¡± Mina shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s been, what, twenty minutes? As long as Natalie¡¯s pet keeps howling, they should show up soon enough.¡± Conversationally, Cole added. ¡°I think they are here.¡± Heads spun in the direction he was staring, but there was no sign or smell of wolf. Glancing at his friends, Cole revealed his eyes were burning silver. ¡°A mass of pain and hunger is moving towards us fast.¡± No sooner had the words escaped Cole¡¯s mouth than a lupine choir split the afternoon, answering their lost kin¡¯s call. All eyes fell on Natalie, and Cole asked. ¡°Can you subdue all of them?¡± Fang pricking her lip, Natalie looked at her first wolf and then the wood-carving tools. ¡°I¡¯ve never tried to affect so many creatures at once. But I should be able to do it.¡± Cole adjusted his grip on Requiem. ¡°Just neutralize as many as you can; the rest can be dealt with.¡± The horses were skittish, stamping at the ground and pulling at their reigns, Yara¡¯s careful touch barely keeping them from running. Mina, Cole, and Alia were ready with weapons, while Kit sat next to Yara, idly playing with his violin cases. The howls were growing louder, and Natalie knew it was time to perform. Stepping forward, facing the clearing¡¯s edge, she prepared to follow her instincts, instincts she usually did her best to ignore. Fifteen wolves exploded out of the underbrush, a pack of starving animals, their former family bonds replaced by uniting hunger. Eyes blazing with focus, Natalie swept her gaze across the wolves, meeting their frenzied stares with her own intense glare. Her mind was like a reaping scythe as she swept through the wolves, smashing their fragile egos into unconsciousness. There was no resistance, no struggle, just complete psychic defeat as Natalie¡¯s mind crushed them. All fifteen wolves flopped forward, carried by their momentum and tumbling over each other before comically landing in a pile of unconscious fur not three meters from the forest¡¯s edge. A thrill of triumph coursed through Natalie but quickly melted into deep uneasiness. She¡¯d underestimated how much the plague weakened the minds of the infected. Screamers, no matter the species, submitted to Vampires instantly. If she could subjugate a pack of wolves this easily, Natalie feared what a powerful Moroi or Wyrmoi might do with an infected city. Letting out a pointless breath, Natalie glanced behind her and winced at the expressions greeting her. Cole¡¯s face was etched in a deep frown, and Mina looked a little sick. Alia was trying to look unaffected but wasn¡¯t convincing; Kit seemed mildly interested, but worst of all, Yara stared at Natalie with undisguised adoration. Flinching away from the sight, Natalie said, ¡°I¡¯m going to check their minds and start working on things¡­ So, uh, if we want to set up camp early or..¡± All but Cole took the words as a dismissal or request for privacy. Still frowning, the Paladin came up to Natalie and, to her surprise, offered a hand. Gently taking it, Natalie felt comforted by his warmth. Slowly, uncertainly, Cole asked. ¡°Do you mind if I accompany you?¡± Genuinely surprised, Natalie¡¯s lips flapped like a dry-drowning fish. ¡°Why? You hate this kind of stuff?¡± Looking past her to the unconscious wolves, Cole said. ¡°I do. But I hate the idea of you being alone during all this even more. So, I ask again, do you mind?¡± Leaning against Cole, Natalie half-whispered. ¡°Thank you.¡± Wrapping his arm around her, Cole shrugged. ¡°Speaking as both Paladin and your partner, it''s my duty and honor to help you any way I can.¡± Sighing, Natalie spoke with bleak humor. ¡°Well, I best get started; lots of wolves to devour.¡±
The pack agreed to Natalie¡¯s offer. To be free from the pain and hunger but able to hunt together again was something out of a dream for the sixteen wolves. She¡¯d been unable to fully communicate what was involved in the ritual, but the idea of part of them living on to hunt beside a queen of the night appealed to the pack. Bleakly, Natalie wondered if existing as her familiars was something like a warrior-heaven for the wolves. Now, after an uncomfortably large effort, all sixteen wolves were dead, their severed heads arrayed before Natalie, scraps of their soul inside her. Carefully, she etched the binding mark into each of the heads, cutting into cooling flesh with an artist¡¯s deft hands. Cole stood nearby, a grim psychopomp offering the thinnest air of legitimacy to the fell ritual Natalie prepared. Once all sixteen heads were marked, Natalie started the next part of the ritual, the modifications Isabelle shared with her. Taking the head of the first wolf, Natalie got to work pulling fifteen of its teeth, a gods-awful experience that made Natalie glad she couldn¡¯t gag anymore. Once this was done, she went to the other heads and removed a single tooth from each. Carefully, Natalie poked herself with each fang, letting a tiny drop of her blood touch each one, creating a link she intended to exploit. With the newly blooded teeth in hand, Natalie got to work putting them into the empty sockets of the original wolf head. Once it was done, Natalie held a single severed wolf head with a chimeric set of teeth. Raising the severed head up, Natalie focused her mind on the sigil she carved into its forehead and prepared the final step of the ritual. ¡°By plague, you came into my power; by plague, you shall be called. Nameless wolf pack you are no longer; now you are Lupus!¡± Blood-red flames erupted from the carved sigils, spreading out across the severed heads, consuming flesh in an occult fire. Where the flames licked at Natalie¡¯s skin, they felt warm and sticky, like fresh ichor, but didn¡¯t burn. As the fire faded, Natalie was left holding the prime head, now polished alabaster bone. Before her, the other fifteen skulls still burned, bone crumbling into ash as the fell magic consumed everything. When the last spark of crimson fire faded, Natalie set the skull down. Calling upon her new familiars, Natalie spoke. ¡°Lupus! Lupus! Lupus! Answer my call!¡± Bolts of red light erupted out of the skull, and gray smoke boiled up around it. Crimson light congealed into ethereal bones, and the unclean ectoplasm wrapped them in spectral flesh. Standing up on phantom limbs, the original wolf now unlived as a Bone-bound-familiar. Nodding to herself, Natalie said. ¡°Lupus, sixteen.¡± The wolf familiar started to walk right, its body trailing phantasmagorical afterimages. Afterimages, which quickly solidified into separate wolves, until fifteen spectral lupines followed after the first. Natalie could feel them at the back of her mind, a crackling web of interlinked Soul Hollows bound to her will. Experimentally, Natalie ordered the wolves to run across the meadow. They obliged, loping along as a pack, following the different directions psychically given to them. As the distance between Natalie and the pack grew, she felt the tiny drain on her blood supply increase. Quickly bringing them closer, Natalie commanded the wolves to become ten, which they did. Six of the familiars lept into their kin, fusing with them, until ten remained. After a few more basic tests, Natalie brought the pack close and let the magic fade, leaving a single wolf skull at her feet. Picking up the skull and gently stroking the sigil carved into its forehead, Natalie looked to Cole and said. ¡°I think they will be useful.¡± Looking at the skull, Cole nodded and slowly said. ¡°Lupus¡­?¡± Shrugging, now a little abashed, Natalie defended herself. ¡°Isabelle said to give familiars simple but poignant names. Besides, it works, doesn¡¯t it? A pack of wolves dying from disease?¡± Cole opened his mouth but shut it again after a few seconds, unable to think of a proper response. Instead, he changed the subject and asked. ¡°Is it difficult controlling that many minions at once?¡± Cocking her head to the side, Natalie shook her head. ¡°Not really; the ritual closely links the pack¡¯s minds. The Hollows do most of the work anyway. I just give the pack a command, and their minds follow them.¡± A slow, tired breath escaped Cole. ¡°That''s¡­ worrying.¡± Natalie frowned and started to ask for clarification when Cole provided it. ¡°Producing intelligent, loyal Undead shouldn¡¯t be this easy. Your familiars are a strange mix of Wraith and Wight, created through a simple ritual. This is powerful Necromancy, another product of Isabelle¡¯s genius, and a particularly devastating one if it ever got into the wrong hands.¡± Clutching the skull and looking down at its polished surface, Natalie muttered. ¡°Of course it is¡­¡± Book III: Chapter 20: Learning Experiences

Chapter 20: Learning Experiences

¡°I¡¯m not questioning the weapon¡¯s effectiveness, Voivode Igori. I¡¯m questioning the wisdom of unleashing a plague like that. Culling the mortals with pestilences is reasonable; using the Fae is not. While the Archduke¡¯s aid in light of his entanglements in the south is appreciated, I worry using information recovered from Isabelle Gens Silva alongside the item recovered from Goatsong will prove dangerous.¡± - Letter from Duke Mika Gens Umbria (Transcribed by the Succubus Sysiasyia)
With the wolves bound to Natalie and their empty husks disposed of, the group got to work setting up camp. The clearing was a decent space to spend the night, and after the day''s activities, a little rest was in order. Tents were set up, a fire pit was dug, and other supplies were unloaded from the wagon. For his part, Cole kept busy finding anything dry enough to fuel a campfire, a practice he had long experience with. Returning to the makeshift campsite with another load of salvaged branches and tinder, Cole found his companions engaged in their tasks. Alia swaggered back into Camp with two unfortunate rabbits and a handful of early herbs. Mina and Natalie fussed over the big stew pot filled with fresh stream water while Yara watered the horses and brushed their coats. Eyes tracing across this scene, Cole found the newcomer, Kit, hunched down by the wagon, doing something to its side. Depositing the firewood by the pit, Cole walked over to the Magi and found him carving strange flowing patterns into the wagon¡¯s side. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Kit practically jumped in fright and almost dropped the ritual athame he¡¯d been using. Looking at Cole, a slightly guilty expression on his face, Kit said. ¡°Helping out. I¡¯m not much good with all the ¡®wilderness survival stuff,¡¯ but I do know magic.¡± Patting the carving he¡¯d been working on, Kit explained. ¡°I¡¯m predominantly a Kinemancer with some Graviturgical skill. With the lantern to help, I should be able to reduce the weight of the wagon and its supplies. Y¡¯know, to make it easier on the horses and allow for more cargo, like me.¡± Frowning, Cole asked. ¡°Did you tell anyone you¡¯d be doing this?¡± Kit cocked his head to the side. ¡°No, why?¡± A hundred similar conversations involving Rellim and his staff passed through Cole¡¯s head. Mundane academic types could be insufferable, and they didn¡¯t even have reality-warping arcane powers like Magi. Pulling on years of experience, Cole said. ¡°Thank you for the aid, but please check with us first; we don¡¯t want different enchantments or spells to clash.¡± Cole didn¡¯t bother to bring up petty notions like consent or personal property. To a Magi, they were trifles in the face of arcane mysteries. If he wanted Kit to cooperate, Cole needed to speak a language he understood. Slowly nodding at Cole¡¯s words, the Magi said. ¡°I see; I hadn¡¯t thought about that; yes, good idea.¡± Getting up from his squat, Kit scratched his head and sighed. ¡°It really is a shame about the sky-boat; this would have been the perfect time to relearn such magic, with the war on and all that.¡± Cole leaned against the wagon and examined Kit; after Natalie¡¯s prodding, he remembered the strange fiddler from the market and the ball. ¡°Were our previous encounters truly a coincidence?¡± Cleaning his Athame with a coat sleeve, Kit shrugged. ¡°The first time I think so; I¡¯m not certain about the ball, though. The Ivory Tower traditionally sends a few prodigies to major city events to show off, and I was a last-minute selection for the Solstice. I don¡¯t know if my master was pulling strings to get me invited or not.¡± The Athame left Kit¡¯s hand then and floated over towards his backpack, finding its home in a leather sheath. Watching this impressive bit of telekinesis, Cole asked, ¡°Is that how you survived the wolves?¡± Stretching his fingers, Kit answered. ¡°Yep, every time they pounced or got close, I gave them a little push, kept them off-balance.¡± Frowning, Cole looked towards the patch of grass they found a dead wolf in. ¡°What about the one with the broken spine? If you could do that, why didn¡¯t you kill the rest of the pack?¡± A sheepish grimace crossed Kit¡¯s face. ¡°I took offense when you said I wasn¡¯t that powerful, but I really shouldn¡¯t have. In terms of raw arcane strength, I¡¯m lacking; my skills lie in finesse and complexity. Snapping an old sick wolf¡¯s spine was a wasteful effort, especially after my ill-fated flight.¡± Sitting near Kit was the strange crystal lantern he¡¯d salvaged from the sky-boat. Cole hadn¡¯t looked at the artifact too closely but guessed it was some kind of enchanted gemstone; such things were common in the highest order of magecraft. About the size of a child¡¯s skull, a frame of reference Cole hated he knew, the lantern was almost spherical, with countless finely cut sides refracting its eldritch inner light. When he first saw the lantern, Cole thought its light was a pale white, but the encroaching twilight forced him to reconsider. As the Sun¡¯s light drained away, the lantern¡¯s true color became clear, or at least comprehensible. The light was more vivid, more intense, and more unnerving than any natural white could be. It was the white light cast by an alien sun or someone''s idea of an alien sun, now bottled in cut crystal. Just glancing at the artifact made Cole wonder what long-term exposure to such an occult item would do; it also made him not want to know where the Lych acquired it. But unfortunately, Cole could make a few good guesses about the lantern¡¯s origin. Checking to make sure the rest of the group was busy, engaged in chores or conversation, Cole casually asked. ¡°How many generations removed are you from the Sidhe?¡± Kit¡¯s face lost all its color, a dreadful effect, especially in the light of the lantern. ¡°T-twelve, four elf, eight human. How did you know?¡± Changelings: the hybrid spawn of the Sidhe, one of the most feared species in the world. Born with all the magical potency and shape-changing skill of the Fae but without a mind capable of wielding the power safely. It was said Changelings were doomed to a short life filled with madness and woe, trapped between worlds and unable to survive in either. Of course, doomed doesn¡¯t mean infertile, and some of the luckier Changelings produced offspring. Even generations removed from these eldritch ancestors, the Sidhespawn kept flickers of the old mysteries within them, usually unconsciously. Gesturing at the lantern, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen something like that before. It was the beacon of the Tiaracht lighthouse. The Elves on the island didn¡¯t like outsiders getting near it, which made sense considering its origin. In fact, the only person who spent much time near the lighthouse was its keeper, an old fellow who liked to stare at clouds and sing songs in a pitch no one could match. Was he a distant relative of yours?¡± Shaken and clearly expecting some kind of attack, Kit said. ¡°I don¡¯t think so; my family is from Lusitania. Are¡­ are you going to tell anyone?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t care what your ancestry is, and I won¡¯t use what I know to hurt you without good cause. But I also don¡¯t appreciate being misled; the sky-ship is only part of the reason the Lych sent you, am I correct?¡± Kit untensed a little. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m here to help deal with the plague¡¯s source.¡± Momentarily confused, Cole was about to request clarification when things fit into place. The Gallarwylls, the faeries bound into the Screaming plague, were spawned from eggs summoned by the disease. So, where did the eggs come from? They couldn¡¯t just be called from the Grey Beyond; the energy and rites involved were too much. But if something was laying eggs in the Aether, then a summoning would be possible. ¡°There¡¯s a mother somewhere. The Vampires have a¡­ ¡®Gallarwyll queen¡¯ imprisoned somewhere and are using her to create the eggs.¡± Rasped Cole, horrible comprehension soaking into him. Kit nodded. ¡°My master, the First Preceptor, had a suspicion when Isabelle Gens Silva explained her logic behind the cure, and he did some additional research. Creating and spreading a powerful pestilence like the Screaming Plague isn¡¯t easy, requiring a lot of magical power and unique ingredients. Both of these could be acquired through a powerful faerie beast.¡± A look of genuine horror spread across Cole¡¯s face, an expression even the most twisted Undead monsters failed to illicit. ¡°Have the Duchies gone insane? I thought there were treaties about not using Faeries like that? The Gallarwyll eggs were bad enough, but this¡­ this is¡­ fire-and-iron; it¡¯s incredibly dangerous.¡± The Final Gates, the ancient magical defenses created from Saint Myra the Martyr, did more than balance the influence of Gods; they shielded the world from the Fae. Because of the Gate¡¯s shrouding power, the Hosts of Air and Darkness never returned to avenge ancient defeats. But the exact strength of the Gates wasn¡¯t truly known, and nobody sane was willing to test exactly how much faerie attention was needed to overwhelm them. Calling up a familiar or a few Faerie beasts was one thing; infecting millions with fae larvae spawned by complicated repeated summoning was another. Leaving that big of a systematic trace in the Aether might attract the worst form of eldritch predators. Kit looked a little sick at Cole¡¯s words, and he said. ¡°My master has been wondering the same thing. He orignally thought losing the Alukah was driving them to this point, but now he isn¡¯t certain.¡± Letting out a long, slow breath, Cole traced over things in his mind. Kit was Sidhekin, or at least enough to still count for their artifacts and magic. A rare property, that when combined with his magical dexterity, made Kit perfect for manipulating Faerie relics. Like the lantern powering the sky-boat¡¯s enchantments, or a similar artifact involved with the plague¡¯s source. Kithar Marono wasn¡¯t just some apprentice sent as a token aid to the cure effort, but a subtle knife pointed at the Leechs¡¯ own weapon. Calming slightly, Cole asked. ¡°Why are you telling me this? Don¡¯t you want to keep this hidden?¡± Shrugging, Kit said. ¡°If you knew enough to guess what I am, then hiding stuff from you would be counter-productive. After today, I¡¯ve gotten a sense I¡¯m going to need all the help I can get, and misleading you doesn¡¯t seem like a good idea. Besides, you scared the shit out of me earlier, and I¡¯d rather you trust me a modicum instead of putting an axe to my throat.¡± A bitter snort escaped Cole. ¡°Thank you. I will do what I can to help, but the core of my responsibilities lie elsewhere.¡± Said core called out from beside the fireplace. ¡°It¡¯s getting cold, Cole; come help me warm up.¡± Smiling at Natalie, Cole looked at Kit, ¡°Are you up to playing some music for us tonight?¡± The fiddler-magi gained a bit of his cocksure attitude again. ¡°Of course.¡± As they started to walk towards the fire, Cole paused and asked. ¡°One last question: why did you want to see the Sage stone? It was a profoundly suspicious thing to do.¡± Fishing in his pockets, Kit pulled out a shining coin. ¡°My master gave me this; it''s a tracking charm and how I found you. I figured if I showed how it reacted to the reliquary, you¡¯d believe me.¡± Cole looked at the coin and blinked in surprise; the mishappen piece of gold was familiar, one of the Heartstealer¡¯s tracking coins repurposed by the Lych, probably out of some misguided sense of humor. ¡°If you¡¯d shown me that, to begin with, I¡¯d probably have trusted you more.¡±
Ludaford died badly. It took close to twenty-four hours for the town to be completely sacked. Even with the outer wall breached and its main defenders dead, the fortress town held out for a shockingly long time. The few scattered pockets of resistance didn¡¯t do much damage to the invading army of corpses, but they did buy themselves a few hourglass grains. But ultimately, it was a futile effort, and the few claimed motes of time were quickly washed away by a corpse tide. Sitting in a highbacked chair scavenged from a wealthy merchant¡¯s house, Lord Aloysius Wolfgang looked over the surviving citizens of Ludaford. They¡¯d been assembled in the remnants of the town square, a huddled mass of maybe five hundred desperate souls surrounded by walls of steel-encased bone. The surviving population was roughly a sixth of the original count, judging by the census information Wolfgang¡¯s thralls acquired¡ªmore than enough to support a breeding population. From his perch, Wolfgang monitored his Gasha¡¯s work. Reigning them in after the slaughter had been difficult but not impossible, and now the four surviving Gashadokuro were busy clearing away rubble and destroyed buildings like unholy crane systems. Keeping them busy was proving to be important; otherwise, the hungry animus within the giant skulls started eyeing up the surviving mortals. Aside from the crunch and clatter of the Gasha¡¯s work, the night was filled with the sound of gentle weeping and the occasional scream. A troop of well-trained Thralls walked among the people of Ludaford, giving them the two gifts Wolfgang offered, the plague¡¯s cure and the branding iron. Marking conquered populations with an icy brand was a new policy in the Duchies, something the more hardline dominance factions had wanted for centuries. Born and bred citizens of the Duchies could be counted on not to flee, or at least not in numbers enough to matter; their newly subdued neighbors were a different story. Besides, adding a palpable mark of separation between citizens and captured serfs was good for social cohesion, giving the native peasantry someone to look down upon. In a few weeks, the survivors of Ludaford would be marched east and used to bolster the population of Roloyo. Then, in four generations or so, the descendants of Ludaford would be indistinguishable from any other mortal in the Duchies, just more compliant livestock to be bartered and slaughtered as the Vampires saw fit. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Altogether, the occupation of Ludaford was proceeding like well-made clockwork, which was exactly the Black Fly¡¯s goal. Duke Mika would be visiting tonight, and impressing him would be key to future plans. Wolfgang played a perilous game with players much stronger and more connected than him. Collecting allies and favors would be key not just to his ambition but to basic survival. Creating and unleashing the Screaming Plague hadn¡¯t elevated Wolfgang¡¯s prestige quite like he¡¯d hoped. The tainted legacy of Countess Gens Silva and the innate skittishness around Fae shortchanged Wolfgang¡¯s political capital. As the Gashadokuro finished clearing away much of the destroyed outer town, Wolfgang heard the unmistakable call of crows, lots and lots of crows. Standing up from his chair, he looked to Cleanor, who¡¯d been sleeping off a heavy meal, and said, ¡°The Duke will arrive soon.¡± The Lamia¡¯s eyes snapped open, and she uncoiled herself. ¡°The flying court has come?¡± The chorus of crows grew louder and louder, going from the caws of a simple murder to the raucous cries of an entire massacre. Looking up at the pitch-black night sky, Cleanor whispered. ¡°That¡¯s answer enough.¡± Roloyo shared two borders with the Holy League and, much like its neighbor, the Southern Marches, hosted the lord¡¯s share of fighting between the two patchwork empires. Even this most recent conflict was ignited by the Prince of Harmas trying to claim contested territory in the Dragontail foothills. Eternally embroiled in war, the Duchy of Roloyo constantly needed a strong hand across its lands. To this end, Duke Gens Umbria spent little of his unlife within his capital, instead traveling his domain and bringing his court with him. As the crow-song became deafening, other sounds mixed in with it, the beating of titanic wings. Staring up at the sky, Wolfgang watched the stars go out as countless crows and other larger scavengers filled the night sky. Raining down from the heavens like the black blood of an undead god, the crows settled across Ludaford. Every rooftop was covered in twitching black feathers and beady black eyes, awaiting their master¡¯s arrival. Stepping down from the dias he¡¯d used to observe matters, Wolfgang knelt on the damp cobblestones of the town square, Cleanor prostrate a few steps behind him. The other Vampires involved in the siege materialized in the square as well, taking positions of supplication nearby. Looking around the square, Wolfgang triple-checked the clear space he¡¯d left was enough for the Duke to land. The beat of great wings grew louder and louder as the flying court arrived in earnest. A quartet of horse-sized direbats landed in a rough diamond; each beast carried an armored knight in red. The four Scarlet Knights dismounted their beasts and checked the perimeter as the Duke¡¯s steed came into view. Flying low over the town was a colossal eagle, a score of other winged monsters coming in its wake. With disconcerting grace, the eagle landed between the direbats, its entourage finding other places across the town square. This close, Wolfgang could see the details of the giant bird, its black feathers with gilded edges, its massive steel-tipped talons, and its hollow, empty eye sockets. Much like its master, the eagle was an undead relic of the old empire. In another epoch, the eagle was the totem beast of an entire legion, a Jotunnspawn sworn to ancient Iskan. Now, centuries after its death, the creature¡¯s mummified remains were animated in service to Duke Gens Silva. Dismounting from the throne-like saddle atop the undead Aquilifer, the Duke examined the conquered town of Ludaford. Clad in black plate with gilded trim, hand resting on his sword¡¯s pommel, he looked every centimeter the monstrous warlord he was. ¡°Your new creations performed well, I take it?¡± Still kneeling, the Black fly nodded. ¡°Yes, my lord Duke. I breached the walls with five of the Gasha and sundered Ludaford¡¯s other defenses.¡± Staring up at the four titanic skulls hovering nearby, the Duke asked. ¡°I assume one of them was destroyed?¡± Wolfgang had considered creating a replacement Gasha from the dead of Ludaford but decided against it. The Duke was a soldier by origin and nature; he understood the inevitability of losses, unlike some more fickle Nobles. ¡°Yes, my lord Duke, it was destroyed by the town¡¯s priest''s final effort. But I believe such a loss could be avoided with better support from other martial elements. Also, in terms of resources, it paid for itself many times over.¡± Face shrouded in shadow, the Duke asked. ¡°Give control of them to me.¡± A little surprised, Wolfgang started to object but decided unquestioned compliance would serve him better. Stepping towards the Duke, Wolfgang reached to his side and unbuckled a strange, curved short sword. Holding it out, Wolfgang offered the blade to the Duke. Taking it, Umbria drew the blade and examined its single edge and odd guard. Barely visible even to Vampire''s eyes were the series of acid-etched runes decorating the blade''s flat, burned into the metal by the Gashadokuru¡¯s ectoplasm. Sheathing the blade and holding onto its scabbard, the Duke looked up at the Gasha; four sets of baleful false-eyes returned his stare. The titanic monsters knelt as one, their invisible limbs crushing debris beneath them. Holding the short sword and, by extension, control over the Gasha, Duke Gens Umbria nodded to himself. ¡°How does it work?¡± A less controlled person might have sighed in relief, but Wolfgang just answered the question. ¡°The short sword, or ¡®tanto¡¯ as the manuscript called it, was a key part of the creation ritual. Whoever holds the tanto has control over the Gashadokuro.¡± The Duke raised a single eyebrow, ¡°What if the ¡®tanto¡¯ is stolen?¡± He pronounced the foreign word like he was tasting it, a soldier sampling a new weapon with his mind and mouth. Wolfgang replied. ¡°The tanto must be knowingly given for the link to shift, but this can be forced if it needs to be reclaimed. A troublesome vassal gifted Gashadokuro could be coerced into giving up the tanto. Unfortunately, if the tanto-holder dies, the Gasha are released to follow their instincts until a powerful enough Necromancer rebinds them.¡± As Wolfgang talked, the Gasha stood up and walked around the town, their thunderous footfalls testifying to the Duke¡¯s experimentation. One of the Gasha started to walk towards the square, its phantom feet leaving small craters in their wake. Watching its approach, the Duke asked. ¡°Can the tanto be bypassed or subverted?¡± The Gasha was now close enough Wolfgang needed to crane his head back to see its skull. ¡°Not without significant effort. I suppose a Necromancer who severely outclasses the tanto holder could force control, but that wouldn¡¯t be easy.¡± Nodding, the Duke asked. ¡°Anything else?¡± Without hesitation, Wolfgang said, ¡°No, nothing I can think of.¡± After a few seconds of contemplation, the Duke gestured at Wolfgang and said. ¡°Gashadokuro, kill him.¡± The world slowed as the Gasha swiped down with an ox-sized hand. Wolfgang leaped back, pouring blood into his legs and barely escaping the unnaturally fast Rattler¡¯s attack. Stunned and confused, Wolfgang turned to run when an armored fist slammed through his gut. The Black Fly looked up at the implacable Scarlet Knight as the warrior pushed his hand deeper into Wolfgang and gripped his spine. A flare of incredible pain tore into Wolfgang, and his legs buckled, the Scarlet Knight letting him drop to the ground, his vertebrae crushed. Wolfgang¡¯s jaw bounced on the cobblestone as he collapsed, and he could only watch as the Gashadokuro paused to raise one foot up to crush him. Eyes flicking to Cleanor, he found his bodyguard restrained by two swords at her neck. Feeling the displacement of air as the Gasha¡¯s foot came down towards him, Wolfgang shut his eyes and seized control. While he couldn¡¯t see it, Wolfgang smelled and heard the tanto¡¯s blade sizzle as the runes melted. Information and influence flooded into Wolfgang¡¯s mind, and he stopped the Gasha from crushing him. Black boots with gold spurs came into view, and Wolfgang felt an unbreakable grip on his collar yank him up. Now, a few centimeters from the Duke, Wolfgang studied the granite-carved face of Mika Gens Umbria. Strangely, there was no anger in the Duke¡¯s expression, just dry amusement. ¡°Do you know what your mistake was, Aloysius?¡± Wolfgang managed to rasp. ¡°Leaving a backdoor in the Gasha I could use to regain control.¡± Shaking his head with bored exasperation, the Duke said. ¡°No, that was perfectly fine; your mistake was not telling me about it.¡± The Duke snapped his fingers and gestured elsewhere with his free hand before saying. ¡°You are clever, Black fly, very clever. In a few centuries, I imagine you¡¯ll be one of the greatest Necromancers in the Duchies, but for now, you¡¯re still young and foolish. Sensing the truth of the tanto, how ownership of the Gasha is merely loaned to the relic wasn¡¯t difficult.¡± One of the Scarlet Knights came into view, dragging a terrified-looking mortal man. Grabbing the mortal and shoving him towards Wolfgang, the Duke said. ¡°Heal, and then we will discuss this properly.¡± Lunging out with his still-working hands, Wolfgang gripped the mortal and dragged him to his mouth. Sharp fangs and powerful venom ended the man¡¯s screams as Wolfgang guzzled his blood. As a Strix, Wolfgang wasn¡¯t predisposed to incredible regeneration, but with an entire life''s worth of blood to fuel him, feeling quickly returned to his legs. Shakily, his lower limbs not working right, Wolfgang knelt before the Duke and said. ¡°I beg your forgiveness, my lord Duke.¡± Armored fingers patted Wolfgang on the shoulder. ¡°Considering your youth and usefulness, I¡¯ll overlook this indiscretion. But do not expect such leniency a second time; ripping secrets free from your mind would not be difficult.¡± Getting to his feet, Wolfgang watched as the two Scarlet Knights removed their blades from Cleanor¡¯s throat. Dropping the tanto into Wolfgang¡¯s hand, the Duke stared up at the unmoving Gashadokuro. ¡°I want more of them; turn the dead of Ludaford into as many as you can.¡± A little surprised but unwilling to question this unexpected mercy, Wolfgang nodded. ¡°I will work from dusk to dawn until it is done.¡± Still looking up at the Gashadokuro, the Duke added. ¡°Repair the enchantment; the rest of my court will be arriving soon, and my Necromancers will record the ritual for wider use.¡± After the tiniest hesitation, Wolfgang said. ¡°Yes, my lord Duke.¡± Squeezing Wolfgang¡¯s shoulder with enough strength to dance the line between comforting and cruel, the Duke said. ¡°Even in light of your error, I¡¯m not going to rob you of your accomplishments. The Duchies will know you are behind this new weapon, and its success or failures will fall to you. I¡¯m expecting great and terrible things from you, Black fly, meet my expectations, and you will be rewarded.¡± The second part of the Duke¡¯s message went unsaid. ¡®Fail to meet them, and you will be punished.¡¯ Nodding his head, Wolfgang managed to say. ¡°I will not fail or disappoint you.¡± Letting go of his shoulder, the Duke smiled, the humorless grin of a hungry wolf. ¡°I know you won¡¯t. Now go get changed; I expect you to attend court without your intestine trailing behind you.¡± Somehow, Wolfgang hadn¡¯t noticed his guts were hanging out of him, a memento of the Scarlet Knights''s brutal blow. Glancing at his injuries, the Black fly nodded at his dismissal and shuffled towards the manor house he¡¯d taken for his personal use. A nervous thrall opened the door for him and started to shut it behind Wolfgang when Cleanor arrived with a hiss of scales. Pushing past the thrall and slamming the door behind her, the Lamia gripped Wolfgang and shoved him against the nearby wall. Weak as he was, Wolfgang couldn¡¯t resist the furious snake-women as she wrapped coils around him. Pinned and bound, Wolfgang tried to speak but was cut off by a long talon pressed to his lips. Furious brown eyes glared down at Wolfgang as Cleanor reared up on her serpentine lower half. ¡°You ssstupid sssself-asssured whelp! Keeping you alive isss my resssponssssibility! Doing that isss impossssible if you make sssuch idiotic choicesss.¡± Wolfgang had never seen Cleanor so angry her vocal training failed. ¡°I made a mistake; I wanted to keep my true control over the Gashadokuro hidden to maintain an advantage. I will learn from this error.¡± Still glaring at him, Cleanor snapped. ¡°A rare privilege, enjoy it.¡± Heavily muscled coils of snake flesh loosened their grip, and Wolfgang was freed from the Lamia¡¯s grip. Leaving her, Wolfgang headed for his improvised quarters, one hand clutching the amulet he wore around his neck. Just a little more time, a little more power, and he¡¯d be free.
Natalie was back on night watch; she¡¯d gotten a day and night of sleep the day after Kit joined the group, so she¡¯d be good to stand guard for a while. Sitting atop the wagon¡¯s canvas covering, balancing on one of the sturdy wooden ribs holding up the thick fabric, Natalie listened to the night sounds and watched her familiars play. The group camped deep in an old forest, a dozen meters from the road and surrounded by countless sturdy trees. Seventeen spectral forms loped between the trees, chasing each other in a haunting dance of ectoplasm. Sixteen wolves and one sheepdog, mortal enemies in life, her servants in death. Grist joined with the Lupus pack surprisingly easily, one of his teeth added to the wolf skull and his own scuffed dog skull set aside as a memento. Watching as Grist and three of the Lupus bounded over tall bushes and under low branches, Natalie felt her mind growing accustomed to the psychic weight of her familiars. Commanding and getting information from them was becoming easier and easier. In fact, the ¡®play time¡¯ she let them indulge in was a break from their earlier, more strenuous activity. Over two hours, she¡¯d guided the pack through tracking, stalking, and corralling a very unfortunate deer towards the camp, where it met its end at Natalie¡¯s fangs. Neither Cole nor Yara could provide the amount of blood Natalie needed, so hunting like this was extremely useful. In fact, after learning the basics of skinning and gutting wild game, Natalie¡¯s nightly hunts were doing wonders to buoy everyone¡¯s rations, not just hers. Watching the wolves move through the underbrush, Natalie felt a strange itch in the back of her skull. Suddenly cautious, Natalie glanced around and nearly fell off the wagon top upon seeing Isabelle sitting beside her. Stifling a surprised yelp, Natalie recovered quickly and looked at her mentor expectantly. ¡°Well, how are you feeling?¡± This was the first time Isabelle fully manifested since leaving Vindabon, and how easily she¡¯d done it disturbed Natalie. Reacting to their mistress''s emotions, the expanded pack stopped their play and stared at Isabelle. Looking down at the pack with bored disinterest, Isabelle said. ¡°You are growing stronger, but not fast enough for my purposes.¡± Rolling her eyes, Natalie said, ¡°Clearly, you¡¯ve recovered if you are complaining?¡± Tapping her fingers on the wagon¡¯s canvas, Isabelle said. ¡°I¡¯m not¡­ complaining, simply stating facts and problems. By any reasonable standard, you¡¯re developing leaps and bounds more than any Vampire your age should. It¡¯s just¡­ well, I¡¯ve not just been in hibernation the past few days; I¡¯ve been thinking about things.¡± Natalie¡¯s sarcastic attitude melted; she knew Isabelle¡¯s tone. The older Vampire was trying to open up, something she didn¡¯t find easy. Still tapping her fingers in the same repeating pattern, Isabelle said. ¡°I need a new body, and I have a plan to acquire one. But like most things these days, I need your help.¡± Refusing to meet Natalie¡¯s eyes, Isabelle elaborated. ¡°With a little preparation, it''s possible for me to take over a body permanently. Particularly the body of something undead or¡­ unnatural. Since you and Cole are heading for the frontlines with the Duchies, I¡­¡± Isabelle trailed off, but Natalie understood the implications. ¡°You want me to help you find a body to steal.¡± The former countess nodded. ¡°Believe me when I say there are many servants of the Archduke even less deserving of existence than me. I¡¯m not asking you to kidnap some poor peasant and let me possess them, but if there is an opportunity to capture a female vampire or similar, then please take it.¡± Hearing this, Natalie licked her lips anxiously and slowly asked the question that haunted her every thought. ¡°If you wanted to, could you take over my body permanently?¡± Still refusing to look at Natalie, Isabelle jerked her head in a slight nod. ¡°Not easily, but I could.¡± A long, pregnant silence filled the night until Natalie forced a miscarriage with a single question. ¡°Did you consider doing it?¡± Mouth opening, Isabelle whispered in a voice so small even a Vampire¡¯s ears suffered to hear it. ¡°Yes.¡± A second silence, this time burdened with twins, stretched on until Natalie spoke. ¡°Thank you for being honest with me. If I can do this for you, then I will.¡± Finally, looking at Natalie, Isabelle¡¯s mouth fell open in shock. ¡°Truly?¡± Staring up at the distant stars overhead, Natalie said. ¡°In three days, you managed to cure a plague meant to destroy entire countries. All it took was a little prodding and someone to keep you in line. I bet you''d do hells of a lot more in three years with me and Cole to help.¡± Reaching out to where Isabelle¡¯s hand should be and touching the absent air, Natalie smiled. ¡°You were honest without me needing to threaten, bribe or cajole you. After everything we¡¯ve been through, after everything you¡¯ve done, I feel it''s right to help you have another chance.¡± Both women stared at each other for a long time, the tiniest tremble in Isabelle¡¯s lip giving away the maelstrom of emotions inside her. In something less than a whisper, Isabelle rasped. ¡°Thank you.¡± Laying back so she was staring up at the glittering heavens, Natalie said. ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± Slowly, tentatively, Isabelle mimicked Natalie, and the two stared up at the sky together. Book III: Chapter 21: Sorrows

Chapter 21: Sorrows

¡°Nothing in this ephemeral universe is truer than pain. The blessing of pain defines consciousness; the ability to suffer and hurt is universal across awareness. But even in this great cosmic connector, there is a hierarchy; not all pain is created equal, and not all creations can touch its higher forms. As people, true people, we can experience the purest form of pain, love, and loss. The ability to grieve, to drown in pain, is what makes us special. Never forget this: your pain is your truth, and the only real thing about you.¡± - The Sermon in the Pit, attributed to Jalda the Many-Voiced.
Aloysius Wolfgang hated having an audience while he worked; they could too easily become a distraction, something that didn¡¯t mix well with dangerous necromantic rituals. Standing atop a makeshift dias in the town square of Ludaford, Wolfgang tried to ignore the dozens of red eyes staring at him as he created another Gashadokuro. The entire flying court of Duke Mika Gens Umbria stood in silent judgment of Wolfgang, witnesses to his success or failure. Among them was Caladus Corpsefriend, chief Necromancer of the Duke, and Wolfgang¡¯s potential usurper if he proved inadequate. Doing his best to ignore his grim audience, Wolfgang spat the last words of the ritual and felt the storm of misery condense into the Gashadokuro¡¯s core. As the new Rattler pulled itself from the pool of black ectoplasm, Wolfgang allowed himself the tiniest amount of relief. He¡¯d managed the ritual despite everything and bought himself a little more time. Polite clapping issued from the flying court, a gesture Wolfgang genuinely couldn¡¯t tell was mocking or sincere. Seated upon the gilded curule he used as a throne, the Duke watched as the new Gasha stood alongside its four battle-tested kindred. Glancing at his Necromancer, the Duke asked. ¡°Well, Caladus, what do you think?¡± Corpulent with small beady eyes, the Necromancer looked more like a corrupt tax collector than the ancient monster he was. An impression Wolfgang knew must be intentional; any Vampire Magi worthy of the title could alter their appearance. Not all Vampires were sired with the inhuman youthful beauty characteristic of their kind; many stole it for themselves. The Necromancer¡¯s wide, jowled mouth split in a fanged smile. ¡°It''s magnificent! I¡¯ve not seen such a clever blending of Necromancy and Demonic communion in a long time. Bravo to the young lord for bringing us this weapon.¡± Wolfgang bowed his head in response to the greasy compliments clearly meant to butter him up. ¡°You honor me, Lord Caladus.¡± Stroking his chins like another man might a beard, Caladus said. ¡°I do believe with young Wolfgang¡¯s guidance, I should be able to create more of these ¡®Gasha¡¯ myself.¡± Meeting the older Necromancer¡¯s eyes, Wolfgang replied. ¡°That shouldn¡¯t be an issue; in fact, with your aid, Lord Caladus, I might be able to make progress on other matters of arcane importance.¡± Caladus¡¯s smile widened but never reached his eyes. ¡°But of course! I¡¯m always happy to help a prodigy reach his full potential.¡± Hidden beneath the smarmy geniality, a deal was struck between the two Necromancers. Wolfgang would allow Caladus access to his research in exchange for some of the older Vampire¡¯s magical secrets. Another example of the sub-rosian politicking that defined Vampire relationships. Leaning forward on his stool, the Duke smiled like a hungry wolf. ¡°Good. How long do you think it will take the two of you to convert all of Ludaford¡¯s dead into Gasha?¡± The two Necromancers exchanged glances, and Caladus said. ¡°It depends on young Wolfgang here; if he is willing to share his secrets with some of my coven, then I don¡¯t believe it will take any time at all.¡± Every time a secret is shared, it degrades, becoming less and less of a secret until it is naught but petty information. If Wolfgang let knowledge of creating Gashadokuro spread, he¡¯d be devaluing a treasure gained at significant expense. ¡°If Lord Caladus has a select few he deems worthy of this information, I¡¯m sure we can come to an arrangement.¡± Getting up from his stool, the Duke gestured at a clear cobblestone space and snapped his fingers. Four thralls quickly moved a large rolled carpet to the space and unfurled it, revealing a woven map of the surrounding region. Stepping onto the carpet map, the Duke spoke. ¡°The Alidon forts have stalled us for too long. But with the plague rampaging through the Marches and the Gashadokuro at our call, I intend to break the defensive line.¡± There was a stir among the assembled Vampires; it had been long since the Duchies pushed past the Alidon. Traditionally, the lands between the Tya and the Alidon were what the League and Duchies squabbled over; moving hostilities deeper into mortal territory signaled a major change. Among the assembled nobles, a burly Strigoi count spoke up. ¡°Where shall we strike lord Duke?¡± Unsheathing his gladius, Duke Mika tapped a spot on the map where the Alidon River turned sharply south. ¡°At Crowbend Castle, that is where we break through.¡± This time, there wasn¡¯t a stir among the Nobles, just stunned silence. Of the Alidon forts and cities, only three were considered impregnable: Harmas, Crowbend, and, where the Prince of Vindabon currently nested, Fort Erdom. A dozen weaker forts dotted the river''s east bank, each an easier prize. Eventually, the silence was broken by a fearsome female knight with short red hair. ¡°Why Crowbend? It seems a tough skull to crush. Why not just take one of the other forts and spread out from there, get a proper bridgehead, and flank the livestock from either direction? Hells, why don¡¯t we just crack open Harmas and use it instead?¡± Sir Jilian DuMord of the Iron Fang Order was beautiful and horrible to behold. Possessing all the lean lethality of a leopard and none of its paltry mercy. A battle-tested soldier and one of the Duke¡¯s favored commanders, she spoke her mind with both tongue and blade. Moving his gladius so its tip pointed at Harmas, the Duke explained his reasoning. ¡°The city is lost to the League, but that does not mean it''s in our grasp. Until the Spirit bound to the city is dealt with, Harmas is useless as anything other than an impediment. As for why we don¡¯t attack a weaker fortress, matters are arranging themselves, so Crowbend is within my grasp. Once I¡¯ve taken the castle, the lands from it to Norica will be ripe for the taking, and we can finish strangling the Prince¡¯s army.¡± Crossing her arms, Sir Jilian frowned. ¡°Will the Black fly¡¯s pets be enough to take the castle? From what I¡¯ve seen, they are certainly powerful, but if power was all that we needed, Crowbend would already be ours.¡± Shaking his head slightly in mock disappointment, the Duke asked. ¡°What¡¯s the fifth rule of true battle?¡± Sir Jilian¡¯s frown faded as understanding dawned. ¡°Present the enemy with dilemmas, not choices.¡± The Duke nodded. ¡°Exactly, force the enemy to face multiple complementary threats and make them fail in the face of at least one. The plague, the Gasha, Harmas, and my other surprises will be used in concert to force a dilemma. There will be no right choice, merely a question of how much the mortals will fail.¡± Pale lips peeled back around ancient fangs; the Duke stabbed his sword into Fort Erdom, where the Prince of Vindabon camped. ¡°The Seraphblood sent to aid our enemies is frail and limited; she cannot protect the enemy army for long or move her protection. The great host of the Holy League is trapped by their own miracles. While the Angelspawn withers away, our friends from the north will keep snapping at their supply lines.¡± Drawing his blade up the Alidon river, cutting the map, the Duke stopped at Harmas. ¡°My agents inside the city report slow but steady progress; soon, the first signs of collapse will be visible, and that will be our signal.¡± Scarring the intricate rug, the Duke let his blade rest at Crowbend Castle. ¡°As the death knell of Harmas rings across the land, we will strike at the castle with our full might. Thirty Gashadokuro and twenty thousand armored corpses will march on the fortress, and my banner will fly high above its broken gates!¡± Situated perfectly on a bluff over the river, guarded by a well-trained garrison, and layered with old and new magics, Crowbend Castle had weathered worse storms than the Duke had planned. If anyone other than the Duke proposed such an attack, Wolfgang might think them mad or stupid. But with Duke Mika, the Black fly knew this wasn¡¯t the case. No, the Duke simply wasn¡¯t sharing every weapon in his armory. His words to Sir Jilian were confirmation enough; the Duke would force dilemmas, and Wolfgang could guess the nature of some. Barrels of Wolfgang¡¯s cure were shipped across the Marches and Norica ahead of the plague, a remarkable temptation to any would-be traitors, one the Duke clearly intended to capitalize on. As matters of logistics and warfare became the topic of the court, Wolfgang allowed himself to shrink away from the discussion. He needed to start work on more of the Gashadokuro and decide what notes he would share with Caladus. The Duke wanted thirty Gasha in a few nights, a conceivable number with Caladus¡¯s help but not an easy one. Slipping away from the court, Wolfgang started for the urban manor he¡¯d claimed as a nest. When Wolfgang entered the building, he knew he¡¯d made a mistake. A deep, oily itch caressed the edges of his soul; something else was in the manor with him. Slowly, cautiously, Wolfgang walked towards the main parlor of his nest, feeling waves of Aetheric malice wash against him. His uninvited guest had kept their presence hidden until Wolfgang was within the building and beyond escape. Creeping towards the parlor, Wolfgang heard conversation and a voice he unfortunately recognized. Turning the corner, Wolfgang found three people in the parlor. Cleanor was unconscious, shallow breaths escaping her prone form on the floor. Sitting in chairs near the incapacitated Lamia were two Vampires; the first was unfamiliar to Wolfgang, a short man with dark hair and a prominent nose wearing a green half-cloak. He was listening to the other Vampire, a figure Wolfgang knew all too well. Tall and famine-thin, the speaking Vampire was completely hairless, with a black silk ribbon covering his eyes and similarly black priestly vestments clinging to his mortified form. Turning from the stranger, the Priest smiled, revealing the thin thread binding his mouth half-shut. In a voice like a funeral shroud dragged along sand, the Priest said. ¡°Ahhh, Aloysius, we were just discussing you.¡± As a rule, most Vampires dismissed religion, viewing it with equal parts disdain and fear. But those few outliers among the night¡¯s children seemed to compensate for the rest of their kind, diving into fanaticism with only the intensity an immortal could muster. Pater Epulo, the spindly Priest sitting before Wolfgang, was the perfect example of these dark faithful. Eyes flicking to his incapacitated bodyguard, Wolfgang debated his choices. Raising a bony hand lacking fingernails, the Priest said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about your protector. She will awake in a few hours unharmed. I¡¯d never destroy such a blessed child without good reason.¡± Finally finding some words, Wolfgang asked. ¡°May I inquire as to the nature of your visit, Pater, and that of your companion?¡± The shadows in the room seemed to grow darker as the Priest ran his pale tongue along the threads binding his lips, making a noise like a broken lyre. ¡°Debt, I come to discuss both yours and my friend¡¯s.¡± Careful not to show any emotion, despite the stab of fear this comment elicited, Wolfgang asked. ¡°The plague is spreading through the Southern Marches and Norica. Surely your¡­ patron is reaping a good harvest?¡± Epulo nodded, ¡°My God is claiming many grieving souls thanks to your creation. But there are ill omens in the Beyond; our enemies have moved much faster than anticipated.¡± Wolfgang was confused, a feeling he hated more than almost anything else. ¡°What do you mean?¡± In a blur of movement, Pater Epulo moved from his seat to half a meter from Wolfgang¡¯s face. This close, the Black fly could see past the thin silk blindfold and into the empty eyesockets of the Priest as he spoke. ¡°A cure has been found.¡± Ice filled Wolfgang¡¯s veins, and his eyes widened in genuine shock. ¡°Impossible. It should take months! Even the Lych couldn¡¯t find the Bane this quickly, the¡­ the¡­¡± Wolfgang trailed off as Epulo¡¯s empty eyesockets bored into him. ¡°The grief of nations, that is what you promised us, Aloyisus. But the feast you offered is quickly becoming naught but table scraps. Your debt is lessened but not removed; my God¡¯s aid has not been repaid in full.¡± Empty eyes never leaving Wolfgang, the Priest moved back to his chair, sliding along the ground, his vestments dragging on dirty flooring. Returning to his seat, Epulo gestured at his guest, the man in the green cloak. ¡°Yet, there are options available to you, Aloysius; you are not the only one with an outstanding debt to the Reaper of Sorrows.¡± The cloaked man smiled a vaguely vulpine expression. ¡°I believe we can help each other, Black Fly.¡± Recovering himself slightly, Wolfgang asked. ¡°And you are¡­?¡± Standing up and bowing with a flourish, the Vampire said. ¡°Call me Scapino.¡±
Yara liked horses; they reminded her of happy times with her mother and scratched a deep itch in her mind. Horses were powerful and useful but required near-constant care, something Yara was equipped to give. As long as horses were involved, Yara could be useful, and Yara liked being useful. Cuff and Clout trotted along, pulling their lightened load with ease. The strange Magi did something to the cart, and the draft horses walked faster and longer. While she was still leery of the stranger and his strange music, Yara had to admit his spell¡¯s effectiveness. She¡¯d been worried the two horses wouldn¡¯t be enough for the entire journey until Kit enchanted the wagon. Sitting on the front bench, Yara held the reins in hand and watched the kilometers pass by. The forest grew less dense as they moved towards the rolling hills surrounding the Alidonian Mountains. If Mina¡¯s map reading was correct, they¡¯d pass from wilderness into settled land pretty soon. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Priestess Mina and her mongrel lover both wanted to stop at the next village they reached instead of skirting around it like they¡¯d done before. They wanted to resupply and maybe gather information before taking the mountain pass. Mistress Natalie and Cole weren¡¯t so certain, fearing exposure and delays. Right now, all four were discussing this behind Yara while Kit slept off his exhaustion from enchanting the cart. Yara didn¡¯t particularly care about the choice; she¡¯d just do what Natalie ordered. Thinking of her mistress sent a slight tingle of joy through Yara. Natalie was nicer now, drinking more of Yara¡¯s blood and giving her more orders, something Yara guessed was Isabelle¡¯s influence. Ever since Isabelle controlled the body during the plague, life was better for Yara. She¡¯d been given a clear purpose and praised for her efforts, not left aimless and useless like before. By Yara''s reckoning, the only fly in the ointment was the Paladin. Her mistresses paid him exorbitant attention, and every time Yara looked at Cole, she thought of her previous master. Yara felt it when Dietrich died; the strong connection forged by his feeding snapped by cold, terrible power, the power of the Paladin. Twice, her master, Sir Dietrich, faced Cole, and both times he¡¯d lost. That fact sent shivers down Yara¡¯s spine every time she looked at Cole, an effect compounded by his hideous scars and icy presence. To her, he seemed more of a monster than Dietrich, but he was Natalie¡¯s loyal paramour and served the mistresses in his own way. Looking at her hands, Yara realized she¡¯d been gripping the reigns tight enough to be painful. Relaxing a little, she tried to think about something other than the Paladin, an effort aided by the sound of running feet coming up beside the wagon. Turning her head and reaching for the shortsword Natalie bought for her, Yara relaxed marginally when Kit the Magi came into view. He¡¯d clearly jumped off the back of the wagon and ran up to catch with the driver¡¯s bench. Gripping onto the bench, Kit hoisted himself up and next to Yara with surprising dexterity. Smiling, the Magi plopped down next to Yara and said. ¡°Hi!¡± Staring at him with undisguised confusion, Yara asked. ¡°Do you need something?¡± Kit shrugged and leaned back against one of the rib struts of the wagon. ¡°I wanted to know how the enchantments are working, and besides, you¡¯re the only member of our little pilgrimage I haven¡¯t talked with.¡± Frowning, Yara said, ¡°The magic is working fine; the horses are having an easier time of it.¡± Returning her attention to the road ahead, Yara tried to ignore the stranger, something he seemed intent on making impossible. ¡°So you are Natalie¡¯s servant, right? What¡¯s that like?¡± It took Yara a moment to comprehend the question and formulate an answer. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ good.¡± Smiling at her, Kit said. ¡°A woman of few words, huh? Well, I bet you have interesting stories if you ever decide to share them.¡± Unslinging the violin case he always carried on one shoulder, Kit asked. ¡°What type of music do you like? I need to practice, and if you have a favorite song, I¡¯m happy to play it.¡± Yara shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t like music.¡± Kit might have been less shocked if she confessed to ritual cannibalism. In retrospect, Yara realized such honesty around a Magi musician might not have been wise. Hastily, she added. ¡°But if you wish to play, that¡¯s fine.¡± Opening the violin case and removing the bow, Kit used it as a pointer, jabbing it towards Yara and making her flinch. He started to say something, but upon seeing her twitch, he paused, a pensive look on his face. ¡°Does music scare you?¡± Yara kept her expression neutral. ¡°I just don¡¯t like it.¡± Absently, Kit rubbed one of his ears and hesitantly said. ¡°In my experience, two types of people say they don¡¯t like music. Liars and those who haven¡¯t found what they like.¡± Yara felt her back muscles tense at the Magi¡¯s words. Being called a liar by someone with power rarely ended well. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t like the noise.¡± Kit stared at Yara, his gaze intense to the point of disturbing. ¡°Ah, so that¡¯s how it is.¡± Glancing behind her to the innards of the wagon, Yara felt a surge of panic, would Natalie protect her from the Magi? Natalie had repeatedly made her views on Yara clear, and if push came to shove, a Magi was more valuable than a mere thrall. Speaking quickly, Yara tried to salvage the situation. ¡°Please play if you wish, master Magi; pay me no heed.¡± A pained look spread across Kit¡¯s face, and Yara spoke faster. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to offend you; please just play. That is if you want to.¡± Setting his violin bow back in the case and buckling it shut, Kit scooted away from Yara, moving so half his butt was hanging off the wagon bench. Hanging her head, Yara prepared for whatever punishment or pain the Magi would unleash on her. Kit said softly, in a gentle tone that reminded Yara of the one she used with horses. ¡°I loved my dad even though he hated me.¡± Yara was so shocked by these words that she pulled on the reigns by instinct, earning an annoyed snort from Cuff and Clout. Quickly recovering a bit of her composure, Yara glanced at Kit and saw old sadness carved into his roguish face. Scratching at his ear, Kit elaborated. ¡°My mom died when I was young; she and my little sister both. Dad started drinking, trying to drown his sorrows and forget his pain, except I was there to always remind him.¡± Patting his violin case affectionately, Kit continued. ¡°My first fiddle was his, actually. The first time he caught me playing with it, he nearly broke my jaw. Which I guess kind of makes sense; I nearly ruined the fiddle just getting it out of the case. I mean, it was head and shoulders above his usual reasons for hitting me, like asking for stupid shit like food or warm clothes.¡± In a tight, confused voice, Yara asked. ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Looking at her with genuine sadness, Kit answered. ¡°Cause does any of it sound familiar to you?¡± Quickly, Yara looked away, trying to keep her hands steady, confirming Kit¡¯s theory as well as any words might. After maybe a minute of taught silence, Yara rasped out a single question. ¡°How did you know?¡± Kit smiled, a weary expression filled with memories. ¡°You remind me of myself before my master found me. Just a big lump of nervous terror, expecting the next blow to come from anywhere.¡± Swallowing the lump in her throat, Yara asked. ¡°Is your master good to you?¡± Nodding, Kit stared off into space. ¡°Yeah, he rescued me and taught me how to be a person again. Sure, he had an ulterior motive in helping me, but that doesn¡¯t change what he did. Because of him, I could finally put myself back together and grow into who I am.¡± Old memories, dusty and crusty with blood, itched into Yara¡¯s mind. Memories of utter terror when she was sold to Dietrich by her father. Memories of the long walk to Castle Glockmire and her first meeting with the other thralls. Memories of the first time Dietrich fed on her and the first time he complimented her service. Memories of the icy tomb of the Alukah and dripping blood into a frozen corpse¡¯s mouth. Slowly, Yara said. ¡°My master rescued me too.¡± A sad chuckle escaped Kit, and he shook his head. ¡°Did he? Cause from where I sit, you are still broken. Did he rescue you, Yara, or just hurt you less than you were used to?¡± Choking on a slowly growing lump, Yara managed to say. ¡°Leave me alone.¡± Nodding, Kit started to climb off the wagon. ¡°As you wish. Just think about this: not being hated isn¡¯t the same as being loved.¡± With a thump, Kit landed on the road and caught the back of the wagon, climbing back into its covered section. Leaving Yara to practice an old skill, crying without making a sound.
The group reached a compromise on the matter of visiting the next town they passed. Cole, Natalie, and Kit would camp outside town with the relic. Being considerably less conspicuous, Mina, Alia, and Yara would venture into town with the wagon, get what supplies were needed, and gather information. Mina wanted to know how far the plague was spreading and get an idea of mountain conditions. Argentari¡¯s route called for them to travel through the Alidonian mountains, which should be easy considering the Turul pass cut clean through the small range. As the wagon and its group disappeared down the road, Natalie nodded to herself and went over to Kit, who was fumbling with a tent tarp. With the unnatural strength gifted by her nature, Natalie gripped Kit¡¯s collar and hoisted him into the air. A surprised yelp escaped the Magi as Natalie stared at him with bloody eyes. ¡°What did you do to Yara?¡± The thrall hadn¡¯t spoken much for the last day, refusing to use more than one syllable while actively avoiding Kit. Natalie knew the look of a scared woman, of someone unwilling to get close to a threat, especially a man. More than one patron of the Silly Goat learned the Vampire¡¯s rule about spilling blood didn¡¯t mean Natalie couldn¡¯t break the fingers of those who deserved it. Trying not to be strangled by his own clothes, Kit asked. ¡°Did you know about her childhood?¡± Lowering him enough so he could talk, Natalie asked. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Kit let out a low breath. ¡°Someone hurt her bad, probably a parent or similar. I asked Yara about it, and she didn¡¯t react well.¡± Face set in a hard frown, Natalie asked. ¡°Why do you think that, and why did you poke your nose into her life?¡± Reaching up and touching one of his ears, Kit laughed bitterly. ¡°I recognized the signs; she¡¯s scared of everything and desperate for love. Just like how I was before Master Lupa found me.¡± Cole gently touched Natalie¡¯s hands and guided her to set Kit down. Glancing at her partner and letting go of Kit, Natalie crossed her arms and said. ¡°Yara¡¯s mind is warped by the Sting and whatever else that bastard Dietrich did to her.¡± Kit nodded and said. ¡°In part, but I¡¯ve been reading about Vampire thrall-making, I brought a book on the topic. They say the Leeches like broken people, that it¡¯s easier to mold them as they see fit.¡± Memories of her discussion with Pryia danced in Natalie¡¯s mind, and she realized the truth of Kit¡¯s words. Lost in this thought, she was surprised when Cole asked. ¡°Your youth wasn¡¯t pleasant; I take it?¡± A bitter snort escaped Kit, and he glanced between Natalie and Cole. ¡°Well, since it''s just the three of us, I might as well share with Natalie what I told you.¡± Natalie had to force down the spike of instinctual terror she felt on learning of Kit¡¯s ancestry. Even after everything Natalie had experienced, the old childhood stories of Changelings and their twisted magic were hooked in her mind. Still, considering her own nature, Natalie tried her best not to judge Kit for what slept in his blood. As he finished his explanation, Kit pulled his hair back and turned so they could see his left ear. ¡°I get my faeblood from my dad, and as much as he hated it in himself, he hated it more in me.¡± The outer fold of Kit¡¯s ear was mishappen; it was oddly flat as if¡­ as if someone cut it with a pair of shears. Running a finger along the old scarred flesh, Kit said. ¡°It¡¯s funny how many generations can pass, and you still get kids with pointy ears.¡± Horrified and mortified, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for what happened to you and what I just did.¡± Kit shrugged. ¡°You thought I hurt Yara and reacted accordingly. As far as I¡¯m concerned, that¡¯s a good thing. So tell me, why do you have her as a thrall if you give a shit about her?¡± It was Natalie¡¯s time to share an ugly story with lurid details. As she finished, Kit shook his head sadly. ¡°Well, fuck, I hate to say it, but she might beat me in the tragic backstory competition. The undead monster who rescued me never turned me into a drug-addicted food source.¡± Nodding bitterly, Natalie asked. ¡°Do you have any advice to help her? I don¡¯t want to own her, even if she wants to be owned!¡± Chewing on a cheek and rubbing his scarred ear, Kit said. ¡°I think just treating Yara like a person and giving a damn about her is a good step. I¡¯m no expert, but I think part of the problem is you¡¯ve been coming at this just thinking of her as someone mind-warped by the Leechs, not an already damaged person taken advantage of by predators.¡± Those words had solid truth, and Natalie felt like kicking herself. She¡¯d viewed this as a Vampire problem in need of a Vampire solution when perhaps that was the dumbest thing she could¡¯ve done. Maybe instead of seeking out Pryia or ignoring Yara¡¯s desire to serve, Natalie should have spoken to the Eighth Temple and gotten a Mind Priest to help. But now they were more than a hundred kilometers from Vindabon and with markedly smaller options, so Natalie would need to do her best and hope not to jag up even more. Natalie bobbed her head in a conciliatory nod. ¡°Thank you, and thank you for sharing your story with me.¡± Kit shrugged. ¡°It only seems fair; I read the Ivory Tower''s dossier on you and Cole.¡± More than a little taken aback, Natalie asked, ¡°The what?¡± A wide smile broke out on Kit¡¯s face. ¡°Is it true the city watch ambushed the pair of you mid-coitus while hunting the Heart-stealer?¡± Head in her hands, Natalie let out a low moan of utter embarrassment. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that¡¯s in the official record ?!¡±
After four hours of waiting, the wagon finally returned; Cole watched as the pair of horses pulled the sturdy cart down the road and towards the makeshift camp. Sitting on a downed tree at the edge of a farmer¡¯s copse, Cole sharpened his throwing knives; he¡¯d been practicing with the enchanted quartz and wanted to keep his weapons in top condition. Cole called out as he sent another shower of sparks flying with his whetstone. ¡°What¡¯s the name of the city guard I concussed the first night we met?¡± Hopping off the wagon¡¯s main bench, Alia responded. ¡°I think there was more than one, but Temir got it worst.¡± Grabbing Cuff¡¯s bridle, Alia helped steer the horses towards the campsite. ¡°We going to do that passphrase crap every time?¡± Standing up from the fallen tree, Cole nodded. ¡°It¡¯s basic safety.¡± Mina climbed off the cart and glanced around. ¡°Where are Natalie and Kit?¡± Cole pocketed his whetstone. ¡°Natalie is out hunting, and Kit¡¯s recovering from casting a few detection wards around the camp.¡± Alia¡¯s nose wrinkled, and she made a disgusted noise. ¡°Eguhh, I hate having Natalie¡¯s leftovers; the meat¡¯s always so dry and flavorless.¡± Yara and Mina finished removing the horses¡¯ harnesses and tying them to a grazing spot. Clapping Cuff on the rump, Mina said, ¡°It¡¯s just your imagination, and besides, better a rabbit or deer than us.¡± Rolling her eyes, Alia replied. ¡°Just because your weak human tongues can¡¯t detect the difference doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s not there.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Mina said. ¡°I thought you liked my ¡®weak human tongue.¡± Cole, Alia, and even Yara just stared at Mina with undisguised shock. Blinking rapidly, Mina choked on her words. ¡°Oh gods, did I just say that out loud?¡± Alia howled with laughter, throwing an arm around Mina, who rubbed her face. ¡°You are a terrible influence on me; you know that, right?¡± Before the Catblood could reply, Cole cleared his throat. ¡°So, what did you find out from the town of Hugelhoff?¡± The Priestess and Citywarden exchanged looks, and Alia sighed. ¡°Well, there is good, bad, and worrying news. What do you want first?¡± Sighing, Cole replied. ¡°In order of increasing shittiness.¡± Alia nodded. ¡°The plague isn¡¯t spreading as fast as we feared. It seems whatever magic the Temple worked has stopped Plague Ghouls from becoming an issue, and our friends on the river are distributing barrels of the cure to the worst infected settlements.¡± Mina added. ¡°People are taking things seriously; the villagers wouldn¡¯t let us get close until their Priestess checked us. I dunno if she could even sense the plague in people, but she knew what symptoms to look for. So it was good that you and Natalie stayed behind; I can¡¯t imagine that examination would have gone well.¡± Leaning against the cart, Alia got to the next order of business. ¡°As for the bad news, the Turul Pass is shut. We¡¯ll need to backtrack, find another route, or do something stupid.¡± Frowning and thinking about the maps he¡¯d seen, Cole asked. ¡°How can the pass be shut? It¡¯s an entire valley between mountains; no landslide could block that off.¡± Yara spoke then, her voice soft and scared. ¡°Orcs, White Orcs.¡± Cole swallowed and then uncharacteristically spat onto the ground. ¡°Truly?¡± Alia nodded. ¡°Yep, that¡¯s the worrying news. A whole clan of them has set up camp in the pass; from what the villagers said, they aren¡¯t the only ones. I dunno how true the rumors are, but supposedly, a tribe is ranging through these parts, picking off travelers and merchants.¡± Orcs, the tusked nomads of countless worlds, a diverse people with a talent for spacial magic and an intense wanderlust. Most Orc tribes were decent sort, moving across and between worlds, happy to trade and work wherever they went. White Orcs aren¡¯t like that; they are raiders, slavers, and worse. Wherever a group of White Orcs goes, bad things happen, usually to anyone weaker than them. That was just inevitable, considering the traditional White Orc diet. Unlike humans, Orcs'' skin color changes with what they eat. Green, red, brown, black, and grey were all common colors for Orcs; white was not. An Orc¡¯s skin only turned white after consuming humanoid flesh, a lot of humanoid flesh. Rolling his shoulders, the stretch he always did before a fight, Cole said. ¡°We best make a new plan then.¡± HKB3: Chapter 22: Illumination

Chapter 22: Illumination

¡°The ailment appears to be endemic to the population. I use both terms loosely, but there isn¡¯t sufficient vocabulary to describe these phenomena yet. All examined subjects appear to be affected by the condition, existing with it from birth to death without complications. In fact, my colleague¡¯s research indicates the ailment¡¯s presence might account for the robust immune system of the population. The ailment only becomes symptomatic under certain stimulus and then cannot be cured or otherwise treated to the best of our knowledge.¡±- Seventh Temple records regarding the Maro ¡®long-pig incident.¡¯
¡°So it¡¯s settled? We go north, let someone with soldiers know about the Orcs, and then follow the river east towards Harmas?¡± asked Mina as she stared into the dull campfire the group was clustered around. Cole nodded his ascent. ¡°If we had more time, I¡¯d suggest just going into the Pass and dealing with the White Orcs ourselves, but I fear getting bogged down in that sort of fighting.¡± A snort of laughter escaped Alia as she leaned against a wagon wheel. Upon seeing Cole¡¯s grim expression, she said. ¡°What, you¡¯re serious? You want to take on an entire clan of cannibal Orcs?¡± Raising an eyebrow, Cole replied. ¡°Normally, yes, but with our limited time and resources, it¡¯s inadvisable.¡± Cautiously, Yara spoke up then, to everyone¡¯s surprise. ¡°Have you fought White Orcs before Sir Paladin?¡± The thrall wilted under Cole¡¯s attention. ¡°I have, and please, call me Cole.¡± Kit puffed out his cheeks and whistled. ¡°I bet that¡¯s one devil of a story.¡± Cole just shrugged. ¡°Cannibals leave very nasty Wraiths in their wake; dealing with the Orcs was the easiest way to help the souls move on.¡± Natalie, who¡¯d been sitting silently throughout this discussion, asked. ¡°How much would taking the pass slow us down?¡± Alia groaned. ¡°Not you, too! There are just six of us; we can¡¯t take on an entire clan of people-eaters.¡± Cole and Natalie exchanged looks, and Cole shook his head slightly, earning a sigh from Natalie. He knew her instinct was to take the pass, slaughter their way through the Orcs, and continue as normal. The opportunity to help the surrounding villages by devouring a few cannibals seemed to appeal to both sides of her. Refocusing on the group, Cole said. ¡°White Orcs don¡¯t run screaming at you with a club like in the street plays. They don¡¯t so much fight as hunt, isolating and crippling prey before the kill. We¡¯d have to deal with near-constant harassment, traps, and whatever other cruelties available to them.¡± Tightening her jaw, Natalie looked toward the nearby village, her concerns obvious. Placing a hand on her, Cole said. ¡°We¡¯ll get them help from the nearest garrison; the local nobility won¡¯t want bandits of any kind sniffing around their land.¡± Natalie didn¡¯t look much comforted by that but still interlaced her fingers with Cole. Eyes still on the campfire, Mina asked. ¡°The one thing I want to know is why they are here. From my understanding, Orcish portal magic isn¡¯t easy or cheap. Teleporting an entire tribe into the Holy League just to harass some farming villages seems¡­ inefficient.¡± A dark chuckle came from Kit as he fiddled with his fiddle. ¡°I thought that was obvious; White Orc tribes make excellent mercenaries for those with the stomach for them. If the plague is supposed to shut the river to travel, then the best way to get supplies to the front is the route we are taking. Hells, isn¡¯t that our cover story? A group of pilgrims on our way to help fight the Vampires, which I guess we kind of are.¡± An actual growl escaped Natalie as she spat. ¡°You think the Duchies hired this tribe to raid these lands?¡± Kit plucked at a few strings and shrugged. ¡°It makes the most sense. Mercenaries aren¡¯t worth shit defending territory, but if you want someone to go and terrorize the enemy peasants, then who better?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°We need to make contact with allies quickly. As Kit said, mercenaries aren¡¯t much use in actual war; I¡¯d guess the White Orcs will run the moment they face any serious resistance.¡± Sighing, Natalie leaned against Cole and asked, ¡°Why do they eat people? Are they cursed or¡­ just crazy?¡± Another wicked laugh came from Kit. ¡°Neither, they like the taste and view it as the natural expression of power. To a Worc, anyone weaker than them is just prey, an animal to be hunted, butchered, and eaten.¡± Natalie looked genuinely ill for a few seconds, and Cole could practically guess her thoughts. Her existence was defined by an unnatural, horrible hunger; the idea anyone would willingly engage in acts beyond even what she was cursed to do was profoundly unsettling. Wrapping an arm around her, Cole tried to comfort his love the best he could. Seeing the morose mood settling over the camp, Kit pulled his violin¡¯s bow and said. ¡°How about some music before we sleep for the night?
An hour later, Cole was lying in his tent, drifting toward sleep. Natalie was curled up next to him like normal. She usually lay with Cole until he slept, something he was deeply thankful for. Her presence seemed to ward off the worst of the night terrors. On more than one night, Cole had woken up the entire camp by screaming in his sleep, creating an inconvenient and embarrassing situation. Enjoying the feeling of Natalie¡¯s body next to his, Cole let himself fall toward unconsciousness. Just as the last flickers of awareness sputtered in his tired mind, a lance of pain ripped into Cole. It felt like someone was ripping his heart out with chains of cold iron. Suppressing a scream, he lurched upwards, sending a confused Natalie flopping against the tent wall. Moving with that inhuman speed of hers, Natalie was back at Cole¡¯s side, clearly thinking he was having another nightmare. Hands clutched over his chest; Cole couldn¡¯t hear anything Natalie said; all his mind could focus on was the near-tearing sensation inside him. As a pained moan bubbled free from his lips, Cole felt the pain lessen from mind-breaking to debilitating. Cole was an old hand at dealing with debilitating pain and managed to wrap an arm around Natalie and hiss. ¡°I¡¯m awake, but something¡¯s very wrong.¡± Clutching his face, Natalie looked at Cole and said. ¡°What do you need me to do? Get Mina or Isabelle? Do¡­ do you need to be reset?¡± Sucking in a rattling breath and trying his best not to crush Natalie while also clutching onto her for dear life, Cole managed to say. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s pulling at me.¡± Natalie was clearly torn between not wanting to leave Cole and trying to get him help. A pained spasm went through Cole, and he let out an animalistic noise of suffering. That seemed to be Natalie¡¯s breaking point as she started to disentangle herself from Cole, clearly planning on finding someone who could help. As she moved towards the tent flap, Cole made another sound, this one of intense relief. Gripping Natalie¡¯s wrist, he said. ¡°It¡¯s getting better, and I think I know what¡¯s wrong.¡± With her help, Cole slowly got to his feet and left the tent. Going over to his equipment, Cole dug out a small hand compass and went over to the dim campfire. Clutching at his chest and examining the compass, Cole swore. ¡°Jagged edges.¡± Looking at the compass, trying to figure out what was going on, Natalie asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Rubbing his abdomen, Cole explained. ¡°It¡¯s the god-touch, the pull of Master Time, except so much more jagging intense.¡± Staring off into the distance, in the direction the horrible cold pull was dragging him, Cole elaborated. ¡°We need to go east; something very horrible just happened.¡± Before Natalie could ask for more details, a high, steady whistle filled the night air. Cole grabbed his belt, bandolier, and boots, quickly fitting them on as the rest of the camp started to come awake, roused by the intentionally unnerving sound. After Cole and Natalie, Kit was the next one to be awake and coherent; pointing upward, he sang a magical phrase, and a sphere of light bubbled off the campfire and floated into the air. As the ball of illumination grew brighter and brighter, he gestured with his other hand, and the keening whistle stopped. Glancing at Cole, the Magi smiled nervously. ¡°Well, it seems my detector wards work.¡± Nodding, Cole lengthened Requiem into a halberd and stared out at the surrounding fields and woods. Kit¡¯s light ball was feeding on a steady stream of sparks coming from its mother fire and becoming bright enough to see by. There were figures at the light¡¯s edge, barely visible to Cole. Clad in dirty pelts, the eight strangers were stopped mid-stride by the sudden illumination. Rendered as eerie outlines by the flickering magelight and the detritus-covered furs they wore, the newcomers hesitated in the face of an alerted camp. Holding his halberd in a low guard, Cole called out. ¡°Identify yourselves!¡± It was probably a pointless gesture; Cole could guess who or what was stalking the campsite, but he yelled it all the same. In answer to Cole¡¯s demand, the strangers laughed, a low, mirthless chuckle that grew and grew into hysterical cackles. Gritting his teeth, Cole rolled his shoulders and let out a tired breath. This was one part the stories got right about White Orcs; they really did laugh as they killed. Cole didn¡¯t know if it was some cultural tradition to unnerve their foes or just a sign of how unhinged the cannibals were; all he knew was it angered him. Glancing behind him, Cole spat out quick commands to his friends. ¡°They¡¯ll go after the horses, Mina, Kit, and Yara, stop that from happening. Alia, Natalie, keep them from flanking us.¡± Natalie set a hand on Cole¡¯s shoulder and started to ask. ¡°Are those-¡± With a rustle of crusty furs, the eight strangers let their stained pelts fall to the ground, discarding the pointless camouflage. Natalie¡¯s words died upon seeing the ambushers; Cole didn¡¯t need to tell her what the enemy was. Each of the Worcs was tall and broad, their bodies obscured by the strange armor they wore. Layered leather sheets hung from the White Orcs in a dress-like garment that vaguely reminded Cole of a bird¡¯s ruffled feathers. Only the Worc¡¯s arms and heads were not covered by the leather dress, with oddly shaped vambraces armoring their forearms. All eight of the Worcs were bald, or more accurately hairless, with the traditional tusked underbite, protruding forehead, and vestigial ears of full-blooded Orcs. Patterns of ritual scarring marked their faces, adding unnerving mottles to their skin. Upon hearing the term ¡®White Orc,¡¯ the usual assumption was to think the cannibals were merely pale like northern folk of the western continent. The truth was revealed in the dim light of Kit¡¯s enchanted fire. The Worc¡¯s skin was the yellow-white of fresh bones or stained fur, not quite jaundiced but neither fully alabaster. To look at a White Orc was to see primordial sickly death staring back at you. An unnerving effect on perhaps anyone who¡¯d not spoken with Death himself. Cole charged the Worcs, halberd low in a brutal thrust, and ran to meet his enemy. ¡°MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!¡± There was a moment of hesitation among the eight cannibals; they were clearly used to their prey being startled by their appearance. Cole used that second to cut the distance between him and the Worcs in half. Shrinking Requiem into a one-handed poleaxe, Cole grabbed a knife from his belt and hurled it at the nearest Worc. On instinct, the Orc ducked, the blade whizzing over his head. Activating the enchanted quartz tied to one wrist, Cole yanked his arm back and reversed the knife¡¯s momentum. Sixteen centimeters of sharp steel struck the Worc in the back, turning his unnerving chuckles into a pained shout. Five of the Worcs moved to engage Cole, the other two dancing to the left or right. Trusting his allies to deal with the two or any other ambushers waiting in the dark, Cole gripped Requiem with both hands and swung it towards the Worc he¡¯d pinked with the knife. Despite the blade sticking out of one shoulder, the Worc brought his weapon up to bear. Cole didn¡¯t recognize the polearm with its odd crescent-shaped blade on either end, but his ignorance mattered little. Bringing Requiem down on his foe¡¯s left side, targeting the stabbed shoulder, Cole smashed through his opponent''s guard. The shafts of both polearms caught on each other, but the sheer ferocity of Cole¡¯s blow drove Requiem¡¯s axehead into the Worc¡¯s shoulder, tearing through armor and flesh. The Worc screamed as Requiem caught in his collarbone. Cole twisted and yanked his weapon, pulling it free and spinning about to face his next foe. Clearly, no stranger to combat, the four Worcs circled around Cole, using their numbers to box him in. Two were using the crescent moon staff; another carried a club and buckler, the last a huge war-axe. War-axe was the biggest and most aggressive, swinging at Cole with a brutal downward strike. Cole dodged left and parried the questing crescent staff waiting for him. As the other staff user tried to come in from Cole¡¯s right, he ducked under the polearm and grabbed its length. Balancing himself in an awkward squat, Cole pulled Crescent-two off his feet and onto the ground. Finding some room, Cole landed a solid kick on the fallen Worc¡¯s skull, snapping his spine and splintering his jaw. Crescent-one took exception to this and howled foreign oaths as Cole pushed out of the encirclement. Just when Cole thought his flanks were secured, an arrow whizzed through the night and caught him in the arm. Cursing, he gripped the arrow and yanked it out of him; thankfully, the bodkin came easily, and its bloody tip presented an opportunity. ¡°Red arrow seek his marrow.¡± With a flick of will, Cole sent the arrow hurtling towards Crescent-one, where it found one of the Worc¡¯s eyes and continued on to meet his brain. The two surviving Worcs glanced at each other and started to retreat, laughing as they did. Looking down at Crescent-two, Cole realized something about the odd vambraces the corpse wore. They were crafted from carved bone and unusually thin leather. Cole knew no animal sourced the materials for these forearm guards, at least no animal that walked on four legs. After checking to see the fleeing Worcs wore similarly macabre armor, Cole nodded to himself and said. ¡°Pay for your sins and take a better path in your next life.¡± Charging after the two Worcs, Cole lengthened Requiem and swung at Club¡¯s knee. To Cole¡¯s surprise, the cannibal jumped over his strike and spun mid-air, landing facing Cole. Club then returned Cole¡¯s charge, forcing the Paladin to shift his momentum and parry a downward swing of his foe¡¯s weapon. The strike landed with shocking force, and Cole¡¯s hands stung from where Requiem was pushed into his skin. Sucking in deep breaths, Cole smelled something new and managed to duck just as two more arrows came his way. Pulling back from Club and glancing around him, Cole realized his enemies hadn¡¯t been retreating; they¡¯d been luring him away from the campsite and into an ambush. Four more crescent wielders circled around him, and at least two archers hung back nearby. The crescent wielders had a twitchiness to their movements, never staying still for more than a second. If Cole had to guess, they probably were dosed with some kind of combat drug. Then, as if this wasn¡¯t enough problems, Cole¡¯s stinging hands said Club was a marital Paragon, and War-axe probably was as well. A year ago, Cole¡¯s current situation would almost certainly mean an ugly death for him. But as time passes, it lavishes gifts upon the worthy, and Cole certainly qualified. Meeting Club¡¯s eyes, noting how bloodshot they were, Cole asked. ¡°Did someone send you after us, or were you just preying upon any travelers you encountered?¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Club spoke, his voice heavily accented and interrupted by incongruous laughter. ¡°Hehehehe, we look for meat, we find you. Hahaheehea, now die, warrior, and give strength.¡± Glancing back towards the campsite, Cole asked, ¡°What about my friends?¡± The Worc shrugged, sending his cloak-dress flapping. ¡°Weepers and breeders, weak meat for others in clan.¡± Pointing his weapon at Cole, the cannibal said. ¡°You are prize. Now you die.¡± A horrible scream filled the night, a high-pitched noise cut off by a wet crunch. The Worcs looked toward the scream, many openly displaying their shock and worry; they recognized the scream''s owner. Taking in the ¡®ambush¡¯ standing around him, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯m glad you stumbled upon us; better me and mine than normal travelers.¡± Another shorter scream erupted and ended, only to be replaced by the howls of wolves. Cole noticed the Worcs weren¡¯t laughing anymore; an occasional nervous chuckle might escape one, but they weren¡¯t laughing. Sucking in a deep breath and feeling his power, Cole asked. ¡°I¡¯m assuming you thought I was the biggest threat, so you wanted to isolate and overwhelm me with your best warriors. Leaving those you deemed less worthy to attack the campsite.¡± A flash of magical light illuminated the night, and the sound of wolves mixed with more screams. Icy vapor started to leak from Cole¡¯s skin as his eyes glowed silver. ¡°Your assumptions were poor.¡± Exploding forward, Cole ignored the arrows that struck his skin; the armor-piercing bodkins clattered off his cold-hardened flesh. Requiem met Club¡¯s buckler, denting the small shield as hoarfrost spidered across its steel surface, seeking the warm flesh bound to the buckler¡¯s other side. Kicking out with one leg, Cole struck Club¡¯s knee, snapping the reinforced joint with an effort. As the cannibal Paragon tumbled to the ground, Cole split his skull with Requiem and turned to his other foes. The four new crescent wielders died quickly, Requiem opening veins, severing body parts, and leaving trails of frostbite in its wake. One of the archers took a throwing knife to the gut. The other archer just ran, and Cole didn¡¯t think this one was feint. Less than a minute after the ambush was sprung, only War-axe remained. Just as Cole thought, the Worc was a Paragon. Strong, fast, vicious, War-axe was clearly a veteran of many fights, not all against untrained peasants. But in comparison to Dietrich, War-axe was weak, slow, timid, and unused to battle. The last Worc earned his stay of execution by the mere merit of Cole¡¯s attention being divided by the other ambushers. That bit of borrowed time ended with War-axe¡¯s head tumbling to the ground. Flicking the rapidly freezing blood off his halberd, Cole turned towards the camp and ran. He doubted the other White Orcs would be a true threat to his friends, but the same couldn¡¯t be said if Natalie lost control. She¡¯d not been in this kind of close-quarter fight for a while, and Cole was worried. He found the camp a mess of bodies and blood, but thankfully, only the enemy¡¯s. Or at least mostly the enemy; Alia was sitting on a large rock and grumbling while Mina healed a nasty cut on her leg. Kit was examining one of the dead Worcs while Yara and a pack of spectral wolves worked to drag the bodies out of the campsite. Glancing up at him, Alia grumbled. ¡°They ambushed us, but we took care of them.¡± Gritting his teeth, Cole bowed his head. ¡°They lured me away and into a trap; I¡¯m sorry you were injured.¡± The silver light of Mina¡¯s power dimmed, and she finished tying the bandage around the freshly sealed wound, combining magical and mundane healing for maximum effect. ¡°We need to start making strategies on fighting as a group. This probably isn¡¯t the last time we¡¯ll be attacked before reaching¡­ well, wherever we are supposed to go now.¡± Cole nodded. ¡°Very true. Where is Natalie?¡± With a whoosh of displaced air and thunk, Natalie landed next to Cole, having jumped down from the treetops. ¡°Right here.¡± Dusting grime off her hands, Natalie said, ¡°I don¡¯t see or smell any more of them; I think we¡¯re safe for now.¡± Mina came over and started patching up Cole¡¯s cuts and scrapes; she examined the arrow wound in his arm and made an annoyed sound. ¡°If they¡¯d stuck you with a broadhead, you might have crippled your arm yanking it out like that.¡± Feeling the cool power of his God wash over the injury like fresh spring water, Cole replied. ¡°I know, and I could tell it was a bodkin.¡± As a strip of fresh linen was wrapped around his arm, Cole looked at Natalie. ¡°How are you doing?¡± She shrugged and smiled nervously. ¡°I didn¡¯t eat anyone, so I¡¯m taking that as a victory.¡± Natalie squatted down as one of her wolves padded over, scratching the phantom lupine behind its spectral ears. As the wolf¡¯s tongue lolled out, Natalie let out a snort. ¡°They performed well, even if Grist¡¯s mind is having an effect.¡± Alia tried to stand up then, and Mina rushed over to her and shooed the Citywarden back to her spot. Rolling her eyes at a trained healer¡¯s attention, Alia asked. ¡°Could we try and take the Pass then? If we dealt with these fuckers then taking that route shouldn¡¯t be hard.¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°No, this was just a small raiding group, just a branch of one clan, not an entire tribe. Still, I think with them dealt with, this region will be a bit safer. The easiest thing to scare predators with is the smell of their own blood.¡± Yara appeared then, puffing slightly from her corpse-dragging exertions. An activity she did without prompting or complaint, a product of Dietrich¡¯s influence. ¡°What about revenge? Could the cannibals attack the village because of what we did?¡± Thinking on that, Cole shrugged. ¡°Perhaps, but with some luck, losing nearly an entire hunting party will make them cautious.¡± Natalie softly corrected Cole. ¡°Not nearly; they lost an entire hunting party; I made sure of that.¡± Cole noticed then only half the Lupus pack was busy moving bodies; he could guess where the rest were. ¡°Ugly business, but probably for the best. I doubt the Worcs communicate much with their employer, but having our presence known would still be bad.¡± Running fingers through his short hair, Cole winced at his own words. He didn¡¯t like killing, especially when it became so¡­ methodical. He knew dealing with the Worcs this way was the best option, but it still bothered him. It was so very easy for the powerful to become alienated from the weak, and was there any greater power than true immortality? While there was little doubt the cannibalistic bandits deserved their fate, the ease with which Cole delivered them to it unnerved him. Sighing, Cole looked to the group and said. ¡°There is another reason we can¡¯t take the pass.¡± Tapping his chest, Cole continued. ¡°Something bad is happening in the east, towards Harmas; I think we need to go in that direction.¡± Mina frowned and asked. ¡°The Paladin god-touch?¡± Cole nodded, and Natalie reached out to his chest. ¡°How bad do you think it is?¡± Expression stoney, Cole said. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like this even when I was fighting in the Alukah¡¯s tomb.¡± Natalie sucked in a nervous but pointless breath. ¡°Oh jag¡­¡±
:: The Alidon River, just north of Harmas :: Pankrator Marcus Gildmen couldn¡¯t sleep; not an uncommon problem for him, but still annoying. Leaning against the fore railings of a large river barge, the Warrior-priest stared at the dead city ahead of them. The ¡®aid fleet,¡¯ as some of its members had taken to calling the collection of barges and boats, was docked at the Mausern Isles. The collective term for the dozen or so small islands in this wide part of the Alidon. Here at the southernmost island, they were as close to Harmas as was safe. Not as young as he once was, Marcus couldn¡¯t see much in the heavy night, just the barest hints of Harmas¡¯s walls and, if he really squinted, the prince¡¯s palace. Unlike Vindabon¡¯s colossal ramparts of pink stone, the walls of Harmas were minor things, honestly more comparable to a seawall than proper fortifications, which made sense considering the chief defense of the city. The Alidon did more than just cut through Harmas; the river was split in three and circled around the city in a massive moat, essentially turning the entire settlement into an archipelago. This moat was the source of Marcus¡¯s woes, being far more than the usual damp ditches dug around castles. One of the early rulers of Harmas, a Shaman of considerable skill, put years of effort into making her island capital impregnable. Nothing crossed the moat without permission, and it seemed no one left on Vardis had that right. From what the scouts said, anything that entered the moat was pulled under the water by flowing chains. It was possible to navigate the section of river cutting through Harmas, but not easily. Apparently, a trio of Magi spent a week and a shocking number of enchanted rowboats mapping out the usable narrow passage. Even flying into the city wasn¡¯t feasible. A great cauldron of carrion bats nested in Harmas, growing fat and fertile on the city¡¯s dead. The mutant creatures mobbed anything larger than a songbird, attacking with the sort of viciousness the Vampires bred for. By Marcus¡¯s reckoning, it might be possible for a single hippogryph doused in subtly spells to make it into Harmas, but getting out would be another problem. Ultimately, Marcus was stuck with two difficult and contradictory tasks. He needed to impregnate the impregnable city and make damn sure no one else cuckolded him. Preserving the city¡¯s chastity, to continue the metaphor, was a higher priority, but Marcus was never one to stray from a challenge; in fact, he had a bloody religious obligation to. Such was the lot of those serving Misbegotten War, to face any trial or tribulation the world could muster and come out perhaps not victorious but alive. It was partly why Marcus came up to the deck when he couldn¡¯t sleep. To rack his mind for ideas and to remind himself of why he needed to do more than just simply keep the quarantine intact. The Pankrator¡¯s aged eyes could still make out the distant sparks of light in Harmas. No longer did the city shine at night, but nor was it completely dark. Flickers of candle, torch, and glowstone light were visible in a smattering across the city. Evidence that despite months of isolation and degradation, people still survived in Harmas. Marcus just needed to find a way to evacuate those hardy folk without letting the thousands of Ghouls assailing them escape as well. A true corpse tide drowned Harmas, its Aetheric rot visible for kilometers around, and some days when the river was calm, Marcus could hear the low groaning of the unquiet dead. Turning to look at the small armada of barges clustered around the Mausern Isles, Marcus knew his assets were limited. The aid fleet made good time reaching Harmas, the lack of river traffic compensating for the inordinate amount of bureaucratic hiccups they experienced. But he¡¯d not had much luck recruiting fellows of the Eleventh; most of the lodges were practically abandoned, their members headed south for the war. Not that Marcus blamed them; if he were twenty years younger, he¡¯d be the first to go. With a company of Vindabonian elite soldiers, his Temple fellows, and the Eighth Priestess under his command, Marcus was not powerless, but neither was he equipped to infiltrate and defend an entire bloody city. The Cantus family was ready to head back to Vindabon. They¡¯d completed their part of the contract, delivering aid to the dozens of river settlements. Argentari managed to negotiate the use of three barges for Marcus and his force to be left behind as an ¡®exterior garrison¡¯ for Harmas. But all the same, Marcus would feel better with the ruthlessly effective merchant guards of House Cantus supporting him. To the aid fleet¡¯s chagrin, not much assistance had come from Crowbend Castle despite its close proximity. The Marcher-Lady in charge of the fortress was drowning in refugees and practically every other problem a commanding officer could have. She¡¯d sent three squads of local soldiers and was working to keep supply lines open, but not much else. So far, Marcus and his token force could not do much more than watch Harmas and help those desperate fools who came to the dead city seeking aid, unaware of how bad things were. The morass of farming villages surrounding Harmas were almost abandoned, their residents having fled into the city or countryside when things got bad. The exterior garrison was making do by setting up watch points in these abandoned villages and gambling with scout birds. These birds managed to get reasonably close to Harmas thanks to potent enchantments. A small collection of Magi and Shamans from the surrounding regions lent their talents to the aid fleet, guided there by the Ivory Tower and the strange Aetheric currents Shamans were attuned to. The magical aid was useful but not enough to actually help the people of Harmas, just keep them imprisoned. Lost in his thoughts, Marcus reviewed a lifetime of personal and studied strife for any answer to this quandary. The easiest solution seemed to be sending one or two extremely capable agents into Harmas and having them work inside the city to help people. Except such a mission was practically suicide, and there wasn¡¯t exactly an abundance of people who could even think to attempt such a thing. Ah, to be thirty years younger, Marcus would have been stupid enough to try it and strong enough to maybe succeed. All of this speculation and scheming was rendered mute by an explosion the likes of which Pyromancer¡¯s dream about tearing through the night. Marcus whirled about to stare at Harmas as the dark city was illuminated by a truly colossal fireball. Marcus could physically see the shockwave surging through the air towards the fleet. Gripping onto the railing with all his considerable strength, Marcus withstood the deafening blast as it rocked the barge like a cruel mother¡¯s cradle. Swallowing and opening his mouth like a startled fish, Marcus tried to regain hearing using an old warrior¡¯s trick. The Pankrator had seen Archmagi clash before, but even that paled compared to what just happened. A column of oily smoke thundered up into the sky, and soon, alarm bells were ringing across the fleet. Squinting in the direction of the explosion¡¯s origin, Marcus felt his gut drop into his boots. A terrible thought just occurred to him, and he needed to ensure it wasn''t a terrible fact. Running towards the gangplank of his barge, the Pankrator passed two of his subordinates, trying desperately to fit on pieces of their armor as they reached the deck. Pointing at them, Marcus barked. ¡°Traje, Auro! I¡¯m taking Sarmat to inspect the damage. Get everyone ready for combat; if I¡¯m not back in an hour, prepare to evacuate up-river.¡± Before any questions could be asked, Marcus left the barge and headed towards the island meadow the fleet was using for pasture. Whistling with his fingers, Marcus saw a large flat rock up ahead and, more importantly, the huge feathered shape sleeping on it. At his whistle, Sarmat the Griffin looked up and towards his rider. Reacting like any true beast of battle, the Griffin lept off his makeshift nest and loped towards Marcus. Meeting the hulking monster, Marcus stroked his old friend¡¯s beak and said. ¡°We need to move quickly, no time for a saddle. Can I trust you not to drop me?¡± A deep rumble came from Sarmat, a purr sized for such a large creature. Scratching a spot where feathers and fur met on the Griffin''s side, Marcus hoisted himself up onto his steed with an annoyingly loud grunt. Even with Sarmat¡¯s help, getting situated on the beast was difficult; Marcus¡¯s hips and knees would have something to complain about tomorrow. Whistling again, Marcus braced himself as Sarmat started to run forward, pumping huge wings. Sarmat leaped into the air, pushing off his feline back legs and taking flight. Furious strokes of Sarmat¡¯s wings pushed him and Marcus higher and higher. Gripping onto some of his mount¡¯s back feathers, the Pankrator pulled on them gently to guide the Griffin towards the explosion¡¯s source. Keeping low in case the carrion bats caught their scent, the rider and steed flew towards the westernmost edge of the moat. Bronze light burned in Marcus¡¯s eyes as he enhanced his vision with several spells. Suddenly, he could pierce the dark, see distant foes, and even sense vague magical auras, not a bad trick for a battle-worn old man. Sweeping his eyes along the stretch of city rocked by the explosion, Marcus witnessed what he¡¯d feared. A major road came into Harmas from the west and entered the city where the moat was narrowest. The great bridge once spanning this section of water was ruined, dragged beneath the moat by the Spirit inhabiting it. But ruined did not mean obliterated; debris clogged this section of the moat, creating a small strip of shallows. The potential weakness this bridge represented was not overlooked by the various rulers of Harmas; a strong holdfast was built at the city end of the bridge. Providing protection and, more importantly, toll revenue to Harmas. It was this holdfast, really a small castle, where the explosion was centered. Whoever was responsible for the shocking display of magical power knew what they were doing, and literal tons of stone were launched into the moat, adding their mass to the shallow sections of redirected river. A crude path now stretched from Harmas to the shore, a bridge of rubble and debris surrounded by islands of hurled rock. This alone wasn¡¯t enough to panic Marcus; the moat¡¯s Spirit would wash away any who tried to cross the precarious path. What did chill his blood was the quickly growing stretch of ice wrapping around the debris bridge like white moss. The ice spread out, connecting to the rubble islands and sinking down into the water. This was the one weakness of the Spirit defender of Harmas; when the river froze, it became sluggish and indolent. Even as the spread of the ice slowed and its full extent became clear, Marcus knew the situation had just become untenable. The colossal explosion he witnessed wasn¡¯t the act of a superbly powerful Pyromancer or insane Alchemist. No, someone or something created that huge blast just to make a bridge and unbalance entropy, allowing for the obscene act of ice magic now binding the river. Only a Priest or Shaman of incredible power and skill could hope for such a feat. Moving Sarmat closer to the moat, Marcus could see unnatural waves crashing against the ice bridge, adding their frozen mass to its sides, creating a chilly banister. In time, the ice magic would fade, and the Spirit protecting Harmas would destroy this bridge just like all the others, but for now, it faced a truly potent arcane enemy. Until the Spirit emerged victorious, a clear path out of the dead city existed, one the majority of its residents were already taking. Marcus could see a shambling tide of Ghouls clamber over the remains of the castle and onto the icy bridge. Eager Grinners pushed through their slower kindred, running and sliding over the frozen water and fresh debris. Sarmat dived then, heading towards the bridge as Pankrator Marcus held up one hand, a spear of bronze fire blossomed into existence, and with all his strength, Marcus hurled it towards the bridge, right where the first Grinner was. The bolt of power struck with a sound like two shield-walls clashing, and a trio of Grinner¡¯s were rended into paste. Marcus put a sizable crater in the bridge, but the ice went from the surface of the moat to its very bottom. It would take much more magical wrath than he could muster to crack the bridge. Pulling up from his dive, Sarmat suddenly wheeled through the air, forcing Marcus to hold on for dear life. He barely saw the bolts of power hurtling after Sarmat and simply trusted his experienced mount to fulfill his side of their partnership. Dancing through the air, fleeing back towards the barges, Sarmat let out a pained shriek as a gout of magic struck one of his legs. Marcus quickly put one hand on his old friend¡¯s neck and sent a healing pulse through the Griffin. In a testament to his mettle, Sarmat kept his wings steady and carried them both beyond attack range. As the last streak of energy flew past them, Marcus looked over his shoulder and cursed. A tide of corpses was streaming out of Harmas, thousands of Ghouls, and other nastier creatures directed by an unseen master. Glancing up at the sky, Marcus addressed his god. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, but¡­ but don¡¯t expect any miracles, or at least none you aren¡¯t providing.¡± Book III: Chapter 23: Chains

Chapter 23: Chains

¡°Where is our God? Where is the patron of Red Night owed to us? For millennia, we¡¯ve carved our existence into reality, one drop of blood at a time. Yet none of the innumerable Demiurges of the Light, Dark, or Gray represent us Vampires. Some might curry favor with our kind or share mutual hungers, but they aren¡¯t ours. As the truest children of the night, we demand a god who mirrors us in totality. This is our birthright, as set forth by the Queen in those ancient days.¡± - Duke Ezra the Flagellant.
Aloysius Wolfgang was utterly exhausted. After four nights of constant work, he and Caladus Corpsefriend managed to create twenty-five Gashadokuro. The older Necromancer proved his merit and discretion, keeping what Wolfgang shared to himself, ensuring the secret ritual kept most of its value. Creating the Gashadokuro took two-and-a-half thousand corpses as raw materials and two dozen lives to fuel Wolfgang and Caladus each. They¡¯d pushed the Vampire ability to convert blood into magical power to its limit. Drinking newly minted serfs to death at an exorbitant rate just to keep casting the taxing rituals. Now, with the Duke¡¯s Gasha spearhead finished and off to Crowbend Castle, Wolfgang found himself relatively at peace for the first time in over a week. Slumped into a chair within his temporary lair, Wolfgang shut his eyes and focused on the brutal headache assaulting him. Pushing a mind past its limits in pursuit of magic could be dangerous. Strokes weren¡¯t unheard of among Battlemages and over-eager ritualists. Even the undead weren¡¯t completely immune to this side effect. Their mimicry of life somehow creating ailments they logically should never suffer. Still, a burst or blocked blood vessel in the brain wasn¡¯t nearly as dangerous to a Vampire compared to a mortal. A night or two of regeneration would heal all but the most severe injuries, and the effects of lesser brain damage could be almost overlooked. Almost being the operative word as Wolfgang suffered through a brain-splitting headache. His lack of a pulse wasn¡¯t even a benefit for Wolfgang, turning what he suspected would be a horrible throbbing ache for the living into one long note of pain. Forcing his eyes to open and look around the room he used as a temporary study, Wolfgang stared at the odd basin sitting on the desk in front of him. Carved from basalt, the shallow bowl¡¯s edge was lined in lead runes that worsened Wolfgang¡¯s headache just to read. Lead, the fell metal, opposite to fair gold and a potent substance for those working dark magics. Where mortal practitioners often used silver or gold, lead was the favored substance of those scorned by the Pantheon. The presence of lead alone would be enough to tell any educated person the artifact before Wolfgang wasn¡¯t anything pleasant; the fact the basin was filled with blood just added to its ominousness. The blood was mainly mortal, but Wolfgang supplied a full cup of his own to the mixture, a requirement for its purpose. The time was coming near when the artifact would activate and form a bridge of blood through the Aether, allowing instantaneous communication between kindred. Wolfgang possessed this ¡®Red-seer Basin¡¯ as a token of his sire¡¯s patronage, allowing him to speak with Voivode Igori Gens Suillia during emergencies, which Wolfgang very much considered events to be. Before starting his trial of endurance in creating the Gashadokuro, Wolfgang learned many very worrying things from the Vampire calling himself Scapino. While the dapper stranger provided little evidence for his claims, his insight into certain matters and the explanation he offered for others was tempting to believe. That Pater Epulo, the dark Priest, brought Scapino to Wolfgang was another factor making him seek this audience with the Voivode. As the appointed time arrived, the lead runes along the basin started to burn with black flames; horrible false-fire called up from some deep recess of the Beyond. The unclotting blood within the bowl started to swirl, forming a miniature whirlpool as the black fire cast shadows upon the room''s darkness. Slowly, a figure emerged from the blood¡¯s surface, ascending out of the ichor like a statue revealed by low tide. As the blood sculpture solidified and took form, it gained color and animation, becoming a miniature representation of the being speaking through the bowl. Slouching in a chair that bordered on being a throne, was a handsome boy, twelve at the most, with long blond hair and a winning smile. The Voivode looked like the dashing prince now teetering on the cusp of puberty. Despite his research into the matter, Wolfgang didn¡¯t know if Voivoide Igori¡¯s form was his original or some odd affectation he took on. Legs crossed and elevated, a goblet of blood in hand, the Voivode-in-miniature smiled, his needle teeth barely visible in his projection. ¡°Ah, Aloysius, why have you arranged this meeting? Is Old Mika giving you trouble? Or has lovely Cleanor finally taught you the pleasures of the flesh, and you seek a replacement bodyguard to save your hips and neck?¡± The Voivode talked like an intelligent but crass teenager, his accent perfect Bucharosi, no hint to his origin or nature. Igori Gens Sullia didn¡¯t wallow in the past as many Vampires of his age did; no, he preferred to wallow in decadence. Voivode Gens Sullia was depraved even by aristocratic standards, indulging himself in every manner of pleasure he could experience when it suited him. A habit common among many powerful Vampires but rendered even more unnerving by Igori¡¯s youthful form. In spite of these habits, there was no denying the Voivode¡¯s intellect and skill. Combining the best features of a dilettante and prodigy, the Voivode had mastered countless occult secrets. His collection of arcane artifacts and curiosities was also peerless, containing relics from Gods, Fae, Dragons, Jotunn, and even stranger things. A former piece of this collection was why Wolfgang dared intrude on his sire¡¯s deviant downtime. ¡°My sire, there have been some complications surrounding the plague and its spread,¡± spoke Wolfgang, bowing his head to the thirty-centimeter-tall representation of the monstrously powerful Vampire. Swirling his cup of blood, the Voivode asked. ¡°Did you talk Mika into letting you alter the bindings? If so, I¡¯m impressed but also disappointed. I know you think those chains are overly restricting, but trust me when I say that¡¯s just you being over-eager in your youth.¡± Deciding he¡¯d not mention his attempts and failures in that matter, Wolfgang instead said. ¡°No, my sire, a cure has been found for the plague.¡± The goblet in the Voivode¡¯s hand exploded into a million sharp shards, and a pained whimper came from the projection. The Voivode lifted one of his legs from whatever elevated them and brought it down, producing a louder noise of suffering. It was then Wolfgang realized a mortal was the Voivode¡¯s footstool. Tiny eyes boring into Wolfgang, the Voivode asked very slowly. ¡°How is that possible? Our prognostications showed the Lych himself would take over a month to produce even a simple vaccine!¡± Swallowing, a nervous habit Wolfgang thought he had long discarded, the Black fly prepared to poke a roused monster. ¡°It appears someone else has access to Isabelle Gens Silva¡¯s notes.¡± There was no explosion of rage from the Voivode this time, just genuine bafflement. ¡°What we recovered from her burned libraries and laboratories are Geas-protected. Their secrets couldn¡¯t be exposed or divulged without my or the Archduke¡¯s express permission!¡± Wolfgang hesitated; this was where things became dangerous. Voivode Igori wasn¡¯t the type to murder subordinates for bringing him bad news; that sort of fool didn¡¯t rise to his position of power. But he was the type to protect himself by eliminating possible loose ends with the finality of an obsessive tailor. The information Scapino shared with Wolfgang might just be enough to make Igori act rashly. ¡°My thoughts were similar, Voivode. It seems the only logical option is a highly placed member of Gen Silva¡¯s court survived the purge. Someone the former Countess would trust enough to share her most intimate and potent secrets.¡± Interlacing his fingers and frowning deeply, Igori said. ¡°We dealt with the traitor once she was no longer useful. Could she have shared her sire¡¯s knowledge with someone before I consumed her?¡± Wolfgang shook his head and thought of one of the few times he¡¯d ever been truly unnerved. Watching a vivisected behemoth of a man, his organs pickled in jars, his blood drained to the last drop, slowly returning to life in defiance of all logic. ¡°No, my sire, I have reason to believe the Homunculus Knight still lives.¡± For a long moment, neither sire nor scion spoke, both contemplating the implications of this fact. Eventually, in a flat, cold voice, the Voivode asked. ¡°Why do you think that monster still exists?¡± Thinking of Scapino¡¯s animated description and debating how much to share, Wolfgang said. ¡°I spoke with someone who claims to have been in contact with Dietrich, the rogue Scarlet Knight, before his death. My contact claimed circumstances around Dietrich Freymond¡¯s betrayal were dramatically more complicated than we thought.¡± Quickly stifled surprise washed over the Voivode. ¡°How in Red Night does that failure whelp of the Archduke fit into matters with the perfect Homunculus?¡± Meeting his sire¡¯s eyes, Wolfgang shared the revelation he still couldn¡¯t fully believe. ¡°My source claimed the Paladin who bested Dietrich at Glockmire and then in Vindabon is the Homunculus Knight. The Homunculus seems to have bound the infant Alukah to its will and is using her to further its agenda. With the Homunculus¡¯s unique properties, Isabelle¡¯s knowledge, and one of the original Vampires at its disposal, curing the plague would be feasible.¡± Slowly, his words almost stilted the Voivode asked. ¡°How confident are you in this source? I admit it''s an impressive tale woven by someone with disturbing knowledge about the Duchies'' indiscretions, but it wouldn¡¯t be the most spectacular lie the Fifth God¡¯s followers sold to us.¡± Licking his lips, Wolfgang forced himself to keep meeting the deep, horrible red of his sire¡¯s eyes. ¡°I believe not all the details of events were shared, but Pater Epulo introduced this source to me. He seemed concerned at what a Homunculus Paladin of Master Time represented and wanted to involve me and, by extension, you in matters.¡± Setting his elbows on the armrests of his chair and staring at Wolfgang over interlaced fingers, the Voivode said. ¡°Epulo and his ilk are many things; prone to deception or foolishness is not one of them. If he¡¯s involving us, then that hairless eunuch of a Priest has good reasons. The only question is, why share this with us and not pursue it personally? His creed has resources of its own.¡± Wolfgang¡¯s sire didn¡¯t know the full extent of the deal made with Epulo¡¯s god. Acquiring the binding ritual for the Faerie and the other materials involved with the plague hadn¡¯t been cheap. By hoping to avoid indebting himself more to his sire, Wolfgang instead leveraged himself to a very dangerous rival party. It was one of the dangers in trying to play different powers against each other. Invariably, one deal or bargain would fall through, and the whole castle of cards would shake. But Wolfgang still had options: the shaking could be stopped and the castle reinforced. If he could survive this unexpected gambit, then freedom would be within his grasp. ¡°The Church of Sorrows wants our help capturing or destroying the Homunculus Knight. They want the creature for religious purposes but are willing to settle for finding a way to truly kill it. It''s the price they demand for their aid in constructing the plague now that a cure has been found so quickly.¡± The Voivode unlaced his fingers and leaned back in his chair. ¡°A high price but perhaps one we should pay. Acquiring the Alukah while they take the Knight would smooth things over with the Archduke and put us in a very good position for the endgame. But if the Homunculus is truly the Paladin in possession of the Alukah, then a bad situation has become a serious fucking problem.¡± The sudden crassness hit Wolfgang like a slap, and the Voivode beared his needle-like teeth. ¡°The Alukah is key to the very survival of our species. The Archduke has given Mika a full writ of conquest just so we can get closer to that stupid village girl. If we can deliver her to him, my place in the new order will be ensured, and yours as well. But if we are to claim the Alukah, then this possibly immortal Paladin must be dealt with. To that end, I¡¯ll send you additional support. Cleanor is a valuable bodyguard but not a Paladin¡¯s match.¡± Wolfgang hid his discomfort at that idea; hiding his less acceptable behavior from Cleanor was risky enough. Modifying her memories of Scapino and Epulo¡¯s visit hadn¡¯t been easy. A death squad selected by the Voivode would force Wolfgang to reconsider some options. ¡°How am I to find the Paladin and Alukah? Even if Duke Gens Umbria pushes into Norica, I don¡¯t think Vindabon will fall as Harmas did. The League still has resources to play and hasn¡¯t fully woken up to what¡¯s happening.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The Voivode shook his head, sending curly blond hair bouncing. ¡°I doubt you will need to even leave the Southern Marches to find the Paladin. Their kind are predictable and easy to bait into traps. I¡¯m confident Mika can take Crowbend Castle, and when he does, the rest of the Marches will descend into chaos. The Prince of Vindabon and his army will die. With them gone, there will be nothing to stop the more¡­ excitable members of Mika¡¯s army from indulging themselves. Combine that with Mika¡¯s little surprise around Harmas, and things will become downright nightmarish for the people of the Southern Marches. The Paladin, be he mortal or Homunculus, will be drawn to the carnage; it''s his nature.¡± Leaning forward, showing his eel teeth, the Voivode elaborated. ¡°Even if he leaves the Alukah in Vindabon, having the Paladin will give us information and possible leverage on the girl. I¡¯ll send the Tall and the Short to help you as soon as possible; they¡¯ll be valuable to your efforts. Succeeded in this, Aloysius and your place at my side will be eternal.¡± Bowing his head, Wolfgang said. ¡°You honor me, my sire.¡± The Voivode nodded. ¡°I do; now get to work. I¡¯ll send the two knights alongside any information I can gather.¡± With a splatter of red, the miniature representation of Voivode Igori fell apart. Getting up from his chair, Wolfgang carefully emptied the bowl, spilling its cold blood into a bucket. Once that was done, he felt himself relax. Going over to another corner of the room, Wolfgang found the large mirror mounted there. It showed a blurry distortion in place of him, the silver backing reacting to Wolfgang¡¯s nature. Carefully reaching to his neck, Wolfgang unbuttoned his collar and shirt until his chest was exposed. The mirror¡¯s parody of a reflection grew even more twisted as the large ritual scar carved into the skin over his heart was revealed. Tracing the ugly grooves of the mark, Wolfgang let his hand drift up to the amulet he wore, the single object he truly valued. Shaped like an owl in flight, the amulet was a memento from Wolfgang¡¯s mortal span. He¡¯d lived and died as a well-treated slave, favored livestock chosen for elevation instead of slaughter. Now in undeath, Wolfgang was still bound, branded with the Voivode¡¯s mark like all his scions, a well-liked tool instead of an enjoyed pet. The year was 1451; in forty-nine years, the world would experience a great shift. A thousand years after the Black Sun, the Gates Beyond would be their weakest, and well-positioned players could change everything. The Archduke was one of those players, a leader among them even, now placing his pieces in their final arrangments to ensure victory. Those who aided him were promised places of power and protection in the coming age. The Dukes, Voivodes, and their vassals jockeyed for those positions like any good collection of aligned rivals. If Wolfgang succeeded and followed his sire¡¯s will, he¡¯d have a place in this new world order, but it would still be the place of a slave. No, Wolfgang wasn¡¯t content to be the vassal of a favored vassal. In this great game of titans, each seeking the ultimate crown, he played the role of fly, feasting on the dead and spreading his influence with every failed contender. A fate worse than death awaited Wolfgang if he was exposed before the time was right, but that would just be trading mundane slavery and torture for the melodramatic kind, an acceptable risk by Wolfgang¡¯s standards.
With the help of the Lupus pack, it didn¡¯t take the group long to collect and burn the White Orc corpses. No songs were sung, no rituals were enacted, Cole and Mina just used fire to free the souls. Kit¡¯s examination of some of the dead was probably the cause of this unusual lack of ceremony. He¡¯d identified the Worcs were all part of the same clan, but that wasn¡¯t what earned them their spiteful funeral. The discovery of personal items carved from children''s bones was too much even for those charged with honoring the dead. Cole didn¡¯t sleep for the rest of the night, standing watch with Natalie, who spent the entire time trying to convince him to rest. After packing up camp, the group headed north; they decided against visiting Hugelhoff, the nearby village, out of concern more Worcs were following them. It would be better to lure enemies away from civilians, and besides, Cole¡¯s divine warning was pushing them forward. As they traveled, Cole became increasingly certain whatever happened was at Harmas; he¡¯d check using maps and a compass every hour or so, quickly establishing the pattern. The only thing Cole could think of that would warrant this kind of reaction was if the city¡¯s quarantine was breached and an entire corpse-tide was washing across the Southern Marches. If they could reach the Alidon River soon, they¡¯d be able to get information and find out more. Alia was arguing at this point subtly wasn¡¯t worth the effort, and they should meet with the river fleet if possible. Unless one of the local nobles was willing to send a small army to help them pass through the Alidonian Mountains without issue, then the longer river route was the best option. So, as Alia said, why not simply go with the best-armed group they knew was trustworthy? Natalie and Mina were a bit more hesitant; they both had a better idea of what it meant when a Paladin was called somewhere. If Master Time wanted Cole to head towards Harmas, even with the Alukah and Sage¡¯s stone to protect, then things must be horrendous. As in, there might not be an allied fleet left to meet up with. If Pankrator Marcus and his fellows were caught up in Harmas being ripped open, then it was doubtful they survived. Corpse-tides could swallow even mighty Priests if caught off guard and unsupported. The threat represented by the dead of Harmas was more than the sheer weight of numbers presented by thousands of Ghouls. A skilled company of soldiers with magical support and a good position could cut through whole swarms of hungry dead without too much trouble. No, the real danger of a corpse-tide was how death and suffering curdled the Aether. Grinning Ghouls were simply the most common variant of Undead spawned by so much concentrated pain. The slow, horrible death of an entire city would produce rare and powerful monsters, similar to the creatures Petar of Glockmire bound to his will nearly six months ago. An undirected corpse-tide could destroy towns and take armies to defeat; one with powerful Necromancers positioned to manipulate it was a colossal threat. Cole had to wonder if this was the plan all along, to isolate Harmas and use it like some kind of¡­ corpse-tide brewery. Fermenting thousands of destroyed lives in a sealed container until the horrible end result could be poured out as the Vampires wished. If Prince Franz and his army got caught between the dead of Harmas and the Duke of Roloyo¡¯s force, they¡¯d be crushed. The Holy League was slow to act, and Cole couldn¡¯t guess how long it would take them to marshal up a new army capable of beating the ever-growing undead legions. Then there was always the possibility various League kingdoms would just hunker down, fortify themselves, and leave their south-eastern border to its doom. As Cuff and Clout pulled the wagon steadily north, Cole felt genuinely uncertain for the first time in a long time. Despite his growing gifts and unnatural nature, stopping an entire corpse-tide was well beyond his power. Glancing at Natalie, who leaned against him in the back of the wagon, Cole wondered if the call wasn¡¯t for him but the person he swore to protect. Perhaps resting control of a corpse-tide away from its master¡¯s was something the Alukah could do? Experience and education warned Cole such a feat would be costly. Even with Natalie¡¯s incredible efficiency in using blood and Isabelle¡¯s magical aid, Cole doubted it was possible. Fingers moving to his medallion, Cole touched the cold metal at his neck and wished for a clearer sign. There was some irony in the fact Natalie could more easily speak with Master Time than he could. Despite having a piece of the God inside his Soul, Cole had difficulty truly communing with the Tenth Deity. Temple lore said Master Time could more easily speak to those teetering between life and death. Considering Natalie¡¯s encounters were usually when she slept in the torpor of undeath, Cole gave merit to the stories. Idly, he wondered if this was normal for a Paladin; it''s not like he had any peers to compare notes with. In his travels, Cole only encountered one fellow Paladin of Master Time, and getting a straight answer from him on any topic was impossible. Mind drifting; Cole wondered what Paladin Mak Murtrey was up to these days. The wiry little paranoiac mainly protected the White Isles from restless Faerie dead, a taxing duty Cole didn¡¯t envy. When the nature of the plague became clear, Cole considered trying to get a message to Mak; no one else in service of Master Time knew the Fae as he did. Isabelle triumphed before that became necessary, but Kit¡¯s revelations about the ¡®Gallarwyll queen¡¯ made Cole wish for a Seer. Looking to the Magi curled up beneath a heavy blanket with a book, Cole asked. ¡°By any chance, do you have any magic for contacting distant people?¡± Dog-earring a page, Kit looked up at Cole and shook his head. ¡°No, why do you ask?¡± Kit, Natalie, Cole, and Yara were in the back of the wagon, Mina and Alia taking their shift out front. All eyes were on Cole, and the Paladin shrugged. ¡°I was thinking about our discussion on the Fae earlier and just hoped you had a way to contact a¡­ colleague.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow and glanced between Cole and Kit. As she did, Cole realized she was only partially aware of the talk he¡¯d shared with Kit. Wincing, Cole looked to Kit, a wordless apology on his face. The Magi just shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Cole¡¯s lapse in judgment. Adjusting his blanket cocoon so he could see Natalie more easily, Kit explained. ¡°My master thinks the Leechs have a powerful Faerie beast locked up somewhere, a hive queen to the Gallarwylls. I¡¯m uniquely qualified to deal with such a threat, as you well know.¡± Kit and Cole elaborated on their earlier conversation, discussing the potential threat of repeated mass Faerie summonings. As Natalie listened, an unsettled expression passed over her face. ¡°I¡¯m a little confused; how can a Faerie laying eggs in the Aether attract attention from the Sidhe?¡± Cole looked to Kit; he knew enough to understand this was dangerous, but not the exact details. Messing with his blankets, Kit telekinetically moved a quilt so it hung midair. ¡°Okay, imagine the feathers inside the quilt are the Mundane, the fabric of the quilt is the Aether, and everything outside it is the Beyond.¡± Part of Kit¡¯s pack opened up as he moved a needle and thread over to him. Taking the needle, he stabbed it into the quilt. ¡°This is summoning a faerie; if I were to pull the needle out, you wouldn¡¯t be able to see the hole easily. Sure, if I used a dagger instead, or stabbed it a few dozen times, then you¡¯d notice, but for now, it''s pretty much invisible.¡± Moved by Kit¡¯s mind, the needle started to worm in and out of the quilt¡¯s fabric, weaving a bright blue thread through the textile. ¡°This is our Gallarwyll queen spawning her brood in the Aether. It¡¯s Hells of a lot more visible and disrupts the existing pattern of the Aether. Sure, for now, a single thread in an entire quilt isn¡¯t too dangerous, especially with the Gates Beyond making our knife-eared enemies pay little attention to us. But I¡¯d sleep much safer knowing there wasn¡¯t anything messing with our lovely quilt.¡± Cole had to admit it was a little odd hearing a Changling (no matter how diluted) use slurs for Sidhe and Elves. But colorful language aside, Kit¡¯s explanation was good; you couldn¡¯t spend your life around world-class magical instructors and not pick up a few things. Something Cole knew personally, considering how Isabelle¡¯s lecturing skills affected him. Natalie pursed her lips and leaned back against the wagon canvas as Kit removed the blue thread from his quilt and got situated again. Turning to the last person in the wagon¡¯s back, Kit asked. ¡°Any questions?¡± Yara shook her head and seemed to compress herself further into the corner she occupied. At Natalie¡¯s insistence, Yara was taking a break from steering the horses, which translated to the thrall only spending half her time on the driver¡¯s bench, not all of it. Kit offered an almost apologetic smile and turned towards Cole. ¡°Who is this expert you wanted to contact?¡± Still playing with his amulet, Cole answered. ¡°A Paladin named Mak from the White Isles; he¡¯s the closest to a faerie expert I know of in the Tenth Temple.¡± Looking sharply at Cole, Natalie asked. ¡°Hey, is that who you fought a Keening Ghost with? The one who taught you how to make road meat?¡± Cole nodded, but before he could elaborate, Kit asked. ¡°You faced a Banshee? How did you survive?¡± Tapping one ear, Cole answered. ¡°Bee¡¯s wax and some trickery. We got a member of the family the Keener was targeting to help us lure the Wraith into one of Mak¡¯s traps. Once it was imprisoned, I could approach the ghost¡¯s tumulus and break the curse.¡± Conversation soon turned to more of Cole¡¯s hunts, Kit eager for details about the various horrors Cole faced. As they talked, it became clear to Cole that Kit was profoundly knowledgeable and profoundly ignorant at the same time. He knew information by the bookload but lacked anything resembling real-world experience. It made Cole wonder how big of a risk the Lych was willing to take by sending his fairly green apprentice on this mission.
That night, as Natalie sat by the campfire keeping watch, she stewed on what Kit shared about the Gallarwyll. The information frightened her not just because of the present danger it represented but also because of the implications of Isabelle¡¯s experiments. From what Natalie witnessed in purloined memories, Isabelle researched the potential of using faeries to create emotion-manipulating plagues. The Countess seemed to have discarded these schemes but not out of any moral considerations. In all likelihood, Isabelle came to understand the existential risks involved in such a project, and that¡¯s why she abandoned it. Staring at the crackling fire, Natalie knew she needed to get used to this discomfort. Isabelle might truly be growing as a person, but that didn¡¯t change her nightmarish past. Natalie needed to better prepare herself for the shock of discovering more jagged parts of Isabelle¡¯s story. For better or worse, Natalie had chosen to help Isabelle, which meant staying her friend and confidant no matter the disturbing revelations. Natalie knew this wasn¡¯t perhaps the healthiest or wisest commitment she¡¯d made, but that wasn¡¯t stopping her. A sudden noise caught Natalie¡¯s attention, and she quickly stood up, her senses scanning the campsite. Something like a groan issued from the tent she shared with Cole. Moving to him, she found her love clutching at his chest, trying to fight back a scream. Natalie touched either side of Cole¡¯s face and tried to calm him; as she worked, it became clear this wasn¡¯t a night terror but more of the god-touch¡¯s agony. Eyes fluttering open, Cole reached for Natalie¡¯s hands and sucked in a ragged breath. ¡°Get me my map and compass¡­ please.¡± Lips forming a fine line but unwilling to argue, Natalie complied and brought the two objects back to Cole. Sitting up, Cole managed to drag himself out of the tent and into the firelight. Staring down at the map, Cole looked towards the east and swore. ¡°Fuck.¡± More than a little nervous, Natalie asked. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Thumping his chest with a fist, Cole explained. ¡°It¡¯s pulling in two directions now. I don¡¯t remember it doing that before.¡± Picking up the compass and map, Cole used them to triangulate where he was being called. Eyes shutting, Cole cursed again. ¡°Fuck.¡± In answer to Natalie¡¯s unspoken question, Cole tapped the map. ¡°Crowbend Castle, somethings happening at Crowbend Castle.¡± Book III: Chapter 24: Justification

Chapter 24: Justification

¡°All twelve puppets are in position; none know of the threads binding them and won¡¯t even be cognisant of their actions when we pull the strings. We¡¯ve managed to add some interesting twists to their perception. Once the signal is given, they¡¯ll follow our instructions and have firm belief they failed to stop someone else from committing the sabotage. This twist won¡¯t hold up to proper scrutiny, but depending on our puppeteering and a little luck, some puppets should go undetected for a window of crucial time. Still, I need to stress the inevitably disposable nature of these assets and the major consequences of their use. Once these strings are pulled, hiding our other sleeping puppets will become close to impossible.¡± - Excerpt from a report written by Lord Yezhov Arici, Spymaster of Roloyo.
Pankrator Marcus Gildmen hated retreating, not out of some misplaced pride but because people got left behind in retreats. No matter how well a retreat was planned or how fiercely the rearguard struggled, some poor bastard always fell through the cracks. But that didn''t mean Marcus wouldn''t struggle against that grim inevitability with all he could. From nearly the moment he landed his Griffin Sarmat, Marcus fought to buy the evacuation time. The aid fleet¡¯s preparations proved double-edged; the scattered scouts and watch points surrounding Harmas were perfect for identifying and intercepting incoming threats. But with the corpse-tide oozing out of the city like some volcano¡¯s innards, the scouts were isolated and exposed. Marcus hadn¡¯t even attempted a second strike on the ice bridge; he and his fellow warrior priests instead worked desperately to rescue their stranded comrades. On horse, hippogriff, and griffinback, the servants of War engaged in a desperate delaying action, trying to buy the soldiers and few civilians in the area enough time to reach the aid fleet. Throughout the rest of the night and most of the next day, Marcus and his subordinates fought the tide¡ªa monotonous horror distilled from the worst of war. The old aphorism ¡®war is chronic boredom interrupted up by unimaginable terror¡¯ proved its accuracy as the soldiers tried to escape a slow but inexorable enemy. With their shuffling gait and crude animus, the Ghouls were individually no threat to any warrior worth their steel. But their sheer number and unending pursuit could not be ignored, nor could the Grinners and worse, skulking among the lesser Undead. Things born of cruel death and unholy malice slipped among their dull kindred, ready to pounce on the unwary with supernatural viciousness. By midday, the western bank of the Alidon was a teeming mass of corpses. Thousands of blank eyes stared out at the retreating aid fleet, each Ghoul hungering for the living but unwilling to enter the flowing river. The living ceded control of solid ground, evacuating everyone they could and trusting the Alidon to protect them. Hippogryph scouts circled overhead, reporting great streams of the undead breaking off the main horde, directed by unknown wills in worrying directions. It was too early to tell, but the trajectory of these corpse-currents seemed to be the nearest settlements. Griffins were dispatched to send warnings, but there weren''t enough to alert an entire region. So, with hearts leaden with worry and guts roiling with fear, the aid fleet cast off, sailing north towards Crowbend Castle. They¡¯d waited as long as possible and gotten as many people as they could, in one case, even waiting until Ghouls were shuffling onto the gangplank before leaving. Overburdened and fighting the current, the barges struggled to make any serious headway. The Dire Otters were skittish and uncooperative, upset by the stink of decay coming from the shores and the palpable worry emanating from their passengers. The fact the barges managed to outpace the corpse-tide spoke more of the Ghoul¡¯s sluggishness than anything else. As the day passed into night, the barges continued upriver, leaving the corpse-tide behind them. Soldiers and sailors equipped with long polearms were taking shifts watching the sides of the barges for any surprises. Most Ghouls didn¡¯t like flowing water, with emphasis on most. It wasn¡¯t unheard of for vessels passing through undead-infested waters to pick up highly aggressive ¡®barnacles.¡¯ Still, even with the concern of aquatic Ghouls in the night, the aid fleet was certainly feeling safer than when they¡¯d been near Harmas. Moments of sleep were stolen by eager soldiers, resting only how experienced warriors can in lulls of battle. From one of these brief naps, Marcus was awoken by voices calling his name. Eyes shooting open, the old soldier pulled himself up from the chair he¡¯d been sleeping in. Muscles protesting the cruelty of sleeping in armor, Marcus reached for his sword before he was even awake. ¡°Pankrator! Pankrator Marcus!¡± called someone, their voice tight with worry. Squinting against the dim cabin light, Marcus identified the speaker, Acolyte Lyander. The son of a soldiering family, Lyander was a tough kid, having been around violence and its masters his entire life. The look of abject terror flavored with despair on the boy¡¯s face brought Marcus to full awareness instantly. Picking up his sword and shield, Marcus growled. ¡°What is it, Lyander?¡± A pained expression passed over the boy¡¯s face. ¡°I¡­I think you should just see for yourself.¡± With the scrape and clatter of plate mail, Marcus pushed past the Acolyte and left his cabin, heading for the barge¡¯s deck. Once the hatch opened, Marcus heard screams, smelled smoke, and tasted war around him. To his surprise, the barge¡¯s deck wasn¡¯t a scene of pitched battle or carnage; instead, dozens of people were standing watching something off the prow. Shoving past the stunned onlookers, Marcus reached the front of the barge and felt a curse slip free from his lips. ¡°Fire-and-iron!¡± They¡¯d reached Crowbend Castle and the battle raging around it. Situated high up on a bluff, where the Alidon River bent nearly ninety degrees, the stalwart fortress was carved from living rock and surrounded by layers of defenses. To take the Castle, one needed to cross the Alidon and climb steep cliffs just to face the citadel¡¯s walls. Or try to take the fortified bridge to the south, circle around behind Crowtown, the settlement covering the backside of the bluff, and fight through the layers of defenses. The armies of Duke Mika Gens Umbria were doing both. The aid fleet stopped just short of the fortified bridge, or at least what was left of it. Something had smashed through the bridge¡¯s central span, and wheeled siege bridges now crossed the gap, feeding a constant flow of armored skeletons into the battle. Defenders still held some of the bridge¡¯s towers, judging by the rain of fire, both magical and mundane, striking the army of Rattlers. Past the bridge, the waterway was a scene of splintered hulks and bobbing corpses. A ramshackle fleet of barges, riverboats, and anything else the Vampires could seize or make, ferried swarms of Grinners and other vicious Undead across the river. Balista bolts, trebuchet shot, and magical explosions ripped apart boats and spilled their rotting cargo into the river. Few of the ¡®landing craft¡¯ managed to disgorge their passengers at the base of Crowbend, but that mattered little to the Leechs puppeteering this whole grotesque display. The attack bogged down the defenders, forcing them to expend steel and magic. Comets of green fire suddenly filled the night, trailing across the sky and smashing into Crowbend and Crowtown. Magical shields screamed high musical notes as they repulsed the bombardment. As another volley of the witchfire-coated rock hit the walls, Marcus traced their arc to the enemy-controlled shore and tried to understand what he was witnessing. Boulders covered in witchfire were lifted by some invisible force and hurled through the air. Forcing his eyes and mind to understand what he saw, Marcus noticed the glowing eye sockets of maybe two dozen giant skulls floating meters above the ground. As the Pankrator watched, six of the huge skulls started advancing towards the river, their jaws clacking shut in time with their thunderous footfalls. Marcus could feel the baleful hunger of these new monsters upon him; they saw his fleet, and whoever held their leash decided the giant Rattlers were due for a meal. Nodding to himself, Marcus turned to the stunned crowd surrounding him. ¡°We need to retreat! We need to go downriver now!¡± Through force of will and a lifetime of experience, Marcus pushed the fleet into action. They couldn¡¯t turn the tide of this battle; on some horrible level, Marcus knew it was already lost. As one of the few Pankrators in the region, he¡¯d visited Crowbend on numerous occasions, gaining an understanding of its defenders and defenses. Many of the strongest magical protections layered on the fortress were not active. The river didn¡¯t drag the enemy barges beneath the waves, the bridge¡¯s glowstones didn¡¯t shine with holy light, bolts of lightning didn¡¯t cut across the sky, vaporizing any Vampire caught in the open, and there weren¡¯t knights led by Paragons sallying out to smash weak points in the undead horde. Someone within the Crowbend Castle sabotaged the fortress. Argentari¡¯s concern over spies seemed not only justified but inadequate. Marcus¡¯s mind raced through the strategic implications of events while his body pushed the stunned fleet into action. The corpse-tide of Harmas was unleashed, the Prince of Vindabon¡¯s army couldn¡¯t act, and now Crowbend Castle faced death by betrayal. War, true war, was here, and with it came bleak revelations. If the Leechs had agents inside Crowbend, then the question was, where else did their feelers extend? How many people of power inside the Holy League were willing or unwilling traitors? Was all this the work of Daywalkers twisting unwary minds? Did the promise of safety from the plague or other more base bribes motivate this betrayal? Then, leading from those questions came the deeper, uglier thought. Why were the Blood Duchies willing to send the continent into total war? The first of the giant Rattlers entered the river, its invisible body wading through the dark water. Slowly, ponderously, the Rattler moved closer to the fleet, its floating skull sinking down as the river deepened. Already, some panicked soldiers were spanning crossbows and shooting bolts ineffectually at the approaching monster. Marcus¡¯s barge was third from the convoy¡¯s rear, with two other vessels closer to the Rattler. The crews and defenders of the aid fleet were working quickly, having been snapped from their shock by Marcus and given a clear direction. Now, the Pankrator wasn¡¯t needed as a commanding officer but as a champion. Glancing around the busy barge deck, Marcus found Lyander and said. ¡°I¡¯m going to try and buy us some time. Find Priestess Molli and tell her she¡¯s in command if I fall.¡± Before the acolyte could answer, Marcus ran towards the barge¡¯s middle and sucked in deep breaths. With the practice of long years, Marcus flooded his body with magic, infusing his Paragon flesh with Misbegotten War¡¯s power. A slight nimbus of brownish light emanated from Marcus, covering his skin and armor in a bronze sheen. Buckling his shield to his back and checking the straps of his sword belt, Marcus bent down in a runner¡¯s starting posture. Any complaints his old bones might have were silenced by the magic coursing through him. Pushing off the deck so hard he made the wooden planks groan, Marcus exploded forward, running towards the ship''s prow, streams of bronze phosphorescence trailing after him. Reaching the front of the barge, Marcus leaped through the air, cracking the deck beneath him as he exploded upwards and forwards. Sailing through the air, his body glowing brighter and brighter, Marcus landed on the next barge, rolling to disperse the momentum and not smash right through its deck. Ignoring the startled shouts and stunned looks of the crew members scrambling to get out of his way, Marcus kept moving, reaching the other end of this barge, and repeated his feat. Now, at the tail end of the convoy, Marcus landed just as the barge shook and groaned. Marcus was once on a ship when it struck a reef, and that was the only comparison he could make to when the giant Rattler grabbed the barge. Looming out the water, the huge skull stared at the deck with glowing eyes. Invisible arms gripped the vessel¡¯s sides, sinking phantom fingers into its hull, thankfully above the waterline. Standing on the river bottom, the Rattler¡¯s skull only hung maybe a meter above the barge¡¯s railings, and already a pair of brave soldiers were jabbing at it with pikes. With speed belying its huge size, the Rattler lunged its head forward and bit one of the soldiers in half, sending a spray of blood across the already slick deck. Growling with fury, Marcus held out his hands and made complicated gestures. ¡°Thirteen iron lances forged to banish the impure!¡± The bronze nimbus around him started to congeal into thirteen spears of solidified magic, forming a halo of blades. With a thought, Marcus commanded the spears to strike, and they flew forward, smashing into the Rattler¡¯s skull as bolts of might. Cursed bone exploded in a shower of sparks, and the barge shifted as the invisible grip on it faded. Drawing his sword, Marcus went to the vessel¡¯s side and prepared to face the other Rattlers approaching. To the Pankrator¡¯s surprise, the monsters stopped their advance, unwilling to suffer more casualties. Or at least that¡¯s what Marcus assumed before the wave of solid terror smashed into him. Stumbling forward, holding himself up using the damaged ship railing, Marcus turned around to see the rest of the barge¡¯s crew collapsing. Professional soldiers lost control of their bowels and flopped onto the deck, sobbing. One sailor screamed and jumped off the side of the boat, diving into the black water and not surfacing. A great shadow passed over the barge, and Marcus looked up to see what new horror awaited him. A colossal golden eagle descended from the sky and hovered over the barge, its wings stirring up a gale as it hung in the air. Other creatures danced in the air around the monster, horse-sized bats flitting through the air, knights barely visible on their backs. An armored figure leaped from the eagle, descending to the ground on a faint cloud of red fog. Four other knights dismounted from the giant bats and joined the eagle¡¯s rider on banks of bloody mist. The first of these warriors, the eagle¡¯s master, landed lightly, maybe five meters from the Pankrator. Marcus didn¡¯t even notice the other four knights'' land; his eyes couldn¡¯t leave the monolith of dark power standing before him. The wave of debilitating fear had a source, pouring off the Vampire Lord before him like a corpse¡¯s stink. Clad in heavy black armor with gold trim, the Vampire called out in a deep baritone. ¡°Impressive work against the Gashadokuro. Tell me, are you the Paladin of Master Time?¡± Marcus wanted to laugh; in all the madness of the last two days, he¡¯d almost forgotten the third purpose of the aid fleet. They weren¡¯t just sent to deliver the cure, and guard Harmas; they were also a distraction to mislead spies. Well, the difference between being a distraction and bait is really a matter of how much danger you are in. Judging by events, the fleet played the role of bait well, catching a true leviathan. Except, there was no waiting hero with an enchanted harpoon eager to slay this monster, just an old man who¡¯d never backed down from anything. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Shaking his head, the Pankrator said. ¡°I am not; my name is Pankrator Marcus, servant of Misbegotten War.¡± The Vampire Lord smiled, or rather, he contorted his face in a rictus of hunger. ¡°A child of war? Then we are long lost kindred, you and I. My name is Duke Mika Gens Umbria, ruler of all Roloyo.¡± Marcus didn¡¯t even feel any surprise at finding out one of the strongest Vampires in the world was facing him now; he just felt dull acceptance. ¡°I fight for what¡¯s right. Can you say the same, Duke Umbria? If not, then you aren¡¯t any kin of mine.¡± Slowly, the Duke drew his sword, a short battle-tested gladius. ¡°You are very young, aren¡¯t you, Priest? To still think there is anything like morality or righteousness when it comes to violence. Only those too weak to embrace the truth of things dress up their actions with petty justifications. I¡¯ve long learned there is no ¡®right¡¯ when it comes to violence, only who is left.¡± Moving his sword and shield into a defensive guard, Marcus let power flow through him. Bronze light billowed off the Pankrator, forming spears, swords, axes, maces, and shields. As a floating armory swirled around the Pankrator Marcus Gildmen, he said. ¡°There is an irony to it, isn¡¯t there? People, or more accurately creatures like you, always try to justify their actions by claiming there is no justification for anybody; An argument fit only for spoiled children by my reckoning.¡± Weapons of glowing bronze whirled about Marcus, forming a storm of magical wroth. ¡°Now come then, boy! Show me what passes for valor among those craven enough to fear death!¡± Pankrator Marcus Gildman of Vindabon did not see or feel the strike that killed him. But Duke Mika Gens Umbria felt the Warrior-Priests final words, even if Marcus¡¯s blades never touched him.
It was the day after Cole received the second fell omen when the group encountered the first refugees. Perhaps two dozen people and a single ill-maintained wagon pulled by weary oxen came down the road towards them. As both groups of travelers moved closer to each other, the refugees clustered around their cart, clearly fearing the worst from Cole¡¯s band. Mina helped alleviate this by jumping out of the wagon and summoning a ten-pointed star made of silver light, the universal sign of the Pantheon. Still cautious but tempted by a Priestess¡¯s presence, the refugees reached the group. On closer inspection, Natalie identified the newcomers as mainly farmers and their families. Many were carrying all they had left in the world, clutching makeshift knapsacks and improvised weapons. A woman in her thirties with wild eyes broke from the refugees and ran towards Mina, a limp child clutched in her arms. After quickly examining the child, the Priestess turned to the wagon and called. ¡°Natalie! Grab the special brew.¡± Trying to move fast but not unnaturally so, Natalie grabbed the specified bottle of wine from the wagon and ran to Mina. Cole accompanied Natalie, his grim presence a comfort to her and a source of nervousness to the refugees. Pulling the cork from the bottle, Natalie handed it to Mina, who carefully poured some of its contents into the child¡¯s mouth. This close, Natalie could see the child¡¯s feverish face and the crude bandage wrapped around one arm. Mina¡¯s eyes started to glow silver as she placed a hand on the bandage, earning a pained moan from the half-conscious child. The air around the Priestess noticeably cooled as she whispered words to a prayer and a spell. Pulling her hand away, Mina said. ¡°The wine will treat the plague, and my working will trammel any infections brought on by the bite. Ensure your son has plenty of clean water, rest, and change the bandages regularly.¡± The near-hysterical mother broke down sobbing, clutching her child with the frantic relief only a parent could feel. Holding up the bottle of wine, Mina spoke to the crowd. ¡°I need everyone to drink a few drops of this; it will treat the infected and protect those who aren¡¯t. A weary-looking farmer, using a pitchfork like a walking stick, pulled a small metal cup from his belt and poured some of the wine into it, taking a few drops for himself before passing it on. Natalie could almost feel Mina wince at the unhygienic practice, but thankfully, the transubstantiated cure would be unbothered by this less-than-optimal mode of delivery. Mina, Alia, and Cole got to work looking over the refugees and getting their stories. Natalie stayed back; fear over discovery and the presence of badly bandaged wounds discouraged her from getting close. By the time the last of the displaced farm folk sampled the cure, they¡¯d explained what drove them to this fate. Crowbend Castle was under siege, and bands of Undead reaved the countryside. Entire villages were being put to the fang by the Vampires, and no one knew if anywhere in the Marches was safe. This unfortunate group of farmers fled their petty hamlet when the first Ghouls attacked. They¡¯d been heading west, hoping to find refuge at Fort Carnun. As the largest fortress between Crowbend and Vindabon, it was a good bet, but there wasn¡¯t any guarantee the old castrum hadn¡¯t yet fallen. Information was scarce, but fear was rampant. The only reason the refugees managed to evacuate was the presence of a half-dead army Scout who rode into their village last night. He¡¯d been sent from Crowbend to get help but was ambushed on the road, only surviving long enough to escape and pass word of events to the refugees. It seemed couriers, be they hoofed or winged, were being picked off by predators bound to the Leechs. As if the refugee¡¯s lot wasn¡¯t bad enough, Natalie¡¯s consultation of the map told them the villagers were headed in the wrong direction. They¡¯d gotten lost during their rushed exodus and were taking the road south, right into the Worc hunting grounds. By sheer luck or perhaps divine providence, the displaced farmers ran into Natalie¡¯s group instead of world-hopping cannibals. When told they were headed in the wrong direction and of the threat facing them in the south, the refugees were stunned and horrified. Once the last of the villagers was looked over by Mina, ensuring there was no plague or other immediate danger, the two groups adjourned their meeting to discuss options. Once Natalie and the rest of her odd coterie found privacy near their own wagon, Mina spoke her piece. ¡°We need to help these people.¡± Cole and Natalie nodded their agreement, but Kit and Alia seemed unconvinced; while Yara didn¡¯t want anything to do with the conversation. Scratching her nose, Alia winced. ¡°Not to be an utter bastard, but don¡¯t we have¡­ bigger priorities? If Crowbend is under siege and something¡¯s happening in Harmas, reaching the Prince¡¯s army is kinda beyond important.¡± Kit looked toward the refugees, a neutral expression on his face. ¡°We can waste valuable time with these poor souls or prevent tens of thousands more from experiencing their tragedy. Let¡¯s get them on the right path and continue on our way.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie hissed. ¡°If we don¡¯t help them get to safety, then their deaths will be on our heads! Besides, things have already gotten so jagged up trying to follow the original plan is pointless. Let''s escort them to Fort Carnum, contact Vindabon, and figure out what to do next.¡± Cole tapped the map they¡¯d been looking at and said. ¡°This isn¡¯t an all-or-nothing choice. Barlstine is a reasonably sized town on our way north. We can head there and bring the refugees with us. It''s not much of a detour, and ensuring word of events has spread is important. By visiting Barlstine, we can also raise the alarm about the Worcs. Once there, multiple routes will be open to us, be it the way to Harmas, Crowbend, or Vindabon.¡± After a little more discussion, the group agreed to Cole¡¯s plan and spoke to the refugees. The displaced villagers had apparently been working up the courage to ask for an escort, so upon hearing the offer, they took it eagerly. They also accepted the cover story of the Stone carriers being another batch of warrior pilgrims heading south, further proving the best lies are simply a slightly altered truth. Natalie kept her distance from the refugees, being polite and helpful but still standoffish. Returning to the nervous paranoia of fearing exposure, Natalie found herself nostalgic for the tense acceptance Vindabon offered her. Sure, the Vindabonites kept her at sword length, but she didn¡¯t need to hide what she was from them. Still, Natalie was happy to help these poor folk, using her power to repair the world in small but noticeable ways felt right. As they traveled north and west, heading towards Barlstine, Natalie found herself and Cole walking at the front of the tiny caravan, acting as the vanguard. Cole was unusually silent, well, except for the clink of his armor. He¡¯d taken the time to fully equip his panoply before they set out for Barlstine, and Natalie had a gut feeling Cole wouldn¡¯t be taking the armor off until they reached the town. Two nights of worrying portents from Master Time was more than enough to push Cole¡¯s paranoia to extremes. Though, as Natalie thought about the Worcs and Undead, she hated to admit Cole¡¯s behavior was entirely justified. Watching the Spring sunlight fall across the surrounding fields and trees, Natalie finally asked. ¡°What are you thinking about?¡± Glancing at her, Cole replied. ¡°I¡¯m trying to understand why Master Time pulls me towards Crowbend and Harmas. Perhaps if we arrived right this moment, my presence and yours might be able to tip things at the siege, but that¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s painfully optimistic. A Blood Duke wouldn¡¯t commit anything less than multiple armies to such a fight; even with our skills, we¡¯d just be a rounding error on the margin of victory. That is, even if there were a victory, defeat would leave us both in a very, very bad situation.¡± Natalie frowned and asked. ¡°Could he just want to, y¡¯know, keep you informed?¡± Even as the words left Natalie¡¯s mouth, she realized how silly they sounded. Cole shook his head. ¡°Why not send me, you, or Mina a message? Instead of yanking on my soul in such a violent way.¡± One of Cole¡¯s hands went to his chest. ¡°It¡¯s still there, not nearly as painful but a dull ache. I feel like half my heart is being pulled in one direction, the other half in another. When I fought in the Alukah¡¯s tomb, the pull was powerful but never painful; something isn¡¯t right.¡± Watching as a flight of ducks crossed the sky in their spring migration, Natalie tapped her fingers in thought. ¡°Divine messages can be intercepted, right? Something powerful can interfere, like what happened at the solstice ball? But as a Paladin, you have a tiny piece of Master Time inside your soul. The Gods can use that fragment inside of you to bypass normal restrictions. Remember what Sister Sun did during the riot? Maybe ¡®normal¡¯ portents can¡¯t get through or might be altered.¡± Cole just stared at Natalie for a long moment before saying. ¡°You are profoundly clever; you know that, right?¡± Smiling despite herself, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Tell that to Isabelle next time you speak to her.¡± Shaking his head in mild annoyance, Cole said. ¡°She tends to look down upon people without significant education.¡± A bitter laugh escaped Natalie. ¡°No shit! I care for her, but hells, does she have an ego.¡± Cole¡¯s face cracked in the tiniest smile. ¡°Honestly¡­ she¡¯s become much more humble than she used to be.¡± Natalie scoffed. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you. This is the woman who bosses around Hierophants and argues with Gods. I can¡¯t imagine her being more megalomaniacal than she already is!¡± Giving her a sidelong glance, Cole whispered. ¡°She made me. I think the fact she argued with cosmic laws and won is proof enough.¡± A little sobered by that thought, Natalie said. ¡°Point taken.¡± Glancing behind her towards the wagons, maybe ten meters back, Natalie said, ¡°I spoke with her recently, and I¡¯ve not had the opportunity to share that with you.¡± Cole frowned at the nervous look on Natalie''s face but gestured for her to continue. ¡°She wants my help in stealing the body of a Vampire.¡± Natalie expected shock, concern, or even joy at this news; she didn¡¯t imagine Cole would become angry. Jaw tightening, he kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look at Natalie. ¡°No.¡± There was cold iron of the Paladin in his voice, and Natalie felt like she¡¯d been slapped. ¡°She¡¯s worried about being stuck in the skull! If we can capture a nasty Leech, why not use their body to help Isabelle instead of just killing them?¡± Shaking his head, Cole growled. ¡°Death can be a mercy; in fact, it often is. Having your body stolen from you is perhaps one of the worst fates imaginable. I cannot allow you to inflict that on someone!¡± Uncertainty bubbled up in Natalie. ¡°Why is it so bad?¡± Exhaling a cloud of icy vapor despite the warm spring afternoon, Cole explained. ¡°Have you ever seen an elder suffer from dementia? Where a person''s memory and mind slowly rot away while they still live?¡± Feeling a little sick, Natalie remembered an old woman in Glockmire who acted like her youngest great-grandchild in the year before her death. ¡°I have. Does permanently possessing a body do that?¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s worse. The mind is the seat of the soul, where consciousness dwells. To take over a person, not just inhabit their body for a time, but truly claim their existence for yourself, is to condemn them to slow erasure. The body isn¡¯t just stolen, but the original mind is forced to watch as its consciousness rots into nothingness. An unwilling passenger to their own senses, slowly stripped of everything until their very soul is subsumed by the body-thief.¡± Crossing her arms, Natalie asked, ¡°How do you know this?¡± Still unwilling to meet her gaze, Cole said. ¡°I considered acquiring a body for Isabelle just as you are, but my investigations led me to some terrible truths. I love Isabelle, I truly do, but I can''t violate a person''s mind and soul for her.¡± Eyes narrowing, Natalie remembered the cruel smiles of Glockmire¡¯s court, the eager malice of them. ¡°It seems to me having their body and mind stolen from them would be a just punishment for some of the Vampires. They use people as resources, so why not return the favor?¡± A look of genuine disgust crossed Cole¡¯s face. ¡°That¡¯s not justice, that''s vengeance, and revenge easily leads to horrible places.¡± Natalie scoffed. ¡°Didn¡¯t you return to the Blood Duchies seeking revenge? To kill the Voivode for what he did to you and Isabelle?¡± Now it was Cole¡¯s turn to look stunned, recovering quickly he said ¡°That was different; I would be acting under the mantle of Paladin and not destroying a soul. Any Vampire I kill is forced to face true justice in Master Time¡¯s halls. My hand ends the threat; it doesn¡¯t decide what punishment they must face.¡± There was some sense to Cole¡¯s words, but Natalie felt a surge of anger inside of her. ¡°I¡¯d do anything to rescue you, Cole. Anything. If you were trapped or bound like Isabelle is, then I wouldn¡¯t care what was required. I love you, and I¡¯ll kill or crush anyone who¡¯d try to take you from me!¡± Glaring at him, Natalie continued. ¡°I¡¯m going to help Isabelle because I care for her too. I¡¯ll help her get a body whether you like it or not. Cole, I would do the same for you without hesitation, and¡­. It hurts to know you wouldn¡¯t do the same.¡± The words came from Natalie in a heated hiss, and silence reigned once they left. Her eyes fixed on Cole; even as he refused to meet her gaze, Natalie felt a surge of possessiveness. Cole was hers, and so was Isabelle; she wanted them both, no, she needed them both. It didn¡¯t matter if Cole was going to be stupid about this; she¡¯d do what he was unwilling to and save Isabelle. With surprising speed, Cole grabbed Natalie¡¯s chin and pulled her towards him so their eyes were locked. Red met blue as Cole asked in a steely voice. ¡°If I thought there was no other option, then I¡¯d consider what Isabelle is suggesting, but not till then. I carried her for seven years and searched for a way to restore her all that time. I¡¯m closer now than ever before and won¡¯t compromise who I am unless it''s the only way.¡± Staring into his face, Natalie said. ¡°What if by then it''s too late? You¡¯d chase after vague hopes while time winnows Isabelle¡¯s sanity? We almost certainly will face monstrous Vampires, those who spend lives and souls like copper coins! Why not save someone who wants redemption at the cost of punishing some bastard who¡¯s earned their fate a hundredfold!¡± Cole¡¯s expression softened, and he softly said. ¡°No one deserves to have their soul destroyed, and I¡¯m not chasing after vague hopes; I¡¯m believing in you. In six months, you¡¯ve become stronger and more in control than most decades-old Vampires. You also managed to make contact and help Isabelle in ways I¡¯ve never been able to. Natalie, you are amazing, and I believe you can do so much with your power without letting it distort you.¡± Natalie felt herself melt a little at his words. Damn, the stupidly wonderful man, he could still quell her maelstrom with a few sentences. ¡°...okay, I¡¯ll talk with Isabelle; maybe we can find some interim options.¡± Letting go of her face but touching her shoulder, Cole said. ¡°Thank you for listening to me.¡± As the last embers of Natalie¡¯s anger dimmed, she said. ¡°You make it annoyingly easy.¡± Book: III: Chapter 25: Late to the Tragedy

Chapter 25: Late to the Tragedy.

¡°Magic is power, so using terms like magical power or energy is idiotic. Still, there is something to be said for idiotic simplifications. It¡¯s easier to use the ¡®common terms¡¯ for the potency and concentration of Magic than it is to explain Quintessence theory and the Sophronic scale. Suffice it to say Magic is the Aether and, by extension, the Beyond, altering our mundane reality. The degree of this alteration and the required force to cause it are what we call ¡®magical power.¡¯ As I¡¯ve said, this is an idiotic simplification, but the world is tragically filled with idiots.¡± - A tangent from First Preceptor Leonid Lupa¡¯s lecture on Magical power.
Night fell by the time Barlstine came into view. Despite the refugees'' complaints, the convoy kept moving even as darkness blanketed the surrounding farmland. Being out of the forest was a mixed bag as far as Cole was concerned. With Natalie seated atop the wagon, any ambush, even at night, was doomed to fail. But the variety of lanterns dangling from the two carts also marked the caravan out to any pursuers. Still, they didn¡¯t have much farther to go, and it would be better to trek the few remaining kilometers than camp in such an exposed location. Cole was still acting as the vanguard, walking maybe ten meters in front of the first wagon by himself. Natalie was busy keeping a lookout with her incredible night vision, leaving Cole to walk alone. While their argument ended relatively peacefully, the conflict still disturbed Cole. He could understand Natalie and, by extension, Isabelle¡¯s logic, but he couldn¡¯t agree with it. Protecting souls, no matter how rotten they were, was part of Cole¡¯s duty. Many undead horrors he faced were the perpetrators, not victims of tragedy, but Cole freed them all the same. Letting Isabelle consume someone¡¯s mind and soul to gain full ownership of their body was not right. It wasn¡¯t simply killing the person but torturing them into erasure, removing them from the cycles of reincarnation. Perhaps Natalie was right, and many of the Duchies¡¯s nobility earned such a fate, but Cole wouldn¡¯t be the one to deliver them to it. He¡¯d dedicated himself to serving the God of Time and Death; he wouldn¡¯t forsake those oaths just like he wouldn¡¯t¡­ forsake Isabelle. Shaking his head in self-recrimination, Cole wondered if hypocrisy was the inevitable outcome of having multiple strong beliefs. He¡¯d dedicated himself to three different people, or well, two people and a sapient cosmic force. It was honestly pure luck his oaths hadn¡¯t clashed to this extent before. But thinking about Natalie¡¯s words, Cole was forced to wonder what trust he¡¯d break first. A contradictory mixture of guilt and acceptance washed over Cole as he realized Natalie and Isabelle came first. He¡¯d support their efforts to build Isabelle a body or any other more palatable method they could contrive. But if the worst came to pass, he¡¯d deliver a deserving monster to its fate; Gods help him. As if his brooding summoned her, Natalie arrived then, a frown on her face. She was wearing modified leather armor. Black and skin-tight, the outfit was treated to be fire-resistant and covered everything below Natalie¡¯s neck. It even had a small pull-out mask that could cover the lower half of her face. Cole commissioned it from the Schneiders weeks ago but hadn¡¯t seen Natalie actually wear it. Part of her was still extremely resistant to the idea of armor, or at least having to wear it all the time. Smiling slightly, Cole said. ¡°You look nice.¡± Nodding absently, Natalie asked. ¡°Do you smell that?¡± Frowning, Cole sucked in a deep breath, tasting the wind as he did. ¡°Smoke and¡­ decay. Is it coming from Barlstine?¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes were fixed on the cluster of buildings in the distance. ¡°I think so, but it''s hard to tell. I can see the village lights and smell normal village scents. I don¡¯t think the town¡¯s been destroyed.¡± Squinting against the dark, trying to make out details of the distant town, Cole called on his mantle and peered into the Aether. Quickly dousing his power, Cole cursed. ¡°Fire-in-iron, not destroyed¡­ occupied.¡± A thick cloud of fear and anxiety smothered the town. Predators swam through the metaphorical fog, their hungers and actions barely visible beneath the surface. Chains of magic connected pockets of cursed hunger, binding them in unthinking obedience. Cole¡¯s group was too late; the reavers of Duke Umbria were in Barlstine. Glancing behind him at the painfully visible caravan, Cole swore again. ¡°Jagged edges, they¡¯ve probably noticed us already. We can¡¯t retreat, or they will pursue, and there will be casualties.¡± Eyes wide, Natalie asked. ¡°Is anybody still alive in there? Are the lights just lures?¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°Too much fresh fear for everyone to be dead. You could be right, and they¡¯re hoping to bait travelers, but I don¡¯t think so. Too much effort, and¡­¡± A thought struck Cole, and he peered back into the Aether, focusing his arcane senses for traces of Necromancy. It didn¡¯t take much to find more of the occult rot; a whole cloud of miasma clung to the settlement. But that wasn¡¯t what caught Cole¡¯s attention; a great stream of fading Necromantic resonance trailed away from the town, heading northwest. Nodding in understanding, Cole shared his realization. ¡°The main force has moved on; there¡¯s a garrison left to keep the conquered docile for the time being.¡± Natalie carefully pulled her wolf skull out of a bag attached to her belt and said. ¡°Why are they occupying a place? I thought the Duke¡¯s armies were busy at Crowbend. Has the castle already fallen?¡± Old, ugly memories danced through Cole¡¯s mind. ¡°This is how the Duchies like to wage war. The main force under the high peerage will focus on strategic objectives, while the lower nobility and their token forces will raid and conquer as they please. It keeps the petty Vampires busy and provides the main army a steady stream of blood and bodies. Being unrestricted by supply lines or morality is an incredible military advantage.¡± Pointing in the direction the stream of miasma went, Cole elaborated. ¡°Some Baron or Lord is probably off with his main force looking for new conquests while his vassals feast on Barlstine.¡± A noise awfully similar to a growl escaped Natalie. ¡°How strong do you think this garrison is?¡± Cocking his head to one side, Cole said. ¡°It¡¯s hard to say, maybe two or three Vampires and a hundred or so lesser Undead?¡± Nodding her head slowly, Natalie calmly asked. ¡°Can we take them?¡± Glancing at his lover, seeing the near-feral rage in her eyes, Cole chose his answer carefully. ¡°Theoretically, but protecting the refugees would be hard.¡± Looking at the wagons, Natalie specified her meaning. ¡°I mean, the two of us, if we left the refugees with Mina and the rest, could we save this town?¡± Cole hesitated. ¡°Probably, but I don¡¯t know about the main raiding force; if they returned at a poor moment, then things could become really bad, not just for us but the refugees as well. They are extremely exposed and would be easy prey even with Mina, Alia, and Kit protecting them.¡± Groping at her belt, Natalie pulled out a tiny runebone. ¡°I have an idea.¡±
¡°You want him to do what?!¡± exclaimed Mina and Alia with genuine shock. ¡°You want me to do what?!¡± asked Kit with genuine interest. The caravan had stopped on the road as Cole and Natalie explained the situation. Holding up the intricately carved rune, Natalie repeated herself. ¡°That lantern of yours is a strong magic source, right? It could power the flying boat and your enchantments on the wagon no problem. So I want you to use the lantern on an extremely potent subtlety enchantment for a few hours.¡± Plucking the runebone from Natalie¡¯s fingers and examining it, Kit muttered. ¡°Simple but elegant. Tell me, where did you get this?¡± Making an annoyed noise, Natalie snapped. ¡°A friend made it for me. Can you do what I¡¯m suggesting?¡± Glancing up at the slightly overcast sky, Kit frowned. ¡°I can, but I doubt this clever trinket will survive the process, and I¡¯m not certain how long the spell will work. With the stars this obscured, the lantern won¡¯t be at full power, but it should be enough for what you are suggesting.¡± Nodding, Natalie said. ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem; how much time do you need?¡± Already moving towards the crystal lantern, Kit said. ¡°Give me five minutes.¡± Sure enough, five minutes later, looking at the caravan was difficult. Cole¡¯s eyes slid right off the two wagons as Yara guided the horses and oxen into a nearby field. Palpable nervousness permeated the group as Kit worked to solidify the enchantment. He¡¯d taken a very long length of rope, circled it around the temporary campsite, and anchored the subtlety spell to it. Once it was done, the cloistered caravan was practically invisible. Even knowing it was there, Cole couldn¡¯t focus on the campsite. Only Cole, Natalie, and Mina were outside the circle, the Priestess staring at the two of them with undisguised worry. ¡°This isn¡¯t a good idea. I know you two are strong, but running headlong into this kind of mess isn¡¯t right. We could continue towards Fort Carnum and get proper support.¡± Cole and Natalie exchanged looks, and slowly, the Paladin said. ¡°Mina, I don¡¯t think there is much support coming. These people need help, and Natalie and I are the only ones available.¡± Crossing her arms, Mina¡¯s expression became pensive. ¡°Why are you going along with this, Cole? I get Natalie wants to charge in and save the day, but aren¡¯t you supposed to be the cautious one?¡± A snort of laughter escaped Natalie. ¡°He¡¯s never been cautious, just protective.¡± Opening his mouth to retort, Cole realized the truth of what Natalie said. Still, Mina had a point; heading to Barlstine in a two-person surprise attack felt unusually¡­ aggressive compared to his recent behavior. Months of being with Natalie and fearing for her seemed to have sapped some of Cole¡¯s initiative. An effect magnified by being this close to the Duchies, where old wounds and fears came to the forefront. But something about Natalie¡¯s half-mad idea felt right to Cole. He was a Paladin tasked with protecting the living and the dead. While his duties were becoming increasingly complicated, that didn¡¯t change the basic fact of what he was. Innocent people were suffering at the hands of undead monsters; Cole could rescue them, so he would. Meeting Natalie¡¯s eyes, Cole said. ¡°What¡¯s the point of having power if you don¡¯t use it to help people?¡± A smile crossed Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°Well said, now are we ready?¡± Checking over his equipment, Cole nodded. ¡°I am, are you.¡± Drawing her shortsword and calling up her wolfpack, Natalie answered. ¡°Yep! Now, how are we going to do this?¡± A memory struck Cole of his fight in the Alukah¡¯s tomb against a group of young Vampires. ¡°I¡¯ll get their attention and scare them. You harass and pick off the enemy where possible. They won¡¯t expect a frontal assault from someone like me or to be hunted by someone like you.¡± Moving close to Cole, Natalie planted a kiss on his lips. ¡°Thank you for trusting me. I know part of you wants me to just stay with the wagon. But I need to help you do this; it¡¯s important to me.¡± Catching one of her hands, Cole said. ¡°We are being pushed into worse and worse situations. Trying to protect you like I¡¯ve tried to isn¡¯t feasible; the Worcs proved that. Fighting beside you is perhaps the best way to keep you safe, my love.¡± An almost cocky grin spread on Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ve been practicing with the trainee Restbringers; I hope you can keep up with me, handsome.¡± More than a little surprised by that reaction, Cole watched Natalie trot towards the town; Mina observed this with a heavy frown. ¡°She¡¯s not taking this seriously; even a small garrison will be dangerous.¡± Cole replied as Natalie and her wolfpack started to fade into the darkness. ¡°I think this is her way of dealing with battle anxiety. Turning it into a game or something similar.¡± Mina cursed. ¡°Jagged edges¡­ I trust you¡¯ll keep her safe?¡± Cole nodded and started to follow Natalie. ¡°I¡¯ll die trying if I have to.¡± Ignoring the odd look he got from Mina, Cole jogged to catch Natalie and her wolfpack. Cole noticed only ten wolves surrounded Natalie, and his lover¡¯s eyes were shut as she walked. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Cole asked, even though he had a pretty good idea. Eyes still shut but walking steadily along the old road, Natalie replied. ¡°Looking through the pack''s senses. I¡¯ve sent seven of them ahead to scout the town. This will cost me a bit of blood, but it seemed smart.¡± Cole nodded his approval, an almost wasted gesture until he noticed one of the wolves was staring at him, and another was watching the ground ahead of Natalie. ¡°Are you looking through all their senses? That¡¯s impressive.¡± Returning Cole¡¯s nod, Natalie explained. ¡°I¡¯ve been practicing, and Isabelle¡¯s given me some tips. She¡¯s got me constructing a memory palace to help store and process information.¡± Memory or mind palaces were among the few bits of psychic magic Cole didn¡¯t object to. Taking mundane mental techniques and reinforcing them with Aetheric structures; the practice was key to long-lived or information-drenched beings keeping their memory and mind intact. Many Magi actually ¡®saved¡¯ spells inside their memory palace as if their own mind was an enchanted object or arcane tome. Seeing through seventeen sets of senses without difficulty was just another use of the magic. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. They walked in silence for a time then. Natalie occasionally twitched or sniffed the air, some of her wolfpack¡¯s behavior bleeding into her. Eventually, Natalie opened her eyes, blinking them rapidly. ¡°Barlstine is surrounded by earthwork walls; there is some kind of magic on the ramparts, and I doubt my wolves could cross them. But the town¡¯s main gate is¡­ well, there¡¯s not much left; something big smashed it to flinders.¡± Thinking on that, Cole called up his Aether sight. They were less than a kilometer from the town, and at this distance, he could see things previously buried beneath the cloud of fear and undeath. Posts glowing with green light stood in a rough circle around the village. They were flickering columns of magic barely visible at the miasma¡¯s edge. Focusing on the posts, Cole felt concepts flowing around them; there was a physical marker there, with a Spirit bound to it. A potent bit of Shamanic magic, but not enough to save Barlstine, it seemed. Relaying what he saw, Cole added. ¡°I think our best option is the simplest; we head in through the front gate and smash through any opposition.¡± Transforming Requiem into a halberd, Cole did a final equipment check and prepared to fight. He¡¯d kept his amulet around his neck, but the spark-stone and telekine quartz were firmly attached to his palm and forearm respectfully. Beside him, Natalie grew talons from one hand and flipped her shortsword into a reversed grip. Paladin and Vampire met each other''s eyes, and Cole whispered. ¡°Be careful, I can¡¯t lose you.¡± Nodding, Natalie replied. ¡°You too; I don¡¯t want to explain your nature again. Morri almost staked me when I showed him after the Ball.¡± Exchanging another kiss, the couple prepared to fight side by side.
True to Natalie¡¯s report, the main gate of Barlstine was utterly destroyed. Not overwhelmed by a tide of Ghouls or smashed down with a ram, but reduced to kindling. The earthwork walls on either side of the gate were also damaged. Where the gate and walls met, there were great gouges in the layered soil as if whatever destroyed the gate was too big to enter Barlstine without rubbing against the walls. Morbidly, Cole wondered if he was about to fight something larger than the Ghoul Giant he once faced. Glancing up at the piled earth acting as the town¡¯s main defenses, Cole noticed carved wooden poles sticking a meter out of the dirt every ten paces. Sun-bleached animal skulls capped each pole. Some of the bones were cracked or broken, and recently, too, if Cole was any judge. Yes, a Shaman put some effort into protecting this town, more than enough to ward off bandits and monsters, not armies. Stepping through the gate, Natalie beside him, Cole felt a slight pressure in his ears that quickly dissipated; the sensation was worse for Natalie, judging by her wince. The last scraps of whatever spells once defended the town, trying their best and failing to keep two more interlopers out. Observing the conquered settlement, Cole wondered at the lack of guards. The streets of Barlstine were narrow; the town¡¯s buildings seemed to be fighting for space, pressing against each other and leaving little room between them. Crafted from clay bricks and wooden planks, the buildings all had sod roofs. Bushes and other small plants grew from the transplanted soil, giving the settlement a distinctly earthy atmosphere. The scrape of metal caught Cole¡¯s attention, and he looked to see the occupying garrison finally arriving. Four armored soldiers came from the left and the right, their movements perfectly lockstep. Eternal Soldiers, the Rattler infantry favored by the Duchies, and a prime example of their disrespect for the dead. Cole nodded at Natalie and started striding towards one of the Rattler groups. As he approached, one of the Rattlers spoke in a hollow, metallic voice. ¡°Serfs are to stay indoors during curfew. Surrender yourself to the noble¡¯s judgment. Anyone found near the gate will be considered drapetomaniacs and will suffer the noble¡¯s judgment.¡± Requiem shot forward, punching straight through the speaking Rattler¡¯s visor and nasal bone. Hauling his weapon to the left, Cole smashed the skewered Rattler into one of its fellows, sending them tumbling in a gods-forsaken racket of clashing steel. Whirling his freed halberd around, Cole smashed its butt into the side of another Rattler¡¯s knee. Natalie struck the fourth, or more accurately, two of her wolves pounced and carried the Rattler to the ground. Cole quickly decapitated each knocked-down soldier, disrupting the magic animating them. Turning around, he found Natalie flowing between enemy attacks, lashing out with her claws as the wolfpack harried the Rattlers. One of the skeletons was knocked back by Natalie but not destroyed; recovering quickly, the Rattler lunged forward. Cole hurled Requiem like a javelin and smashed skeleton against a nearby wall. With a thought, Cole activated his telekine quartz and pulled Requiem back to him. As Natalie kicked the downed Rattler¡¯s head from its shoulders, she looked back at Cole with mild annoyance. ¡°You stole that one from me.¡± Cole pointed to the Rattler, her two wolves knocked down. ¡°I¡¯m not complaining about your aid. Also, remember these were once people¡¯s remains; let''s not treat this as a game.¡± A little abashed, Natalie nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right, but it¡¯s easy to get carried away when it comes to Eternal Soldiers; the damned things were a childhood fear of mine.¡± Leaving the dispatched Rattlers, Cole and Natalie went deeper into the town. The quick movement of curtains or the flicker of an obscured lantern behind windows were the only signs Barlstine was still inhabited. The curfew spoken of by the Rattlers was not just strictly enforced but strictly followed. As they headed toward Barlstine¡¯s heart, more signs of the recent occupation became clear. Bits of splintered bone and gristle sitting in blood stains, speaking of a Ghoul¡¯s feast. Houses with smashed open doors and dark windows telling other tragic stories. These and other marks of recent violence told a story someone like Cole could read. Barlstine fell fast, caught completely off guard, and unable to mount much more than a token resistance in the face of Vampires and their minions. Grimly, Cole wondered how many similar stories to this were repeating all across the Southern Marches. A pebble hit Cole in the head then, whirling about, he tried to find the source. Natalie moved fast, flowing into an alley and grabbing a struggling person. Her hand clamped over the stranger¡¯s mouth, Natalie asked. ¡°And who might you be?¡± Natalie¡¯s prisoner was a gangly boy in the first awkward year of puberty. Upon seeing Natalie¡¯s eyes, he started to struggle violently, only stopping when one of Natalie¡¯s talons gently poked his throat. Reaching the boy, Cole held up his amulet and let a little silver light escape it. Natalie winced the tiniest bit, being this close to the light, and the boy¡¯s eyes were locked onto the metal hourglass. Calmly, slowly, Cole said. ¡°I know we don¡¯t look like it, but we are here to help fight the Leechs. Can you tell us who you are and what you were doing?¡± Natalie freed the boy¡¯s mouth, and his eyes darted around, looking for any escape. When none became apparent, he said. ¡°I was trying to see if you were monsters or not. The Rattlers don¡¯t react if you hit em with a pebble. We heard the commotion by the gate and¡­ and thought someone got grabbed escaping. Then I saw you and wanted to know if you was a walking corpse or not.¡± Cole nodded. ¡°Brave, but foolish. Can you tell me where the Vampires are nesting?¡± Eyes flicking to Natalie, the boy, said. ¡°Mayor''s mansion, at the town square by the¡­ by the bodies.¡± The boy looked a little sick then and Cole asked gently. ¡°What bodies.¡± Swallowing nervously, the youth rasped. ¡°The Priests, Captain, and Wisewomen, the Leechs, traded their lives for all the kids. After the trade, they¡­ they were ¡®made an example of.¡± Cole and Natalie exchanged looks, and in his lover¡¯s eyes, he saw pure hate. Too much of this must have felt painfully familiar to her. Gesturing for Natalie to let go of the boy, Cole asked. ¡°Are they keeping any more hostages?¡± Jerkily, the boy shook his head. ¡°No, the jaggers kept their word once they¡¯d finished.¡± Letting out a breath, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯m assuming you and the other residents have some way to keep in contact. Get to safety and tell who you can a Paladin is here to deal with the Vampires.¡± The boy''s eyes widened in shock, but his legs didn¡¯t stay stunned for long. Watching him disappear down an alleyway, Natalie said. ¡°What does making an example look like?¡± Stoney faced, Cole replied. ¡°They made one out of Isabelle.¡± Halberd, in hand, Cole marched down the road, heading toward the town square. They ran into a cluster of wandering Ghouls and two more squads of Rattlers before reaching the center of Barlstine. The undead guards didn¡¯t do much to slow Cole and Natalie down, more agitating them than anything else. As the last of the Rattlers fell dead, Cole sucked in a breath. ¡°We are close.¡± Natalie was staring at something in the darkness Cole couldn¡¯t see. ¡°We are here¡­¡± Letting light flow from his amulet, Cole reached her and let out a foul oath as the town square came into sight. More of a clearing between buildings than a proper market plaza, the town square was roughly octagonal and empty except for the nine poles erected within it. Eight of the poles were positioned halfway between one of the town square¡¯s corners and its center. The ninth sat in the middle, slightly taller than the others. Long ropes trailed between the tops of each pole, giving the vague impression of an unfinished great tent. As if to parody the totems built into the town¡¯s walls, each pole displayed an impaled corpse. The bodies were naked and withered, the look of a Vampire¡¯s meal. Skewered from the groin to mouth, each of the desecrated bodies hung five or so meters above the ground. A jolt of horrible realization struck Cole then; the ropes connecting the poles weren¡¯t rope; they were intestines. In a weak voice, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m glad I can¡¯t throw up anymore.¡± Sucking in a deep breath, Cole said. ¡°Coming here was the right thing to do. Thank you for insisting we did.¡± Frost started to spread along Cole¡¯s armor, and the head of Requiem glowed ever so slightly. Calling upon his mantle, the Paladin roared. ¡°MAGNI! MORTAE! MUNDUS!¡± As the battle cry echoed through the night, it was answered by a low groan. Two sets of doors on either side of the square opened, and a sea of bodies exploded out into the plaza. Close to a hundred Grinners ran toward Cole and Natalie, their jerky movements and wide smiles a parody of the revelers who might usually fill the square. Glancing at Natalie, Cole asked. ¡°Please get to some cover.¡± She complied, dancing backward, out of the square, but sending four wolves to stay with Cole. Reaching to his belt, the Paladin pulled out a small clay bottle. Uncorking it, he linked the bottle to his quartz and, with an effort, hurled the bottle up and toward the approaching swarm. Cole put a little spin into the telekinesis so the bottle¡¯s contents sprayed out in a great shower as it fell. Opening a shallow cut on his arm, Cole smeared Requiem¡¯s head and his spark-stone with blood. The Ghouls were almost upon him as he shot a spray of fire from his hand. Normally, such a pitiful gout of flames wouldn¡¯t even stun the hunger-mad Ghouls. Which is why Cole spread an entire bottle of pyre-wine across the oncoming horde. Three drops of pyre-wine were usually enough to cremate a rotting corpse; a misting of the stuff was plenty to set a Ghoul on fire. As Cole¡¯s flames touched the first few Ghouls, they burst into flame, their dead flesh catching like tinder. Tongues of fire lept between Ghouls, spreading across the animated corpses with an eager hunger matching any undead. The four wolves at Cole¡¯s sides shied away from the sudden heat as Cole drove Requiem into a burning Ghoul and tore the halberd up through its torso. As he struck, Cole focused on the blood he¡¯d painted Requiem with. ¡°Steel flash, flame lash!¡± The fire from the burning Ghoul ¡®stuck¡¯ to Cole¡¯s halberd, covering the head in a growing ball of fire. Channeling his icy power into Requiem¡¯s hilt, Cole managed to keep the weapon from searing him as he slashed through more Ghouls, adding to the halberd¡¯s fire coating with each strike. As Cole spun his weapon through the air, flames trailed behind it, becoming a whip of fire extending out in an incinerating scythe. Dead flesh burned, rotting blood boiled, and trapped souls were freed. Cloaked in fire, barely kept at bay by his divine cold, Cole tore through the Grinners, every sweep of Requiem accompanied by a roiling tendril of blue-white flames. Soon, the ground around Cole was black with ash, the seared husks of Ghouls lying in charcoal piles. Breathing heavily, Cole balanced his magics the best he could. He¡¯d thought of this technique to fight large hordes of undead some time ago, but he¡¯d never actually got to practice it until now. The fact every breath he took burned or chilled him was testimony to the ¡®experimental¡¯ nature of the spell. When only a score of badly scorched Grinners remained, Cole thrust Requiem upwards and released the spell, sending the fire up into the sky in a great ball of fire. As the roiling cloud faded and Cole blinked away the smoke, he realized new threats had entered the square: a phalanx of Rattlers and a trio of Flesh Golems. Rolling his shoulders, Cole sighed; things were going well so far, which told him he was due for more problems. Natalie materialized next to him, her expression one of genuine shock. ¡°How the in the hells did you do that?¡± Pointing at the approaching undead, Cole said. ¡°Later, can you help me with them?¡± Nodding, Natalie called up twelve wolves, sending them in groups of three to flank around the sides of the next group of attackers. As she did, Natalie muttered. ¡°I¡¯m glad this outfit is fireproof; I could feel my exposed skin getting ashy just from the heat.¡± Slowly walking towards the approaching phalanx, Cole said. ¡°I only attempted that because it rained here recently; otherwise, I might have set the whole town ablaze.¡± Picking up speed, Cole ran towards the Phalanx and leaped into the air; while he couldn¡¯t jump over buildings like Natalie, his unnatural strength was enough to launch him over the line of pikes and into the formation. Trusting his wonderful new armor to take the impact, Cole smashed into a few Rattlers. Arriving in the middle of lockstep undead, Cole shrunk Requiem to a poleaxe and struck out at the disorganized Rattlers, tearing through armor with his weapon¡¯s sharp beak. The tight formation of the Eternal Soldiers worked against them as they tried to reposition against this new threat. In a blur of steel and frost, Cole tore through his foes, assisted by a trio of wolves who never failed to catch an unbalanced Rattler. Throughout the fight, Cole caught glimpses of Natalie¡¯s work. Six wolves latched themselves to a Flesh Golem, slowing the stitched-together horror so Natalie¡¯s shortsword and claws could carve it apart. After a shockingly small amount of time, there was nothing left of the Rattlers and Golems but shattered bones, torn metal, and shredded flesh. Looking down at Requiem and the surrounding carnage, Cole muttered to himself. ¡°Too easy, this is too easy.¡± Natalie and her wolves approached Cole then. ¡°I agree; where are the Vampires?¡± Blinking in confusion, Cole took a moment to understand what Natalie meant. He¡¯d been referring to how strong the pair had become, tearing through a undead warhost with ease. Natalie was wondering why they hadn¡¯t been attacked by the Vampires during the fight, which was probably a more valid concern. Pointing Requiem in the direction the second force came from, Cole gestured at the large building squatting at the town square¡¯s edge. ¡°We should find out.¡± Heading towards the mayor¡¯s mansion, Cole and Natalie walked side by side, their weapons ready. Cole was mostly unharmed from the fight, his armor, and cold-hardened flesh shrugging off the few blows that caught him. In fact, his biggest complaint at the moment was dehydration; that much blood-fueled fire magic came with a cost. A couple of cuts decorated Natalie¡¯s arms and legs. She¡¯d already healed, but strips of ash-stained pale skin were visible in places. Cole decided to maybe, for the tenth time, to try and convince Natalie to wear proper armor. The door to the Mayor¡¯s mansion was open, and Cole sniffed the air as they went inside. Dark and seemingly empty, the mansion stunk of blood, sex, and fear, distressingly common smells when it came to Vampires. Natalie paused midstride and sucked in a deep breath, a gesture mimicked by her wolfpack in a display somehow both humorous and unnerving. Frowning, Natalie said, ¡°They aren¡¯t here¡­ That is unless they¡¯ve got something to cloak their smell.¡± Confused and unwilling to drop his guard, Cole scanned the battered foyer they currently stood in. ¡°Could the boy have lied? Or was his information wrong?¡± Shaking her head, Natalie explained. ¡°No, two Vampires were here recently. They left minutes ago; if it weren¡¯t for the scent trail leading outside, I¡¯d say they were hiding somewhere in here.¡± Even more confused, Cole pulled up his Aether sight and winced at what he saw. A torrent of terror, bloodlust, and fickle malice permeated the foyer. Sifting through these unfortunately expected emotions and the cloying aura of Necromancy, Cole found something incongruous. Smeared over the other emotions and magic was a thin but very fresh layer of shock, confusion, and uncertain fear. This fear tasted different than the wild panic of someone facing hungry monsters. No, this fear felt more like a startled predator, something dangerous and lethal, suddenly realizing it was woefully outmatched. Frowning, Cole kept his power flowing, ready to summon up cold as he relayed his findings to Natalie. Ending his description with: ¡°We need to be careful; if something could scare off the Vampires, it''s certainly dangerous.¡± Natalie looked at Cole with genuine bafflement; slowly, she said. ¡°Love¡­ what scared them was us. You tore through a hundred Ghouls with magical fire, and then we dispatched an entire phalanx of soldiers.¡± The obvious truth he¡¯d missed struck Cole, and he swore. ¡°Jagged edges! Then we have more problems. They are probably running to the main army; we must catch them before they warn the main force.¡± Natalie replied. ¡°I¡¯ll have the wolves check the town and send one to tell Mina what we are doing.¡± Moving back to the front door of the mansion, Cole asked. ¡°Even if we can track them, I don¡¯t know if we can reach our quarry in time.¡± Glancing down at the single remaining wolf at her side, Natalie said. ¡°I have an idea.¡± Book: III: Chapter 26: Early to the Battle

Chapter 26: Early to the Battle

¡°Making holy water is easier than shitting with the squirts. Keeping it holy is harder than keeping your shit from leaking down your pant leg when you have said squirts. See, water reflects Aetheric resonance like nothing else and can be forced to take on properties of a certain type of resonance, be it holy, unholy, fae, or other fuckery. But just as water is reflective, it¡¯s also ever-shifting, and if you don¡¯t keep your blessed water somewhere up to the tits in sanctity, then it won¡¯t stay holy for long. So as a rule, unless you are in a Temple or only going to need it for a few seconds, holy water isn¡¯t worth the prayers.¡± - words of the Gutter Sage Mitri.
Natalie and her wolfpack fanned out around the mayor¡¯s mansion, Cole watching them while keeping an eye out for new threats. After maybe a minute, Natalie found what she was looking for. A carriage port was in the back of the mansion; its doors flung open, its innards empty. The Vampires in charge of the garrison demonstrated their sense of self-preservation and bolted in style once Cole unleashed his wrath. One of the wolves put its nose to the ground, and Natalie confirmed what she¡¯d caught whiffs of. A carriage pulled by four ghoul horses was fleeing fast as the wind. Looking to Cole, Natalie said. ¡°We can still catch them, but I need some of your blood.¡± Cole turned his attention from the nine soot-blackened impalement poles dominating the town square. His earlier bit of pyromancy had reduced the mutilated bodies and their stretched guts into ash. Frowning, he asked Natalie: ¡°Why?¡± Tapping her head, Natalie explained. ¡°I¡¯m going to change shapes and want to be able to speak with you. Forming a telepathic link with you is hard without recently feeding.¡± Accepting this, Cole offered his wrist to Natalie, and she carefully lapped at the fresh cuts he¡¯d put there for his magic. As she kissed the wound closed, Cole asked. ¡°I don¡¯t think you facing two Vampires by yourself is smart, even with your familiars.¡± Natalie took a deep breath and thought about the wolfpack she devoured. ¡°I agree, which is why I¡¯m bringing you with me.¡± Exhaling slowly, Natalie let a cloud of red fog billow out of her mouth, nose, and eyes. Carefully, deliberately, she wrapped the growing mass of crimson vapor around herself. Eyes shut, Natalie focused on wolves, their nature, their appearance, their existence. She¡¯d used much of the hollows taken from the pack to give life to them, but Natalie kept a little bit for herself. More than enough to help Natalie sculpt the crystallis of blood she now weaved. Drowning in the red cloud, Natalie fell forward, catching herself on huge lupine paws. The feeling of soft fur enclosed Natalie¡¯s skin, and a spot right above her hindquarters tingled with new nerve endings. Finally, as the scarlet mist faded away, Natalie opened her eyes and looked at Cole. Mouth open in shock, Cole was slightly indistinct to Natalie¡¯s senses, her new eyes and nose having difficulty with him. Padding forward until she was chest-level with Cole, which was impressive considering she was on all fours, Natalie the wolf asked. + Are you going to keep staring or climb onto my back? + Shrinking Requiem down and attaching it to his belt, Cole gingerly touched Natalie¡¯s black-furred flank. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could take such a massive shape.¡± Rolling her eyes, Natalie replied. + Neither did I. This isn¡¯t cheap on blood to do, so please just get on top of me. + Awkwardly, Cole gripped Natalie¡¯s fur and hoisted himself onto her back. Once he was situated the best he could be, Cole asked. ¡°Am I too heavy?¡± Looking back at him, tongue lolling out, Natalie replied. + Not terribly, and believe me, I prefer to ride you instead. + Cole blinked in genuine surprise at the crass joke and muttered. ¡°Alia is dangerous to be around for long periods.¡± Chuffing in the lupine equivalent of laughter, Natalie exploded forward, loping towards the front gate of Barlstine with shocking speed. Cole gripped onto her fur and held on the best he could as Natalie¡¯s pack fell in around her. The half-minds bound to each spectral wolf looked at the draft-horse-sized lupine they followed with something close to worship. At Natalie¡¯s command, six of the wolves broke away to finish the search of Barlstine, and old Grist sped off in the direction of the convoy, a message for Mina bound into his mind. Sucking in breaths of the night air, drinking in the million scents around her, Natalie wanted to whoop for joy as she left the liberated town behind them. The sheer strength and speed afforded her in this shape was intoxicating, as was the new perspective its senses provided. Following the stink of rotting horse flesh, Natalie cut across freshly planted fields. Ten eager wolves followed her, howling their song to the moon and stars above. Natalie''s quarry had been forced to use the roads, the posh coach they¡¯d taken unable to go cross country like a wolfpack might. With her new nose, Natalie could smell the hints of perfumed upholstery and well-oiled carriage parts, creating a trail easy enough to follow. Pulled by two teams of ghoul horses, this coach would be incredibly difficult to catch, even for mounted pursuers. To Natalie, the prey fled just fast enough to make things interesting. Unhampered by the limits of living flesh, Natalie pushed her body to speeds the fastest Dire Wolf would struggle to match. Taking this form was horribly expensive in blood, and maintaining it wasn¡¯t easy. Even with Natalie¡¯s savantism helping, she¡¯d still burned through an entire deer herd''s worth of blood, creating this body. Sending Grist to keep Mina informed hadn¡¯t been cheap either; the farther her familiar went from Natalie, the more blood it cost to maintain. Thankfully, Grist arrived at the campsite quickly and was pulled into the circle of subtlety by Alia. Peering through the farm dog¡¯s eyes even as her main body ran across dark fields, Natalie conveyed her message. ¡°town liberated, chasing fleeing vampires, please help people in town.¡± After letting herself enjoy the looks of genuine shock on Mina and Alia¡¯s faces on seeing the undead canine talk, Natalie let Grist dissipate. It would take some time for Grist¡¯s hollow to reform at the Lupus skull, but that was a reasonable cost for sending the message. Returning most of her focus to the chase, Natalie marveled at how quickly she adapted to controlling and seeing through multiple bodies. The crude mind palace created with Isabelle¡¯s help was quickly proving its worth. While casting complicated spells and storing Aetheric constructs was still beyond Natalie, her knack for psychic magic was showing in other ways. Cole gripped Natalie tightly, his legs clamped around her back, armored hands clutching at black fur. He wasn¡¯t saying anything, but clearly, this wasn¡¯t his favorite method of movement. + How are you doing? + Leaning forward so he was near one of Natalie¡¯s ears, Cole said. ¡°I¡¯m holding on. Do you know where our quarry is?¡± + They are moving fast, but I¡¯ve got their scent. It won¡¯t be long now. Any ideas on how to deal with them? + ¡°Overwhelming force, we can¡¯t let a message get to the main army. I can get their attention and kill them. But while I¡¯m engaged with one, the other might just flee instead of helping. Stopping the coward will fall to you and your pack.¡± + Got it. Hey¡­ I know this isn¡¯t probably proper to say, but I like fighting beside you. I¡¯d rather not get into life-or-death struggles, but doing it with you feels much better than by myself. + Cole was silent for a moment, then he gently patted Natalie¡¯s neck, clearly trying to be affectionate despite her changed shape. ¡°I feel the same. I¡¯ve spent a long time fighting alone in many different ways. Being with you even during this grim work makes it¡­ less grim.¡± Putting on a new burst of speed, Natalie replied. + You know, just the way to a girl¡¯s heart. So, let''s kill these parasites before they hurt anyone else. + Tensing his arms and legs in the closest approximation of a hug he could manage, Cole asked. ¡°I take it we are close?¡± Natalie sent Cole a few flickers of information through the psychic link they shared. The stink of dead horses was much more intense now, and Natalie''s lupine eyes caught the tiniest flickers of light in the distance. As the wolfpack exploded out of the small copse they¡¯d been running through, the source of the light became apparent. Ahead of them and to the left was a finely wrought carriage speeding down a country road, four rotting equines pulling it. Twin lanterns glowing with witch-fire hung from the carriage¡¯s front. Barely visible to Natalie, a humanoid figure sat in the carriage¡¯s driver seat, hunched over with hands gripping the reigns. Sucking in a breath of damp night air, Natalie howled, a call answered by her pack. Predatory glee bloomed inside Natalie as all four horses turned their heads to look at her. Dead, rotting, and under necromantic control, the horses still knew to fear wolves. The carriage was moving fast along a road nearly perpendicular to Natalie''s path. Aiming herself toward the four-wheeled coach, Natalie let blood flow into her muscles, skin, and bone, reinforcing them for what was about to happen. + Hold on tight! + Natalie said to Cole as she rammed into the carriage. Catching the coach above its front axle, Natalie slammed six hundred kilos of raging wolf into the vehicle. Wood splintered, dead horses screamed, and wolves howled. Natalie smashed the entire driver¡¯s seat and carriage shaft into scraps, her jaws closing around the unfortunate Wight acting as coachman. As withered flesh and old bones crunched beneath her teeth, Natalie felt Cole¡¯s weight leave her back. Plowing through the carriage and skidding along the ground, trying to slow her momentum, Natalie turned her head to see what became of Cole. She felt relief upon seeing he hadn¡¯t been thrown free or injured; instead, Cole had leaped from her back and onto the ruined coach¡¯s top. As the Lupus pack tore through the ghoul horses, Natalie watched Cole ride the out-of-control carriage. Bereft of driver or pullers, the coach hurtled off the road, its damaged front wheels achieving mutual destruction with a worn-down farm fence. Moving to catch the run-away coach, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but marvel as Cole held onto the roof while the carriage plowed a deep furrow into the soil. Some part of the coach¡¯s axle or something else caught in the ground, flipping the carriage onto its side as it slid to a stop. Still, Cole hung on, his axe¡¯s beak side driven deep into the coach¡¯s wooden frame, keeping him from being tossed off the tumbling carriage. As the ruined coach finally came to a stop, Cole clambered onto the vehicle''s top and did what any self-respecting Vampire hunter would do and set it on fire. A stream of flame flew from Cole¡¯s hand into the broken carriage window, and the ruined roof of the coach exploded outwards as two figures fled the fire. Moving towards the exposed Vampires, Natalie let her form dissolve around her. The great lupine husk she¡¯d inhabited melted into black blood and quickly flowed back into Natalie¡¯s body. Doing her best to ignore the unsettling experience of having that much blood enter into her through every orifice, Natalie prepared to join the fight. Cole leaped off the burning carriage and faced the two Vampires as Natalie stalked towards them from the other side, wolves at her flank. Seeing this, the ambushed Leechs realized they were trapped. With human eyes, Natalie could properly see the enemy, no longer interpreting them as clouds of perfume, drying blood, and cold death. The first Vampire was female, short and petite, wearing what once might have been an elegant dress before the carriage crash. Long claws of hardened blood dripped from her fingers, and her face was a mask of rage and ruined makeup. Something about her disheveled appearance and feral anger brought up unpleasant memories of Dame Lorena to Natalie. At the female¡¯s side was a lean Leech with oiled brown hair and arched features dressed in a noble doublet, with one shoulder bearing an exaggerated epaulet, the other a dueling cape. He held out a thrusting sword in one hand, pointing its tip at Natalie; perched on his other arm was a large carrion bat, carried like a prized falcon. In a thick Guyenne accent, the swordsman proclaimed. ¡°I am Esquire Aymeric Sicar, direct Scion of Baron Sicar! By attacking my person and that of Dame Adalie Roux, you have violated my house¡¯s sovereignty! My sire, Baron Sicar, claimed these lands by right of conquest, as afforded to him by our Lord Duke! You have no right to this territory, and assailing its lawful nobility will not change that truth!¡± Cole and Natalie exchanged looks; the ambushed Leechs thought this was some kind of internal dispute. Assuming Natalie was a member of a rival house, sent to challenge this Baron¡¯s ¡®right of conquest.¡¯ As Esquire and Dame, the masculine and feminine lowest ranks of nobility, these two Vampires weren¡¯t anything special. Having been chased out of Barlstine and hunted down, it seemed Esquire Aymeric was trying to hide behind his noble house as a final resort. Absently, Natalie wondered if this case of mistaken identities might be replicable in the future. Back in Glockmire, the court was remote enough not to have issues with exterior rivals. Clearly, that wasn¡¯t the case throughout other parts of the Duchies. But the minutia of Vampire politics could wait for later; it was time to end this hunt. Drawing her short sword, Natalie said. ¡°I don¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass about what house or bloodline you belong to. I do care about the people you¡¯ve hurt, and so does my partner.¡± Icy fog started to coalesce around Cole as he stepped toward the two Vampires. Whirling about, Esquire Aymeric pointed his blade at Cole. ¡°Stay back! I don¡¯t know what manner of thrall you are, but that won¡¯t stop me from slaying you!¡± Despite Cole¡¯s recriminations not to treat this like a game, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but enjoy the mounting terror in her prey. Neither could she resist the urge to drive the horror of the situation deeper into these monster¡¯s minds. ¡°He¡¯s no one¡¯s thrall. He¡¯s a Paladin of Master Time, and he¡¯s going to kill you both.¡± In a moment of perfectly timed melodrama, Cole exploded forward. Requiem extended into its halberd shape and went for the Esquire¡¯s skull. Aymeric barely dodged the strike and sent his carrion bat forward. Natalie¡¯s attention was pulled from the fight by Dame Adalie lunging towards her. Razor-sharp claws lashed out at Natalie as Adalie pounced. Dodging the furious swipes, Natalie set her wolves upon the Dame. Ecstatic in the wake of bringing down the horses, two wolves went for Adalie¡¯s legs. The Dame kicked one of the spectral lupines, sending it flying and evading the snapping jaws of the other. Or at least almost evading them, the Lupus wolf got its teeth into Adalie¡¯s dress and pulled her off balance. As fabric ripped, Natalie was thankful for her leather armor; skirts and capes didn¡¯t fare well in combat. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Lashing out with her shortsword, Natalie went for the Dame¡¯s wrist; the strike connected, and Natalie felt something break, but the hand wasn¡¯t severed. Adalie¡¯s hands and forearms were coated in black blood, an extension of the claws she¡¯d grown earlier. Noting the technique for later experimentation, Natalie swiped out with her clawed hand, going for her enemy¡¯s gut. Dead skin hardened but not fast enough as Natalie¡¯s talons disemboweled the Dame. Grey withered intestines spilled out of the Vampire, and she shrieked in both rage and pain. Such a strike wouldn¡¯t do much more than infuriate a Vampire, but when the opportunity presented itself, Natalie tried to get some justice for the holy folk of Barlstine. Acting on well-honed predatory instincts, one of the wolves managed to bite onto the rapidly unwinding guts and pull. Dame Adalie fell to the ground, and the wolves descended, biting and snapping at any bit of dead flesh available. Clutching her shortsword in both hands, Natalie moved in to provide a final mercy. Standing over the downed Vampire, Natalie met her enemy''s eyes, her first major mistake. A voice slammed into her mind like a war hammer. + STOP! + Natalie felt the psychic blow crash into her defenses, the strike rattling her consciousness. Filled with a Vampire¡¯s desperation, the psychic attack was potent and found an unexpected chink in Natalie¡¯s armor. Her mind wasn¡¯t just her own anymore. The ten wolves attacking the Dame felt the command, and their animal minds could not resist, sending a backwash of submission up through the link connecting them to Natalie. Momentarily stunned, Natalie put all her effort into resisting the command ringing inside her skull. The ten wolves vanished in a cloud of dissipating ectoplasm as Natalie tried to protect herself from the psychic strike. This was her second major mistake. While the wolves stopped tearing into Dame Adalie at her command, they hadn¡¯t let go of the Vampire until Natalie banished her familiars. Pouncing like a furious wildcat, Adalie launched herself at Natalie and carried both Vampires to the ground. Adalie¡¯s shifted focus, and the bite of her claws in Natalie¡¯s shoulders was enough for the young Alukah to win against the psychic compulsion battering her mind. Reaching up, Natalie caught Adalie¡¯s wrists as her claws went for the Alukah¡¯s throat. Long, sharp talons quested to lay open Natalie¡¯s neck and sever her spine. Leverage wasn¡¯t on Natalie¡¯s side as she tried to keep her foe from taking her head. Practically laying on top of Natalie, the Dame hissed and spat, giving into feral desperation. Frantically looking around for any advantage but careful not to meet her enemy¡¯s eyes, Natalie found her gaze drawn to Dame Adalie¡¯s throat. Slowly losing the battle of grip, feeling the razor-tips of Adalie¡¯s claws poking her neck, Natalie followed her instincts and, with one final burst of blood-fueled strength, lunged for Adalie¡¯s jugular. Striking like the predator she was, Natalie bit into Adalie and drank. Pure, concentrated power poured into Natalie. She¡¯d drained those using the Alukah¡¯s blood but never fed like this before. It. Was. Exhilarating! This wasn¡¯t reclaiming power stolen from her enemies; this was perfect predation. Consuming the unlife of a lesser Vampire and submitting the Moroi bitch to the exact terror she¡¯d inflicted on so many. Adalie weakened, and Natalie grew stronger. Squeezing with new might, Natalie felt her enemy¡¯s forearm bones snap like old tree branches. Pushing upwards as she let go of Adalie¡¯s crippled arms, Natalie flipped their position, straddling the rapidly weakening Vampire as she drank. Natalie didn¡¯t need to suck the blood as she might on a corpse but merely taste it. The black fluid flowed free eagerly as if recognizing a superior master. Ichor flowed out of Adalie and into Natalie in an obsidian flood. Clutched in Natalie¡¯s arms like a lover, Adalie withered away, her flesh becoming shrunken, her skin waxy. All pretenses of life faded with the rapidly draining blood. Soon, only a withered bag of bones wrapped in leathery skin remained, reminding Natalie of Lord Glockmire¡¯s final moments. Finally, as the last drop of Adalie met Natalie¡¯s tongue, the weaker Vampire experienced true death. Standing up from the pile of ashen clothes and stained bones that once was Adalie, Natalie smiled with unrestrained joy. She¡¯d thought feeding on the living was pleasurable, but oh, there was no comparison. Looking about the battlefield, she found Cole a few steps away, his eyes wide and halberd at the ready. The headless body of the Esquire lay maybe twenty meters away but perfectly visible to Natalie¡¯s inhuman eyes. If she had to guess, the fool tried to run from Cole and merely delayed him long enough to stop the Paladin from interrupting Natalie¡¯s meal. Wiping some ash from her mouth, Natalie waved to Cole. ¡°Hey! How¡¯d it go!¡± Cautiously, Cole asked. ¡°Natalie, are you injured?¡± Smiling, Natalie wandered over toward the ruined carriage, a bounce in her step as she did. ¡°Never better! I dealt with the Dame and got plenty of blood to boot! Say, do you think we could fix this thing?! It would be nice to ride in comfort! Just the two of us! Some jagging privacy and those nice plush cushions it would be great!¡± Squatting down and peering into the torn open carriage, Natalie clicked her tongue in annoyance. ¡°Oh damn, all scorched. Whatever they made this thing out of, it¡¯s not very flammable, which makes sense, but now it will just stink of smoke for-¡± Cole¡¯s gentle hand rested on Natalie¡¯s shoulder, and she spun about, gripping his hand and pulling him into something resembling a ballroom dance. To her incredible annoyance, Cole didn¡¯t settle into a couple¡¯s waltz-like she wanted them to, instead using his strength to put Natalie at arm¡¯s length. ¡°Natalie, did you devour the female Vampire??¡± Smiling like a well-fed cat, Natalie took a theatrical bow. ¡°I did! What tipped you off, the ash all on my face or the fact I feel AMAZING!!!¡± Spinning on one foot, Natalie suddenly pointed at Cole. ¡°I want to have a lover¡¯s name for you! Isabelle calls you darling, and I want one of my own! Hmmm, how about my Pal?! Cause you¡¯re a Paladin, no, that''s stupid! Oh, oh, my knight! Yeah, that could work!¡± Cole grabbed Natalie more firmly, and he looked into her eyes. ¡°We can talk about that later; your eyes are red.¡± Rolling said eyes, Natalie snapped. ¡°Of course they are! Did that fucker with the rapier hit your head?!¡± Shaking his head, Cole explained. ¡°No, the whites of your eyes are red as well. Tell me, are you hearing voices?¡± A little confused now, Natalie answered. ¡°Just yours! Should I be hearing more?!¡± Cole¡¯s expression became a deep frown, ¡°When a Vampire consumes another of their kind, they usually have hallucinations for a few nights after the deed. Along with other side effects¡­¡± Looking down at her hands, Natalie said, ¡°I feel fine! I¡¯m the Alukah afterall!¡± Clearly unconvinced, Cole gestured at Natalie¡¯s eyes. ¡°Somethings wrong with you, and I don¡¯t know enough to be certain what. Natalie, you are acting oddly, and I¡¯m concerned.¡± Shrugging, Natalie found her shortsword from where she dropped it and checked herself over. Finding the cuts in her shoulders, she sighed. ¡°Stitching those is going to be a pain in my spectacular ass! Well, how about we head back to the wagon and get Isabelle¡¯s opinion on-¡± Spinning about, Natalie held up a hand to silence Cole; pouring blood into her ears, she whispered. ¡°Something¡¯s coming! Something¡­ rather big!¡± Facing the direction she thought was north, Natalie enhanced her eyesight and swore violently. A small hill of fur and muscle was thundering over the distant fields heading in their direction. It was a bear, a very big fucking bear. Suddenly feeling a lot less confident, Natalie said. ¡°Hey, Cole, I think I know what broke the gates of Barlstine.¡±
Cole couldn¡¯t see whatever Natalie saw, but he could hear it. Like distant thunder, behemoth footsteps signaled the arrival of a huge beast. Another major threat was coming, and while it bared down on them, Cole¡¯s other concern would need to wait. Glancing at Natalie, Cole grit his teeth in silent worry. He¡¯d seen people dosed on powerful stimulants, and the effect was remarkably similar to Natalie¡¯s current state. But he¡¯d never heard of a Vampire reacting to anything like this. Vampire cannibals suffered all manner of maladies: hallucinations, obsession, foreign memories, and odder symptoms, but not the mania gripping Natalie. The story of the Rabisu and her children suddenly came to Cole, of how the original Alukahs devoured their mother and offspring alike. Perhaps the first bloodline of Vampires reacted to cannibalism uniquely? Taking Natalie¡¯s hand and pushing down his worries, Cole asked. ¡°What can you tell me?¡± Eyes wide, Natalie said. ¡°There¡¯s a dire bear accompanied by¡­ knights? Yeah, a whole troop of them headed this way. I don¡¯t think they are friendly, judging by how much that bear smells like rot.¡± Turning to Cole, she asked. ¡°How did they find us? We dealt with the garrison easily?¡± Rolling his shoulders and checking his equipment, Cole cleaned his axe, noting the little bit of red blood mixed in with the tarry black. Realization struck Cole, and he ran toward the Esquire¡¯s body. Natalie followed behind him as he found the pile of clothes, bones, and ash that once was Esquire Aymeric Sicar. Gripping the dead Vampire¡¯s shirt, Cole looked at the strange epaulet on one shoulder. Crafted from boiled leather, the decoration¡¯s top held two raised loops of scuffed material. Fingering the twin loops, Cole looked at Natalie. ¡°He had two bats! I killed one, but he must have sent the other ahead of them earlier.¡± Looking at the epaulet, Natalie nodded in understanding. ¡°It¡¯s like a falconer¡¯s glove, right?¡± Cole bobbed his head in confirmation and asked. ¡°Can you take that wolf form again?¡± A smirk spread across Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°What? Eager to be on top again?¡± Seeing Cole¡¯s frown, Natalie slapped her cheeks with both hands. ¡°Right, right, not the time. I could, but I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s¡¯ a good idea. Even if I¡¯m faster than them, they¡¯d get my scent and follow. We don¡¯t want to lead them back to Barlstine, and maybe I could evade them till dawn, but I¡¯m not certain.¡± Staring in the direction of the approaching bear, Cole asked. ¡°How much blood do you have in you?¡± Smiling, Natalie gestured over her shoulder at the Dame¡¯s remains. ¡°Lots thanks to her!¡± Deciding not to comment on Natalie¡¯s nearly chipper response, Cole said. ¡°I want to try something dangerous.¡± Still smiling, Natalie asked. ¡°Like freeing an entire town, just the two of us?¡± Looking at his hands, Cole nodded. ¡°If my mental map is correct, we aren¡¯t far from Fort Carnum; that¡¯s probably where the invaders are attacking. The bear and knights are most likely the enemy rear guard coming to investigate whatever warning the dead Esquire sent. They are probably expecting other Vampires.¡± Pausing momentarily at Natalie¡¯s look, Cole amended himself. ¡°Duchy Vampires, and a force of them. Punishing that assumption might be enough to let us win. If we can beat them or at least maul the enemy rear guard, we might give Fort Carnum a fighting chance, that is, if it still stands.¡± Accepting that, Natalie asked. ¡°I know we¡¯ve both gotten a lot stronger but isn¡¯t this a little reckless?¡± Hands passing over his bandolier and belt, Cole said. ¡°We can¡¯t avoid this fight, but we can maybe tip it in our favor. Can you sense a body of water nearby?¡± Natalie shut her eyes and rubbed the wolf-skull attached to her waist. After a grunt of effort, all seventeen members of the Lupus pack materialized around them. Dashing off in every direction, the wolves and dog scouted at Natalie¡¯s behest. According to Natalie, the enemy was far away, only visible thanks to the sheer size of the jagging bear, so they had a few minutes to make the best of things. After burning one of those precious minutes, Natalie opened her eyes and pointed at the edge of a nearby field. There¡¯s a sheep pond that way; does that work?¡± Nodding, Cole said. ¡°Take me to it.¡± They walked quickly, practically jogging to the edge of an oversized puddle glutted with spring rain. Looking over the watering hole, Cole said. ¡°A stream would have been better, but this will do.¡± Opening a pouch on his bandolier, Cole pulled out a set of beautifully crafted prayer beads. Jumping into the pond, ignoring the chill water, Cole said. ¡°I need you to act as bait. Let them catch sight or smell of you and your wolves. Once they are committed to the attack, run towards the pond and jump across. I¡¯ll bless the water and use it to break their charge. If possible, use that confusion and chaos to deal with the horses and their riders. With the knights destroyed, we can probably escape the bear if it comes to that.¡± Natalie stared at Cole for a moment before saying. ¡°Where was this cleverness back in Glockmire? You¡¯d have torn through the Charnel and Varcolac without issue.¡± A bone-weary sigh escaped Cole. ¡°This is how I prefer to fight; situations just haven¡¯t been favorable for a long time. And¡­ well, I wasn¡¯t much of a Paladin and barely a Knight back when we first met.¡± Meeting her eyes, Cole said. ¡°Thank you for helping me change that. Now, can you do as I¡¯m planning? I don¡¯t like asking you to take such big risks, but-¡± Natalie was already running toward the coming rear guard, the wolves following her. Right then, Cole almost called out to tell Natalie to stop. She hadn¡¯t been acting like herself after eating the Dame. But after swallowing down a lump of nerves, Cole decided he just needed to trust his love.
Natalie ran over ill-kept pasture land, enjoying the wind in her hair and the sheer pleasure of movement. Cole was making his stand in the middle of a collection of abandoned fields, a stretch of reasonably flat ground clearly once cultivated but now left to run wild. During their travels, Natalie noticed lots of land similar to this stretch. The Southern Marches were fertile and chaotic. People came and went with the land¡¯s shifting fortunes. Even here in the supposedly safe part of the Marches, villages sprang up and withered away like summer weeds. Natalie didn¡¯t know what stroke of good or ill luck left these lands in Aunt Huntress¡¯s care, but she did know running across them was really jagging fun. Suppressing the urge to whoop with giddy joy, Natalie bounded over fields of wild greens. Cole was probably right that something was wrong with her, but for now, Natalie couldn¡¯t care less. Avenging the people of Barlstine and drinking that Dame bitch to death was incredibly cathartic considering the last Vampire Dame Natalie dealt with. In her element as queen of shadows, Natalie let herself enjoy the feast of blood flavored by victory. Jumping onto a crumbling stone fence, Natalie watched the undead rear-guard approach. Silhouetted against the night sky, her wolves circling about, there was no way they missed Natalie. Once she was certain the enemy knights adjusted their course in her direction, Natalie lept off the wall and ran back towards Cole at an almost leisurely pace. Wolves ran circles around Natalie, providing a constant vision from every angle. She¡¯d need to consult Isabelle about the psychic weakness, but for now, Natalie would just need to avoid grappling with a fucking Moroi for the time being. The enemy was close enough that Natalie could hear the thunder of hooves beneath the steady drumbeat of the bear. Putting on a bit more speed, Natalie managed a glance behind her and drank in her foe. Twenty-one armored warriors on barded horse skeletons charged after her. All but one of the knights were helmed and wielded lances. The last went bareheaded, revealing his Vampire nature; an oversized spear was clasped in one gauntleted hand. Natalie could see rictus-rage on the Vampire¡¯s face as he spat curses hidden even from her ears. Running towards the pond, Natalie shook her head in bleak amusement. Her pursuers probably thought this was just a territorial squabble. Mouth wide in a cruel smile, Natalie hoped the butchering bastards unlived long enough to realize their mistakes. Reaching the pool''s edge, Natalie leaped across, her wolves following her lead the best they could. Midflight, she saw Cole crouched down among overgrown reeds, his mouth whispering prayers, the black pearl beads suspended a handspan above the water. As Natalie¡¯s feet found the other bank of the pond she started worrying about how Cole would avoid being trampled. Before Natalie could dwell on that thought, a noise like a temple bell mixed with cracking ice split the night, and Cole¡¯s voice rang out over even the Dire bear¡¯s steps. ¡°AME! KWEK! MORTAE!¡± Cole was speaking saint speech; the tingle his words left in Natalie¡¯s ears was enough to confirm that. Turning about, Natalie watched as the undead horses entered the pond, its stagnant water reaching a little below their knees. Where the water touched, Necromancy came undone. The first horse¡¯s front legs buckled beneath it, and the charger collapsed forward into the shallow pond, sending its rider over the pommel. Other horses met similar fates, their animated bones falling apart like twig sculptures, dropping armored knights into the blessed water. Oily smoke billowed from the soaked knight¡¯s armor, their faceplates morbid chimneys. Struggling against the holy water miring them, the knights tried and failed to free themselves, every step or movement letting more of the blessed liquid touch them. Only one of the riders handled the destruction of their horse well; the Vampire leaped from his saddle, escaping a watery end and landing on the bank near Natalie. Cole was busy hacking apart the undead knights, taking advantage of the Wights¡¯ weakness to end their threat. Leaving Natalie facing a far more dangerous Vampire than the earlier petty nobles. Drawing her shortsword, Natalie sized up the spear-wielding Vampire. She could tell he was stronger than the two before. Natalie didn¡¯t know how she knew this, but she did. Thinking to the Esquire, who lost his head to Requiem and his final warnings, Natalie wagered a guess. ¡°Baron Sicar?¡± Pointing his spear at Natalie, the noble said. ¡°You know who I am, yet you dare impinge upon my territory?! Tell me who you serve, and I might offer you a measure of clemency!¡± Smiling, feeling the power coursing through her, Natalie said. ¡°I don¡¯t serve anyone, except maybe a God, when he asks politely. My name is Natalie Striga, and I¡¯m going to eat you if my knight doesn¡¯t split your skull first!¡± Book III: Chapter 27: On Time to the Victory

Chapter 27: On Time to the Victory

¡°Alchemy isn¡¯t quite so magical as those stodgy old bastards at the guild would like you to think. Much of the art exploits natural processes and reactions without even a lick of spellcraft. Of course, combining those same processes with magic is where things get fun, but that¡¯s dangerous for all manner of reasons. Chief among them is the sort of Beyonder attention you can attract by systematically mixing Mundane and Aetheric phenomena.¡± - Paladin Mak Murtery.
Cole brought Requiem down on a thrashing Wight¡¯s head. The halberd¡¯s armor-piercing beak tore through metal and bone, spilling rotting brains into the fouled pond. Moving to the next Wight, Cole decapitated this one before severing another¡¯s spine. Maybe fifteen of the twenty Wights rode into the blessed pool, and a third of that number were destroyed outright by the holy water, leaving Cole to finish the other ten. Even with the prayer beads to help, Cole couldn¡¯t bless the pool for much longer than a few seconds. Still, a handful of moments exposed to sanctified water was enough to maim the Wights. Wights are intelligent and worryingly lethal undead created from an enslaved soul and preserved flesh. Capable of some independent thought and remembering echoes of their life, Wights made perfect lieutenants for Necromancers. The bodies and souls of dead soldiers, in particular, could be crafted into ghastly parodies of what they¡¯d been in life. While not much more durable than a Ghoul, Wights could use weapons, wear armor, and make crude plans, putting them head-and-shoulders above most lesser undead in terms of danger. That being said, after a soak in caustic sanctity, even a troop of Wight knights wasn¡¯t much of a match for the Homunculus Paladin. Methodically, Cole ended the charade of chivalric prowess, tearing through the Wights heading for the pond''s bank. Despite their numbers and equipment, the corpse soldiers weren¡¯t anything close to the true threat Cole needed to face that night. Charging towards him across muddy ground stirred up by iron-shod hooves was an undead Dire Bear. Easily the size of a barn, with thick metal plates bolted to its flesh, the bear filled Cole¡¯s vision. Yanking Requiem out a Wight¡¯s skull, Cole stared up at the coming avalanche of dead muscle and called on his power. Frost billowed out from Cole, spreading over the dirty pond he stood in, covering it like fresh winter snow. Holding his halberd in a low guard, Cole let its head dip into the water as he prepared to do something extremely risky. Paladins grow stronger in the face of adversity. A Paladin becomes greater by using their gifts and exhausting the piece of their soul invested with divinity. In the years before meeting Natalie, Cole neglected these gifts, letting them wither. Over the past six months, Cole finally grew into his mantle, becoming more than a jumped-up Restbringer and, instead, a true Paladin. At the winter solstice, with a Shaman¡¯s aid, Cole reached heights not yet within his grasp to face Dietrich, the Scarlet Knight. Now, facing down a behemoth of ursine rot in the middle of a war between the living and the dead, Cole touched the very edge of the power Kistine Shohgard helped him reach. The water around Requiem¡¯s head froze, and Cole swept his weapon up and towards the approaching Dire Bear. Half the pond followed the strike, surging forward in a great phalanx of cold spikes. Like frozen waves layered upon each other, the mass of ice stretched up and outward, becoming a jagged outcropping of spell-wrought rime. Just as a panicked horse might skewer itself on rows of braced halberds, the charging Dire Bear smashed into the sharp ice. Long, sharp icicles carved by Cole¡¯s magic stabbed into the monster¡¯s rotten flesh and broke its momentum. But a slowed behemoth was still a behemoth; Cole swore as the rotting hill of fur and rage smashed through the ice and kept coming right for him. A familiar scream cut through the night, and Cole¡¯s attention was divided at that desperate moment. Turning around, just as the bear reached him, Cole saw one of Natalie¡¯s arms sail through the air, severed by a flashing partizan. Distracted by his earlier preparations and the ensuing battle, Cole hadn¡¯t realized a pedigree Vampire was among the rear guard. Torn between two fights, Cole suffered for his mistake. Jaws large enough to swallow a man whole came for the Paladin. The Ghoul Dire Bear snapped its mouth shut around Cole. Rotting muscle empowered by Necromancy caught Cole at a bad angle, and Requiem was twisted from his grip as tusk-sized fangs scrapped against Hakon steel. Caught with his upper torso in the monster¡¯s maw, Cole screamed into the damp, stinking cavern of the bear¡¯s mouth. By luck or divine providence, Cole fit between the bear¡¯s canines, spared impalement on those yellow bone stalactites. Instead, he just faced rows of cruel incisors grinding against Emma of Stonebone¡¯s handiwork. In a testament to the smiths¡¯ skill, the armor groaned under incredible force instead of shearing apart like any mundane metal. Still, Cole¡¯s cuirass bent under the force, slowly crushing the Paladin inside his armor. The magic of Hakon steel wasn¡¯t suited for long periods of stress; it could fend off a war hammer¡¯s strike but not the pressing weight of a Dire beast¡¯s jaws. Feeling his ribs creak under the horrible stress, Cole ignored his rising claustrophobia and tried to find breath as a mixture of fetid saliva and dead blood drowned him. He¡¯d used up too much of his power, blessing the pond and creating the ice; unless Cole was willing to sacrifice himself for a final miracle, he couldn¡¯t rely on his Paladin gifts. The threat facing Natalie meant he couldn¡¯t just die slaying the Bear and wait to resurrect with whatever new mutation such an end ¡®gifted¡¯ him. No, Cole needed to try something else and quick. Focusing on his wrist and the enchanted quartz bound there, Cole triggered the spell and yanked his left arm upward. He only held the vaguest idea where his halberd fell, but considering how damn big the Bear was, a blind shot still had decent odds of hitting. Ignoring the crushing pain engulfing his torso, Cole felt a phantom weight settle on his arm as Requiem met some form of resistance. Praying he¡¯d struck some part of the Bear, Cole hauled on his arm with every drop of strength remaining. The sound of ripping flesh and a spray of gore answered Cole¡¯s silent hopes in a way far closer than he¡¯d expected. Requiem¡¯s head erupted out of the bear¡¯s tongue, a handspan in front of Cole¡¯s face. Reaching out, Cole gripped the blood-slick axe-head, silently thanking Master Time and whoever else sculpted fortune in his favor. As Cole¡¯s hands slipped around the tiny part of the halberd shaft accessible, the Ghoul Bear made its wrath known. With horrible force, the Bear shook its head back and forth, grinding Cole between its incisors and bouncing him off its canines. Three of the Paladin¡¯s ribs cracked as Cole¡¯s world shifted. Rearing up on its hind legs, the Bear intended to thrash Cole until his spine snapped. Cole found his chance to survive as the Bear¡¯s head arced to the sky. Requiem had torn through the Ghoul Bear¡¯s neck muscles on its journey to Cole¡¯s hand. By flexing its damaged neck, the Bear loosened its grip on Cole enough for him to haul himself out of its jaws and into its mouth. Hanging onto Requiem for dear life, fearing an acidic end in the belly of the beast, Cole tumbled head over heels. Barely changing his grip in time to save his shoulders, Cole kicked out and felt the roof of the Bear¡¯s mouth. Desperately, Cole braced his legs against the monster¡¯s palate and avoided being swallowed. Whatever remained of the Bear¡¯s mind understood the intrusion in its mouth, and Cole suffered through the beast thrashing its head about in every direction, slamming wagon-sized paws against its rotting muzzle. As the constant jerky movement made Cole light-headed, he let Requiem kiss his hand and change shape. With his back to the Bear¡¯s tongue and his feet on the roof of its mouth, Cole felt secure enough to reclaim his weapon. Now shaped like an axe, Requiem fit into Cole¡¯s hand, and the Paladin got to his grim work. Swinging the axe at the monster¡¯s pale gums, Cole hacked away at the roots of teeth, trying to cut himself a hole to escape from. When the first cracked molar broke free, gravity shifted yet again, and Cole felt himself sliding back toward the Bear¡¯s front fangs. Feet slipping on rotting palate, Cole realized the Bear was opening its mouth. Frantically, Cole sank Requiem into the beast¡¯s upper gums and turned his attention to the widening exit of the fleshy cave surrounding him. Moonlight from the world beyond the Bear¡¯s jaw quickly died as the beast thrust one of its coach-sized paws into its mouth. ¡°OH SHIT!¡± swore Cole as claws big enough to cut down trees surged toward him. Heedless of its own body, the Bear dug those claws into its tongue, trying to remove the Paladin. Pulling back, Cole managed to stand up. One hand still on Requiem, the other grabbing onto a flap of dead flesh for balance, Cole stayed beyond the paw¡¯s touch. As those terrible claws dug into dead flesh, an insane idea struck Cole. Freeing Requiem, Cole smeared his blood on the weapon and stabbed it forward into the Bear¡¯s paw like a fisherman¡¯s harpoon. Except, instead of releasing the end of the axe, Cole willed his weapon¡¯s shaft to grow. Putting both hands on the halberd¡¯s haft, Cole lengthened the polearm until its butt pressed into the hard palate above him. Shifting the halberd''s metal so it''s spear tip punched through the Bear¡¯s paw and into its throat, Cole trapped the beast¡¯s limb in its own mouth. Gazing out at the night beyond the monster¡¯s teeth, Cole decided leaving Requim for now would be worth getting to Natalie¡¯s side. If he could get between her and the Vampire and Bear, a final miracle might finish this fight in their favor. But just as those plans were laid, the Bear dashed them with unthinking rage. Cole once heard a wolf would gnaw off its foot to escape a trap; he¡¯d never heard mention of a bear ripping off its own jaw to do the same. Muscle ripped, cartilage snapped, and the flesh Cole stood on started to give way. Hauling downwards with its impaled paw, the Bear yanked its lower jaw from its socket and kept pulling. Gripping onto Requiem like a sailor clutching the main mast, Cole became weightless. ¡°FUCK!¡± Cole roared as the final tendons and bits of taught skin broke, letting the bear¡¯s jaw tumble to the ground nearly four meters below. Freeing Requiem just in time, Cole watched as the giant paw retreated and the cold earth approached. Paladin and severed jaw landed with a mixture of crunch and splat. The impact forced Cole to his knees, and shots of pain erupted up his legs. Forcing himself back to his feet, Cole tried to find Natalie before the Bear struck again.
:: A few minutes before :: Baron Stelian Sicar¡¯s expression of rage turned into something infinitely more distressing for Natalie. He laughed, an ugly snort escaping the Vampire¡¯s pale lips. ¡°You are just some landless, titleless, houseless feral with an enthralled Priest! I¡¯ve been killing and binding vermin longer than your mortal lineage can be traced! For your arrogance and foolishness, I¡¯ll rip whatever paltry secrets you hold from the meat of your brain and twist what''s left into an eager pet!¡± Snarling in fury, Natalie charged towards the Vampire, coming in low, her short sword ready to pierce the Baron¡¯s heart. ¡°I¡¯m going to make you eat those words, jagger!¡± Twelve of Natalie¡¯s wolves were busy dealing with the rest of the knights. The Wights were strong and fast, raining down blows on the wolfpack. But glutted on a lesser Vampire¡¯s essence, Natalie could afford to keep reforming her familiars. A Wight might bisect a leaping wolf just to watch it reassemble mid-air, still seeking the Wight¡¯s throat. With four wolves and Grist, Natalie challenged the Baron, eager to end the fight quickly. The Baron thrust his spear forward with a sound like a whip crack. Twisting her waist, Natalie spun out of harm¡¯s way and commanded two of her wolves to strike. Coming from behind, the wolves tried to bite the Baron¡¯s hamstrings. Solid armor and sturdier flesh resisted the attack, but the wolves¡¯s impact was still enough to disrupt Baron Sicar¡¯s balance. Natalie rushed forward, eager to exploit this weakness, and took the spear¡¯s haft on her ribs. Knocked down but quickly rolling to her feet, Natalie was assailed by a storm of steel lightning strikes. The Baron¡¯s spear was everywhere, lashing out towards Natalie like a furious serpent. Backstepping, Natalie worked to keep clear of the questing polearm. The wolves and singular dog threw themselves at Baron Sicar with feral intensity, failing to do more than annoy the older Vampire. Sicar learned from his earlier mistakes and kept a solid stance even as he advanced on Natalie. His armor and blood-strengthened body rendered five sets of gnashing fangs toothless. Feeling ribs heal, Natalie realized her error; she¡¯d sparred plenty of times against skilled spear users, but they¡¯d been mortals. Natalie was used to being head and shoulders faster than her foe, and while she was still quicker than the Baron, it wasn¡¯t enough to negate his sizable reach advantage. True to Cole, Bruto, and Morri¡¯s lessons, longer arms and longer weapons counted for much in battle. Natalie called the wolves to her and changed strategy; using them to harry her foe wasn¡¯t working, so she¡¯d try something else. Charging forward, Natalie and her five familiars danced back and forth, trying to close the distance between them. The Baron Sicar¡¯s cruel spear licked out and tore into the wolves and dog, spilling clouds of ectoplasm into the night. Feeding blood to her familiars, Natalie didn¡¯t heal them but stabilized their injuries, letting the grey fog of their innards become confounding smoke. Wreathed in ectoplasm and seeing through six pairs of eyes, Natalie slithered closer to Sicar, ready to introduce the Misoria blade to his spine. As she attacked from behind, Natalie sent two wolves to strike the Baron from the front. Sicar¡¯s spear flicked out and tore through both wolves, and he turned on Natalie when she was barely a meter away. Shockingly fast, Sicar lashed out with one hand, claws of hardened blood enclosing his armored fingers. Pushing herself backward, Natalie saved her life but not her arm. Terrible monstrous claws driven by inhuman strength ripped Natalie¡¯s arm off at the elbow. Shrieking in pain, Natalie landed hard, sliding a little along the ground as she desperately tried to regenerate the lost limb. The shock of injury was enough to break Natalie¡¯s concentration, and her wolves dissipated. Staring down at her stump, she forced black blood to well up from the injury and congeal into fresh tissue. Baron Sicar advanced on Natalie, then, spear held at his side, a cruel smile on his face. Glancing in Cole¡¯s direction, desperate for aid, Natalie watched him be swallowed whole by the Ghoul Bear. In a very small voice, Natalie whispered. ¡°Oh jag¡­¡± Sicar leaped forward, landing right before Natalie, looming over her, and stabbing down with his spear. Frantically, Natalie rolled to evade, and Sicar stomped one armored foot onto her leg. Another horrible scream escaped Natalie before she could compartmentalize the pain. Sicar¡¯s armored hand came down and grabbed Natalie¡¯s face, forcing her to look at him. Realizing what he was about to do, Natalie mustered her psychic defenses. The vampires met each other''s eyes, and Natalie felt Sicar¡¯s focused hate strike her. But in testament to Natalie¡¯s skill and training, her consciousness withstood the strike easily. As the Baron martialed his will for a second attack, Natalie realized a few things about her opponents, both past and present. The Dame¡¯s assault earlier was like a flood of water, smashing into Natalie¡¯s defenses and seeping into places it couldn¡¯t reach with brute force. By contrast, the Baron¡¯s attack was a battering ram aimed at a castle gate, dangerous but not insidious like the Dame¡¯s strategy. Natalie didn¡¯t know if this difference was caused by personality, training, or the fact that Sicar was a Wyrmoi, not a Moroi. She did know the strong but simple strikes of Sicar left a weakness she could exploit. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. As the second blow rattled Natalie¡¯s mind, she poured her will into the psychic bridge connecting them. Slipping past the metaphorical battering ram as it was hauled back for another strike, Natalie realized the truth of what Pryia said about people exposing themselves while conducting Psychic attacks. To strike Natalie, Sicar needed not just to form a connection but open himself to his victim, an inevitable side effect of the link. Quick as falling night, Natalie entered Sicar¡¯s mind, easily avoiding his secondary layer of psychic defenses. In less time than a mortal might take a breath, Natalie penetrated her foe¡¯s mindscape. Sicar¡¯s consciousness was shaped like a grand mausoleum, with branching hallways and high ceilings lit by braziers of cold fire. Reaching one of the braziers, Natalie struck back against her attacker. Natalie put her hands into the flame and with them an ugly memory. Natalie¡¯s mind palace wasn¡¯t much good for shaping the Aether, but it could store information and experiences to a superhuman degree. A knack Isabelle disparagingly compared to a barmaid¡¯s ability to flit between customers and memorize orders. Even if Isabelle¡¯s snark-drenched theory on the origin of the skill was true, it didn¡¯t stop Natalie from using her honed talent effectively. Grabbing onto the memory of a Gallarwyll exploding in her hands back in Rihan¡¯s lab, Natalie shoved it into Sicar¡¯s mind. Striking the Baron with all the pain, shock, and disorientation she felt in that moment. Returning to her mind as Sicar let the connection falter, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but smile as the Baron screamed in pain. Dropping his spear and staring down at his hands, the Baron¡¯s mind wrestled with the contradicting sensations assaulting him. Reaching up with her stump, Natalie gave the black blood rebuilding her limb a new task. Three hooked blades grew from Natalie¡¯s unfinished forearm, and she slashed them across Sicar¡¯s armored belly. Enchanted steel and undead flesh repelled the strike, so Natalie changed tactics with her next attack. Kicking out with her undamaged leg, she borrowed one of Cole¡¯s moves and snapped the Baron¡¯s knee. Recovering from the psychic attack he¡¯d clearly never expected from a ¡®feral¡¯ like Natalie, Sicar caught himself mid-fall, landing on his hands and knees. Surging forward with her shortsword, Natalie prepared to finish this hunt as she¡¯d done so many times before. Aiming for the Baron¡¯s exposed armpit, Natalie drove her shortsword through her enemy¡¯s mail shirt and into his flesh. Silver burned and steel cut, Natalie thrusting the blade into the Vampire¡¯s blood-forged body. Now it was Sicar¡¯s turn to roll away in fright; scrabbling along the ground, he escaped Natalie, her shortsword sticking into him, barely a handspan from his heart. Proving his age and experience, Sicar managed to rise before Natalie did, pulling the Misoria blade free with a roar of pain. Barely able to put weight on one foot, Natalie grew claws from her intact hand and spat. ¡°How did you like being skewered? I know you prefer proper impalements for your victims, but I¡¯m not a butchering bastard like you, Sicar.¡± A huge roar and the crunch of tearing flesh caught both Vampires'' attention. Somehow, in their frantic melee, both Natalie and the Baron forgot about the Dire Bear, which just ripped off its own jagging jaw. As the severed body part crashed into the ground, Cole appeared, covered in a collection of fluids Natalie didn¡¯t even want to guess at. Stumbling off the Bear¡¯s severed jaw, Requiem clutched in his hands, Cole looked angry. As a great bubbling bellow escaped the Bear, Cole ran towards Natalie and Sicar, uncaring of the behemoth chasing after him. Hobbling towards his spear, Baron Sicar picked it up and moved to meet Cole¡¯s charge. Following after him, feeling the bones in her feet finish healing, Natalie grabbed her own weapon and watched as her knight was caught between two monsters. But instead of clashing steel with Cole, Sicar leaped into the air, a pained howl escaping him as he did. Sailing over Cole, the Baron landed on the Dire Bear, gripping its fur and hauling himself up the beast¡¯s flank. As the Vampire and ghoul beast came into contact, the Bear changed direction. Nearly trampling Cole, the Bear swung about like a war galleon and started to flee. Watching with genuine shock as the pair of adversaries literally turned tail and ran, Natalie let out a pointless breath she¡¯d been holding. Running over as fast as she could, Natalie wrapped her arms around Cole and let out a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. Before Cole could return the gesture, the nightmarish stink of a dead Dire Beast¡¯s maw struck Natalie, and she recoiled. ¡°Oh Gods, that¡¯s horrible!¡± Instead of responding, Cole turned and raised his halberd into a sturdy guard. His reason became clear as the surviving Wight knights charged towards them. Natalie¡¯s wolves did an excellent job distracting and harassing the undead cavalry, but they¡¯d not won their battle outright. Growing her claws for what felt like the hundredth time and glancing at her regenerating wrist, Natalie swore. ¡°Fire-in-iron¡­¡±
Cole destroyed the last Wight with a brutal stomp, crushing its helmet and skull beneath his armored foot. Panting with exhaustion, Cole looked towards the tracks left by the Dire Bear and said. ¡°We need to go after him.¡± Natalie flexed the fingers of her newly healed arm and held it up in the moonlight. The limb was missing fat and muscle tone, giving it a withered look. Her fingers were slender to the point of sickly, and the fingernails were little more than nubs sticking out of the cuticles. Regenerating a severed limb was a new experience for Natalie, and she¡¯d rushed the process. Looking from her fingers to Cole, Natalie said. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I have enough blood to take wolf from and fight again.¡± Nodding, Cole checked himself over. His torso was one massive bruise, and Cole knew he¡¯d cracked ribs. Ironically, the armor squeezing his chest was probably helping Cole¡¯s situation; he had enough room to breathe, but the slightly crushed breastplate kept things where they should be. ¡°We can go on foot; I need some time to recover my power, and you need to finish regenerating.¡± Grunting her agreement, Natalie picked something off the ground and made a disgusted noise. It was her arm, or at least a collection of ash-covered bones that were once her arm. Gingerly pulling the sleeve off the remains, Natalie made a noise of disgust. ¡°Yughh!¡± Shaking the leather sleeve, scattering a plume of soot, Natalie added. ¡°Sowing this back on is going to be a pain.¡± Checking over the Wights, ensuring their souls were freed, Cole said. ¡°I can commiserate; it''s one of the reasons I¡¯ve not invested in good armor until now. Trying to explain why there is a fist-sized hole in your breastplate, and you¡¯re still alive isn¡¯t easy. But I have plenty of experience patching leather; I¡¯ll help you later if you want.¡± Calling up four of her wolves, Natalie looked at the severed jaw of the Dire Bear, realizing the damn thing was the size of her and Cole¡¯s bed back in Vindabon. ¡°Do you think we can actually kill the Baron and his Bear? I¡¯m starting to think we bit off more than we can chew.¡± Silver light burned in Cole¡¯s eyes as he stared in the direction the Bear fled. ¡°We have to try. A battle still rages nearby, and even if injured, our opponents can easily shift the balance.¡± Shutting his lids and letting glowing tears flow down his cheeks, Cole looked at Natalie with his normal blue eyes. ¡°But¡­I am torn; you needed my help earlier, and I couldn¡¯t-¡± Natalie cut Cole off by putting a finger to his lips. ¡°Stop that. I¡¯m choosing to fight, and I know what risks there are. Now, let''s go kill this bastard.¡± Taking Natalie¡¯s hand and gently squeezing it, Cole nodded in understanding. He heard what Natalie said but also saw the truth behind her words. The tiny tremble in her voice and the slight increase in volume were enough to tell Cole she was rattled. Still, the duties of a Paladin weighed on Cole, and Natalie was set in her course. They¡¯d keep fighting the darkness together, and Cole would just need to get strong enough to keep her safe. Wrinkling her nose, Natalie pulled herself free from Cole¡¯s grip. ¡°But let''s see if we can find a stream or pond on the way, though, you stink like¡­¡± ¡°...Like someone who was swallowed by a Dire Bear?¡± Cole offered, looking down at his gore and gunk-dressed self. The couple started to follow the monster¡¯s tracks, moving slowly as they recovered from the fight. Thankfully for Natalie, they found another sheep pond, and Cole managed to scrape off the worst of the foulness coating him. Despite his now superhuman sense of smell, Cole wasn¡¯t particularly bothered by the stink, an inevitable adaptation after years of hunting the undead. But still, Cole had to admit he felt better without a layer of filth sticking to him. Moving faster, they eventually saw signs of the battle Cole sensed in the Aether¡ªa bright light in the distance, accompanied by booming explosions and the low melody of clashing steel. Sending her wolves ahead of them, Natalie drew her shortsword and said. ¡°I don¡¯t think the garrison will be too happy to see me.¡± Feeling his power, sensing its slow but untenable return, Cole breathed icy fog. ¡°I think my mantle and the Baron¡¯s head will be enough to smooth things over.¡± As they got closer, Cole could see Fort Carnum, its walls bathed in glowlight, illuminating the fierce battle raging between living and dead. To Cole¡¯s horror, the Dire Bear had broken into the fort but seemed slowed down by gouts of fire and something strong enough to stagger it. Great throngs of dead flesh pressed against the walls, Ghouls clambering over each other to strike the ramparts, while a swirling cloud of bats mobbed the overwhelmed defenders. Grabbing Cole¡¯s arm and pulling him to a stop, Natalie pointed towards a spot maybe fifty meters away. ¡°A group of Rattlers over there, with two Vampires, the Baron is one of them.¡± Frowning, Cole asked. ¡°Any scouts, more knights or outriders?¡± Shutting her eyes and sniffing the air, unconsciously mimicking the wolf she controlled, Natalie answered. ¡°Not that I can sense. Just thirty Eternal Soldiers and the two Leechs.¡± Accepting this, Cole reached to his bandolier and fished out a few objects. First was a potion contained in a metal vial. Uncapping the potion, he downed the alchemical mixture faster than he could taste it. The combat drug would dull his pain and sharpen his reflexes. Cole generally disliked using such concoctions; he had too many bad memories associated with them. Second, he pulled out a roughly pear-sized and shaped object. Thick waxed paper covered the outside of the object, and its stem was made of treated fiber. That stem led into the false pear¡¯s innards, connected to a small pouch of spark powder. Between that internal pouch and the outer layer of waxed paper was a salt and garlic mixture. Roadmeat wasn¡¯t the only thing Cole learned to make from Paladin Mak Murtery. Linking the bomb to his telekine quartz, Cole said, ¡°This thing will make a loud bang and cover anything close to it in salt and garlic. I will drop it in the middle of that group and strike while they are disoriented. Stay a little back so the garlic doesn¡¯t affect you, but kill anything that flees.¡± Eyeing the palm-sized explosive warily, Natalie asked. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the thing the Alchemist Guild sent you an angry letter about back in Chillheart month?¡± Nodding, Cole said. ¡°They don¡¯t like it when people outside their organization know how to make spark powder, and they especially didn¡¯t like the fact I¡¯d learned the recipe from a disgraced former member. It''s why I need to be sparing with these; not many people will sell me the ingredients.¡± Lighting the stem-shaped fuse, Cole carefully tossed the bane bomb toward his enemies. Running after the explosive, Cole maneuvered his hand and, by extension, the linked explosive, helping it fly farther and more accurately than mundanely possible. Counting the seconds before the fuse reached the spark powder, Cole cut the magical connection and let the bomb drop into the cluster of Rattlers standing around the two Vampires. Like an overripe fruit dropping from a tree, the bomb struck one of the armored skeletons on the head right before it exploded. With a crack like a snapping branch, the bomb detonated, spreading a cloud of garlic and salt over the undead. Putting on a burst of speed, Cole let cold numbing power flood his limbs and, more importantly, senses; just because his skin wouldn¡¯t burn on touching garlic didn¡¯t mean getting it in his eyes would be pleasant. Reaching the edge of the Rattler circle, Cole brought Requiem down on the undead soldier¡¯s head, splitting its helm and skull with a single strike. The nearby Rattlers turned, trying to track Cole, but couldn¡¯t see him, their senses obscured by the salt dust filling the air. Tearing through two more blinded Rattlers, Cole followed the pained screams of the Vampires. Squinting through the stinging air, Cole found his prey. Baron Sicar was covering his face, roaring in agony, and beside him was a heavily armored warrior lashing out at the air around her with whip-crack sword strikes. Wearing a heavy helmet but clearly still affected by Cole¡¯s trick, the Vampire knight moved towards Cole, blindly slashing out, trying to use overwhelming force to triumph over subterfuge. As one of the female Vampires'' rogue strikes tore an Eternal Soldier right in half, Cole had to admit it wasn¡¯t the worst option available to her. Behind the advancing knight, Cole saw Baron Sicar stumble away, groping his way through the Rattlers, fleeing the fight like a beaten dog. Skirting around the blinded Vampire, Cole tried to pursue the Baron, but this close, the noise of his armor alerted the female Leech to his presence. Dodging a wild strike and throwing a paralyzed Rattler into the Vampire¡¯s path, Cole looked towards the Baron. A pack of wolves descended on the Baron, harrying him as he tried to flee towards the fort and his main army. Natalie materialized out of the dark then, eager to settle her score with the Baron. Returning his attention to the Vampire knight, Cole realized the Rattler he¡¯d sent her way hadn¡¯t been torn apart like he¡¯d expected. Instead, it moved aside and now took up position next to his opponent. Slowly, other Rattlers were doing the same, being forced into action by an unliving will that Cole could guess the source of. With a few Rattlers at her flank, the Vampire knight calmed her attacks, clearly feeling safer with soldiers to command. If Cole had to guess, his foe was the martial mind behind this battle; the Vampire left to control the main force while the Baron gallivanted off with his cavalry and monsters. Dispatching the Vampire would hopefully turn the tide of battle in the Carnum garrison¡¯s favor. Speaking loudly to be heard over the distant din of battle, Cole said. ¡°I am Paladin Cole, servant of Master Time. A debt of stolen life is owed, and you will pay it!¡± The barest flicker of surprise and fear passed over the Vampire, and Cole struck. Dashing forward, letting ice coat his armor and blade, Cole brought Requiem down in a brutal overhand blow. The Vampire caught the strike on her own sword, but Cole felt the inferior blade chip against Requiem¡¯s magically reinforced edge. Pulling back, Cole swung out with his weapon¡¯s haft. The Vampire ducked, but the nearest Rattler didn¡¯t, taking the strike full on and falling to the ground. Spears and swords bristled out from the Eternal Soldiers and quested for Cole in slow, methodical strikes. Stepping back out of range, Cole tossed a gout of fire at the Vampire and her bodyguards. The worst of the salt dust was settling, and the Rattlers could see but had difficulty moving, their animus reluctant to step anywhere with salt, which happened to be everywhere around them. Heavily armored, the Rattlers were forced to weather the flames while their officer escaped them. Vampires burned easily, and more than that, they suffered a mild phobia of fire¡ªa gift from Sister Sun in payment for the Rabisu¡¯s betrayal. Swinging Requiem with one hand and spraying fire with the other, Cole battered his way through the Rattlers and pursued the Vampire knight. Separating his prey from her bodyguards, Cole prepared to finish the Vampire. Realizing what he was doing, the Vampire tried to circle around Cole and return to her escort; Requiem''s long reach and whips of roiling flame stymied that plan. Adapting quickly, the Vampire changed tactics and surged toward Cole, ducking underneath a scything strike from Requiem and breaching Cole¡¯s guard. With the halberd in one hand, Cole wasn¡¯t fast enough to intercept the longsword coming for him. Trying to twist away from the blow, Cole only managed to catch it on his injured ribs. The air in Cole¡¯s lungs fled in a pained shout as the chipped blade snapped on his armor. Fighting to suck in a breath, Cole lunged forward with his free hand and caught the Vampire¡¯s wrist. The knight tried to pull back, but Cole¡¯s grip was like iron. Hurting badly, doing everything he could to ignore the stabbing pain in his side, Cole yanked on the Vampire, pulling her towards him. Lowering his head and focusing on the hourglass engraved on the forehead of his helmet, Cole improvised a weapon and a holy sigil. Emma of Stonebone¡¯s little decorative flourish shone bright silver, making the trapped Vampire flinch away, opening herself up to a now poleaxe-sized Requiem. Cole let go of the Vampire¡¯s wrist as her severed head hit the ground with a metallic clunk. The dead Vampire collapsed into ash, armor, and bones as Cole got to work cutting through the remaining Rattlers. Without a commander and surrounded by salt dust, the Eternal Soldiers were slow and easily dispatched. Pulling off his helmet, thankful the magically chilled metal didn¡¯t stick to his flesh, Cole let out a tired groan. Breathing heavily, clutching his side, Cole stepped over the last Rattler and headed in the direction Natalie and the Baron went. Focusing on the horrible pain, Cole tried to hold the snapped rib in place while he poured icy power into the injury. The pain dulled beneath the cold, and gingerly pressing on the spot, Cole felt his actual skin and muscles harden, freezing into something unnaturally tough. Hoping it would be enough to prevent a rib from puncturing his lung, Cole set out to help finish the fight. Book III: Chapter 28: Simmering Down

Chapter 28: Simmering Down.

¡°You feel it, don¡¯t you, when an elder graces you with their presence? The trembling of our blood, as it senses another with black veins much richer and potent than your own. Listen to these whispers; much can be learned from them. The strength of a fellow Vampire, the lineage they trace, and even what house they hail from if you know how to really listen.¡± - words of Count Yani Kulac to his scion Esquire Orm Kulac
Natalie watched as Baron Sicar fled from Cole¡¯s assault. Garlic burned the Vampire¡¯s face, and he desperately sought safety with his main army. A wide, cruel grin spread across Natalie¡¯s face as she closed in on the Baron. He¡¯d left two separate groups of bodyguards to die, cutting off his tail to escape like a trapped lizard. Yes, the comparison seemed apt in Natalie¡¯s mind. Sicar might be of Archduke Dracon¡¯s blood, but he resembled a blood-drinking skink more than any Wyrm. Running after the fleeing Leech, her wolves at her side, Natalie prepared to avenge her earlier suffering. She¡¯d spent the time between fights thinking of ways to counter Sicar¡¯s range advantage. Sicar¡¯s spear and, to a lesser extent, his durability decided the fight in his favor last time. Natalie wasn¡¯t certain she could punch through Sicar¡¯s psychic defenses now that the Leech knew about her skill. So, her path to victory would require some innovation. Closing in on Sicar, Natalie let her blood claws grow, taking what she¡¯d seen the Dame do earlier and modifying it. A quartet of long needle-like blades grew from Natalie¡¯s fingers, extending out like black icicles from her knuckles and fully covering her digits in obsidian lance tips. These alone might be useful for puncturing Sicar¡¯s armor and reinforced flesh, but that wasn¡¯t the purpose Natalie made them for. It wasn¡¯t just Vampires Natalie witnessed using blood magic; Cole possessed a range of useful techniques, and she was planning to borrow one. Sicar turned his head as a quartet of wolves slammed into his side. Still recovering from the garlic and silver explosion, Sicar stumbled off-balance. Quickly regaining his footing, the Vampire slowed his pace to fend off the snapping jaws of the Lupus pack. Taking this opening, Natalie held out her hand and focused on the blood lances covering her fingers. Dredging up memories of Alia¡¯s crossbow, Cole¡¯s blood bolt technique, and flickers of Isabelle¡¯s skill, Natalie said. ¡°Red arrow send the dead to their barrow!¡± Natalie¡¯s hand exploded. Every withered blood vessel in her hand popped like over-pressured pipes as a puff of ash and sizzling ichor billowed off her ruined fingers. Biting her own tongue so hard, a fang went straight through it; Natalie stopped herself from screaming and focused on the prey in front of her. Four half-meter-long spikes of solidified blood stuck from Baron Sicar¡¯s back. Sitting in a semi-diagonal line going from his left hindquarters to his opposite shoulder. Grinning in victory and trying not to look at the ruin of bones and dead meat that was once her hand, Natalie let her wolfpack descend on the Vampire. Forcing blood into her hand, trying to get at least the basic musculature intact, Natalie muttered to herself. ¡°Why is it always my jagging hands!¡± Sicar was almost at the fortress walls, and Natalie¡¯s wolves snapped at his heels. This close, Natalie could see the breach opened by the Ghoul Bear and the fight raging for control of it. Sicar parted his soldiers, desperate to reach the enemy lines. Natalie wouldn¡¯t let him attack the fort¡¯s defenders; their blood would invigorate Sicar and turn the battle back in his favor. Forcing more of her rapidly dwindling blood supply into the Lupus pack, Natalie made her familiars stronger and faster, letting them finally knock the Baron to the ground. Armored Rattlers moved in to protect their master, and Natalie let her wolves tear into them; she was almost upon her prey and could see the terror in his eyes. Hand outstretched, Sicar wailed. ¡°Please! Please! I surrender! I request a parlay! Take me hostage. I¡¯m va-¡± Surging forward, Natalie pounced on the Baron and fulfilled her promise to him. Sinking fangs into Sicar¡¯s neck, Natalie moaned in gleeful hunger as oily dark power flowed into her. Wounded and over-taxed by the grueling fight, the Baron¡¯s blood supply wasn¡¯t anything special, but it was still a wonderful meal for the similarly exhausted Natalie. Enraptured in the kill, Natalie barely noticed Cole¡¯s footsteps behind her or the shocked soldiers in front of her. Finally, as the creature known as Baron Sicar crumbled to ashes, she looked up at the fortress and the battle raging against the Ghoul Bear. The Bear swung one massive paw and sent a score of soldiers or their body parts flying. Wincing, and wondering if she and Cole could have prevented this, Natalie said. ¡°Jagged hearts, we are too late¡± Cole came up next to her, his eyes flicking between her finished meal and the rampaging Bear. He¡¯d removed his helmet for some reason and walked slowly as if in pain. Beneath his cowl, Natalie could see Cole¡¯s frown of concern for her and the situation around them. As the swirling mania of Sicar¡¯s death flowed through Natalie, healing her hand in its entirety, she offered Cole a small smile and nod. Approaching the battered shield wall of soldiers who¡¯d held the breach for Gods knew how long, Cole pulled down his hood and showed his amulet. ¡°I am Paladin Cole, servant of Master Time. Please let me pass so I can deal with the threat.¡± Trying not to look at the light shining from the medallion and letting her wolves shy away from the holy power, Natalie watched as one of the soldiers pointed his sword at her. The rough-looking man growled. ¡°What about her?¡± Plucking the Baron¡¯s skull from his remains, Natalie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m Natalie, and I fight for the living. We can talk later, but I think Cole needs to deal with that jagging bear before it kills more people.¡± As if to prove Natalie¡¯s point, the Bear tore through another cluster of defenders, filling the night with ugly screams. Unwilling to look away from her, the head soldier said, ¡°Do what you can; just don¡¯t leave our sight, Vampire.¡± Unable to stop herself, Natalie rolled her eyes at this now trite song and dance, calling out to her wolves and sending them off to ambush anything skulking around the fort¡¯s walls. Having the pack around her while dealing with this garrison probably wouldn¡¯t be good for first impressions. Looking down at the skull of Sicar, Natalie had to wonder if that ship and its entire armada already sailed. Begrudgingly, she could understand the caution of the soldiers and honestly agreed with it. But being suspected by people she had just rescued still annoyed her. Cole gave Natalie another concerned look and then turned his full attention to the Bear. Unbuckling his hoarfrost-licked helmet and putting it back on, Cole started to call up his power. Icy fog poured off the Paladin as he passed between the awe-struck soldiers, the full mantle of Master Time¡¯s will resting on Cole¡¯s shoulders. Reaching down to Sicar¡¯s remains again, Natalie picked up his spear with her regrown hand and followed Cole as he shouted his battle cry. ¡°MAGNI! MORTAE! MUNDUS!¡± The soldiers also parted for Natalie as she followed Cole, but they looked at her with fear and trepidation. Doing her best not to let this bother her, thinking about her own terrible experiences with Vampires and how these soldiers just survived a night of necromantic horrors, Natalie tried to keep her mind on task. Her thoughts kept bouncing around, and nervous energy leaked into every movement. Now that Cole brought her attention to the side effects of consuming another Vampire, she was more aware of them. Her jagging mind and body wouldn¡¯t sit still, and Natalie kept fighting off intrusive thoughts. Resisting the urge to mount Sicar¡¯s skull on his spear and leave his remains as a vengeful parody of Barlstine¡¯s suffering, Natalie followed Cole into battle. There would be time for melodramatic justice later, but until then, there was still a Bear to deal with. Cole was charging the Ghoul Bear from behind, a silver glow covering Requiem¡¯s head and a trail of frost following behind him. The monster was busy fighting someone else, a soldier who, if Natalie wasn¡¯t hallucinating, only had one arm but was still keeping the Bear away from his fellows. Cole reached the Bear¡¯s hind legs and swung Requiem into the creature¡¯s calf-equivalent. The halberd¡¯s edge struck bone, and Cole tore his weapon to the side, snapping muscle strands like a ship¡¯s taut rigging. The beast spun its head about, dribbling a shower of rotting blood from its ruined mouth as it changed focus. A bolt of lightning shot from the roof of one of the fort¡¯s buildings and struck the Bear, staggering it and igniting some of the creature¡¯s fur. Both Cole and the one-armed Paragon attacked then, tearing into the beast¡¯s fore and hindlimbs. Caught between Paladin, Paragon, and Battlemagi, the Bear flailed and roared, a horrible bubbling sound issuing from its ruined throat. Cole danced between the beasts¡¯ shuffling legs, tearing into flesh and cracking bone with every strike, leaving trails of quickly growing frost wherever he struck. The Paragon swung his battle axe with renewed vigor, finally catching his breath after dueling the monster by himself. The Bear swiped out towards Cole, having turned to face him. Dancing away from the horse cart-sized paw, Cole severed one of the monster¡¯s toes, sending a clawed digit tumbling to the ground. Skulking about at the periphery of the fight, Natalie held Sicar¡¯s spear in both hands, trying to see an opening for her to join the fight. She wasn¡¯t about to experiment with any more blood arrows, and the constant stream of fire and frost battering the Bear dissuaded her from getting too close. The air stunk of burning hair and dead flesh as gouts of arcane fire and pitch-dipped arrows peppered the beast¡¯s flanks. Working as an improvised team, the Paladin and Paragon kept to the Bear¡¯s front or back, forcing the beast¡¯s attention on themselves. Every strike tore into the Bear, hacking it apart by a hundred strikes. A fire that glowed a little too blue to be natural danced along its back, burning away thick hide and brown fur. Yet, by virtue of sheer size and supernatural durability, the damned beast wouldn¡¯t fall. Moving towards the Bear¡¯s front, where the axe Paragon held his own, Natalie wondered if she could reach into the monster¡¯s mind and stop it that way. Considering she didn¡¯t want to drink any of its blood, the best way to do this would be making eye contact, but that was a lot easier said than done. The Bear didn¡¯t stop moving; it kept attacking and changing direction with a speed rendered disturbing by the thing¡¯s impossible size. But like all great edifices facing time and violence, the Bear started to crumble. Its movements slowed, and yellowed bone was visible in patches where fur and flesh were torn away. With a clumsy swipe that dragged along the ground, the Bear tried to crush the axe Paragon. Even with one arm, the soldier was mighty and could do more than just dodge the strike. With a sound like an ancient oak being cleaved apart, the Paragon brought his axe down on the Bear¡¯s wrist. The enchanted steel struck with enough force to tear through flesh and fracture bone. Natalie watched as the axe-head disappeared completely into the Bear¡¯s wrist. Planting his feet on the ground, the Paragon pushed back against the Bear¡¯s swipe, using the beast¡¯s own momentum to drive his weapon deeper into its limb. A roar to shake the heavens escaped the beast, and it lunged forward, seeking to crush the Paragon beneath its upper jaw. At that moment, Natalie saw her opportunity to seize psychic control and realized it wouldn¡¯t work. The Bear¡¯s eyes were ruined, fire and arrows having torn them apart. But as Natalie was quickly learning, adaptability was the secret of martial success. Pouring bloody power into all her muscles, Natalie dropped Sicar¡¯s skull and raised his spear like a javelin. With all her might, she threw the spear forward, aiming for one of those burst eyeballs. She missed her target but not the Bear. The spear sunk into the Bear¡¯s forehead, jerking its head back with surprising force. Using the moment Natalie bought, the Paragon escaped the beast¡¯s jaw as it slammed into the ground. The one-armed soldier was forced to leave his axe in the beast and quickly picked up a fallen comrade¡¯s sword and looked at Natalie, his eyes widening upon realizing her nature. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Natalie pointed at the recovering Bear. ¡°I¡¯m here to help. Now, are you going to kill the damn thing, or will my knight beat you to it?¡± Accepting that, the soldier ran towards the Bear. Using its working front paw, the Bear started to haul itself up, an effort stymied by the sword driven straight through its wrist. The Paragon¡¯s blade snapped off inside the wound, and he cursed, then quickly looked at Natalie. ¡°Throw me a jagging weapon!¡± Grabbing a longsword, still slick with it¡¯s owner¡¯s blood, Natalie ignored the temptation to lick the blade and tossed it handle first toward the Paragon. The one-armed warrior caught it and drove this weapon into the Bear¡¯s elbow joint, tearing muscle and shredding cartilage. As he did this, Natalie saw movement from the Bear¡¯s back. Flicking her attention there, half-expecting something horrible to burst from the monster¡¯s flesh, Natalie felt relief upon seeing it was Cole running along the back of the incapacitated monster. Cresting the hump of muscle above the Bear¡¯s shoulder blades, Cole was cloaked in swirling frost, his weapon shining like a thousand funeral candles. With a roar to match the Dire Bear¡¯s own, Cole brought Requiem down right on the end of the monster¡¯s spinal cord. The ensorcelled halberd tore through burned and broken flesh, finding the segmented bones beneath. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the Bear stopped moving as Cole tore apart its spine with holy fury. Natalie flinched and looked away from the silver light that cascaded off the Bear¡¯s back. Blinking away shining spots, Natalie let out a pointless breath of relief. The Ghoul Bear was destroyed, its body too damaged to function, and the power animating it cleansed. Yanking Requiem free of the Bear¡¯s spine, Cole slid down its flank, landing on the ground with a pained grunt. Using his halberd like a walking stick, Cole hobbled towards Natalie, one hand clutching his side. Fearful of what injuries he might have suffered, Natalie moved to reach him when a sharp edge came towards her throat. The one-armed soldier brought a newly scavenged blade to a finger span from her neck. Eyes cold and hard as his sword, the soldier growled. ¡°I think we are due a jagging explanation.¡± Looking at the blade and doubting she could harden her flesh enough to resist a Paragon¡¯s strike, Natalie said, ¡°My name is Natalie, and I fight for the living.¡± gesturing at her boyfriend, she continued. ¡°I¡¯m one of Paladin Cole¡¯s companions and came with him to help all of you.¡± Approaching slowly, Cole nodded. ¡°We ran into the enemy¡¯s rearguard and dealt with most of them, chasing the survivors here. I¡¯m sorry; I let the bear escape despite my best efforts.¡± Nodding slowly, the soldier asked. ¡°Well then, Paladin Cole, would you please explain what an army of jagging corpses is doing on this side of the Alidon?¡± Cole and Natalie exchanged glances, and the Paladin spoke. ¡°Crowbend Castle is under siege, and the enemy has set raiding forces loose on the lands west of the Castle. The army we just fought was coming here from Barlstine, having conquered the town. Natalie and I liberated the town and chased the escaping Leechs until we encountered the rear guard and the full army. I¡¯d appreciate it if you could send a messenger bird to Barlstine when you can; we left most of our group there.¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The sword at Natalie¡¯s neck moved away from her neck as the soldier asked. ¡°Considering you took down that jagging bear, I¡¯ll believe you¡¯re a Paladin. But I¡¯m curious why you have a pet Leech.¡± Still debating if she could dodge the blade near her throat, Natalie answered. ¡°Because not every monster wants to be a monster. I¡¯m-¡± A voice cut her off, ¡°Oi! I¡¯ve heard of you two!¡± Stumbling towards them was a ginger Magi with singed robes. Pointing at Cole and Natalie, he said. ¡°He¡¯s the Paladin who saved Vindabon from a Demon! And she¡¯s his Vampire lover!¡± The one-armed commander looked at the Magi and said. ¡°What are you on about Benj?¡± Battlemage Benj snapped his fingers, sending sparks from his digits as he tried to gather details. ¡°My little sister is at the Ivory Tower; she sends me the gossip prints! The pair of them have been the talk of the town back at Vindabon!¡± Uncaring of the tense stand-off, Benj ran up towards Cole, a sooty hand outstretched. ¡°Is it true you bested a Scarlet Knight in single combat at the solstice? Oh, and that your lady was the one to capture the Heart-stealer?¡± More than a little befuddled, Cole shook the offered hand. ¡°That¡­ this is accurate.¡± Benj laughed, a nervous sound filled with relief. ¡°Well, that explains it! We were all in the deep shit, and then you showed up to save us! Ha! Seems like the Gods were listening after all!¡± Turning to the one-armed commander, Benj continued. ¡°The Paladin and his lady are here to help, Captain One-fist!¡± A tired grunt escaped One-Fist, and he dropped his sword away from Natalie¡¯s throat. Seemingly deciding Natalie wasn¡¯t an immediate threat, the Captain started barking orders. ¡°The danger¡¯s not over yet! I don¡¯t know how many more rotters are skulking outside our walls!¡± Soldiers moved about, carrying the injured towards healers, laying out their dead, and piling up the enemy¡¯s. Cole finally reached Natalie, his steps slow and deliberate. ¡°How are you?¡± Frowning in concern, Natalie said. ¡°Better than you, what¡¯s wrong.¡± Tapping his breastplate, Cole asked. ¡°Can you help me get this off?¡± Nodding, Natalie worked to unbuckle the armor and remove the solid Hakon Steel. Even before the plate fell away, Natalie knew what she¡¯d find, the smell of Cole¡¯s blood reaching her even over the surrounding stink of rot. A large stain clung to Cole¡¯s lower right side, forcing herself not to breathe in the delicious scent; Natalie realized something was poking out of his arming doublet right at the center of the stain. Squinting, she tried to understand how he¡¯d taken an arrow or similar without it piercing his armor when realization dawned. One of Cole¡¯s ribs, or at least part of it, was sticking out of him and through his clothes. Covering her face with one hand, partially out of shock, partially to hide the scent, Natalie swore. ¡°Fuck! How are you standing!¡± Cole gave her an almost amused expression. ¡°Practice.¡± Glancing around, Natalie said. ¡°We need to find you a healer that could puncture an organ if you move about too much!¡± Looking down at his injury, Cole shook his head. ¡°It can wait; I¡¯m using a little of my power to keep it frozen in place.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes went between the wound and Cole¡¯s face for a few moments before she hissed in annoyance. Turning from him, she went towards a nearby soldier. ¡°Hi! What¡¯s your name?¡± The soldier was a hard-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and a nose that hadn¡¯t been set right after at least two breaks. Eyeing her with undisguised caution, the soldier said. ¡°Sergeant Varga.¡± Nodding, Natalie pointed at Cole. ¡°My partner is putting on a brave face, not wanting to take up a valuable spot in your healer¡¯s triage lists, but one of his ribs is literally sticking out of him. Can you point me towards someone who can help him?¡± Still frowning at Natalie, the soldier approached Cole, one hand still on a chipped sword. As he walked with Natalie, she realized something. ¡°Hey, you were one of the breach defenders, right? The one leading them?¡± Grunting, the Sergeant said. ¡°I didn¡¯t know Leechs could eat each other.¡± Deciding to ignore that, Natalie watched the Sergeant bend down to look at Cole¡¯s wound. ¡°Bugger me, how are you standing?¡± Instead of being glib like before, the Paladin nodded at Varga. ¡°You and your men did good work holding that breech. Fighting the Bear and a host of Rattlers together would not have been easy.¡± Expression still hard, the Sergeant didn¡¯t meet Cole¡¯s eyes. ¡°Let me take you to the healers. We are at war, and having a divine champion die from infection after the first real battle would be a jagging mess.¡± Cole let himself be led towards a building marked with the hand of healing, Natalie trailing behind him. To everyone but Natalie¡¯s surprise, Cole didn¡¯t let one of the healers look at him at first; instead, he busied himself cleansing Soldiers exposed to the Plague. Finally, when he almost collapsed while walking between cotts, Natalie got him to lie down and let a pair of stunned healers set the rib and patch his torn flesh. The mixture of magic and mundane healing they used sewed Cole back together, and the healers said it would take weeks of rest before his bones and muscles fully healed. Natalie didn¡¯t know what that translated to with Cole¡¯s unnatural regeneration, but she doubted he¡¯d follow the healer¡¯s advice. Staring down at the bandages covering his waist, Cole wore a pensive expression. Sitting on the edge of his cott, Natalie asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Glancing at her and then around the room, Cole said in a very quiet voice. ¡°They aren¡¯t sick.¡± Frowning, Natalie looked at the injured soldiers around her. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Shrugging and then wincing in pain, Cole kept staring at the battered and bloody soldiers, his eyes glowing faintly. ¡°The ones I cleansed showed no sign of the plague. Once the Gallarwyll was gone, they were fully healed. Whatever plague was in them just¡­ faded away.¡± Grimacing, Natalie sniffed the air, smelling the mixture of blood and death filling the air. ¡°Isabelle said grief protects people, right? Well, I think everyone here is grieving someone.¡±
Natalie helped the soldiers repulse two small clusters of undead in the night; her blades and wolves acted as the hammer to the garrison¡¯s anvil. Cole tried to join in the defense until Natalie threatened to drink him into unconsciousness. The healers were worried Cole¡¯s rib could snap again and, this time, drive sharp bone into his organs. While Cole might be able to survive or resurrect from such an injury, Natalie was not willing to risk being stuck surrounded by mildly hostile soldiers waiting for Cole to resurrect. So, in the spirit of compromise, Cole simply helped free the dead, sending their souls to the Beyond and giving the garrisons¡¯ Priests time to fulfill their other duties. As dawn crept closer, Fort Carnum started to look less like an abattoir and more like a proper castrum. Great burn piles were set up outside the Fort¡¯s walls, and the quartermaster found enough usable pyrewine to destroy the now quiet dead. Smaller, more personal cremations were being set up for the dead soldiers; their ashes would be collected for their families, not scattered to the wind like the monsters they fought. Standing atop one of the Fort¡¯s walls, staring out at the dozen pyres flickering in the early pre-dawn light, Natalie watched Cole lead a prayer for the deceased. His voice wasn¡¯t exactly musical, but it was clear and strong, proclaiming an ancient dirge for the departed. Witnessing this, Natalie felt her dead heart ache; she¡¯d been at too many funerals over the past half-year. Memories of her father and his horrible end flashed behind Natalie¡¯s eyes, and she let out a tired sigh. She¡¯d managed to avoid thinking about that loss for a record amount of time, but now that she¡¯d poked the wound, it hurt just as much as she remembered. Trying to pull herself out of the melancholy chewing at her mind, Natalie turned to a soldier standing watch nearby. Dressed in light scout¡¯s armor, with a bow slung on her back, the soldier¡¯s eyes flicked between Natalie and the pyres below. Once the soldier realized Natalie was staring at her, the archer¡¯s eyes widened, and her full attention was on the Vampire. Waving in what she hoped was a disarming way, Natalie asked. ¡°Hi, are my eyes red? Like not the irises but the whites of them?¡± Hand on her combat knife, the scout squinted a little and said. ¡°Kind of, they look a little bloodshot.¡± Nodding to herself, Natalie turned to look east towards the brightening clouds. She hadn¡¯t felt the same overwhelming rush of energy after eating Sicar. While she did feel invigorated and flush with blood, it wasn¡¯t the same near maniacal intensity of eating the Dame. Making a mental note on that, Natalie wondered if Isabelle would have any answers. It shouldn¡¯t be long before Natalie spoke with her skull-bound friend again. They¡¯d sent a messenger bird to Barlstine with news of events and a request for Mina, Alia, and the others to join them. That wasn¡¯t the only bird sent out in the pre-dawn hours either; a small flock of homing pigeons set out to different settlements carrying news and requesting information. At Cole¡¯s suggestion, the birds were splattered with carrion bat blood, which, while not ideal protection, should scare off individual bats scouting the skies. As the pale grey of dawn brightened, the soldier near Natalie asked. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you¡­ you be finding somewhere to sleep so the Sun doesn¡¯t burn you?¡± Looking at her, Natalie smiled, making sure her fangs were hidden. ¡°I¡¯m not a normal Vampire; I¡¯ve got Master Time on my side.¡± Frowning, the soldier accepted that, and Natalie went back to her ponderings. The truth of her nature wasn¡¯t nearly as secret as it once was, but there wasn¡¯t any reason to proclaim her status as reborn Alukah to anyone who asked. The dawn funeral service finished up right as the sun crested the horizon. Turning her head away from the blinding light and forcing herself to stay awake, Natalie noticed the soldier staring with undisguised amazement. Spurred by the erratic energy procured from Sicar¡¯s death, Natalie bowed like an eager performer and then vaulted herself over the battlements and down to the ground outside the fortress. She found Cole nearby, staring up at the fortress walls, a frown on his face, silver light leaking from his eyes. Natalie watched as Cole tentatively held out a hand and let his armored fingers trace the ancient stonework. Looking towards her, blinking away the glowing tears of magic, Cole smiled softly. ¡°How are you doing?¡± Shrugging as she walked over towards him, Natalie leaned against Cole, enjoying the feeling of him. ¡°Tired and also unbelievably energetic. I can¡¯t tell if I want to sleep for a week or dance the night away.¡± Cole¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Effects of eating Sicar?¡± Natalie nodded, letting out a tired huff. ¡°The Dame was much more intense, but this is still enough to have me feeling strange. I hope Isabelle arrives soon; she should know something about this.¡± Eyeing her sidelong, Cole said. ¡°She might not; you aren¡¯t displaying any of the normal side-effects of Vampire cannibalism. This¡­ might be an Alukah issue. Speaking of Isabelle, did you talk to her about body stealing?¡± Wincing, Natalie replied. ¡°Not yet, but I¡¯ve got a few ideas on how to placate her. But we can discuss that later; what were you doing with the walls?¡± Cole took a moment to accept Natalie¡¯s request to change topics. ¡°Examining the power built into them. It¡¯s ancient and withered, but someone wove complicated spells into its foundation. I¡¯ll need Kit to look at it, but I think the magic only recently awoke.¡± Staring at the walls, Natalie offered. ¡°We could ask the fort¡¯s battlemages; they might have some insight.¡± Shaking his head, Cole explained. ¡°I asked Benj, but he didn¡¯t have a clue about what I was talking about. He offered to examine them, but I didn¡¯t want to distract him from his work. Much needs to be done to prepare for what¡¯s to come.¡± True to Cole¡¯s words, soldiers came and went from the nearby portcullis, hauling bodies and pieces of bodies towards the large burn piles. All of the garrison looked at Cole with the cautious reverence Natalie knew to expect by now. Among the soldiers was the grizzled veteran named Varga, the leader of the breach defenders, who now helped organize the grim work. Natalie noticed Varga would spend his few moments between tasks watching her and Cole. He didn¡¯t look at them with reverence or fear, just suspicion. This bothered Natalie; she was used to people being cautious around her, but this felt different. Some instinct told Natalie Varga¡¯s behavior was a response to witnessing her consume Sicar. Perhaps hiding that behavior from allies would be prudent in the future; even Cole reacted badly when she cannibalized the Dame. Returning to the fort¡¯s innards, Cole consulted with Captain One-Fist, discussing events and trying to gather as much information as possible. Fort Carnum sent outriders to scout the region and gather information. Word of Crowbend¡¯s siege and the Worc attacks were carried by winged and hoofed messengers, hopefully finally cutting through the shroud of silence layering the region. Natalie, for her part, tried to channel the jittery energy coursing through her into something productive. She¡¯d joined with the unfortunate soldiers trying to move the Dire Bear carcass outside the fortress walls. Someone found an old but serviceable crosscut saw, and after lots were drawn, a pair of unfortunate soldiers got to work cutting up the monolithic corpse. Even with a pair of draft horses and Natalie¡¯s strength, getting the smaller chunks of Bear out of the fortress was exhausting, gristly work. As bits of Bear were added to the burn piles, it became very clear the garrison made the correct choice in not simply trying to cremate the body where it lay. The flames of the burn piles now rivaled the fort¡¯s guard towers in height. It took Benj the Pyromancer¡¯s intervention to stop the pyre from growing into a wildfire. The day burned on, and as afternoon turned to evening, a signal whistle sounded from one of the watchtowers. Uncertain if the shrill sound marked friend or foe, Natalie leaped up onto the battlements, ignoring the shocked soldiers and their hands reaching for weapons. Natalie did her best to appear unthreatening to the soldiers, which wasn¡¯t easy considering she was drenched in rotting gore. Peering out along the distant road and past the slowly dying pyres, Natalie fed blood into her eyesight and found what the watchmen noticed. A familiar-looking wagon was crawling down the road in the distance. With a breath of relief, Natalie watched a pair of soldiers ride out to meet the wagon. Leaving the fortress walls, Natalie went and found Cole in the infirmary; his bandages were being changed by a grumpy healer with an ill-kept beard. Glancing up at her, Cole asked. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Shaking her head, Natalie said. ¡°Mina and the rest are here.¡± Cole¡¯s posture relaxed slightly; it seemed Natalie wasn¡¯t the only one silently worrying about their friends. While leaving them to chase down the Vampires was the smart decision, they¡¯d still practically abandoned them in what amounted to enemy territory. Standing up, Cole checked the fresh linens wrapped around his midsection and got dressed. After buckling on the last of his armor, the Paladin thanked the healer and followed after Natalie. As they walked towards the front gate, Natalie remarked. ¡°It can¡¯t be comfortable wearing your full panoply all the time.¡± Cole shrugged, sending said armor clattering. ¡°Emma is an excellent smith; it sits on my frame well. The only real issue is keeping cool, but my mantle helps with that.¡± A snort escaped Natalie at the implications of Cole using holy cryomancy like a lady¡¯s summer fan. Before she could comment on the idiosyncratic behavior, a surprised shout, followed by arguing voices, came from the fort¡¯s gate. Paladin and Vampire ran out of the opened portcullis and into an armed standoff. A dozen soldiers carrying swords and spears pointed them at the wagon and its occupants. Alia flitted her crossbow between targets, Kit levitated a few pebbles ominously between his fingers, and Mina desperately tried to keep things calm. At the center of this tense scene was Yara, thrown to the ground, a sword at her neck. Standing above her, his face red with anger, was Sergeant Varga. Yara stared up at the soldier with undisguised terror. Running forward, Natalie yelled, ¡°What in the world¡¯s name is going on?¡± Sword still at Yara¡¯s throat, Varga pointed at Natalie and roared. ¡°I knew it! I knew the pair of you seemed familiar.¡± Refocusing his attention on Yara, the sergeant barked. ¡°You were in on it the entire time? Do you know how many people died? Entire jagging villages drained and raised up by that cold-blooded bitch over there!¡± Cole¡¯s hand rested on Requiem as he asked in a steel-hard voice. ¡°Explain yourself, Sergeant. Why are you holding one of my companions at sword point?¡± Eyes flicking towards Cole, the veteran¡¯s jaw set as he gestured with his sword at the prone Yara. ¡°I know this girl! She brought a dead knight to the army camp outside Bekesburg! She warned us about your Vampire and the Ghouls she left in her wake!¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes widened as events from months ago came surging back. Of how Dietrich tried to frame her by killing a Hippogryph Knight and setting a swarm of corpses loose in the Southern Marches. The Scarlet Knight¡¯s ploy would''ve cost Natalie her life if it hadn¡¯t been for Morri¡¯s quick thinking. Somehow, the thought that Yara was involved, or even key to the scheme, had never crossed Natalie¡¯s mind until that moment. Looking down at her unwanted thrall, Natalie saw the resigned terror on Yara¡¯s face. A mixture of animal panic and exhausted acceptance filled Yara¡¯s being, oozing from her expression and body language. Yara reminded Natalie of a mouse still caught in a trap after struggling for hours to free itself. A terrible thought came to Natalie then: how this presented an opportunity to rid herself of Yara. How easy it would be to throw Yara beneath the wagon wheels and let her face military judgment for whatever schemes Dietrich used her in. Shaking her head and dismissing the insidious idea, Natalie pulled her eyes from Yara towards the furious Sergant. ¡°I can explain events if you let me; just please take your sword from my friend¡¯s throat.¡±. Book III: Chapter 29: Killers

Chapter 29: Killers

¡°When we finally broke through the rockfall, the first thing we noticed was the rats. They poured out of the tunnel like a stream of greasy fur. Horrim smashed a few with his hammer, but that was more out of shock than them being any threat. The rats scurried up the shaft behind us and into the rest of the hold; I heard Gatha, the terrier breeder, ran out of pups that month. But once we could look past the vermin, the lost delve was clear to us, and I understood why the rats were so damn eager to escape. Bones, hundreds and hundreds of bones filled that grotto. Entire skeletons were picked clean, leaving nothing but grinning ivory. When we stopped staring at the bones, Norim noticed the oddities about the collapse. It was intentional; whoever those miners were, they dropped the tunnel atop themselves on purpose.¡± - Foredwarf Delkore of Carax Hold.
The siege of Crowbend Castle was not going well for the forces of Duke Umbria. Or, more accurately, the siege wasn¡¯t going as well as they¡¯d hoped. For a few tantalizing moments on the first night of battle, it seemed the corpse legions would capitalize on the shocking betrayals orchestrated by the Duke¡¯s spymaster. But the cliff-top fortress of Crowbend earned its title of impregnable and withstood a series of catastrophes any lesser citadel would crumble under. When dawn came at the end of that first night, the defenders of Crowbend Castle sallied out and drove the undead army back from their walls to the ruined bridge crossing the Alidon. Without their Vampire master''s aid, the corpse legions couldn¡¯t hold against the Castle¡¯s garrison. So that night, when the court of Duke Mika rose from shallow graves, they found themselves in much the same position as they¡¯d started¡ªthe living on one side of the Alidon, the undead on the other. For two days and two nights, the two armies fought, pushing each other from the walls of Crowtown to the broken bridge and back again. Raiding forces were dispatched to cut off Crowbend from reinforcements and bring tithes of fresh corpses to the main army. Whole cauldrons of carrion bats and other dark hunters scoured the skies and roads for any messengers, aiming to keep the besieged castle isolated. All of this effort was to buy Duke Mika¡¯s army time. The distant corpse-tide of Harmas was approaching and, with it, the final nail in Crowbend Castle¡¯s coffin. But for all the danger a city¡¯s undead population posed, they moved ponderously slow. It would take days or even weeks for the corpse-tide to arrive in force. Even with skilled Necromancers as shepherds and dominated Grinners as sheepdogs, moving the whole accursed horde wouldn¡¯t be easy. Strands of the corpse-tide would detach from the main body, seeking out prey and pulling their rotting kindred with them. Stretching what should be a tidal wave of dead flesh into a slow, meandering trickle. Then, as a final complication for the Duke¡¯s plans, time was not on the unliving¡¯s side. The saboteurs inside Crowbend failed in their most important task, assassinating Marcher-Lady Barbara Varjulo. Like her foremothers before her, Lady Varjulo was a Shaman of incredible potency, especially within her place of power. With every day that passed, more of the ancient Spirits bound to Crowbend and its surrounding region awoke, called to action by their mistress in her time of need. Unless the Aether-souring presence of the corpse-tide crippled the noble Shaman¡¯s control over the local Spirits, she¡¯d soon rouse the very land itself against the undead invaders. This was the situation that Lord Aloysius Wolfgang arrived at on the third night of the siege. Sitting in the back of his carriage with Cleanor, Wolfgang watched as arcs of green fire cut through the sky. His Gashadokuro hurled a never-ending barrage of hexed rubble at Crowbend Castle, hoping to finally smash through the adamant wards protecting the fortress. As the team of Rattler horses pulled Wolfgang¡¯s coach past rows of opulent tents and deeper into the siege camp, the Black Fly brooded on his next objective. His masters, Voivode Igori and Duke Mika, bayed he come to the siege, each for their own purposes. He¡¯d already been headed for the camp on the Voivode¡¯s orders when the carrion bat carrying the Duke¡¯s missive reached him. Two of Igori¡¯s favored killers were to meet him at the siege camp. They¡¯d been dispatched hours after his meeting with the Voivode and were to help Wolfgang capture the Paladin. As for the Duke¡¯s reason for summoning him, Wolfgang could only guess. Perhaps Umbria wanted more Gasha or to have Wolfgang teach other Necromancers the ritual to make them. But before the Black Fly could answer Umbria¡¯s summons, he needed to meet his newest shackles. The carriage pulled to a stop outside a hastily erected tent decorated with improvised heraldry. It seemed some unlucky thralls managed to scrape together accommodations for the two monsters now lounging outside the tent. Wolfgang left the carriage and looked over the two Vampires waiting for him: Sir Wulfhild the Tall and Sir Thorm the Short. Nodding to them, Wolfgang said. ¡°Tallclaw, Shortteeth, you made good time.¡± Originally a bear-blooded Werefolk and now a ferocious Strigoi, Wulfhild, or Tallclaw looked every centimeter the brutal killer he was. Tallclaw wore his reddish-brown hair in the traditional northern warrior style, with shaved sides and a braided tail. Shirtless, the vicious Strigoi showed off his musculature and the tattoos covering nearly every part of him from neck to belt. A pair of runed cleavers alongside a collection of bone totems hung from Wulfhild¡¯s belt. All of this, combined with the deep scowl etched into his face, painted Wulfhild as the archetypal Werefolk berserker. Standing next to Wulfhild was his battle-brother and polar opposite, Throm Shorttooth. Squat even by Dwarf standards, and corpulent to the point of roundness, Shorttooth¡¯s beady black eyes stared out from underneath a bushy brow. Bald but with an oiled beard, Thorm wore a fine doublet and carried no weapons, or at least none visible. Twitchy in ways only a hungry Vampire normally is, Shorttooth never stopped smiling, exposing his yellowed fangs. Scion of an infamous Strigoi house, Shorttooth resembled a well-fed rat in contrast to his bear-like comrade. Tallclaw grunted in response to Wolfgang¡¯s question, raising a single slab-like shoulder in a noncommittal gesture. Shorttooth bobbed his head up and down and spoke quickly, his words warped by a strange Dwarven accent. ¡°Yes-yes! We flew fast and far to reach you, Black Fly! It has been long since my brother and I hunted Paladin; we are thankful for this opportunity!¡± The Tall and the Short, as many called the pair of knights, hadn¡¯t been selected for this task by chance. They were two of the deadliest killers sworn to Voivode Igori, each responsible for filling a graveyard of heroes and horrors. Cleanor slithered out of the coach then, keeping her slitted eyes on the pair with undisguised caution. Tallclaw looked at the Lamia and grunted. ¡°Just when I thought I was free of your kind, snake.¡± Tongue flicking between her lips, Cleanor smiled with all the sweetness of rotting fruit. ¡°Believe me when I say being around you isn¡¯t pleasant for me either, rug.¡± Clearing his throat, Wolfgang said. ¡°Can we set old rivalries aside for the time? If my sources are to be trusted, this Paladin we pursue is exceptionally dangerous, even by his kind¡¯s standards.¡± Lamia and Strigoi traded final withering glares before nodding their ascent. Wolfgang didn¡¯t know what bad blood existed between Tallclaw and the Lamias, nor did he particularly care at the moment. All that mattered was capturing the Paladin and delivering him to Epulo; even if he weren¡¯t the Homunculus Knight, a ¡®normal¡¯ divine champion of Master Time would be enough to settle Wolfgang¡¯s debts. That uncertainty pulled at a memory in the Black Fly, and he asked. ¡°Did the Voivode give you any information about our quarry? He suggested he would when we spoke.¡± Shorttooth licked his lips, a pale worm-like tongue slipping out past ill-kept fangs. ¡°We received a description of the Paladin responsible for the Glockmire incident, and it is telling¡­ I cannot think there are too many two-meter-tall humans with countless scars decorating their flesh in the world.¡± Blinking slowly and thinking about the Homunculus Knight and what its skin looked like towards the end, Wolfgang pursed his lips in contemplation. ¡°That¡¯s still not enough to be certain, but more than plenty to guide our search. I¡¯m due to speak with Duke Mika soon, and I should be able to ask his spymaster about the Paladin. Perhaps Lord Yezhov can provide more insight into events at Vindabon and the Paladin¡¯s actions since he left the Duchies with the Alukah.¡± Stroking his long oiled beard, running fingers through the braided black hair, Shorttooth asked. ¡°How invested is the Duke in these matters? We surely don¡¯t want to distract him from his campaign with our business.¡± The unspoken meaning of Shorttooth¡¯s words was clear. Duke Mika could steal the prize from them if he were so inclined. The three Vampires and single Lamia served the Voivode and couldn¡¯t allow another power to intervene in their hunt. Yet they couldn¡¯t outright say they intended to keep matters secret from a higher-ranking noble; that would be a breach of conduct. In a deep growl, Tallclaw said. ¡°Don¡¯t bother; he knows enough to be interested.¡± Wolfgang was about to ask how the burly bearblood knew this when Tallclaw pointed his chin to a spot behind the Black Fly. Turning to look, Wolfgang felt a pulse of cold fear grip his dead heart. Duke Umbria was standing not four meters away, flanked by two armored knights. Clad in his black panoply and wearing a smile lacking anything close to human warmth, Duke Mika gens Umbria tapped a bored rhythm on his sword pommel. ¡°So, Igori has sent his favorite killers to capture this Paladin? Shame the holy champion wasn¡¯t on the barge; otherwise, I could have traded him for any manner of favors from your master.¡± With the self-control born of decades of unlife, Wolfgang kept himself calm and bowed to the Duke. Umbria hadn¡¯t made a sound, simply appearing as if he was a piece of the night itself. Only Tallclaw, the most experienced hunter of the four, even noticed the Duke. The message was clear: subterfuge would be pointless and unappreciated. Head still lowered, Wolfgang said. ¡°Lord Duke, I was about to meet with you after conferring with my colleagues.¡± Cold red eyes like dying stars slid over the assembled hunters as the Duke approached. On his right was a Scarlet Knight in ornately decorated plate armor and a full helm. Wolfgang thought it was the same enforcer who crushed his spine back in Ludaford. Another subtle warning against betraying the Duke¡¯s confidence. At Umbria¡¯s left side stood a new bodyguard, this one wearing bone-white armor with an oddly organic texture. After a second examination, Wolfgang realized the armor wasn¡¯t ivory colored but made of carved bone. The remains of some hulking beast sculpted into an ominous suit of plate now covering every centimeter of this helmed warrior. The bone-clad soldier didn¡¯t breathe or display any of the subtle movements of life, confirming its undead nature. Wolfgang didn¡¯t think the soldier was a Vampire; his blood didn¡¯t react like it normally did, unconsciously sizing up rivals and threats. But there were all manner of fearsome undead worthy of serving a Duke outside the Vampire bloodlines; Wolfgang just couldn¡¯t tell what type this new servant was. Hand still resting on the pommel of his sword, Duke Umbria asked. ¡°Has news of the plague¡¯s spread, or more accurately, lack of spread, reached you, Black Fly?¡± Wolfgang understood why he¡¯d been summoned now; his weapon was underperforming. ¡°I have, and I can offer some insight into this. A cure has been-¡± Duke Mika cut him off by tossing a vial of something to the Black Fly. Catching the container, Wolfgang squinted at its contents. Adjusting his glasses and shifting the enchanted lenses, Wolfgang¡¯s eyes widened in shock. ¡°How is this possible?¡± The vial contained a mouthful of red wine and burned in the Aether with a subtle enchantment. A literal miracle clung to the fermented fluid, testifying to the powerful sorcery used to cure Wolfgang¡¯s plague. Examining the spell bonded to the wine on a metaphysical level, Wolfgang felt a mixture of professional interest and personal dread fill him. The wine would only cure Screamers, but the spell was spectacular. It spoke of a refined genius Wolfgang had only glimpsed in texts retrieved from the Thoas Citadel. Isabelle gens Silva¡¯s fingerprints were on this cure, as clearly as if she¡¯d touched the glass vial physically. This finally convinced Wolfgang of Scapino¡¯s story. Only a close disciple of the Countess of Pleuron could hope to mimic her work this effectively. The only being who could have survived the purge was the only one who wouldn¡¯t stay dead. The Homunculus Knight of Thoas and the Paladin of Glockmire were one and the same. Staring at the vial, Duke Mika spoke then. ¡°My spies in Vindabon speak of a curious partnership between the Temples and the Ivory Tower. They claim a Sage¡¯s Stone, a tool of arcane transubstantiation, was created alongside the cure, allowing for its easy production. These same sources also claimed the stone was being secretly transported to Prince Franz by a fleet of barges carrying aid and soldiers, which was mostly true.¡± Gripping the pommel of his sword tightly, Umbria continued. ¡°The stone wasn¡¯t with the fleet, and none of its members could tell me where to find it. But that is a matter for later; now tell me, Wolfgang, can you counter this cure? Could the plague be altered to invalidate the spell and the stone?¡± Mouth opening slightly, Wolfgang picked his words carefully. ¡°Not easily; it would require altering the binding. But if the chains of Goat-song were loosened, then I could create a dozen variants with differing symptoms, each requiring a unique cure.¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Casually, the Duke pulled his blade a handspan out of its scabbard. ¡°Are you lying to me, Black Fly? I know what you initially proposed and do not look favorably on attempts to leverage events this way.¡± Eyes never leaving the few centimeters of exposed steel, Wolfgang said. ¡°I am not lying, and what I¡¯m suggesting now wouldn¡¯t be as drastic as what I initially planned.¡± Nodding, the Duke accepted this. ¡°We can address the plague in the near future; accessing the Broodmaiden is still difficult, especially with my successes at Harmas. My agents freed nearly a third of the city¡¯s population, but valuable as the corpse-tide is, their absence will strengthen the Spirit defender of Harmas. For now, I have another task for you, one complementary to what I believe Igori wishes of you, Wolfgang.¡± Unwilling to meet Umbria¡¯s eyes, Wolfgang decided there was no point in lying. ¡°We seek the Paladin of Master Time and the Alukah. We also have reason to believe the Paladin is connected to Countess Isabelle Gens Silva, perhaps even being her Homunculus Knight.¡± A cold chuckle escaped Duke Mika. ¡°Ah, no wonder you and yours were trying to sneak about. No matter, I don¡¯t care what happens to the Paladin or Knight, whatever he may be. I expect him to be removed from the board quickly and efficiently. Which is why I¡¯m offering my aid to this hunt.¡± Umbria snapped his fingers, and the bone-armored soldier beside him fell to its knees and started fumbling with its helmet as the Duke spoke. ¡°My spies claimed the Paladin was aboard the barge fleet and transporting the stone. I found no trace of him nor the stone, but I have it on good authority the Sage¡¯s Stone is being transported to Harmas. If not by fleet, then by another method, and if the Paladin was not with the decoy, then it stands to reason he travels with the stone in truth.¡± The soldier finished undoing the buckles at his neck, and his helmet fell forward, hitting the ground with a dull thunk while Umbria continued. ¡°The Bone Sleeve Tribe will protect the pass, and our siege here at Crowbend will make the river unnavigable, leaving a single route by land. Unless the stone and its Paladin defender have already slipped past us, intercepting them on their journey will be easy for the Voivoide¡¯s favored killers.¡± Where a head should have been behind the soldier¡¯s helmet was instead a flickering pyre of witch-fire. The soldier had been cleanly decapitated, and occult flames danced where his neck ended. Shapes could be briefly glimpsed in the fire, a contorted face, or a grinning skull formed by the dancing flame. Gesturing at the headless knight, the Duke elaborated. ¡°I want the Paladin dealt with and the Stone delivered to me. To aid your task and ensure compliance, I¡¯ll loan you a new servant of mine. His mind and soul resisted most of my attempts to tease secrets from him, but his corpse is proving much more compliant.¡± Snapping his fingers again, Duke Umbria said. ¡°Dullahan, introduce yourself to these fellow hunters.¡± A voice raw from screaming and accented by crackling flames issued from the witch-fire. ¡°I-I-I am M-Marcus Giildman.¡±
:: Half an hour after Yara was recognized by Sergeant Varga :: ¡°So, what you are saying, Paladin, is this Yara girl was enthralled by the Scarlet Knight responsible for the Ghoul attacks that nearly overran my soldiers last winter? And the reason for those attacks was to plant suspicions about your Vampire as a ploy to flush her out of Vindabon and into the Scarlet Knights¡¯ trap? When that failed, this Knight attacked you at the solstice ball, where you defeated him in single combat. Then, once all that business was over, your Vampire somehow became the new master of this ¡®orphaned¡¯ thrall. Who now accompanies your group on the journey east, where you seek to add your steel to the Prince¡¯s army? But before you could do that, you stumbled across a Worc tribe and a Leech occupation force, which led you to the gates of my camp when we were fighting for our lives against a whole jagging host of rotters. Is that about the sum of it?¡± Cole nodded at Captain One-Fist¡¯s words. ¡°It''s a complicated situation.¡± The Paladin and his companions managed to avoid escalating the standoff at the fortress gate long enough for Captain Jeks One-Fist to arrive. Upon seeing Yara, the old officer reacted with a violent curse and reaching for his sword, testifying to him encountering her before. After a little talking and a lot of shouting, Cole and Natalie managed to get a semi-private audience with the Captain where enough of their story to be convincing could be conveyed. After One-Fist, Varga, Benj, and the fort''s eldest Priest listened to the story, they¡¯d stared at Cole for a solid thirty-seconds until One-Fist delivered his summation. Before Cole or Natalie could further respond, Sergant Varga made a disgusted snort. ¡°You can¡¯t honestly expect us to swallow that pile of horse shit.¡± The veteran soldier still held his sword in one hand, unwilling to stand bladeless near Natalie. Next to him, the Priest, an old servant of Father Sky, spoke up. ¡°The Paladin is what he says he is; I can feel his power. It''s a strange story, true, filled with many odd occurrences, but¡­¡± Cole and the Priest spoke in time. ¡°Coincidence is the God¡¯s domain.¡± Benj nodded his agreement and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his robes. ¡°I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t throw this away¡± Stained and mistreated, the paper¡¯s contents were still visible. A woodcut illustration of a halberd-wielding warrior crowned with an icy halo facing a snarling mass of jagged steel holding an oversized greatsword. At the holy warrior¡¯s feet was a beautiful woman, bound in a proactive pose by crystalline restraints as she clutched at her savior¡¯s leg. Cole and Natalie just looked at the newsprint with shared shock. Snatching it from Benj¡¯s hand fast enough to get Varga to tense up, Natalie stared down at the illustration and said. ¡°You have got to be kidding me?!¡± Examining the crass image, Cole read the words beneath the illustration. ¡®The heroic Paladin saving his cursed paramour from the Scarlet Knight.¡¯ Cole also noticed Natalie was depicted in a dress somehow even more damaged than hers had been that blood-soaked night. It was rather impressive how much exposed leg and bust the woodcut managed to capture. Cole also realized the artist took liberties with his own clothes and appearance. Cole¡¯s dress shirt was torn open, and his scars were considerably less disfiguring. Unsure if he should laugh at the absurdity or feel violated, Cole asked Benj. ¡°This¡­ this is how you knew about us?¡± A little sheepish, the Battlemage shrugged. ¡°Like I said, my sister sends me the gossip prints when she can.¡± Cole decided not to ask why Benj kept this particular page and instead refocused on calming the situation down. ¡°Yara was enthralled by the Scarlet Knight during the events of last winter. She can¡¯t be held to the standards of a normal collaborator.¡± One-fist set his remaining elbow on his desk and said. ¡°She was involved with a jagged-up calamity that destroyed multiple villages and got some of my subordinates killed. It''s up to a judge to decide her culpability, not you or me.¡± Varga snapped then. ¡°This doesn¡¯t smell right; none of it does! We have the girl in our custody, and now the two she warned us about? Captain, we are being played!¡± Looking at the infuriated Varga, One-fist added. ¡°Settle down, their story is mad, but what in this world isn¡¯t? We got duped by the enemy last winter, and as much as that pisses me off, there''s no reason to go making new enemies.¡± Returning his focus to Cole and Natalie, the latter of whom was still staring at the print, One-fist said. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking the girl into my custody. She will face justice, and you can speak in her defense. But now, onto more important issues, we have a-¡± Natalie interrupted the Captain. ¡°You can¡¯t do that, at least if you want her to survive. The only reason I¡¯m keeping her as a thrall is she¡¯s horribly addicted to Vampire venom. Separate her from me or another Vampire, and she¡¯ll be dead within a month.¡± The process of detoxifying Yara wasn¡¯t going well despite nearly three months of trying to wean the thrall of the Sting. According to Isabelle and Hierophant Hedwig, Yara¡¯s resistance to being freed was both medical and mental. She¡¯d been fed upon by Dietrich for years and ¡®rewarded¡¯ heavily over years of service. Yara wasn¡¯t just addicted but physically dependent on the Sting to keep her body functioning. The magical component of the venom responded to her eager submission and wormed its way deep into Yara. As long as Yara wanted to be a thrall, the Sting would never let her be free. After explaining as much to Captain One-fist, Natalie looked slightly deflated, like a leaking waterskin. Cole knew her bizarre relationship with the thrall wasn¡¯t good for Natalie. He also didn¡¯t know how to help her with it; she¡¯d taken this burden on reluctantly and now refused to let it go, her characteristic stubborn streak rearing its head. Shaking his head in disgust, Sergeant Varga said, ¡°Assuming we believe that, why shouldn¡¯t we just take the thrall anyway? If her previous master and you have reduced her to this¡­ existence, then perhaps death would be a kindness.¡± Natalie started to spin to face Varga, a blistering retort bubbling off her tongue, but Cole¡¯s iron grip on her wrist stopped her. In her place, Cole turned to Varga and spoke icily. ¡°Death is finality; it finishes a person''s story, ending who they are and cutting off any possibility of growth or decay. Yara¡¯s story is not yet done; I don¡¯t know how it will end, but just as I fought to protect the allotted time of every soul in this fortress, I will fight to protect hers.¡± Varga didn¡¯t back down, an impressive feat considering the force of will Cole could summon. ¡°What about the time she stole from all those people back in Bekesvarm? Shouldn¡¯t their deaths count for something? Shouldn¡¯t she fucking pay for helping the Scarlet Knight?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°Yes, she should, and she will. But not with her life; cutting Yara¡¯s story short won¡¯t even budge the scales of justice. Instead, she¡¯ll need to live and seek penance through actions, not a premature ending.¡± Scoffing at that, Varga said. ¡°I don¡¯t think a single mind-raped, drug-addicted waif could ever do enough good to balance out hundreds of deaths.¡± Shrugging, Cole replied. ¡°Perhaps, but a life¡¯s efforts will do more good than another death would.¡± Refocusing on Captain One-fist, Cole continued his defense of the broken thrall. ¡°Release her into my custody; she will do more useful aiding me than rotting away in a jail cell. She also won''t have the chance to do more harm while traveling with my group.¡± One-fist scratched at the greying stubble marking his chin. ¡°Varga was crass, but he does have a point, perhaps one he didn¡¯t mean to make. I¡¯ve seen how broken thralls can become; what addiction and mind magic does to them. Ending the girl¡¯s life might be a mercy, compared to letting her be shackled to a monster¡¯s will.¡± The Captain looked at Natalie then and amended himself. ¡°Even if the monster in question doesn¡¯t want to be one.¡± Natalie now spoke. ¡°She¡¯s a thrall, something worse than a slave, utterly stripped of freedom and choice. Yara is exactly what the Leechs sculpted her to be; she doesn¡¯t know anything else. Wouldn¡¯t killing her like sick livestock be the ultimate vindication of what the Vampires did to her? Stealing the freedom even to live because we view it as what¡¯s best? Yara is a person, and we should treat her like one.¡± Leaning forward over his desk, One-fist said. ¡°If she¡¯s a person, then she¡¯s responsible for helping the Scarlet Knight massacre entire villages. She lured soldiers I was responsible for to their deaths, all for her master to catch you. We can speak about her either as a broken wretch or as an enemy agent; pick your poison.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes were back to normal, the last hints of unnatural scarlet faded. Something Cole paid special attention to as he watched her meet the Captain¡¯s steely glare. ¡°Yara is both, which is why this is such a jagged situation. But perhaps, with time and help, she can grow into something else.¡± Glancing around the room, taking in the battle-hardened officers surrounding her, Natalie added. ¡°That possibility is why letting us have her is so important. I¡¯m from the Duchies. I was raised as a citizen in a mountain town, probably not even on your maps. I know what those lands are like and what the Leechs make people into. Right now, we are at war, fighting to stop more land and more innocents from falling under their yoke. But eventually, we will win, and then we¡¯ll face the question of what to do with the thralls of slain monsters. I¡¯d rather there be options to help them in ways that didn¡¯t involve mercy killing.¡± Scratching at a stained spot on her leathers, Natalie continued. ¡°If we can find a way to help a thrall shackled like Yara is, then we can find a way to help all others enslaved by the Duchies. I think Yara being part of something like that would do a lot of balance the scales.¡± Rubbing his eyes with his remaining hand, the Captain sighed. ¡°Part of me still doesn¡¯t trust what you are saying, but you do make good points. That being said, we¡¯ve all been awake for way too jagging long, and if Fort Carnum is going to defend these lands, there is much work to be done. I¡¯ll make my ruling in the morning if we¡¯re still alive by then.¡± Dismissed from the Captain¡¯s office, Cole and Natalie left the elite of Fort Carnum and headed back towards their friends. Cuff and Clout had been taken to the fort¡¯s stables while the bipedal members of their cohort hung around the parked wagon, receiving suspicious glances from the busy soldiers around them. As they walked towards the wagon, Cole said. ¡°You were very articulate back there; I think you swayed One-fist.¡± Puffing out her cheeks, Natalie replied. ¡°I was making it up as I went along.¡± Taking her hand in his, Cole smiled. ¡°You were speaking from your heart; that counts for a lot, especially when it''s spur of the moment.¡± Mina, who¡¯d been sitting on the wagon''s front seat, noticed them, hopping down, she headed for the pair. Reaching them, Mina sucked in a deep breath and slapped both Cole and Natalie. The strike was so unexpected Cole didn¡¯t even block it and took it right on his cheek. Natalie managed to sway back a little and got her nose smacked, eliciting a pained yelp. Surging forward, Mina hugged them both, her petite frame somehow managing to wrap both Paladin and Vampire in a hug. Finally releasing them, she raked the pair with a withering glare. ¡°I¡¯m glad you are both alive, but I¡¯m furious you ran off like that! It was bad enough that you two left us behind, but then you went and attacked the rearguard of an entire jagging army!¡± Once the anger was finished flowing out of Mina, she exhaled and suddenly looked very abashed. ¡°Oh Gods, I hit both of you; I¡¯m so sorry! You deserved it, but I¡¯m still sorry.¡± Alia and Kit joined them then, the Magi tossing a scorched lump to Natalie. She caught it and looked down at the remains of the runestone Isabelle gave her. Kit shrugged apathetically. ¡°Like I said, too much power for such a small token, no matter how well made it was.¡± Scratching her nose, clearly bothered by the heavy stink of ash and death covering the fort, Alia added. ¡°We got the refugees settled in Barlstine before setting out. On the road, we passed some soldiers headed that way, so hopefully, the town won¡¯t be undefended.¡± The conversation turned to the two groups updating each other on events, and Cole noticed Natalie drifting away. Her focus was elsewhere, deeper in the fortress and the brig where Yara was being kept. Putting a hand on Natalie¡¯s shoulder, Cole said. ¡°I think you need to go speak with her.¡± Swallowing nervously and then coughing on her own desert-dry throat, Natalie sighed. ¡°I do.¡± Alia spat on the ground. ¡°I¡¯d like to have words with her as well. You¡¯d think she¡¯d bother to mention helping dear old Dietrich raid villages and lure soldiers to their deaths.¡± Kit shook his head. ¡°No, let Natalie speak with her alone. Besides, wasn¡¯t it obvious she¡¯d aided the Scarlet Knight? Yara was his thrall; she¡¯d kill people if he asked, and besides, it wasn¡¯t like she was the one who concocted the scheme to flush Natalie and Cole out of Vindabon using a mountain of corpses.¡± Sighing, Natalie ran fingers through her hair, careful not to touch the silver hairpin. ¡°I¡¯ve just finished having this discussion with Captain One-fist. Let me go talk with Yara, and we can continue from there. We need to regroup and figure out our next step, and doing that behind old Imperial walls sounds like a good idea.¡± With those words, Natalie turned and headed for the brig, leaving Cole with the rest of the group. Watching her leave, the Paladin asked Kit. ¡°Can you help me with something?¡± Book III: Chapter 30: Cold Truths

Chapter 30: Cold Truths

¡°The first and her brood called the practice Molek. Some of our eldest kindred still use the term, but it''s as antiquated as they are. For most, there is no word for rite, simply the risk and reward it offers. To consume another Vampire, to drink them to death is always a gamble, especially if the consumed isn¡¯t pitifully weak. Blood and souls clash, and the loser is devoured messily, bits of their existence clinging to their killer like splattered gore. Those hunks of Aetheric filth are what cause the hallucinations and other side effects; they do dissipate with time, but a strong victim will leave their mark for longer than you¡¯d think¡± - Count Francois gens Herop in a letter to the Magi Maxis Galen.
The brig of Fort Castrum was cold and dark, like any proper prison. A single weak glowstone cast sputtering light on the old stones of the military jail. Sitting in one corner of her cell, wrapped in a blanket, Yara stared at the ill-kept glowstone. The cracked amber gave off just enough light to cast long shadows across the room. Pulling the threadbare blanket she¡¯d been provided tighter, Yara wondered at fate. Of all the soldiers who could possibly defend this fortress, how was it that One-Fist and Varga were here? Surely, the Gods were behind this coincidence? Was this Yara¡¯s punishment for helping Dietrich? Turning the Holy League against Cole and Natalie had been Yara¡¯s idea. She¡¯d been the one to propose the plan and plant the seed of doubt among the soldiers. While Dietrich¡¯s will and action doomed those people, Yara devised much of the scheme. Despite traveling with a Paladin and spending time in a Temple, Yara hadn¡¯t put much faith in the idea of divine retribution. Her entire life proved the Gods were¡­ selective in their judgment. They¡¯d not stopped her father from¡­ from... Forcing away that thought, Yara felt an old, half-forgotten emotion stirring. It took her a moment to realize she was angry, angry at the Gods. If they sought to enforce justice, then they¡¯d failed Yara at every turn except when it came to punishing her. The clunk and clatter of heavy locks being adjusted pulled Yara from her thoughts. Looking towards the cell door, a slab of time-abused wood, Yara watched it creak open and a familiar figure step inside. Every time Yara saw her mistress, she was struck by how different Natalie was from her despite their similar origins. Beautiful, confident, and quick to smile, Natalie seemed Yara¡¯s antithesis on so many levels, not even counting the separation between vampire and thrall. As the door shut behind her, Natalie glanced around the cell with a look of concern. Coming over towards Yara, the Vampire held out a familiar heavy blanket. ¡°I thought you might be cold, so I brought the quilt you like.¡± Gingerly taking the offered covering, Yara looked at the well-made blanket and held it to her chest. ¡°Thank you.¡± Natalie frowned and then did something Yara hadn¡¯t expected: she sat next to her. Sliding down the wall until her butt landed on the cold stone, Natalie let out a long breath. ¡°One-fist wants custody of you; he wants to try you for what happened with Dietrich. I think I¡¯ve convinced him to let you keep traveling with us. He¡¯ll make his ruling in the morning, but I didn¡¯t want you to be stuck here alone till then.¡± Yara couldn¡¯t bring herself to look at Natalie; her muscles were taut, and she clutched the blanket to her like a lifeline. Gingerly, Natalie reached out and tugged on one corner of the folded blanket. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to use this?¡± Nodding, Yara unfolded the covering and nestled into its soft fabric. Instantly, the chill of the room seemed to fade into something manageable. Finally forcing herself to look at Natalie, Yara asked. ¡°Do you want me to travel with you?¡± Sucking in her lower lip, revealing sharp fangs, Natalie replied. ¡°I didn''t originally, but I do now. Us Glockmire girls need to stick together after all.¡± A slight smile flavored Natalie¡¯s words, quickly fading as she continued speaking. ¡°Dietrich rescued me and Cole from the castle¡¯s larder back in Glockmire. He was cold and brutal but¡­ honorable in his way. I can see why you became so attached to him; I don¡¯t think most Vampires would give so much thought to a thrall¡¯s fate as he did.¡± The words shocked Yara; she looked at Natalie with wide, confused eyes. Meeting Yara¡¯s blue with her red, Natalie said. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t change the fact of what he did and what he intended to do. I don¡¯t know how many people died because he thought it was strategically expedient, but it was a lot. Forcing you to pay for his crimes, even if you were involved with them, is wrong. I won¡¯t let them lock you up here to settle a score Cole already dealt with.¡± Fear and doubt bubbled up behind Yara¡¯s dam of self-control. Seeing her tight, nervous expression and misunderstanding its source, Natalie smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be your mistress, but that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not going to try and protect you. I¡¯ve got power, and what''s the point of being strong if you don¡¯t use that strength to help those close to me?¡± Opening her mouth, trying to force words out, Yara choked on something close to shame. Yara was used to shame; it was an old lash used first by her father, then by herself. But this was different; it wasn¡¯t the familiar feeling of failure and self-loathing. Just as rage kindled anew, another relic emotion stirred within the thrall. Guilt. Finally forcing the truth from her mouth, Yara whispered. ¡°It was my idea.¡± Natalie frowned in momentary confusion before understanding bloomed behind her eyes. Looking away from those beautiful crimson orbs, Yara made her confession. ¡°Master Dietrich needed a way to slow you and Cole down, a way to keep both of you outside Vindabon¡¯s walls. I suggested using fear. If we could make the League-folk afraid and uncertain, my master might have been able to find you.¡± Shutting her eyes, unable to stop the words now that they started, Yara kept speaking. ¡°My master wanted to capture you, so I helped however I could. Dietrich is¡­was a knight, a warrior; he didn¡¯t understand fear like I do. He might have been able to flush prey from a burrow but not spread the right whispers like I can.¡± Blinking in genuine shock, Natalie tried to speak, but Yara did something that surprised them both: she interrupted her mistress. ¡°I know I deserve to be punished, I know I know I KNOW! I hurt people and the Gods delivered me to those willing and able to judge me. But it¡¯s not fair! Where were the Gods when¡­ where were they every time my dad came home drunk and came into my¡­ Why do those people Dietrich hurt get justice, but I never did!¡± Something practically alien to Yara happened then, a sensation almost forgotten. It wasn¡¯t the briny tears flowing down her face nor the shuddering breaths accompanying them; what startled Yara from her angry sobs was the feeling of warm arms wrapping around her. Eyes snapping open, Yara blinked away strands of Natalie¡¯s long black hair as the Vampire hugged her close. False-life flowed through Natalie¡¯s veins and imparted soothing warmth to the distraught thrall. Raw, racking sobs exploded out of Yara, mixing with blubbering apologies and gasping self-recrimination. Ashamed and confused beyond words, Yara tried to simultaneously push Natalie away and pull her closer Undead but not uncaring arms kept the embrace as it was while Yara¡¯s pain poured from her. After a small eternity, Yara¡¯s sobs became shuddering gasps and eventually soft whimpers. Loosening her embrace just enough to look her thrall in the face, Natalie looked at Yara with something kinder than pity. ¡°What happened to you wasn¡¯t right; I¡¯m so sorry no one was there for you. I¡­ I can¡¯t condemn you for helping Dietrich, even if I should. Neither can I offer you forgiveness or clemency; that¡¯s not mine to give.¡± Pulling back slightly and settling so her face was level with Yara, Natalie made her pronouncement. ¡°No one was there for you when you needed someone, not even the Gods, and jag them crooked for that. I don¡¯t want to own you, Yara, but I can be there for you. I can protect and aid you the best I can, and maybe you can help me do some good in the process.¡± Natalie¡¯s eyes flicked toward Yara¡¯s exposed neck and the scars marking it, each a badge of service for the thrall. ¡°Right now, you need someone, not a master or a mistress, just someone who cares. Someone who can help guide your path and provide a sense of purpose. I¡¯ll be that person until you are ready to walk your own path and find a purpose. Does that sound like a good plan?¡± Shakily, Yara nodded, uncertain why Natalie treated her with such kindness. As much as the bilious whispers in Yara¡¯s heart doubted the Vampire¡¯s words, she didn¡¯t have the energy to question them. ¡°It does.¡± Natalie returned to her spot next to Yara, one arm still wrapped around the thrall. Once the last tears dried, Yara felt the empty exhaustion of emotional drain reach her. Natalie got up then. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in less than an hour unless there¡¯s an emergency; I have a few things yet to do tonight.¡± Yara jerked her head in something resembling an affirmation before letting weary sleep take her as Natalie knocked on the cell door.
The guard let Natalie out of the cell without issue and guided her out of the fort¡¯s bowls. As they walked, Natalie asked. ¡°Why do they call it the brig? Isn¡¯t that supposed to be just on ships?¡± Glancing at her, the soldier, a short but burly man with an archer¡¯s arms, replied. ¡°Cause for most ofa prisoners, the brig sways back-n-forth like a ship ina storm. Most discipline issues we have are related to drink, see? A night on the cold stone and the room spinning isa nough to sober up most dumb greens or bitter greys.¡± Understanding most of what was said, Natalie exited another reinforced door and into the fort proper. The air still stunk of death, fresh, old, rotting, and burning. It saddened Natalie how used to those smells she was now. Thanking the soldier, she went to find Cole and ask his permission for what she had planned. The meeting with Yara went¡­ well, it went better and worse than Natalie expected. She honestly couldn¡¯t tell how much blame Yara deserved for the horrors Dietrich unleashed. There was an argument to be made that a thrall was about as responsible for their actions as any tool was. Natalie also had to wonder how accurate Yara was being; she wasn¡¯t stable, and repressed guilt could do interesting things to memory. But ignoring all that, what really caught Natalie¡¯s craw was the horrible abuse Yara suffered. To know a neighbor, someone she served drinks to, someone she knew by first name would hurt their child like that¡­ That no one noticed, no one stopped it until a fucking Vampire did? No one helped Yara, not even the Pantheon in all their power. Simmering anger filled Natalie¡¯s dead heart, and she decided the next time the Angler paid her a visit, she¡¯d have some choice words for the God. Forcing the wrath down, looking forward to the next time some monster would allow her to express it, Natalie found Cole and Kit standing by the fort¡¯s outer walls. The Magi-musician was bent over, examining the old stone, a sphere of magical light hovering near his head. Cole watched whatever Kit was doing, his posture tense and uncertain. With a sigh, Natalie wished the future monster she awaited would wait a little longer. Cole turned then, his eyes glowing silver, his hard expression mellowing upon seeing Natalie. ¡°How is Yara doing?¡± Shrugging, Natalie looked at Kit and thought about his insights into the thrall. ¡°I think I made a breakthrough with her. She has guilt for helping Dietrich, and¡­ well, Kit was right about something bad in her past. We¡¯ll talk about it later, but for now, I don¡¯t want to leave her alone for long.¡± Kit looked up from whatever he was doing, a wild look in his eyes. ¡°You were right! These wards are ancient, but they still work! Something must have activated them recently if-¡± Blinking at Natalie, Kit said. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t realize you were back. Tell me, can your abilities sense anything odd about the walls? Did you have any difficulty entering-¡± Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Cole cut the Magi off with a hand gesture. ¡°Later,¡± refocusing on Natalie, he asked, ¡°Is there something else?¡± Glancing at Kit and feeling a little bad for her secrecy, Natalie tried to communicate her request to Cole. ¡°I¡¯m going to spend the night in the brig with Yara to ensure she¡¯s okay. It will be private in there, and I wanted to take the box with the puzzle lock with me.¡± Frowning, Cole met Natalie¡¯s eyes and, after a moment, nodded. ¡°Be careful, and help however you can.¡± The box in question contained Isabelle¡¯s skull, and Natalie knew being separated from that hunk of haunted bone distressed Cole. That he was willing to let her take it from under his watch while they stood among semi-hostile soldiers spoke volumes of his trust for Natalie. Coming close, Natalie offered him a gentle kiss and said. ¡°Thank you, we¡¯ll talk in the morning. Try and get some sleep, will you, my knight?¡± A soft smile escaped Cole, and he nodded his assent. Ignoring Kit¡¯s look of almost-hungry curiosity, Natalie retrieved the box from the wagon, said her goodnights to the rest of the group, and returned to the prison. She found the same guard sitting at the entrance of the brig, checking his arrows one by one. The man was clearly a trained archer and probably a skilled woodsman, an odd choice for a jailer. As she was led toward Yara¡¯s cell, Natalie realized whoever usually tended the brig probably died in the battle. Natalie entered the cell with that bitter thought to accompany her, finding Yara curled up with her blanket. Eyes snapping open, Yara looked at Natalie, a sudden tension filling the thrall. It was honestly impressive how quickly she transitioned from bone-deep exhaustion to nervous focus. While she¡¯d never mention it to either party, the way Yara reacted reminded Natalie of Cole. Sitting down opposite the thrall, Natalie set the box containing Isabelle next to her. Gesturing to the well-made covering wrapped around Yara, Natalie asked ¡°Are you warm enough?¡± Yara nodded, licking chapped lips before asking. ¡°Why are you being so¡­ so kind to me?¡± Natalie tried to find an answer for both herself and Yara. She felt responsible for the thrall, but that wasn¡¯t all of it. For months, a mixture of pride and guilt motivated Natalie to help Yara. This started to truly change when she heard Kit¡¯s story and thought about the insights he offered. Now, after testifying in Yara¡¯s defense and then hearing her tale, Natalie realized she couldn¡¯t fix this situation as a vampire; she needed to approach this as a person, not a predator. Rooting around in Yara¡¯s mind or weening her off the Sting wasn¡¯t enough; the broken woman needed someone to give a damn about her. Finally finding the words, Natalie looked at Yara. ¡°Because it¡¯s the right thing to do, and I¡¯m capable of doing it.¡± The two women locked eyes for maybe six seconds before Yara simply nodded in understanding. Pulling her blankets closer, the thrall said. ¡°Thank you.¡± Smiling, careful not to show her fangs, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Get some sleep; I think tomorrow will be difficult.¡± In less than ten minutes, Yara¡¯s breathing changed, and Natalie was free to work. Opening up the enchanted lock on Isabelle¡¯s box, Natalie lifted the skull from its plush cushion. Carefully, Natalie let a polished fang bite her thumb, a few drops of black blood welling up and into the hungry skull. Feeding Isabelle this way wasn¡¯t strictly necessary, but Natalie found it ensured the link was stable and kept the older Vampire from getting too ornery. Pulling her thumb away, ignoring the familiar pain, Natalie set the skull back in its box and focused on her internal world. She¡¯d strengthened the link with Isabelle and called the former Countess; now, all that was left to do was wait among the lilies.
Entering into her mindscape, Natalie gazed across the endless field representing her mind. Things had changed, the most obvious being the overcast sky. Instead of the clear blue of before, Natalie¡¯s mindscape was blanketed by roiling storm clouds, teetering on the edge of a deluge. Staring up at the clashing thunderheads, Natalie was deeply unsettled. The last time her mindscape changed was when she¡¯d become the Alukah; this new shift was completely unexpected. Looking out across the lilies, Natalie tried to spot any other alterations and quickly found one. A sapling grew perhaps twenty meters away from Natalie. Slowly, uncertainly, Natalie approached the young tree, trying to decipher its meaning. The sapling was maybe Natalie¡¯s height, its scruffy branches laden with strange bleached needles. Reaching out, Natalie touched one of the branches and quickly pulled her hand away from the needle¡¯s bite. Seeing the marks on her hand where the needles pierced her skin, Natalie suddenly understood what the pine needles were. The tree grew vampire fangs in place of leaves, hundreds and hundreds of vampire fangs. Disturbed and very concerned at what this represented, Natalie looked past the branches and towards the tree¡¯s thin trunk. The bark was pale, with red undertones visible in the cracks between the flaking scales. Around the trunk¡¯s middle were two large deformities; bulging out of the tree, a pair of wood knots barely covered in split bark. As if reacting to Natalie¡¯s attention, one of the lumps started to move, the thin bark enclosing it falling away. Morbidly reminded of a chicken hatching, Natalie awaited whatever new horror her mindscape was preparing. After a few seconds of struggling, the deformity''s casing fell away enough to reveal its nature. Natalie stared at the face of Baron Sicar, sticking out of the sap-drenched wood like some emerging parasite. Mouth open in a silent scream, eyes wild, the trapped Vampire writhed against his prison, unable to speak, let alone escape. As the Baron, or whatever the thing with his face was, noticed Natalie, its struggles grew more intense. On the tree¡¯s opposite side, the other deformity started twitching, and its bark covering fell away to reveal the Dame. Both vampires consumed by Natalie, now trapped in a tree of teeth. Slowly backing away, careful not to snag herself on the fanged branches, Natalie mouthed a few curses. Not long ago, this would have been enough to make her panic, and perhaps it still should, but experience armored Natalie against the uncanny. Retreating what she hoped was a safe distance from the fang tree, Natalie finally let her eyes leave the ghastly sight. Isabelle should be here by now, and the fact she¡¯d not arrived was another concern. There was much the two vampires needed to discuss; Natalie¡¯s desire to learn more about vampire cannibalism and its side effects was suddenly a much bigger priority. The mania accompanying the act was one thing; this tree of faces and fangs was another. Something touched Natalie¡¯s cheek then, quickly reaching to the spot, she found blood, red unlike her own. Before she could wonder at the blood¡¯s origin, the heavy clouds overhead finally burst, and a red rain poured down from the roiling heavens. Wiping away the first droplet and trying to shield her face from the downpour, Natalie felt utterly baffled. The rain smelled and felt like blood, but some inhuman sense gifted by her nature told Natalie it offered no sustenance. Still, the iron and copper stink roused Natalie¡¯s thirst. The world shifted then; one moment, Natalie was standing trying to understand the rain; next, she was staring up at the red-tinged clouds, feeling nothing but pain. Natalie''s closest frame of reference to the agony was her ill-fated flight from Vindabon¡¯s walls. Trying and failing to suck in a pointless breath, Natalie clutched at her chest, feeling at the damage. Her ribs were splinters, her lungs deflated, and Natalie was reasonably certain a piece of her sternum was tickling her spine. Blinking away crimson droplets, Natalie forced her body to repair itself. This was her mindscape; she was the master of this domain, and illusionary damage wouldn¡¯t stop her. Feeling a lung inflate, Natalie forced herself to look around for whatever attacked her. She didn¡¯t need to look for long; a pale blur shot forward faster than even Natalie¡¯s inhuman mind could process and grabbed the young Vampire by the throat. Scratching at the adamant grip crushing her throat, Natalie made a gurgling noise as she was hoisted into the air by a monster. Holding Natalie in a single hand was the most beautiful and hideous woman she¡¯d ever seen. Statuesque and regal, the monster¡¯s skin was like polished marble, complete with black veins weaving through its flesh. Beneath the creature¡¯s ivory skin were patterns of pure obsidian, mapping every blood vessel within its flesh. Brown filth encrusted the monster¡¯s hands, caked beneath the fingernails clutching Natalie and staining the white linen dress it wore. Gaudy, tarnished, and scratched jewelry covered the creature, dripping from its hands, neck, and ears. Its hair was short, almost reaching the monster¡¯s shoulders, and a diadem of gold sat upon the dark locks. Struggling uselessly, Natalie did everything she could not to meet the monster¡¯s eyes; she only caught flickers of them as she forced herself to look elsewhere. Slowly, the creature pulled Natalie closer, its odor of bloody death and sweet rot forcing itself into her nose. Thankful the grip on her throat prevented any accidental inhaling of the reeking scent, Natalie felt a rising tide of panic wash over her. The creature had gravity, a presence that pulled on existence and spoke of incredible power. Worst still, beneath that gravity was an unspeakable darkness threatening to leak forth from the monster. That darkness, that oily blackness was horribly horribly familiar to Natalie. Finally realizing resistance was useless, Natalie met the abomination¡¯s eyes. Pure red, like oceans of fresh blood, they bored into Natalie like a treppaner¡¯s drill. Opening its mouth, revealing long, cruel fangs, the monster spoke. Every accented word was a soothing melody and wretched wail to Natalie¡¯s ears. ¡°You are not my child. Who are you?¡± The grip on Natalie¡¯s throat lessened just enough, and she rasped. ¡°My name is Natalie.¡± Then, as it ever did for her, Natalie¡¯s fear turned to anger. ¡°And who the jag are you?¡± Natalie saw a blur of motion from the monster¡¯s free hand and felt a new form of pain. With the ease of swatting a fly, the creature slashed its fingers at Natalie¡¯s waist and cut her in half. Natalie actually heard her legs and lower body hit the ground before she started screaming. Unable to keep the horrible wail from escaping, Natalie tried to understand what was happening. Her mind had been invaded by something horribly powerful, and she couldn¡¯t do anything to stop it. The creature¡¯s grip tightened enough to end Natalie¡¯s screams as it spoke. ¡°Do not dare to address me like that, vermin. I am Queen Eresh of Akzad, and you will tell me what has become of my son!¡± Akzad, Natalie knew that name. Glynn read it aloud from a silver-coated tome. It was a city in another Epoch, one that died long ago. No, not died; it was murdered by its ruler, by its queen. In those moments of crystal-clear understanding, Natalie discovered there was an emotion beyond fear, beyond terror, beyond words. Nothing had invaded her mind; no, instead, something woke up. An ancient nightmare twice died but still dreaming within its usurper¡¯s usurper. Roused from slumber by undead ichor, now holding Natalie within its blood-soaked grasp. The monster called itself Queen Eresh of Akzad, but Natalie and history knew her by another name: Rabisu, the first Vampire. Clawing at the hands at her throat, Natalie tried to think of something, anything, to save herself from this new nightmare. She remembered seeing Archduke Dracon in Isabelle¡¯s memories, and that leviathan of bloody terror couldn¡¯t compare to the creature brutalizing her. Queen Eresh was blood, she was death, she was everything a Vampire could be, and more. Unable to even free her throat enough to speak, Natalie felt tears well up in her eyes. Was this how she finally died? Snuffed out by some ancient primogen, her body left an empty husk or, worse yet, possessed by a darkness capable of swallowing nations? Two things changed in the time a mortal¡¯s heart would beat. First was the warmth on Natalie¡¯s tongue, the hot metallic taste of living blood. The second was the bloody rain stopped and something new came in its place. Pure white snowflakes drifted down from the heavens, dancing in unfelt gales, landing atop red lilies and the pair of vampires. A voice that was not a voice spoke then, sounding of cracking ice, dying stars, and Cole¡¯s quiet whispers. ¡°No, you will not touch her; she is not yours to ruin, parasite!¡± The Rabisu¡¯s hand shattered into a million frozen pieces, and Natalie fell to the ground, landing on legs she thought had been cut from her. Backing away from the furious monster staring at the skies, Natalie tried to get her bearings. Her body was healed, and the Stigma at her neck glowed with white fire. Whatever power the Rabisu held over Natalie¡¯s mindscape was faltering. Pointing at the skies with a regenerated hand, the Rabisu proclaimed. ¡°Your mark weakens! You will not protect this child for long! Every night, I grow stronger, and soon she will be mine!¡± Turning its horrible red eyes onto Natalie, the first Vampire proclaimed. ¡°I do not know how you usurped my son, but you will pay! With every drop you drink, with every day you sleep, I come closer to freedom!¡± Then, like a snowdrift caught in a hurricane, the Rabisu dissolved, flakes of ash swirling out and mixing with the steady snowfall. Staring at the spot where the monster once stood, Natalie fell to her knees, the taste of blood growing stronger. Time spoke again. ¡°She will not have you; ignore her lies, Natalie Striga.¡± The snowfall turned into a blizzard, and Natalie let the numbing cold free her from this nightmare.
Natalie awoke to bitter chill and seductive warmth. Eyes slowly opening, fighting the layer of frost coating her skin, Natalie tried to understand where she was. Ice covered everything around her, frost filled the air, and something warm was draped over Natalie. Opening her mouth, feeling frozen muscles crack as she did, Natalie realized she¡¯d been biting something. A limp wrist fell from Natalie¡¯s mouth, joining the similarly unresponsive lump clinging to her. Blinking away frost, Natalie stared down at Yara¡¯s still body. A surge of panic shot through Natalie, and she tried to grab onto her thrall, only realizing then she¡¯d been frozen to the wall. Pulling herself free, Natalie took Yara into her arms, frantically licked the horrible bites on the thrall¡¯s wrist shut, and calling her name. ¡°Yara! Yara! Please, please, Yara!¡± Just then, the door to the cell exploded open, sending a spray of ice across the room. A panicked-looking Cole entered the room, followed by Captain One-fist, Mina, and a few soldiers. Running towards Natalie, somehow unbothered by the ice-slick floor, Cole stopped as something crunched underfoot. Both Paladin and Vampire looked for the sound¡¯s source; the box containing Isabelle¡¯s skull was smashed open. Dashed against the opposite wall from Natalie, the box lay splintered, the now cracked skull staring out at the brig cell, glistening with frost. Trying to feel for a pulse, Natalie attempted to stand, Yara still in her arms. Mind awash with raw panic, Natalie cried. ¡°Help her! Help them both, please!¡± Book III: Chapter 31: A Bevy of Schemes

Chapter 31: A Bevy of Schemes

¡°Each of the Gods put a different curse upon the Rabisu. Layering her with weaknesses to blight the power claimed in Red Night. Thresholds, fire, sulfur, silver, sunlight, sanctity, and being stabbed through the heart are the most obvious. But many of the curses were more subtle, like a memory rot that forced periods of hibernation or, most insidious of all, Uncle Trickster¡¯s punishment. Unlike his fellows, the Fifth God never told the Rabisu his curse; in fact, he claimed not to have cursed her at all. But who would trust the God of Liars? The Rabisu did not, and spent much time trying to discover what weakness Uncle Trickster inflicted, which perhaps was exactly his intention. - From the Gospel of Falsehoods, a Fifth Temple commentary on the Book of Miracles.
Pankrator Marcus Gildman was no stranger to bitter cold or scalding heat. He¡¯d tasted mage fire fighting Goblin Kozaks in the north and waded through a half-frozen swamp during a rescue mission in the Mirelands. He¡¯d suffered burns, frostbite, hypothermia, hyperthermia, and the fever brought on by infected wounds, but none of that could compare to his current agony. The last thing Marcus remembered before the pain was the flash of steel, of the Duke¡¯s blade moving fast as lightning, cleaving through the War-Priest¡¯s defenses and then his neck. Everything went dark as Marcus¡¯s head tumbled from his shoulder and struck the barge¡¯s deck, leaving him alone in the cold sleep of death. When he awoke, Marcus thought he¡¯d been cast into one of the Hells, a place of burning ice or freezing fire. He wouldn¡¯t have been the first sanctified Soul captured by the enemy and delivered to perdition. But that singular doom wasn¡¯t offered to Marcus; instead, he faced a far less merciful fate. Marcus Gildmen died in battle, and his remains were put to use by his killer. Arcane fire that burned and froze flowed into Marcus, scouring away his flesh and leaving nothing but bones. This flame, this occult power, did not stop its crackling hunger at the material; it scorched Marcus¡¯s soul, transforming and binding him. He became the fire, and the fire became him, a once holy Soul reforged into something horrible. The Necromancer who first greeted Marcus upon his transformation called him a ¡®Cephalpyre Dullahan¡¯ and crowed over creating such a rare monster. Marcus tried to punch the ugly grin off the fat Vampire¡¯s face, but his flesh¡­ no, his bones, no longer answered him. Clad in morbid armor crafted from some Dire-beasts¡¯s remains, Marcus was roused from the slumber of death and puppeteered as the Necromancer willed. Freezing and burning, Marcus was paraded about like a show pony, his mind witness to everything but unable to act against the chains of magic binding him. Marcus tried to fight his puppeteer at first, resisting the greasy Necromancer¡¯s commands in the ways he¡¯d been trained. The lessons imparted to survive torture or mind magic were useless against what the undead did to him. An order would be given, and his being would be squeezed into a shape capable of fulfilling it. He tried to be incompetent; he tried to follow the letter of a command to the point of absurdity; he tried, tried, tried, tried, and nothing worked. When the Necromancer decided it was time to test his newest minion, Marcus begged his God for mercy, for an end to this cursed half-existence. Not for his own sake but to spare the eleven prisoners of war put in his path. Marcus cleaved through the near-dozen soldiers like a thresher, his blade and the accursed fire leaving nothing but broken burning corpses in his wake. When the screams finally faded, Marcus knew he was damned, perhaps not literally but in spirit. He¡¯d dedicated his life to being a sword aimed at the wicked and a shield raised in defense of the innocent. In undeath, he existed as a perversion of everything he once stood for, a fact the Leechs found hilarious. When Marcus¡¯s fire finished consuming the captured soldiers, their cries were replaced with another even worse sound, the laughter of the blood-hungry nobility. An audience observed Marcus¡¯s crimes and enjoyed it like a mummer¡¯s play. In the wake of that horror, Marcus let his mind empty, entering a dissociative stupor to preserve what was left of him. This was the only part of his training to resist torture that proved useful. Marcus viewed events from a distance, his mind drifting in and out of awareness. He let his puppet strings do their horrible work and was presented before the Duke of Roloyo. The ancient monster wearing a warrior¡¯s skin seemed pleased to add Marcus to his entourage. Upon seeing the Duke again, Marcus tried with all his might to drive his sword into the old tyrant¡¯s heart. Straining so hard he felt his soul tear, Marcus made a single finger twitch. A feat that paradoxically empowered and disheartened the undead Pankrator. Resistance was possible but required strength beyond strength, something an old soldier might be able to find in fits and spurts. The next thing to rouse Marcus from his stupor was when the Duke ordered him to remove his helmet to show a collection of monsters how well he fit in among them. Glancing over the wire-thin Vampire with glasses, a pair of odd Strigoi, and a man-eating snake-women, Marcus listened to the orders shared by this fell band. He also listened to the secret commands relayed by the Duke; whispers about potential treachery and sabotage. These directives offered Marcus possibilities. Duke Mika tasked Marcus with watching these four servants of Voivode Igori and aiding them in their task. The Duke also expected Marcus to intervene if the Voivode¡¯s wishes proved inclemental to his own. With a little luck, Marcus might be able to ensure his orders and that of his ¡®comrades¡¯ were in opposition. Giving the newly-created Dullahan the chance to destroy at least one of these monsters and die in the process. The mission itself offered Marcus another source of terror and hope. They hunted Cole and the Sage¡¯s Stone but not the Alukah. Those secrets still lay within Marcus¡¯s mind, protected by spells and training that would require his psyche to be shattered to bypass. If these monsters sought the Paladin, they might meet their end at his halberd. But if they were victorious, they¡¯d not just slay a divine champion and claim a holy relic; they¡¯d recapture the font of Daywalker blood. This could not be allowed to happen; Marcus would not let it happen. He needed to find the moment where what little strength he possessed would turn the tide. Marcus doubted he could do much more than force a tiny error, but as a veteran of many battles, he knew how such a mistake could change the course of history. When the time came, Marcus would make the husk of bones and fire he inhabited falter just enough to offer the righteous a chance at victory. If Marcus was going to find the perfect moment, he needed information about his ¡®colleagues¡¯ and this mission. So when the leader of this cursed band, the vampire called Wolfgang, sought a meeting with Duke Mika¡¯s spymaster, Marcus accompanied the dour monster. Wolfgang, of course, hadn¡¯t ordered Marcus to join him, but the instructions branded into the undead Pankrator¡¯s soul by the Duke gave a certain amount of leeway when it came to protecting Umbria¡¯s interests. Following behind this Vampire known to his ilk as the Black Fly like some alabaster shadow, Marcus intended to push the offered leeway as far as it would go.
Lord Aloysius Wolfgang glanced over his shoulder for perhaps the fifth time at the hulking Dullahan acting as his second bodyguard. The creature seemed unwilling to let Wolfgang leave its eyeless gaze, and the prickling sensation of being watched by something lethal wore on the Black Fly. As with the last four times Wolfgang checked on his armored shadow, he considered ordering the Dullahan to leave him be. But ultimately, necessity forced Wolfgang to tolerate his stalker. While in Duke Mika¡¯s war camp, it would pay not to arouse any suspicion of disloyalty, even if that meant letting the headless Rattler tail him. The Dullahan¡¯s nature and purpose weren¡¯t enough to unsettle Wolfgang. He¡¯d been around powerful undead tasked with guarding and controlling him since birth. What kept Wolfgang¡¯s hackles raised was the abnormal nature of this Dullahan. The psyche bound to cursed fire animating the Rattler was hostile, extremely hostile. Chained hate bled off the thing¡¯s Aetheric presence, visible to Wolfgang¡¯s enchanted spectacles. If given the opportunity, the Dullahan would kill Wolfgang and as many of his kin as it could before being destroyed. While the Duke spoke of the Dullahan like it was a blade handed to Wolfgang¡¯s group, in truth, it was a sword dangling above them, ready to fall. Every time Wolfgang looked at the Dullahan, he had to admit the sheer cruel brilliance of the Duke¡¯s actions. With time and secrecy, it might be possible for Wolfgang to alter the chains binding the Dullahan, transferring ownership from Umbria, Caladus, or whoever created it to himself. But that hateful will straining against the chains made altering the bindings practically impossible. The moment Wolfgang tried any truly complex modifications of the spell, the stressed chains would snap, and he¡¯d face the Dullahan¡¯s wrath. Even if Wolfgang survived the headless monster¡¯s attack, the destruction of the Dullahan or the reforging of its chains would tell the Duke of his schemes. For now, the only option was tolerating the headless Rattler and hoping to find an opportunity to dispose of it subtly. But before such a moment came, Wolfgang intended to pry the former Priest¡¯s secrets loose. The source of the Dullahan¡¯s malice was also a potential boon for Wolfgang. Whoever created the Dullahan hadn¡¯t bothered to carve its mind into a servile shape, as was the custom with Greater Undead. The Soul used to create the Dullahan was kept relatively intact to preserve its memories. Pankrator Marcus had been war leader of the barge fleet thought to be transporting the Sage Stone. Whatever schemes the mortals and their godly masters concocted to hide the Stone and the Homunculus Knight, Marcus knew something about them. Why else was his mind so well armored against intrusion? Priests of Aunt Seeress and Uncle Trickster wove truly impressive psychic fortifications into the Dullahan¡¯s memories. Even after suffering death and undeath, the Pankrator¡¯s mental locks stood sturdy. Tearing through those defenses while preserving the fragile memories within was practically impossible. Which is why Wolfgang did not intend to batter down the psychic vault door of Marcus¡¯s mind; he instead would leverage a simple truth of necromancy to his favor. No mind, no matter how strong, went unaltered by undeath. The clever and adaptable learned to manage this change, finding a new normal; most others were simply warped like damp wood. Pankrator Marcus¡¯s secrets couldn¡¯t be pulled from him, but with time and pressure, they might start to leak. Checking on the undead Priest for the sixth time, Wolfgang felt the old itch of unquenchable curiosity rise within him. All Strix knew that sensation, which drove most of the breed, but Wolfgang wouldn¡¯t let it dominate him; he¡¯d take his time getting every last scrap of information from Marcus. But before that source of secrets could be cracked open, Wolfgang needed to negotiate with another. Lord Yezhov Arici, the Duke¡¯s spymaster, was perhaps one of the few Vampires among the Roloyo host that Wolfgang truly respected. So naturally, the spymaster was insidiously intelligent and profoundly dangerous. Responsible for waging a shockingly effective shadow war against his counterparts in the Holy League while simultaneously managing the countless schemes hatched by Roloyo¡¯s more ambitious nobles, the Moroi Goblin proved to be one of Duke Mika¡¯s most valuable subordinates. As a testament to the spymaster¡¯s importance, he laired near the heart of the camp, among the field crypts. The Duke¡¯s inner circle did not sleep above ground, where assassins and saboteurs could rely on the sun to aid them. No, a series of complex tunnels carved by magic and undead labor hosted the most important Vampires of the army. These field crypts were stark but well-made fortifications, with a separate army to protect them. Even at this late hour, Wolfgang caught sight of the tagma thralls tasked with guarding the unliving during daytime. Marked by the heavy silver torques worn about their necks, the soldier-slaves were formidable fighters and incapable of disloyalty. A pair of these tagmata stood watch over Wolfgang''s destination; both were large men wearing solid armor and carrying long polearms. Their flat, broad features and prominent eyebrows marked them as members of Clan Bubo, a selectively bred family created by Wolfgang¡¯s own sire for different purposes. Where Clan Tytos was bred to produce scions and Clan Otus servants, Clan Bubo were a lineage of soldiers. Wolfgang knew how much the Voivode charged for Wights created from these warriors, let alone living specimens. The fact the spymaster kept two with him at all times spoke to the Goblin¡¯s connections and caution. The tagmata stood watch over a pavilion tent Wolfgang knew to contain the spymaster¡¯s office and the entrance to whatever subterranean dormitories he claimed. They stood aside at Wolfgang¡¯s approach and let him and his headless shadow enter the tent. A more ignorant or arrogant guest might assume the lack of security theatre indicated a lax attitude from the bodyguards, but Wolfgang knew better. Lord Yezhov Arici did not waste time with pointless displays of power, like demanding Wolfgang be searched for weapons. Surprisingly well-lit, the inside of the tent held a simple desk, multiple scroll racks, and an enchanted map covering one pavilion wall. The rug-sized depiction of Erebu held hundreds of ruby-tipped needles, sticking into countless locations. Each ruby glowed, some faintly, some bright enough to cast the room with a scarlet hue. Wolfgang''s eyes quickly found the cluster of pins marking Vindabon and Harmas. None of the Harmas rubies shone; the gemstones seemed dull, unable to properly reflect their siblings¡¯ light. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°We haven¡¯t received word since the tide was unleashed. The Spirit protector of Harmas appears to be expressing its outrage by hampering our communications.¡± Wolfgang turned his eyes from the map to a figure sitting in one corner of the room. Perched on a cushion, his legs crossed beneath him, a scroll in one hand, the spymaster matched Wolfgang¡¯s red stare with one of his own. Short by human standards, tall by goblin, Arici¡¯s skin was a pale bluish grey like a cold corpse¡¯s. His prominent, pointed ears contrasted with soft, almost androgynous features. Sired in his mid-teens, Arici possessed a youthful beauty accented by his non-human heritage. Long black hair ran down his back in a braided tail, and he wore well-made but not extravagant clothes. If it wasn¡¯t for the cold, cruel intellect visible in Arici¡¯s eyes, it might be possible to mistake him for some Boyar¡¯s cupbearer. Rising from his cushion with liquid grace, Lord Yezhov approached Wolfgang, his unblinking eyes reflecting the enchanted rubies¡¯s glow. ¡°But judging by events and other signs, the product of our last collaboration is still safe.¡± Gesturing to the chair opposite his desk, Yezhov took his own seat and pulled a stack of papers towards him. Wolfgang sat down while the Dullahan stood nearby, staring at the map in apparent interest. Watching the animated bones, Yezhov said. ¡°The protections on its memories are annoyingly competent and worryingly drastic. I¡¯d fear total ego collapse and memory shredding if I really pushed the issue. Whatever is locked within him is important.¡± Looking at the continent map, Wolfgang asked. ¡°How did you manage to breach the defenses of Harmas? If we can access the city, then our issues with plague¡¯s cure can be resolved.¡± A noise related to a laugh escaped Yezhov. ¡°Typical Strix. Unable to let go of one obsession even in the face of greater problems. The Duke commands I aid you in your hunt, and instead of asking for valuable information, you pry after a finished project.¡± Not rising to the bait, Wolfgang responded. ¡°The Sage¡¯s Stone and its protector are being used to combat my plague; the issues are interconnected, and the project is unfinished.¡± Rolling his eyes, Yezhov acquiesced. ¡°If you must truly know how the city was breached, then¡­ Well, I can¡¯t tell you.¡± For a moment, Wolfgang lost control of his facial features and wore an expression of genuine shock. Seeing this, Yezhov just shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not omniscient; our messages in and out of the city have been intercepted almost constantly. I can make some educated guesses based on the last coherent reports I received, but not much more.¡± Taking one of the papers from his desk, Yezhov slid it over to Wolfgang. Stained and torn, the paper showed an architect''s sketch of a fortress. ¡°Some of the survivors within the city were planning a breakout attempt, trying to find a way to escape Harmas without unleashing the tide. One of my agents managed to imbed themselves among these survivors and was planning to alter the plans, forcing a failure that would allow some of the corpse-tide to escape. It seems this agent was far more successful than he had hoped.¡± Looking over the sketch, Wolfgang realized it was a crude replica of a much more detailed drawing. The margins of the paper held scribbled notes, rendered practically unreadable by water damage. Wolfgang could decipher two of the notes, the most important judging by how big they¡¯d been written. ¡®Focused entropy imbalance¡¯ was the first, and ¡®Alchemist¡¯s Vault¡¯ was the second. Frowning at the words, Wolfgang looked up at Yezhov, who explained. ¡°Judging by reports, they blew the western bridge fortress of Harmas into the moat and created an ice bridge for our Ghouls to cross. I¡¯d guess someone combined alchemical explosives and some complicated cryomancy to do the job. The bridge didn¡¯t last long, just enough for perhaps a quarter of the city¡¯s undead population to be freed.¡± Wolfgang¡¯s frown deepened significantly. ¡°Using both Mundane and Aetheric phenomena on that scale? The attention that could grab from the Grey Beyond¡­¡± Yezhov raised an eyebrow. ¡°Considering what you summoned up and where I helped you bind it, I think you are the last person to voice such concerns.¡± An uncharacteristic noise of annoyance escaped the Black Fly. ¡°I placed the Broodmaiden there to mask its presence! It would be hidden unless someone did something like this!¡± Taking the illustration back from Wolfgang and adding it to another pile, Yezhov clicked his tongue. ¡°I remember being a young prodigy like you once. I also remember learning I couldn¡¯t account for every factor and how that lesson has kept me existing. Try to understand the concept before I end up delivering your ashes to Igori.¡± Forcing his rapidly growing concerns to the side, Wolfgang tried to move to the more pertinent topic. ¡°What information can you give me about the Paladin and his movements.¡± Yezhov smirked at some unspoken victory and said. ¡°He¡¯s been causing a large fuss in Vindabon; you should read some of the reports I have from the solstice ball. Or, at least, if you were authorized to read them, that is.¡± Information about the rogue Scarlet Knight Dietrich and his accomplice, the Ashen Agent Scapin, was scant to come by; in fact, events surrounding both were teetering on being unacceptable knowledge among the middle and lower nobility. The Archduke seemed very much unwilling to let stories of how two hand-picked agents betrayed him spread. In fact, this enforced enigma was proving to be a problem in Wolfgang¡¯s hunt. Details about the Paladin spotted in Glockmire and his later activities were hard to come by. Leaning forward across his desk, Yezhov said. ¡°I think your theory about him being Isabelle¡¯s pet abomination is correct.¡± Hiding his nervousness at Yezhov¡¯s pronouncement, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Why?¡± Snorting in bleak amusement, Yezhov pulled out another sheet of paper, this one a tawdry news print about the Paladin and his scandalous relationship with the Alukah. ¡°The idiot didn¡¯t even use an alias. Cole was what the former Countess Gens Silva named her creation, and that¡¯s what this Paladin is calling himself. Combine that with his appearance and whatever evidence you and yours have scrounged up, and it''s obvious. Of course, it could be misdirection, but for whom and for why? No, what makes more sense is your sire wasn¡¯t as thorough in disposing of the freak as he claimed.¡± Oddly, this new piece of evidence unnerved Wolfgang the tiniest bit. An intellect capable of copying Isabelle Gens Silva¡¯s work wasn¡¯t the type foolish enough to go around getting this much attention and leaving this many clues. That is¡­ unless¡­ Looking at Yezhov, Wolfgang spoke quietly. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s an idiot; I think he¡¯s trying to get our attention. For seven years, we thought him truly dead, but then he reappears only after stealing one of the Archduke¡¯s most prized secrets. After which, he managed not just to evade capture by two powerful Vampires; but kill them both in the most public way possible. Next, he uses Isabelle¡¯s knowledge to cure my plague before even the Lych can act. Now, he¡¯s heading for the frontlines with a powerful relic under his protection.¡± Meeting the spymaster¡¯s eyes, Wolfgang continued. ¡°I think Paladin Cole has spent the last seven years preparing to avenge his creator. Even going as far as making a deal with Death himself for the power to succeed.¡± A slight frown creased Yezhov¡¯s handsome face. ¡°How accurate are the stories of the Homunculus¡¯s regeneration?¡± The two Vampires met gazes, and after a moment, Yezhov sighed dramatically. ¡°I will tell you some of what I know about the solstice incident if you share your account of the Homunculus.¡± Nodding in agreement, Wolfgang said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what your reports say, but¡­ I doubt they accurately capture what the creature could do. It wouldn¡¯t stay dead, no matter what was done to it; within a few days, the Homunculus would be physically healed. But its mind¡­ well, when I saw it, there wasn¡¯t much left, just pain and rage.¡± Yezhov¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°How did it escape?¡± Wolfgang hesitated. ¡°I can only guess for now. But from my understanding, its gaolers thought themselves successful. The Homunculus finally stayed dead. Don¡¯t ask me how and why they assumed that, I wasn¡¯t involved.¡± Pondering this for a few moments, Yezhov nodded. ¡°Francesco Scapin, the Ashen Agent allied with Dietrich, was under scrutiny for divided loyalties. A suspicion he proved by assassinating Count Olafar and stealing five vials of Alukah blood a few weeks before the solstice. Word of this betrayal hadn¡¯t reached the Scarlet Knight, and we think Scapin tricked Dietrich Freymond into treachery, but we don¡¯t know for certain.¡± Trying to wrap his mind around the implications, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Why tell me this? Why that information in particular of everything?¡± Yezhov glanced down at the paper depicting Paladin Cole and the new Alukah. ¡°Because we have to consider the possibility that Scapin was turned by Paladin Cole or his allies.¡± ¡°What?¡± asked Wolfgang, genuinely confused. Tapping the paper, Yezhov said. ¡°Dietrich¡¯s public attack on Vindabon¡¯s elite changed matters. Your plague was in place at Harmas and slowly growing stronger while we amassed forces behind the River Tya. Prince Franz¡¯s host wasn¡¯t nearly this large or prepared before the solstice incident. My spies and agents were doing a very good job convincing the League this was just another squabble between whatever mortal ruled Harmas and my liege. If the enemy labored under those assumptions for a little more time, this war might already be over.¡± Licking one of his fangs, Yezhov continued. ¡°Paladin Cole came out of the solstice ball a hero, and true war was declared between us and the League. Additionally, he secured the Alukah protection from the Temples and nobility of Vindabon. To further complicate matters, I have multiple believable reports about Dietrich¡¯s death but nothing substantial about Scapin¡¯s fate. All any of the accounts talk about is Cole dueling Dietrich; they barely mention Scapin¡¯s death and then with little detail.¡± For Wolfgang, the idea of hunting this immortal Paladin felt considerably more dangerous than just an hour before. Facing a ¡®normal¡¯ divine champion was never easy, so the idea of an unkillable Paladin with the political accum to outplay the Red Empire of Dracon on multiple occasions was harrowing. Thinking on this, Wolfgang asked. ¡°What can you tell me about his relationship with the new Alukah?¡± Yezhov actually shrugged. ¡°He has some way of keeping her controlled and docile. That much is obvious from the fact she hasn¡¯t devoured Vindabon. As for why he¡¯s taken her as a lover? Well, it seems likely he¡¯s replaced Countess Isabelle with something better. Perhaps he enjoys having one of the ancients as a pet, as some kind of reversal of his relationship with Gens Silva. I can¡¯t really tell you much else, but the livestock seem convinced they''re in love.¡± Wolfgang remembered how the Homunculus Knight screamed in its cell, how the creature bashed its own brains out repeatedly. ¡°I don¡¯t know if whatever Isabelle created is capable of love. Perhaps it imprinted on the Alukah, like a lost hatchling.¡± Making a noise of disgust, Yezhov got up and approached the wall map. Wolfgang joined the spymaster and watched as the Dullahan stepped aside, its baleful focus on them both. During the intense meeting, Wolfgang almost forgot about his headless shadow. Glancing at the armored undead, Wolfgang did something he rarely did: act impulsively. ¡°What can you tell us about this Paladin Cole?¡± Twisting its body so the empty helm and the cursed flames within could meet Wolfgang¡¯s gaze, the Dullahan spoke. Its voice was like grinding steel and crackling fire. ¡°Night of the equinox, when the Wyverns flew over the city, one landed intact. Paladin fought it, won easily.¡± Surprised and concerned, Wolfgang exchanged looks with Yezhov. The Dullahan couldn¡¯t lie to them; the necromancy animating it stopped that. Reaching up with an armored hand, the Dullahan pointed at Wolfgang and said. ¡°I look forward to when you hear Cole''s Requiem.¡± A noise like wet wood sizzling and popping came from the bone helmet, and it took Wolfgang a moment to realize the Dullahan was laughing. Pique, born of confusion and worry, flowed through Wolfgang. ¡°Leave us!¡± The Dullahan complied, passing through the tent flap. Recovering his composure, Wolfgang looked at the map and asked. ¡°The Duke seemed confident the Paladin is heading for Harmas, do you agree?¡± Yezhov nodded. ¡°The Sage¡¯s Stone would turn the tide of the battle for Crowbend, but if taken to Harmas, it could lose us the war. The army here is more than enough to ensure the Paladin never makes it into Crowbend, so it will fall to your coterie to stop them from reaching Harmas. If the Paladin takes the pass, the Worcs will make enough noise to let us know and give us enough time to reposition forces to intercept. So, with the river and pass unnavigable, the only real option for passing through the Alidonian mountains is the caverns. Staring at the map and seeing the mark denoting the ancient tunnel beneath the mountain, Wolfgang pursed his pale lips. ¡°Turul¡¯s Tomb isn¡¯t under our control; it would be easy for any ambush we laid to be reversed upon us. The Dwarves who hold those tunnels would gleefully help a Paladin.¡± A wide, wicked smile spread across Yezhov¡¯s face, and he tapped a trio of pins sticking out of the marker for Turul¡¯s Tomb. ¡°I have puppets in place; all they need is someone to tug on their strings, and I¡¯m happy to give those threads to you.¡± Wolfgang slowly nodded. ¡°That is generous; I know how careful you are with your sleepers.¡± Huffing in annoyance, the Moroi Goblin replied, ¡°After Crowbend, my usual methods won¡¯t work anymore. Word of how I create my sleepers and keep them undetected will spread quickly. It''s better I use as many of them now rather than let my threads get cut prematurely.¡± Shrugging as if he was casting off those concerns like an old cloak, Yezhov added. ¡°I¡¯ll give you the activation phrases and try to clear the way best I can. Capturing or, preferably, truly killing this Paladin is an extremely high priority. Don¡¯t fail.¡± Turning from the map, Yezhov asked. ¡°Do you have a plan to deal with the Paladin? Something that doesn¡¯t rely on the Tall and the Short? Don¡¯t misunderstand me; they are capable, but I¡¯ve got a sense capable might not be enough for this situation.¡± Thinking of the two knives hidden on his purpose, Wolfgang said. ¡°I do. Thank you for your aid, and please keep me informed about the situation at Harmas if possible.¡± Yezhov smiled. ¡°Of course, who else will I blame if the Broodmaiden breaks free from the Goat-song?¡± Choosing to ignore the sour joke, Wolfgang left the spymaster¡¯s tent. Feeling the daggers strapped to his chest, Wolfgang wondered which one would end the Homunculus Paladin. Would it be the cursed hunk of polished obsidian gifted by Pater Epulo? Or would the Stargent dipped stiletto be enough? Wolfgang hadn¡¯t lied when he told Yezhov about not being involved with the Homunculus Knight and its escape. He also hadn¡¯t volunteered every theory and possibility known to him. Wolfgang read the final execution report when he was researching Isabelle Gens Silva¡¯s work for his plague. He¡¯d noted how the thirteen Stargent spikes worked where nothing else did. Wolfgang didn¡¯t know if the void-born metal would work again, but it was good to have options. Book III: Chapter 32: Nasty Revelations

Chapter 32: Nasty Revelations.

¡°To say the records about Annoch are spare is an understatement. He¡¯s not even mentioned in the Book of Miracles like some of his siblings are. Much of what I¡¯ve uncovered comes from the Apocrypha of Red Twilight, which only says Annoch fled northwest after Mazkim¡¯s death. As for his capabilities, Annoch seemed especially skilled at twisting minds and cultivating useful thralls. From what Glockmire discovered, it seems likely the Seventh Alukah enslaved entire tribes, using them to escape the eradication of his mother¡¯s influence. I cannot find the reason for Annoch¡¯s hibernation, but from what Lord Glockmire has shared, it seems something forced the Seventh into his current state¡±- Voivode of Secrets, Bagoas the Younger.
¡°Cole! We need your help!¡± Eyes snapping open, reaching for his axe, Cole pulled himself from his bedroll and tried to find who roused him. He¡¯d elected to sleep outside, next to the wagon, in case of another attack, and so Natalie could find him if she left Yara¡¯s cell. Clambering out of the tent he usually shared with his partner, Cole found a scared-looking Mina accompanied by a handful of nervous soldiers. Voice gravely with sleep, Cole asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Where is the attack?¡± Shaking her head, Mina gestured towards the fort¡¯s main buildings. ¡°Something wrong with the fort jail; the guard heard strange noises from Yara¡¯s cell, and now they can¡¯t get the door open.¡± Ice water filled Cole¡¯s veins, and he ran toward the jail, almost barreling Mina over. Moving faster than he¡¯d thought himself capable but still too damn slow, Cole reached the doors to the fort¡¯s jail. Almost tearing the reinforced door off its hinges, Cole entered the brig and felt a wash of cold power flow over him. A trio of soldiers stood nearby, their breath visible, looks of fear on their faces. In a hard voice, Cole ordered. ¡°Take me to the cell.¡± The soldiers complied, and Cole was led down a short flight of stairs and into a hallway covered with hoarfrost. Roughly halfway down the hall, a pair of burly guards held weapons at the ready, protecting the fort¡¯s Priest, who stood near a door leaking icy vapor. ¡°Move aside!¡± Cole barked, and to his incredible annoyance, the Priest stepped in his way. Middle-aged with a poorly kept beard, the servant of Father Sky stood his ground. ¡°I can¡¯t let you enter that room until I¡¯ve completed the Ward! We can¡¯t risk whatever is in their escaping!¡± Glaring down at the Priest, Cole growled. ¡°I know what this is, and the threat is already contained.¡± Cole recognized the cold power seeping from Yara¡¯s cell and knew what it meant. Natalie¡¯s stigma was active to protect her or someone from her. Whatever the situation was, Cole needed to get inside that cell now. Even if Natalie was fine, simply in torpor, Cole didn¡¯t know how Isabelle would react to the magic, let alone if Yara would handle the arctic temperatures unleashed. Footsteps from behind Cole caught his attention; Mina had caught up with him and brought Captain One-Fist with her. Heavy bags sat beneath the Captain¡¯s eyes, and his neck pulsed with barely constrained emotion. ¡°What in the world¡¯s name is going on?¡± Deciding he didn¡¯t have time for a group discussion or decision, Cole shouldered past the Priest, ignoring his protests, and reached the frozen door. Icy fog leaked from beneath the sturdy wood, and rivulets of ice spread out from its hinges. In a testament to their self-preservation, the two soldiers guarding the cell did not stop Cole as he slammed himself against the frozen door. Ignoring the confused voices and angry shouts around him, Cole threw all his might against the door a second time. With the third blow, the door finally gave way, the ice-damaged wood splintering under Cole¡¯s superhuman strength. A wall of fog escaped the cell, clearing away to reveal the insanity inside. Thick ice covered every surface, and great spidering patterns of hoarfrost spread out from two figures by the cell¡¯s far wall. Natalie was frozen to the wall, the ice covering her flesh radiating from her body. Laying atop Natalie, half-covered by a thick blanket, was Yara. Both women were splattered with frozen blood, but only Natalie was moving. Stepping onto the frozen floor, thankful for the Paladin gift that gave him traction on even the slickest ice, Cole ran towards Natalie. Something crunched underfoot, and he paused to find the sound¡¯s source. Isabelle¡¯s box lay smashed open nearby, her skull lying in the open, an ugly crack snaking up from the right eye socket. The crack of snapping ice pulled Cole¡¯s attention back to Natalie, who was trying to rise from her frozen seat. In a voice shrill with panic, she cried, ¡°Help her! Help them both, please!¡± Shoving down his own terror and confusion, Cole moved to Natalie, grabbing Yara from her arms. The girl was cold and limp, feeling far too much like the countless corpses Cole had handled. Frantically opening his Aether-sight, Cole gazed down at Yara, trying to see if she still lived. Since the start of the plague, Cole gained much experience peering into the Aether to observe dead and dying, but nothing he¡¯d seen quite matched Yara. She was alive, barely, but there was something acutely wrong with her Aetheric presence. Turning from Natalie, Cole moved towards the entrance of the cell. ¡°Mina! Yara¡¯s lost a lot of blood.¡± Strong hands took the near-dead thrall from Cole¡¯s arms, and he turned his focus back to Natalie and Isabelle. Scooping up the fractured skull and cradling it to him, Cole reached Natalie¡¯s side. He reached down, ready to help Natalie free herself from the ice, but she batted his hand away. Staring up at Cole with wide, panicked eyes, Natalie babbled. ¡°Don¡¯t free me; I don¡¯t think it''s safe.¡± Reaching up with a twitchy hand, her fingers blue with frostbite, Natalie pleaded. ¡°Your amulet! I need your amulet!¡± Confused and reaching a state well beyond worried, Cole complied, removing the battered metal medallion from his neck. Natalie snatched the blessed amulet, wincing at its touch. Silver sparks started to come from the medallion as Natalie put it on and let out a shuddering sigh. Muttering, her voice barely audible, she said. ¡°Won¡¯t be able to free myself now.¡± Staring up at Cole, her eyes unfocused, Natalie almost whimpered. ¡°Help them, please, I¡¯m sorry.¡± Cole had never seen Natalie like this, not even his few memories of her first night as a vampire compared to this. There was a desperate terror in her voice and actions that unnerved Cole. Kneeling down, reaching out for her cheek, Cole was shocked when Natalie pulled away, eyeing his hand with obvious fear. A deep frown etched itself onto Cole¡¯s face. ¡°What happened?¡± Natalie looked past him towards the cell¡¯s entrance. Following her gaze, Cole found Captain One-fist standing there, his face in a deep scowl. Cole understood Natalie¡¯s meaning; she feared telling him with others present. Standing up, Cole spoke to the Captain. ¡°I need a moment alone with her.¡± Grey eyes hard, his face set; one-fist replied. ¡°The fuck you do. Your pet Vampire lost control and murdered that poor girl. I won¡¯t let her out of my sight unless she¡¯s staked or soot.¡± Taking a deep breath, forcing himself not to shout, Cole growled. ¡°Yara isn¡¯t dead, and with my amulet, Natalie isn¡¯t a threat to anyone.¡± Shaking his head in disgust, One-fist replied. ¡°After losing that much blood and being stuck in this icebox for Pantheon knows how long, she doesn¡¯t have a chance. But that¡¯s beside the jagging point; the Vampire is clearly dangerous; I won¡¯t have that sort of threat within my walls.¡± A sense of deja vu struck Cole; events reminded him of the first night he and Natalie spent in Vindabon. Grunting in annoyance, Cole spoke slowly and calmly. ¡°She is marked with a stigma of Master Time; its magic reacted to something. I need to know what activated the stigma, and you are interfering with that.¡± One-fist¡¯s expression showed only a little surprise at this revelation, but he didn¡¯t budge. Paladin and Paragon met each other''s eyes, neither willing to back down. Finally, Natalie¡¯s weak voice cut through the tension. ¡°Cole, go help Yara and Isabelle, please.¡± Looking at her, Cole¡¯s heart broke seeing the utterly wretched expression on Natalie¡¯s face. Unwilling to meet his eyes, she whispered. ¡°I can¡¯t have anyone else die because of me.¡± Gritting his teeth, Cole approached One-fist, in a low voice that rumbled like thunder, Cole said. ¡°If you hurt her, I will kill you.¡± The army captain nodded in the barest sign of understanding, and Cole brushed past him. Unable to look back at Natalie, knowing seeing her would break his nerves, Cole left the brig, Isabelle¡¯s skull clutched protectively under one shoulder. Marching towards the wagon, Cole found who he was looking for easily. Kit was sitting nearby, staring at Cole with interest. Reaching the Magi, Cole asked. ¡°Do you know any Necromancy?¡± A look of genuine surprise washed over the fiddler. ¡°Not really; I understand some of the magical theory but nothing practical.¡± Staring past Kit and towards the crystal lantern attached to the wagon, Cole decided desperate times required desperate measures. ¡°Would you like to learn some?¡± If Kit looked surprised, now he looked unsettled. ¡°Perhaps? Are you offering? And more importantly, how and why are you offering?¡± Staring down at Isabelle¡¯s cracked skull, Cole said. ¡°There is a ritual I need done. I don¡¯t have the ability to do it myself, but with your aid, it might be possible.¡± Tapping his chin with undisguised interest, Kit asked. ¡°I¡¯d have to know the details before agreeing to anything.¡± Running his fingers along the crack in the cold bone, Cole explained. ¡°A soul is bound to these remains; I need to speak with the soul without damaging her.¡± Nodding slowly, Kit chuckled. ¡°I take it I¡¯m finally meeting Isabelle Gens Silva, then?¡± An icy glare murdered Kit¡¯s humor. Nodding and holding up his hands in contrition, the Magi said. ¡°I¡¯ll help; what do I need to do?¡± A nervous breath escaped Cole; he knew the basics of the magic involved but never attempted it before. ¡°For now, create a ritual circle one meter in diameter out of cremation ash. The burn piles outside should provide all you need.¡± Finding his pack, Cole stuffed Isabelle¡¯s skull into the leather satchel and reinvigorated the subtlety enchantment on the bag with a drop of blood. Turning to leave, Cole explained. ¡°I¡¯ll be back shortly; I need to check on Yara.¡± Not a minute later, Cole entered the fort¡¯s infirmary and found Mina, another Priest and two healers fussing over Yara. Stripped out of her near-frozen clothing and lying on a cot, the thrall looked like a corpse, but considering her attendants weren¡¯t offering last rites, something of Yara still lived. Approaching the quartet, Cole asked. ¡°How is her condition?¡± Mina looked up from Yara, an intense frown contorting the bite scar on her face. ¡°What did Natalie do to her?¡± Forcing his voice to stay calm, Cole said. ¡°I think the stigma activated either to protect Yara from Natalie or Natalie from something else.¡± Shaking her head, Mina gestured down at Yara. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant! How is she alive? With this amount of blood loss, she shouldn¡¯t be breathing!¡± Non-plussed, Cole repeated himself. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. What can I do to help?¡± Shrugging, Mina replied. ¡°Nothing unless you can get her blood back. She¡¯s lost too much for a marrow ministration to compensate. I can¡¯t understand how she¡¯s still alive, and I don¡¯t want to test how long she¡¯ll last.¡± Nodding, Cole started to roll up his sleeves while asking one of the healers. ¡°Do you have syringes and tubing?¡± The healer nodded, and Mina looked at Cole with shock. ¡°A blood transfer? But that¡¯s a coin flip!¡± At that moment, Cole commiserated with Isabelle¡¯s annoyance at other people¡¯s ignorance. Knowledge of blood types wasn¡¯t well known outside certain academic circles in the Duchies. Tapping his arm, forcing the vein to bulge, Cole quickly explained. ¡°My blood is safe; this isn¡¯t my first time doing this.¡± Sitting next to Yara, Cole took the requested supplies from one of the healers and got to work. Soon, a stream of bright red flowed along yellowed tubing and into Yara¡¯s white skin. Staring down at where the syringe pierced his flesh, Cole sighed. His blood would be accepted by any human and most of humanity''s kindred species like dwarf or werefolk. It had been a long time since Cole offered his blood to help the living, not the dead, and something about the act rendered him melancholic. With blankets to warm her and fresh blood flowing into her, Yara¡¯s color was returning. As the two Priests and two healers became certain Cole¡¯s blood wouldn¡¯t be the final nail in the thrall¡¯s coffin, they started to relax. Yara wasn¡¯t the only patient in the infirmary, and soon, the fort¡¯s medical staff moved on to other work, leaving Cole and Mina to watch over the unconscious woman. Hand on Yara¡¯s forehead, Mina stared at her with glowing eyes. As the silver phosphorescence faded, Mina muttered. ¡°She¡¯s hibernating; that''s the best way I can describe it.¡± Pulling her hand away, Mina looked at Cole. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of anything like this. Is it normal for Vampire thralls?¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°This isn¡¯t the first oddity about Yara. She¡¯s been able to slip through cracks in attention and recover from blood loss faster than even any thrall I¡¯ve known. Could she be a Savant or hedge mage of some kind?¡± Mina shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I didn¡¯t sense any passive magic, but I could have missed something.¡± Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Nodding in understanding, Cole leaned toward Yara and let his mind peer into the Aether. Mina was right in describing Yara¡¯s state as ¡®hibernation.¡¯ The thrall''s very soul seemed stagnant; its currents and colors slowed to a crawl. Something about the sluggish, sedentary status of Yara¡¯s soul itched at Cole¡¯s mind. Eyes suddenly widening in surprise, Cole lurched back as realization struck. He¡¯d seen souls hibernate like this before when a Vampire entered torpor. Reaching out, Cole touched Yara¡¯s neck and felt for a pulse. He found the slow heartbeat and watched as Yara¡¯s chest rose and fell at a barely perceptible rate. Yara was most definitely alive, but in a state no living creature should be able to exist in. Ignoring Mina¡¯s questions as to what he¡¯d noticed, Cole refocused on the Aether and examined Yara¡¯s soul. Normally, a soul ¡®looked¡¯ like a roiling cloud of emotions, memories, and metaphors. Yara¡¯s soul reminded Cole of a swamp¡¯s slow current, which was still more active than the glacial souls of a hibernating Vampire but pitifully stagnant compared to even a comatose mortal. Carefully detaching the tubes and syringes linking him to Yara, Cole explained what he saw to Mina. Once he finished, Mina wore a troubled expression, which Cole guessed matched his own. Standing up, taking a second to let the light-headedness pass, Cole said. ¡°I need to speak with Isabelle. Can you watch Yara?¡± Mina nodded. ¡°How are you going to manage that?¡± Turning to leave, unwilling to face the Priestess of his God, Cole said. ¡°With difficulty.¡±
Cole and Kit worked not so much in secrecy but in discretion. The circle was drawn on a piece of fallen stonework outside the fort¡¯s walls, away from prying eyes and uncomfortable questions. Cole knew the night watch noticed Kit and him, but it seemed the soldiers decided they didn¡¯t want to know what they were up to. So, the only audience the pair had was Alia, who leaned against the stone walls and watched with undisguised disgust. She¡¯d apparently noticed Kit leaving the fort and hadn¡¯t liked that; she¡¯d liked helping him gather up a sack of human ashes even less, but still complied. Illuminated by Kit¡¯s mage light and lantern, the scene of the prepared ritual was not pretty. Isabelle¡¯s skull sat in the middle of a perfect circle of ash. Sigils painted with Cole¡¯s blood daubed the cracked bone and the stone around it, forming an eye-watering pattern covering much of the circle¡¯s interior. At the south edge of the circle, a line of ash stretched out and connected to the faerie lantern. The eldritch relic glowed unsettlingly, its myriad sides reflecting the light of stars both foreign and familiar. Checking over his work, moving slowly to avoid the light-headedness of blood loss, Cole nodded to himself. He¡¯d refused to let anyone else contribute ichor to the ritual, and after donating to Yara, he wasn¡¯t feeling the greatest. Still, he was confident the ritual was ready; he just needed Kit to play his part. The Magi in question looked over the fell circle with an eager glee that almost made Cole doubt his choices. Standing by the faerie lantern, Kit flexed his fingers and, strangely enough, did vocal warmups. Cole had explained the mechanics of the spell, and Kit seemed confident he could work the magic. But, that didn¡¯t change what they were attempting was very complicated and being done in a fantastically stupid manner. Cole knew how to cast the ritual but lacked the magical talent to do it, and Kit, for all his skill, had never so much as made a skeleton twitch. Alia finally left her skulking spot by the wall and came towards where Cole kneeled near the circle¡¯s north side. ¡°So, explain to me why you¡¯ve not done this before?¡± Glancing at her and hating how the world spun, Cole said. ¡°Until recently, I worked hard to keep Isabelle a secret. Revealing her to a Magi, especially when requesting they help with magic as¡­ questionable as this, wasn¡¯t feasible. Now, I just can¡¯t find another option. I need to know she¡¯s alright, and see if she can offer any insight into whatever in the fixed stars happened.¡± Rolling his head around his shoulders, Kit said. ¡°I¡¯m ready whenever you are.¡± Gesturing for Alia to back away, Cole nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s begin.¡± Holding his arms out, Kit started to sing a high, perfect note, and the lantern near his feet glowed brighter. Cole watched as the strange white light of the lantern changed hue slightly, becoming almost purple near its edges. The ash started to react, vibrations spreading out from the lantern and traveling along the lines of soot in steady waves. As Kit¡¯s voice changed key, the vibrations intensified, and the purple glow of the lantern bled from the relic and into the ash, granting the humming powder an almost indigo hue. Next, the sigils daubed in blood started to move, wriggling over the stone and bone like malformed insects. The dried ichor slithered across the ground like animated shadows, creating a hypnotic pattern swirling about the skull. With every beat of Cole¡¯s heart, the symbols moved faster and faster, becoming a whirlpool of occult imagery converging on the skull. Cole¡¯s ears popped, and Kit¡¯s singing became a staccato rhythm; the ritual was nearing completion. Slowly, Isabelle¡¯s skull started to float into the air, carried up by a pillar of overlapping sigils. Purple fire glowed within the skull, and its jaw fell open. A voice Cole hadn¡¯t heard outside of dreams or distorted by Natalie¡¯s throat came forth. ¡°Cole? Darling? Is that you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± called out the Paladin and the skull swiveled to face him. Isabelle made a noise halfway between a laugh and a moan. ¡°And Pavlos said teaching you this was pointless! Ah, I wish he yet persisted for many reasons, including being able to rub this victory in. How are you doing this, Cole? Please tell me you haven¡¯t bled yourself to death casting the spell?¡± Clearing his throat, Cole said. ¡°I received help from a Magi apprentice of Lupa; he¡¯s with me now.¡± The skull bobbed slightly, nodding its understanding. ¡°Ah, and where is Natalie? Why haven¡¯t you simply asked her to¡­¡± Isabelle gasped, an odd, almost hollow noise distorted by her existence. ¡°Where is she? We need to warn her; something¡¯s wrong, something¡¯s very wrong!¡± Swallowing the tightness in his throat, Cole said. ¡°Her stigma activated, and she¡¯s more scared than I¡¯ve ever seen her. I don¡¯t know what happened. We are at a local military garrison, and she¡¯s being held in their jail for now.¡± Cole took a moment to explain events the best he could with Kit and Alia present. Thankfully, most of the details weren¡¯t sensitive enough to warrant true secrecy, just some subtlety. As Cole finished relaying events, he waited while Isabelle digested his story. Slowly, like someone trying to recall a dream, Isabelle said. ¡°I remember tasting her blood, how that roused me from my stupor. I tried to follow the blood, join Natalie in her mindscape, but¡­ but I was stopped. There was an entity inside her mind, a power I didn¡¯t recognize. It was¡­horrible; the being broke my connection to Natalie before I could learn anything valuable. I¡¯ve dived into the Beyond, Cole, and encountered primeval nightmares there; this felt like one of them. Whatever attacked Natalie is powerful enough to require the Tenth¡¯s intervention. I don¡¯t know what sort of being this is, just that it¡¯s damned dangerous.¡± Isabelle didn¡¯t swear often, or at least not with such trite pedestrian curses; she was rattled, and that unnerved Cole in ways similar to Natalie¡¯s behavior did. Staring at the cracked skull, Cole asked. ¡°Your container was damaged by whatever happened with Natalie. Are you alright?¡± The purple light coming from the skull dimmed slightly, and after a moment, Isabelle answered. ¡°I think so. It''s¡­ it''s hard to tell; keeping my stream of thought coherent is proving slightly difficult, but that could be caused by the ritual. When matters are settled, I must speak with this Magi; his channeling is uneven and slapdash.¡± Cole decided Isabelle having the capacity to complain and criticize was a good sign. Glancing at the incensed Kit, Cole debated asking him and Alia to leave for a time; there was a matter he needed to discuss, and he wasn¡¯t certain how much to let his allies know. Seeing Kit¡¯s mutilated ear and thinking of the trust the Magi extended, Cole sighed. ¡°There is something I need your wisdom for, Belle. Natalie sought to contact you to discuss recent events, particularly about an¡­ abnormality that presented itself during the battle.¡± Isabelle listened as Cole described Natalie¡¯s act of cannibalism and the side effects thereafter. Kit¡¯s annoyance at Isabelle¡¯s critic faded as this new mystery caught his attention. Alia looked slightly unsettled, one hand rubbing her shortsword¡¯s grip in a display of nerves. When Cole finished, Isabelle was silent for nearly a minute until she spoke a single word. ¡°Molek.¡± The purple glow coming from inside Isabelle¡¯s skull intensified. ¡°That¡¯s the word my grandsire used to describe vampire cannibalism. It means shameful offering in the Rabisu¡¯s tongue. I never understood why that was the term until now; it''s annoyingly poetic but still accurate. The Alukahs spawned mutant offspring called Edimmus, degenerate creatures unworthy to be called Vampires. According to the texts Glynn shared with Natalie, and she shared with me, the original Alukahs were infamous for consuming their unworthy scions, reclaiming the power used to create them. The Rabisu and her nine scions devoured their disappointing children as a way to strengthen themselves. Offering up their shameful heirs as a sacrifice, if you will.¡± Cole¡¯s frown deepened as he started to understand what Isabelle was implying. ¡°Natalie committed Molek just as Annoch and his siblings did. You think she caught the attention of a hostile entity by ¡®sacrificing¡¯ lesser Vampires.¡± The skull nodded. ¡°Yes¡­ or a more worrying possibility is she woke something up. Bits of a Vampire cling to their consumer; the stronger the devoured Vampire, the longer those shadows persist. The nine Alukahs consumed their mother, and one of them was consumed by Natalie. Strix, Strigoi, Wyrmoi, Moroi, Gyllou, we are all pale imitations of the Rabisu¡¯s children, maybe in more ways than initially assumed. Perhaps the original Vampires claim more than scraps of their cannibalized victim¡¯s mind.¡± An edge of cold fear traced up Cole¡¯s spine. Whatever Natalie experienced, it was enough to terrify her and trigger the stigma. The last time the icy power of Master Time¡¯s mark was activated was when Natalie lost total control and entered a feral state. Afraid to voice what Isabelle was implying, Cole whispered. ¡°You think Annoch survives inside Natalie¡¯s blood?¡± Isabelle slowly answered. ¡°It¡¯s a distinct possibility, one I don¡¯t know how to handle. I¡¯m pained to say this, but I think this is a matter your patron deity is more equipped to aid with. Cole, I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry for both you and her. I¡¯ll help however I can, but I am limited without a body or proper resources.¡± A small, stressed noise escaped Cole. ¡°Thank you. There is one last thing I hope you might offer insight into.¡± Cole explained the situation with Yara in more detail, of her impossible survival and resistance to being weaned from the Sting. The animated skull listened with rapt attention, a deep curiosity almost radiating from Isabelle¡¯s remains. Once Cole finished, Isabelle laughed, a small snort of dark amusement. ¡°Natalie and I have been going about this the wrong way. I thought it was odd how dependent Yara is on the Sting. Even if she¡¯d been dosed from early childhood, her addiction shouldn¡¯t be this severe. I¡¯d thought her devotion and obsession were why the Sting affected Yara so much. While that¡¯s still probably a facet, it''s not the main problem. Yara isn¡¯t a thrall; she¡¯s an ancilla.¡± Sensing Cole¡¯s confusion, Isabelle elaborated. ¡°Under rare circumstances, the thrall of an ancient Vampire will start to¡­ mutate. A few decades of being dosed with potent Sting will alter the thrall, granting them odd abilities. As I¡¯ve said, if normal Vampires are simply poor mimicries of the Alukah, then it stands to reason the first blood could easily create ancilla.¡± Thankful to have an explanation, Cole said. ¡°Knowing this is good, I¡¯m grateful, and¡­ I miss you. Natalie loaning her body isn¡¯t optimal, but being able to speak with you then was nice.¡± The light inside the skull started to dim. ¡°It was, and when I have a new body, we¡¯ll have many things to discuss, darling. Until then, we can use this ritual or, preferably, Natalie¡¯s help. Speaking through this magic is useful but taxing; I must return to hibernation. I love you, Cole; take care of yourself and Natalie.¡± Cole whispered, ¡°I love you too,¡± as the purple glow finally faded, and Isabelle¡¯s skull settled back on the stone. The magic coursing through the ash ended, Cole broke the circle and collected the haunted remains of his beloved. Cradling the slightly warm bone in his arms, Cole turned to Kit, who looked a little haggard from the spell¡¯s effort. ¡°Thank you, Kit.¡± The Magi just waived off Cole¡¯s words, wiping a little sweat from his brow. ¡°That was fun; I¡¯ll have to take up her offer for lessons in the future.¡± Uncertain how he felt about the idea of Kit learning some of Isabelle¡¯s more potent magic, Cole got to work gathering up the spread-out human ashes. Leaving the desecrated remains as they were didn¡¯t sit right with Cole. He¡¯d clean up his own messes, no matter what form they took. As Cole carried the sack of dark powder back to the cooling pyre, where they¡¯d be buried with the rest, a flash of guilt struck the Paladin. He¡¯d contested Natalie and Isabelle¡¯s plans to steal a body, an act that, while morally correct, still felt like a betrayal. Watching the ashes fall onto the smoldering heap, Cole decided it wasn¡¯t right to simply stop the two Vampires without giving them another option. Cole needed to find a way to get Isabelle a body without committing a terrible sin or stranding his beloved within her bone prison.
Natalie stared at Captain One-fist with tired eyes. The old soldier found a chair somewhere and placed it by the brig¡¯s shattered door so he could sit and watch her. If the fantastic cold of the cell bothered the Paragon, he didn¡¯t show it. A large axe sat across One-fist¡¯s lap, its steel head reeking of garlic. He¡¯d lathered the twin blades of the axe in some kind of grease shortly after Cole left. Smelling the stinking gunk was enough to make Natalie¡¯s noise burn; she didn¡¯t want to find out what an axe smeared with the stuff would do to her flesh. As a threat, the garlic-rubbed axe was only marginally more subtle than Cole¡¯s words before he left. With great effort, Natalie raised one arm, forcing numb fingers to rub her nose and dislodge some of the garlic smell. With Cole¡¯s amulet weighing her down, Natalie felt like her entire body was asleep, with only an itching tingling to tell her everything was still attached. Noticing how One-Fist¡¯s hand tightened on his axe, Natalie let out a sigh as she tried to scratch her nose. Not long ago, she¡¯d be annoyed with his caution, but after what happened¡­ well, somehow, the idea of a Paragon standing between her and any innocents seemed like a good idea. Still partially frozen to the cell wall and practically paralyzed by the amulet, Natalie couldn¡¯t do anything but think. A distressing thing to do, considering Natalie¡¯s mind kept returning to the horrible events of her mindscape. Every time the razor-sharp recollection cut its way into her focus, Natalie felt a surge of terror crest. It wasn¡¯t just what happened with Yara or even the Rabisu¡¯s presence that distressed her so much. Sure, the idea of a primordial nightmare nesting inside her mind was horrifying, but the sense of helplessness Natalie experienced at the Rabisu¡¯s claws felt far too familiar. Claiming the Alukah¡¯s power and avenging both herself and her father did much to soothe Natalie¡¯s trauma at Petar¡¯s hands, but Queen Eresh of Akzad tore open that wound with ease. Natalie had been attacked, violated, and cursed to unlife by Petar while her face was still salty with the tears shed for her father. Now, just when the pain of those events started to fade when Natalie started to take back her power and help stop the monsters, the rug was pulled out from underneath her. She¡¯d been reduced to not just a helpless victim but become a victimizer. Natalie attacked someone whom she¡¯d promised to protect. Somehow, those facts almost hurt more than when Eresh ripped Natalie in half. One-fist turned his head then, reacting to something Natalie couldn¡¯t sense. With the amulet around her neck, Natalie¡¯s supernatural senses were dulled to something less than human. The Captain rose from his chair, his remaining hand upon his axe. Stepping to the side so he could keep the door and Natalie in view, One-fist waited until Cole entered the brig. A strange mix of shame and relief washed through Natalie. The scarred Paladin¡¯s presence was both a comfort and a source of stress. A tired smile split Cole¡¯s marked face as he said. ¡°Yara is alive, and she should be okay. I spoke with your colleague, and that offered some insights into matters. How are you?¡± Ignoring One-fist, Cole walked across the icy floor and knelt before Natalie. Barely managing a shrug, she replied. ¡°Not good, but not terrible. I think I¡¯m in control, but that could just be the amulet¡¯s influence.¡± Reaching out, Cole started to remove the medallion from Natalie¡¯s neck and mouthed words. ¡®Isabelle is safe; she says something attacked your mindscape.¡¯ Nodding her head slightly as Cole¡¯s quick fingers freed the amulet, Natalie¡¯s eyes flicked towards One-fist, who watched, his axe at the ready. Catching Natalie¡¯s gaze, Cole mouthed. ¡®Did your attacker come from outside or inside?¡¯ Feeling her limbs regain strength and the dulling fog of divine power fade, Natalie whispered. ¡°Inside¡± as she worked to free herself from the last of the ice. Cole pocketed his amulet and took Natalie¡¯s hand, an expression of deep concern upon his face. Wincing as her body cracked and clothes tore, Natalie took Cole¡¯s hand and let herself be pulled up. Strong arms wrapped around her, and Natalie relaxed slightly as Cole¡¯s warmth seeped into her. When Cole finally let go, Natalie turned to face One-fist, who looked at the pair with a neutral expression. ¡°I¡¯ve made my decision about Yara.¡± Hoisting his axe onto his shoulder, the Captain said. ¡°Travelling with you is the safest option and probably what she deserves. Her actions lead to dozens of people being eaten alive by Leechs and Ghouls. I think it''s only fair she goes to a similar fate.¡± Flinching at the words, Natalie felt momentary anger die beneath a cloud of shame. Cole¡¯s fingers interlaced with hers, and he said nothing, not rising to the Captain¡¯s rebuke. Watching them with his steely eyes, One-fist continued. ¡°The pair of you helped us win the battle, and I thank you for that. But whatever business you are about is above my steel price and not something my soldiers are equipped to handle. So I want you gone by tomorrow morning. I don¡¯t care that Master Time himself has vouched for you two. I¡¯m not risking my subordinates by having a leech within my walls.¡± Before Cole or Natalie could respond, footsteps sounded in the hall outside the cell. A frantic soldier burst into the room, his breath puffing out in icy clouds. ¡°Captain One-fist! There''s a messenger bird! From Crowbend!¡± Book III: Chapter 33: Cruel Hungers

Chapter 33: Cruel Hungers

¡°No, they don¡¯t all ride on steeds. Sure, many are riders; it helps them chase their quarry, but being a headless horseman isn¡¯t what defines a Dullahan. They are hunters, relentless monsters that will track down any burned by their flames. The only way to stop a Dullahan is to destroy it, which isn¡¯t jagging easy, or to return its head, which is pretty much impossible.¡± - Philip Hardspade
Cole watched as Captain One-fist unfastened a rune-marked scroll tube from the leg of a ragged-looking crow. Perched upon a nervous soldier¡¯s leather bird glove, the crow greedily swallowed offered oats while One-fist fussed with the message. As the crow flapped its wings, indignant at One-fist''s clumsy handling, the officer grumbled. ¡°Why can¡¯t she just use pigeons like everyone else?¡± Finally freeing the scroll tube, One-fist proved his dexterity and placed his signet ring¡¯s face against the top of the container, a difficult feat with only one hand. The tube clicked, and One-fist removed the tiny scroll, unfurling it and reading the contents. A particularly odious oath escaped the Captain, and he violently shoved the paper towards the crow. After a moments hesitating, the crow devoured the paper and opened its beak wide. A clear female voice textured by age but still undeniably aristocratic issued from the bird. ¡°Crowbend Castle stands!¡± Natalie flinched with surprise, her cold body pressing closer against Cole. Glancing down at his lover, Cole frowned at how skittish she was. Whatever happened inside the brig cell wounded Natalie in ways he could only fathom. Finding some privacy to speak with Natalie about the demons haunting her was important, but so was listening to the arcane message issuing from the bewitched crow. ¡°I am Lady Barbara Varjulo, master and protector of Crowbend. For ten generations, House Varjulo has defended the Marches of Alidonar against any threat. A tradition I continue with pride and wrath. Like my foremothers before me, I lead the Spirits and soldiers of my holdings against those who¡¯d dare desecrate these lands. An army of corpses and slaves seek to break my fortress and flood across the Holy League in a tide of undeath. They are too weak to triumph by strength alone and have resorted to daggers in the dark. Loyal men and women sworn to my banner turned their steel and spells upon those they call friend. Dark magic planted in them as children by perfidious leeches let our enemy puppeteer these unwilling traitors.¡± A ripple of shock and worry spread across Fort Carnum as this news sunk into the soldiers. Cole practically growled on hearing this information. What Lady Barbara described was a prime example of why he hated mental magic. Could anything be more terrible than friends turning on each other because some monster willed it? Spreading its wings, making itself into a living standard, the crow continued speaking. ¡°I send this messenger and fellows like it to those who might face similar attacks to what me and mine have suffered. The majority of the undead host is bashing itself against my bulwark, but lesser forces have slipped away from the battle. No doubt seeking blood and bodies for the enemy¡¯s war effort. Crowbend Castle will do its duty and stop the wolf at our door, but we cannot stop the fleas jumping from the mangy beast¡¯s back. That task falls to you, who receive this message. Drive the infestation from your lands, and when all that is unholy is cleaned by fire and iron, bring your swords to Crowbend. With the enemy within and without dealt with, the full wrath of our land can fall upon the monster''s army!¡± Then, as if nothing strange had happened, the bird shut its beak and started pecking at the oats still held in the pigeoneer soldier¡¯s open hand. The words were bombastic and fearsome, forewarning the lands of the Southern Marches, or Alidonar, as those with long memories called the region. But beneath the aristocratic pomp and confidence was a cry for help. Not a loud one, but still noticeable to those Lady Barbara would want answering it. More worrying, at least for Cole, was the no mention of Harmas¡¯s predicament. Something terrible was happening in the quarantined city, and word wasn¡¯t being spread on sable wings. Perhaps the mistress of Crowbend Castle did not want to cause a panic if the city was indeed breached. In his long experience of calamity and terror, Cole knew full well how the quantity of disaster often affected people more than the severity. A single dread could be withstood, maybe even two or three, under the right circumstances. But once the number of threats and problems reached a breaking point, fear would rule in place of logic. It didn¡¯t matter if ignorance or caution was why Harmas went unmentioned; the lack of information was just another jagging unknown Cole needed to deal with. As One-fist started barking orders at his subordinates, Cole took advantage of the distraction and gently led Natalie toward the parked wagon. She clung to Cole, slightly clumsy as her flesh thawed out. The contrast between Natalie¡¯s normally superhuman dexterity and her current shambling state distressed Cole. It was a physical testament to how fragile she was right now. Reaching the relative privacy of the wagon and tents around it, Cole helped Natalie sit on a stump near the fading campfire. Kit, Alia, and Mina were elsewhere, so it was just the pair of Paladin and Vampire. Dipping his finger in ash from the campfire, Cole drew a crude circle around them and capped the ring with a rune of subtlety. Letting a few drops of his blood fall onto the arcane symbol, Cole shrouded them both in a cloak of disinterest. Putting a hand upon hers, hating how bitterly cold she was, Cole asked Natalie. ¡°What happened?¡± Red eyes looked up at Cole, fear and shame welling up in the crimson pools. ¡°I woke up the Rabisu. She¡¯s been sleeping in my blood this entire time, and eating those two leeches roused her.¡± Confusion and deep dread spread through Cole like poison, seeping further into him with every word Natalie spoke. In a whisper barely audible above the fort¡¯s turmoil, she relayed her experiences of the bone pine and red rain. Eyes upon the fire, now unwilling to face Cole, Natalie spoke of the creature soaked in ancient sin, how it tore her apart and demanded answers about its dead son. It took a God¡¯s power to free Natalie and rouse her into a scene of horrors she was responsible for. Natalie didn¡¯t know why she attacked Yara or cracked Isabelle''s skull. Perhaps the Rabisu took control of her flesh until Master Time intervened? It was another enigma gnawing at Natalie; Cole¡¯s news about Yara and Isabelle barely distracted her from the lurking horror within. ¡°An ancilla? I guess that makes sense; Hedwig was ready to start experimenting with detoxifying potions and rituals before the Equinox. I¡¯m glad Isabelle is alright, I¡­ I need to apologize to her, Yara, and you.¡± Gently squeezing Natalie¡¯s hand, Cole reached up to cup the side of her face when his digits traced something bitterly cold. Peeking out of Natalie¡¯s collar was a line of icy blackness. Pulling her attention to it, Cole watched as Natalie¡¯s twitching fingers pulled at the leather armor, revealing her neck. Deep fear filled Natalie¡¯s voice as she showed the skin to Cole and asked. ¡°What?¡± Eyes locked on his lover¡¯s throat, Cole whispered. ¡°The stigma, something is wrong with it.¡± The silver lines of Natalie¡¯s mark warred with another pattern, a set of black lines with tiny branches coming off it. The lines ran up and down Natalie¡¯s neck, stretching a few finger widths beyond the Maze of Moments before fading. Anatomical knowledge, both earned and gifted told Cole he was seeing the main blood vessels of Natalie¡¯s neck, now painted in the deepest ebony. Describing what he saw, Cole''s heart cracked upon seeing the despair bloom behind Natalie¡¯s eyes. Collecting a small steel-backed mirror from the wagon, Natalie examined the onyx lines, a shuddering breath escaping her pale lips. ¡°The Rabisu¡¯s skin was like that; I could see every artery, vein, and capillary.¡± Staring at the tainted blood vessels and the stigma covering them, Cole said. ¡°I think the Maze of Moments is containing whatever this is.¡± Tracing the silver lines of the holy mark, Natalie muttered. ¡°But we don¡¯t know how well or for how long.¡± Fixing her collar, ensuring the twin marks were hidden, Natalie looked toward the fort¡¯s infirmary. ¡°Devouring the Baron and Dame is what awoke her. I can¡¯t risk feeding on any more Vampires; I¡¯ll just need to go back to deer and¡­ well, you.¡± There was another blood source available, one Natalie was thinking about but unwilling to mention: Yara. Cole could see the concern on her face and didn¡¯t know how to help. Still, as he always did, Cole would try his best. ¡°It will be some time before she wakes up. Let''s get you out of your armor and wash the battle off of us both.¡± Nodding, Natalie stepped close and put her hands on Cole¡¯s chest, staring up into his blue eyes with funereal solemnity. ¡°Cole, remember what I asked of you before we left Glockmire?¡± Cole¡¯s face hardened, and he started to speak, but Natalie cut him off. ¡°I won¡¯t become a monster; I won¡¯t end up like Petar or any other of those evil jaggers. Cole, you promised not just to protect me but to protect everyone from me. Please, if the stigma fails, if she takes control, stop her at any cost!¡± Grabbing Cole¡¯s hands and pulling them to her chest, Natalie reiterated her point, a slight tremor to her voice. ¡°At any cost.¡± Seeing the desperation and fear in Natalie¡¯s face, Cole let his head dip in ascent. She hugged him fiercely then, her strength returning enough to remind Cole of his damaged ribs. Wincing, he gently peeled Natalie off of him and shushed her apologies. ¡°I¡¯m okay, and you will be as well.¡± Cole could tell Natalie didn¡¯t believe his words, but that didn¡¯t stop him from saying them. She might not have any faith in herself or the powers protecting her, but Cole did. If the worst came to pass, he¡¯d stop the monster she might become, but the strength of mortals, immortals and a God stood ready to keep Natalie from falling onto that fell path. Yet, the fact Natalie was scared enough to even ask for Cole¡¯s ¡®assurances¡¯ spoke volumes about how wounded she was. The Rabisu¡¯s awakening and Yara¡¯s near-exsanguination cracked Natalie¡¯s confidence and self-belief. Her fears of becoming a monster, either from slow corruption or violent possession, were much less hypothetical after all this. The woman Cole loved was scared, so utterly frightened of what could be that she¡¯d make contingencies to cut her own future short. Old pains met with new ones, and Cole leaned down, his forehead pressed against Natalie¡¯s. He didn¡¯t know what to say, or at least what words to choose, so Cole let his presence and touch speak for him.
It was the second day after Marcus and his ¡®allies¡¯ crossed the Alidon using an abandoned fishing boat. They had floated downstream for a few kilometers before landing, seeking to hide their small band from enemy eyes. Bereft of servants or steeds, the stone hunters traveled light and only stopped when day forced them to. Without Alukah blood, the three Vampires of the coterie needed secure nests to survive the sun. An abandoned hunting lodge in the Alidonian foothills now served that purpose. Surrounded by thick forest and barely connected to civilization by a dirt path, the lodge wasn¡¯t much more than an extravagant cabin, but its deep stone cellar was perfect for hiding leeches. Standing out front of the lodge, Marcus stared out at the forest, his senses peeled for any possible threat. Of the coterie, Marcus alone didn¡¯t need to sleep, so standing watch fell to him. So, as if reality wished to twist the knife deeper, the former Pankrator found himself guarding not the weak and innocent but the cruel and monstrous. Trying to distract himself from that bitter irony, Marcus let his vision sweep across the nearby trees, looking for his fellow watchmen. The spheres of green fire he called eyes did not see like his true eyes had. They didn¡¯t just drink in light, but the Aether as well, letting Marcus see the flows of magic in a limited form. Looking between the trees, seeing gentle arcane currents trace a path through the forest, Marcus could almost relax and forget why his eyes held this gift. But finally spotting the other watchmen, Marcus was forced to let the delusion fade. Burning in the Aether with dull predatory intent, an owl flew past the lodge, making another lap of the surrounding forest before resting. Shimmers of simple emotion and animal thought trailed after the bird, like tongues of flame following a shooting star. Marcus could feel his fire reaching out, eager to taste the owl¡¯s Soul. Resisting the urge, Marcus decided it was time to do his own lap around the lodge. Stepping onto mossy soil, hating how he¡¯d never feel the springiness beneath his bare feet again, Marcus circled the cabin, looking for any threat or abnormality. When Marcus approached the lodge¡¯s main door on his third lap, he found someone waiting for him. Cleanor the Lamia stood in front of the cabin, arms crossed in annoyance. Stopping before her, Marcus stood silently, wondering what the monstrous bitch wanted. Cocking an eyebrow, Cleanor snapped. ¡°Must you go marching about like a military parade? I can¡¯t sleep with the clatter of armor circling me like that.¡± Instead of responding, Marcus kept walking, turning his back on the beautiful predator. She hissed in annoyance but didn¡¯t follow, leaving Marcus to continue his laps. A faint weariness and persistent hunger flowed from the Lamia, tainting the Aether around her and taunting Marcus. If he touched her spiritual stain, he could track Cleanor across continents. His flames would lust after her Soul until he consumed the Lamia or Marcus truly died. But as much as Marcus wanted to burn and break the man-eating creature, he wasn¡¯t allowed to harm her or any other member of the coterie without sufficient reason. No, his ability to track and destroy was saved for another quarry, Cole, and his band. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. That thought led Marcus to the questions he¡¯d been stewing on whenever prying minds weren¡¯t around. The Vampires seemed obsessed with stopping the Sage Stone from reaching Harmas, which confused Marcus slightly. His decoy fleet was supposed to head towards the lost city and help keep the quarantine, acting as a distraction while the Priestess and Vampire moved the stone down to Fort Erdom. But for some reason, despite tearing through every other facet of the deception, the Leechs continued to believe Harmas was the Stone¡¯s destination. Why weren¡¯t they concerned about the more obvious threat of the plague¡¯s cure reaching Prince Franz¡¯s host? Then there was the matter of Cole and what the Leechs believed him to be. Marcus had fought Homunculi before, wretched artificial bodies inhabited by conjured Demons. Those malformed flesh puppets weren¡¯t anything like Cole. But, from what he¡¯d seen of Natalie the Alukah, she didn¡¯t much match his experience with Vampires either. Perhaps Master Time collected a pair of abnormal monsters and sought to do good through them? Yes, that seemed the sort of thing the Tenth God would do. But of all his musings, none brought Marcus as much confusion and trepidation as the matter of Fransesco Scapin. The Leechs seemed to think the Moroi spy was somehow turned by Cole, giving the Paladin much more credit than perhaps he was due. Cole was a good sort, a man or¡­ well, creature Marcus could respect, but not exactly the calculating mastermind the Leechs seemed to think. Perhaps they needed to assume any being capable of besting them multiple times was some scheming devil, not just a hard bastard with a cause worth fighting for. Argentari hadn¡¯t shared all the details with Marcus, but he was among the collection of Hierophants informed of the possible ¡®third party¡¯ involved in events at the Solstice Ball. Marcus knew Scapin was an Ashborn and that he¡¯d escaped Vindabon; both secrets kept hidden by the powers of the city-state. Publicly known information about Scapin¡¯s fate was deliberately sparse; the canny folk of the Fifth Temple did much to ensure details about a literal Demonic incursion didn¡¯t spread. No, it was better to have people focused on Cole¡¯s heroic duel with Dietrich to defend Natalie rather than all the other messier facts. The Vampires probably still heard whispers, and Marcus would bet good coin some of their spies attended the ball, but he¡¯d also wager a greater sum the type of filth who¡¯d betray the living weren¡¯t the type to stay around to watch a disaster unfold. From the limited information he¡¯d gleaned from the Leechs, Marcus was starting to think they didn¡¯t know what Scapin was. While no spymaster, Marcus knew the value of secrets and how his knowledge might be a poisoned pill for the monsters who enslaved him. But just like most options available to him these days, that weapon was limited and dangerous. The Pankrator-turned-Dullahan needed to find the perfect chance to sow confusion and paranoia. Approaching the front of the lodge again, Marcus was pulled from his musings by foreign emotions. A plume of controlled fear and deadly focus caught the Dullahan¡¯s attention. Turning to face the copse of trees where something intelligent hid, Marcus slowly walked forward. Emphasizing his heavy footfalls and slowly drawing his sword so its ugly steel shone in the spring sunlight, Marcus offered a silent prayer to a God who couldn¡¯t hear him anymore. Someone found the cabin, and Marcus needed to scare them away before his orders demanded the interloper¡¯s elimination. Moving so his armored boots made as much noise as possible, Marcus watched the emotional discharge of whoever was unlucky enough to stumble upon the abandoned lodge. As he drew closer, Marcus paused, realizing he¡¯d misjudged. The fear and focus he¡¯d thought coming from a one, came from many. It wasn¡¯t a single nervous Soul hiding in the brush, but half a dozen seasoned killers. As that fact sunk into Marcus, his body responded, not as he wished, but how his masters would. Surging forward, Marcus roared a battle cry, alerting Cleanor and the other watchers to the assault. A volley of arrows whistled from the forest, and the Dullahan lept behind a tree to dodge them. Loath as he was to admit it, Marcus was faster as a corpse and managed to avoid most of the arrows. Three stuck into his left flank, the sharp bodkin tips sinking into his armor and bringing an itching pain with them. Reaching down, Marcus ripped the shafts free, noting the shining silver of the arrowheads. The silvered steel wasn¡¯t the weapon of bandits or common soldiers; hunters of monsters had come for Marcus. A surge of hope filled the Dullahan, hope of an honorable end that might leave his fellow horrors exposed. But as much as Marcus wanted to lay down his arms and accept mercy, his cursed bones had other ideas. Warrior skills honed over a lifetime were put to work by the evil fire animating him. Marcus stepped back from the tree he used as cover and drove his sword into the old elm, hacking halfway through its trunk with a single solid blow. Pulling his weapon up and out, Marcus slammed his full might into the damaged tree. Unliving might clashed with cracked wood and the elm tree toppled in the direction of Marcus¡¯s attackers. As the old tree fell, Marcus watched as his ambushers scattered. Only the tree''s highest branches would strike the hunters, but even the maddest woodsmen would balk at standing in a falling tree¡¯s path. Splitting up, the enemy squad took positions, forming a wide arch around Marcus. He guessed he¡¯d caught them unprepared, probably while discussing what to do about the cabin, but now, after his counter-attack, the enemy spaced themselves correctly. Marcus, the man, just wanted the scouts, or whoever they were, to run, report back to their commanders, and return with a force capable of killing him. Marcus, the monster, wouldn¡¯t give the enemy that opportunity, nor would his ¡®ally.¡¯ Cleanor surged through the forest, slithering towards the foe with nightmarish speed. In her wake, Marcus could see a mix of wild, predatory joy, ravenous hunger, and other more disgusting emotions. A cold, terrible realization filled Marcus then; he needed to kill these soldiers, not just because the magic binding him willed it, but to save them from a worse fate than his steel. Smashing through the undergrowth, Marcus rushed towards the nearest enemy. Knocking an arrow from the air with a quicksilver strike, Marcus saw his foe¡¯s trepidation boil into true fear. This close, Marcus could see his opponent was a ruggedly dressed ranger, his forest-stained clothes hiding him from all but the keenest eyes. Quickly slinging his bow over his shoulder, the Ranger drew a sword and turned away from Marcus, fleeing deeper into the brush. Pursuing the ranger, Marcus gripped his sword in both hands, hoping his overwhelming strength would give this brave hunter a quick death. Quick as a fleeing doe, the ranger slipped between obstacles that Marcus just plowed through. Eyes fixed on his quarry, Marcus didn¡¯t see the trap until he encountered it. Ankle catching on a length of sturdy cord running between two trees, Marcus slammed into the damp forest floor. A nearby voice spoke familiar but alien words, and Marcus felt himself sink into the ground. Pushing against the mud-like soil, Marcus managed to flip himself over but quickly lost any traction. Rubbing away the mud covering his helmet, Marcus looked up to see the ranger standing above him, his sword held in a grip of mercy. Lunging down, the ranger drove his silvered blade into Marcus¡¯s neck, punching through the armor and striking empty air. The ranger had enough time to look shocked before Marcus¡¯s free hand grabbed his sword arm and squeezed. Bones snapped, and the ranger started screaming as Marcus pulled him into the mud. Finally, yanking his other arm free of the bewitched forest floor, Marcus brought his sword up and slammed its pommel into the stunned soldier. Thanks to the poor leverage, it took Marcus three blows to drive the weighted end of his weapon into the ranger¡¯s brain. Yanking the pommel free of his foe¡¯s skull, Marcus used his sword and the dead weight of his newest victim to pull free of the mud. Screams in the distance prevented Marcus from even offering an apology or prayer for the courageous and clever man he just killed. The magic shackling Marcus forced him towards the screams, his eyes now searching for other snares and traps. Twenty meters away, Marcus found an ugly melee between men and monster, a fight he had to join on the wrong side. Four rangers surrounded Cleanor, bringing swords and axes against the whirling serpent. Another of the rangers lay on the ground twitching, his guts and lifeblood pooling around him. The Lamia faced a team of skilled swordsmen, and judging by the dying man, she was winning. Taking a moment to end the disemboweled warrior¡¯s suffering, Marcus joined the fight. Coming from behind, he swung his filthy longsword at one of the ranger¡¯s back. With surprising speed, the ranger turned to deflect Marcus¡¯s cut. Cleanor lunged forward to take the distracted soldier¡¯s head, but his comrades covered his distraction. These rangers were used to fighting as a team and would not die easily. Taking advantage of Marcus¡¯s arrival, Cleanor retreated a little to protect her flanks from encirclement. Reared up on her scaled lower body, Cleanor lashed like a cracking whip. Twin scimitars seeking warm flesh in a storm of lighting cuts. Now divided between two threats, the four surviving soldiers changed tactics. Two continued to keep Cleanor at bay, while the third faced Marcus, and the fourth pulled back slightly. At first, Marcus thought the fourth ranger, a swarthy fellow with heavy eyebrows, was retreating, but as he pulled something from his belt, the Dullahan realized the truth. The fourth ranger brandished a carved piece of antler and shouted arcane words. ¡°KORKOS! KERWOS KELDO!¡± The forest floor at the ranger-shaman¡¯s feet bucked and surged as an animal shape pulled itself from the ground. Mud-covered rock armored with old bark took the form of a large stag, its horns sculpted from curling tree roots. This was a Spirit of the forest, called into physical form to kill Marcus and Cleanor. As much as the former Pankrator would gladly fall to the incarnation, his orders did not allow him. Knocking his ranger opponent back, Marcus charged the stag-spirit. The forest anima responded in kind, its horns growing to larger, more intricate antlers with every moment. As the Spirit bent its head to impale Marcus on its enchanted rack, the Dullahan dived forward onto one knee, going beneath the anima¡¯s head. Cursed steel and bone met bewitched wood and stone as Marcus let the Spirit drive itself onto his blade. Furious hoofs flailed at Marcus, smashing against his armor and even cracking one of his bone pauldrons. Forcing his fire into his blade and twisting the sword, Marcus pushed upwards, impaling the incarnate Spirit and letting his cursed flames burn through it. Twisting his weight and throwing the stag-spirit to the side and off his blade, Marcus prepared to strike off the incarnation¡¯s head. A length of silvered steel went through the back of Marcus¡¯s knee, going clean through the joint and kneecap, only stopping at his armored poleyn. Spinning about on his functional leg, hating the feeling of silver against his bones, Marcus swung his longsword in a great diagonal cut, catching the ranger who wounded him. The furious blow cut through the ranger¡¯s light leather armor and split the man in two. As blood and body parts fell to the ground, Marcus tried to turn his attention back to the stag and its summoner. The Shaman was breathing heavily, a sword gripped in one hand, the carved antler in the other. Dappled sunlight without an apparent source shone along both tools of battle, and Marcus wasn¡¯t eager to taste what that radiance would do to him. At its partner¡¯s side, the stag-spirit looked wretched as green fire burned through its body. Pawing at the ground, antlers aimed at Marcus, the injured anima still wanted a fight. Even damaged, it was still probably the greater threat, so it would die first. Feeling his flames finish consuming the bisected ranger, Marcus held up his free hand and let fire coalesce into his palm. A spray of sickly emerald death shot forward in waves of crackling hate as Marcus charged the stag. In response, the Spirit put itself between Marcus and its summoner, conjuring a ward to crown its antlers and stop the fire. Dark magic smashed against a spirit''s will, and as they clashed, Marcus sprung his own trap, turning back to Cleanor and her opponents. Coming from the side, Marcus swung his longsword at one of the rangers, taking the man''s head from his shoulders, freeing Cleanor¡¯s second scimitar to slash out for the other ranger¡¯s arm. Severed head and limb fell to the ground while blood met soil, creating iron mud. Finishing off the maimed soldier, Cleanor turned on the shaman and his stag. Pointing her blade at the grim-looking survivor, the Lamia said. ¡°He¡¯s mine.¡± Shooting forward, Cleanor made a noise between a growl and a giggle. Dodging the flailing stag, she set upon the shaman, leaving Marcus to deal with the dying Spirit. Rushing forward, fearing for the man he hoped to kill, the Dullahan grabbed one of the stag¡¯s antlers as it swung the great rack back and forth to ward him away. Ignoring how the magic coursing through the repurposed roots burned his hand, Marcus drove his longsword into the stag¡¯s throat and up through its skull. Yanking with one hand and cutting with the other, Marcus tore the stag¡¯s head off, then sent another lash of flame to feast upon its decapitated body. Stepping past the burning stag-spirt, Marcus found what he¡¯d feared. The shaman¡¯s weapons had been knocked away, and he was trapped in Cleanor¡¯s coils. To Marcus¡¯s disgust and horror, the defeated soldier and monster were kissing. Cleanor¡¯s taloned hands held the captured shaman¡¯s head, and they locked lips with terrible passion. Drops of fresh blood dribbled from their mouths, coming from the tiny fang punctures in the shaman¡¯s tongue and lips. Tears streamed down the shaman¡¯s face even as his body was limp, and a rapturous smile crossed his blood-stained face. Feeling fire ignite along his sword, Marcus growled. ¡°Let him go.¡± Turning away from her victim, panting heavily, eyes smoldering, nipples pressing through her sheer top, the Lamia licked the blood from her lips. ¡°No, I¡¯ve not enjoyed myself in far too long, and this proved his merit. Return to the lodge and keep watch; more ambushers might be skulking about.¡± Unable to raise his blade against the Lamia, Marcus turned away from the doomed man and walked through the disturbed forest. Finding one of the dead rangers, Marcus dragged the body back with him towards the cabin. As he walked, Marcus tried to focus on the wet dragging sound of a corpse on soil, not what was happening behind him. Sensual moans and gasps floated through the forest, and on hearing them, Marcus wished he could still vomit. Laying the ranger out, Marcus started to examine the body as the moans grew louder and louder. It didn¡¯t take the former Pankrator long to find the soldier¡¯s badge. A disk of marked steel hung from the corpse¡¯s neck and revealed his identity. ¡®Scout Boros Gabor of the Soot Hawks.¡¯ Marcus knew of the order by reputation. Skilled trackers and killers, the Soot Hawks hunted monsters who crossed the border into the Southern Marches from the Duchies. It fell to them to dispatch any rogue or ¡®rogue¡¯ Vampires who infiltrated these wilds. While this squad of specialists might have been merely patrolling these lands in search of unliving infiltrators, Marcus somehow doubted that was the full story. His wretched band of monsters just randomly encountering an elite team of monster hunters? No, that smelled of enemy action; Marcus just didn¡¯t know who or what the enemy was. The distant sounds of pleasure coming from the forest grew into shouts of ecstasy, and Marcus wished he could cover his ears. But without a head, all the Dullahan could do was clean his sword using the dead Soot Hawk¡¯s gear. The noise of whetstone on steel didn¡¯t do much to block out what was about to happen, but the rhythmic familiar action distracted Marcus. A horrible scream filled the warm spring air, a high, raw-throated wail of terror and pain that carried on for what felt like an eternity. As the scream died, it was replaced with quieter, more frantic howls that steadily weakened with every passing moment. When finally the wails stopped, Marcus looked at the dead soldier''s badge and offered a silent prayer. He didn¡¯t pray for mercy or forgiveness; Marcus prayed for better warriors. Warriors who could end him and the monsters he served with, ending the pain their cruel hungers inflicted. Looking up from the badge, Marcus saw a content-looking Cleanor exit the forest, a sway to her hips and blood all across her front. Seeing how the beautiful predator licked her lips and sighed in half-remembered pleasure, Marcus squeezed the badge till it was scrap. Marcus didn¡¯t want mercy anymore; he didn¡¯t deserve it; he wanted fire and iron to strike down these abominations. Book III: Chapter 34: New Plans

Chapter 34: New Plans

¡°Of a thousand people, one may have truly potent magical talent. But those nine-hundred and ninety-nine other souls are not without a spark of magic. They might never learn to feed or shape that spark, but it is still there. Why let it be wasted when another might use it? Our enemy is a furious fire we must match, and allowing even tiny embers to fade cannot be tolerated. We must unite, we must be bound, we must give our spark to those few worthy among us. Join me, brothers and sisters; let us mere twigs form into a sturdy oak. I offer my power freely to the Lictor and ask you all to do the same.¡± - Chieftain Lucumo¡¯s speech to the seven tribes of Iska. (~2100 Third Epoch)
Wolfgang looked over the five corpses arrayed before him. None of them were intact, each sporting massive lacerations and burns, courtesy of the Dullahan and Lamia. Kneeling down over one ranger who¡¯d lost an arm and not much else, Wolfgang put his hands on either side of the corpse''s head. Given time, the ranger¡¯s remains would rise up as a simple ghoul, but another stumbling husk was of no use to Wolfgang. Opening his mouth and letting dreadful words of reanimation flow forth, Wolfgang poured power into cold flesh and trapped Soul. Strands of arcane force slithered from Wolfgang¡¯s hands and mouth, infesting the corpse like another post-mortem feeder. Sinking into brain, heart, and spine, the threads accelerated and sculpted the body¡¯s reanimation. Letting go of the dead ranger¡¯s head, Wolfgang bound the dead man¡¯s flesh and soul to his will. Spasms ran through the corpse, a palsy of undeath signaling its nerves coming alight once again. Holding out his hand above the shaking body, Wolfgang spoke the word used by necromancers since time immemorial. ¡°Rise.¡± A horrible shuddering gasp escaped the corpse as its mouth fell open, and cool spring air filled withered lungs. Muscles contracted with force they would struggle to match in life, and the ranger sat up from the forest floor. Vacant, glassy eyes stared out at Wolfgang, Cleanor, the two knights, and the Dullahan. Meeting those unfocused orbs, Wolfgang commanded. ¡°What is your name?¡± In a voice rough from final screams, the corpse said. ¡°Brother-Scout Baro of the Soot Hawks.¡± Sir Thorm the Short looked down at the identification badge picked from the corpse¡¯s neck. ¡°Well, he isn¡¯t lying about that.¡± Pursing his lips, Wolfgang collected his thoughts. Awakening to learn Marcus and Cleanor thwarted an attack by skilled killers hadn¡¯t been a pleasant surprise. While getting confirmation that the Dullahan wouldn¡¯t turn on the group easily was useful, Wolfgang found it a small comfort. Few things worried Vampires, like the idea of being attacked during the day. To be so utterly helpless and exposed elicited a deep animal panic in Wolfgang. If he was to continue traveling in enemy territory, then Wolfgang needed better defenses than two leashed monsters. But before he could focus on that or any other long-term concerns, the Black Fly needed to learn more about the immediate threat. ¡°How did you avoid the animal sentries we set around our camp?¡± he asked, referencing the owls, crows, ravens, and rats the Tall and the Short bound as watchers. Eyes still unfocused, the dead ranger responded. ¡°Our leader is a Shaman, Brother Zodim. He knew to sense for your touch and to avoid controlled beasts.¡± While no Shaman or Witch, Wolfgang knew the skills required to detect enthralled animals weren¡¯t simple. That was the sort of magic used by specialists looking for a certain threat. There wasn¡¯t any doubt the Soot Hawks were dispatched to hunt Vampires; the only question was by whom? Who sent the Hawks, and who were their targets? ¡°Did you seek us?¡± Wolfgang asked, curiosity and concern warring for dominance within him. For nearly thirty seconds, the corpse didn¡¯t respond, and Wolfgang could feel its rotten brain and chained soul struggling to answer him. Conducting seances like this wasn¡¯t easy, especially on an unwilling participant. While the dead ranger lacked the defenses woven into Marcus¡¯s mind, he still didn¡¯t wish to share his secrets. Pulling raw emotions and flickers of memory from a fresh corpse wasn¡¯t hard; even the hypocritical Priests of the Tenth God could manage that. But actually forcing a corpse and the soul within it to answer detailed questions took a delicate touch. Wolfgang possessed such a touch, and with an arcane prod, he forced the ranger to answer. ¡°We were told to hunt Leechs. We were told a small group would come. We were told to destroy you.¡± A small frown crossed the Black Fly¡¯s face. ¡°Who told you to hunt us?¡± Slowly, the eyes of the corpse focused on Wolfgang. ¡°The Angel.¡± Memories of Duke Mika¡¯s office and a spy''s final message flashed through Wolfgang¡¯s mind. ¡°The Seraphspawn.¡± Putting more magical pressure on the ranger, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Did she send anyone else?¡± Air escaped the corpse''s pale lips as it struggled against Wolfgang¡¯s will. ¡°Yes, but I don¡¯t know who.¡± An annoyed hiss escaped Cleanor, and she slithered forward. ¡°Can we end this game of questions, or will you have us sit here all night? Other hunters will come; we need to move quickly.¡± Sir Wulfhild the Tall made a noise Wolfgang guessed was meant to convey his agreement. The taciturn Strigoi rarely spoke and seemed unwilling to agree with Cleanor verbally. They¡¯d been civil to each other the entire trip, but after Tallclaw found the remains of Cleanor¡¯s ¡®meal,¡¯ he hadn¡¯t let his eyes leave the man-eater. Wolfgang didn¡¯t know what the brutal killer found so objectionable in a Lamia¡¯s feeding habits, but he doubted Tallclaw''s concerns were morality-based. That the two were in agreement on something forced Wolfgang to consider the merit of their position. Still, he was loathe to abandon a potentially useful source of information as they couldn¡¯t bring a shambling ghoul with them or spend the time to animate or interrogate the ranger more thoroughly. Licking his fangs, Wolfgang decided immediate survival was more important. ¡°Let¡¯s move on then. We need to avoid pursuers or at least engage them favorably.¡± Slithering towards the Dullahan, who¡¯d stayed silent and still, Cleanor asked. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you know any good spots to lay an ambush? These lands are familiar to you, are they not?¡± The Dullahan didn¡¯t answer; the bindings compelled it to obey commands but not reveal secrets. Shaking her head, Cleanor turned away from the former war priest. ¡°He¡¯s been brooding since the fight. Probably racked with guilt from killing those rangers.¡± Peering down at the assembled corpses, Shorttooth stroked his long, oiled beard. ¡°I¡¯m not a-a native, but I-I might know of a safer path we might take.¡± At Wolfgang¡¯s cocked eyebrow, Shorttooth started to explain his plan. ¡°We are in the foothills of the Alidonian Mountains. It shouldn¡¯t be hard to find an-an abandoned dwarf mine in these lands.¡± Wolfgang slowly nodded as understanding grew. ¡°You want to travel by the Deeps?¡± Unlike the delves of men or goblins, most dwarf mines didn¡¯t burrow into the rock but out of it. Their shafts and tunnels connect the surface of Vardis to the vast subterranean world known as the Deeps. Crisscrossing the planet in an unimaginable labyrinth, the Deeps were home to myriad threats and only navigable by its natives, including the dwarves. Smiling, showing his yellowed fangs, Sir Thorm said. ¡°I may be a noble now, but the blood of stone ran through my veins in-in another life. No enemy could hope to chase us through the Deeps, and with my skills, finding our way won¡¯t be difficult.¡± Considering this, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Will there be enough sustenance for us?¡± Reaching into the satchel he wore over one shoulder, the dwarven Strigoi pulled out a vial of red powder. ¡°Prey flourishes in the Deeps if you know where to look, and our supply of life rust will keep us strong in an emergency.¡± Eyes on the powder, Wolfgang thought of his own supply. He¡¯d brought a small box of the red-brown dust, which would sustain him for a few nights. Another of the Vampire tools of war, life rust, was dried and concentrated blood. Normally, old or treated blood lacked the magical potency to feed a Vampire, but the rust was different. Each vial of the substance required the total exsanguination of a person. Their life and death boiled down into a few grams of rusty powder. Grossly inefficient and foul-tasting, the substance allowed nobles to travel simply without fear of starvation. Looking from the life rust to the bodies arrayed before him, Wolfgang thought of how easily events might have ended differently. If Marcus hadn¡¯t noticed the ambushers, or if his bindings were a little weaker, the rangers might have burned the lodge down with Wolfgang inside. A seraph-touched bitch was sending assassins after him. The Pantheon clearly didn¡¯t want Wolfgang to succeed in capturing the Homunculus Knight or acquiring the Sage¡¯s Stone. With one collection of Gods his enemy and another deity viewing him as a ¡®questionable investment,¡¯ Wolfgang felt his path to victory narrow even more. If he was to survive the next few weeks, let alone years, then a shift in plans was required. ¡°I say we follow Sir Thorm¡¯s advice.¡±
Yara awoke to warmth and softness. Eyes slowly sliding open like the stone doors of some ancient tomb; she felt bleary awareness flow back into her. Streams of pale light cut through nearby windows illuminating Yara¡¯s surroundings as her mind tried deciphering events. Yara was on a small but comfortable bed in a simple room she knew not where. Slowly trying to sit up, pushing at the heavy blankets covering her, Yara¡¯s world spun violently. Head returning to her pillow, movement from the corner of one eye caught Yara¡¯s attention. ¡°You lost a lot of blood; it''s shocking you¡¯re alive, let alone awake.¡± Sitting nearby in a chair, prayer beads in hand was Priestess Mina. Vision swimming slightly, Yara focused on the holy woman, on her short blond hair, the fresh scar marring one cheek, and the cautious but tired look in her eyes. A tiny throb of sadness went through Yara, and she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Where¡¯s Natalie?¡± Something about that question bothered Mina; her face twitched slightly in discomfort. A subtle sign but practically a scream of displeasure for someone like Yara. Reading tiny signs and signals like that helped her stay alive all this time. Folding away her prayer beads, Mina said. ¡°Nearby, I¡¯ll tell her you are awake soon. But before then, I must ask you what happened in the cell.¡± Brow furrowing slightly, Yara got a sense there was a test inside Mina¡¯s question. Shutting her eyes, the thrall answered Mina with a question of her own. ¡°Is Natalie¡­¡± Before Yara could find the right words, Mina interrupted her. ¡°Sane? Not trying to eat people? In control of herself? Yes, she is for now. So please, tell me what happened.¡± Shutting her eyes and feeling a shiver go through her, even with all the blankets, Yara started to explain.
The crack of wood against stone woke Yara up. Trained instincts pulled her from sleep, and she looked around the cell frantically, searching for the source of the loud noise. It wasn¡¯t hard to find; the locked box containing Isabelle¡¯s skull lay smashed open near one wall, the spells carved into the wood giving off whisps of ethereal light as they collapsed. Eyes wide at the sight of Isabelle¡¯s remains, Yara felt her dread grow with every heartbeat. Lying directly across from the skull was Natalie, back slumped against the cell wall, a strange spasm coursing through her limbs. Slowly removing the blanket, fearing what was happening, Yara examined her mistress. Natalie¡¯s eyes were rolled back into her head, and a silent scream escaped her mouth. One of Natalie¡¯s legs was thrashing, kicking out with whipcrack strength. If Yara remembered correctly, Isabelle¡¯s box had been left near where Natalie sat, perhaps in striking distance of the thrashing limb. A scraping crunch pulled Yara¡¯s attention from Natalie¡¯s legs to her arms; both were clawing at the wall and floor, leaving gouges in the solid rock. Slowly standing up, Yara swallowed down her fear and asked. ¡°Mistress?¡± Natalie didn¡¯t respond, merely thrashing in obvious pain. Approaching her protector and owner, Yara watched the spasms contort Natalie¡¯s body. Inhuman strength turned seizure twitches into stone-crushing blows. The once smooth floor and wall of the brig were already pockmarked with gouges and cracks as Natalie fought some inner demon. Moving with the caution of any prey animal in the presence of a predator, Yara came a little closer, seeing the side of Natalie¡¯s face that had been facing away from her. Lines of oily darkness spread up from Natalie¡¯s collar, stretching through her face like the tendrils of some void-spawned nightmare. Slowly, the obsidian infection grew, following the path of what Yara quickly realized were blood vessels. In its wake, flesh became shrunken and pale, gaining a desiccated appearance. Natalie¡¯s neck, half her face, and Pantheon knew how much else of her was withering away. The lines of darkness expanded with every second, distorting the skin and muscles around them. Staring at the nearly-mummified part of Natalie, Yara felt a surge of recognition. She¡¯d seen something like this before; not identical, but close enough. When a Vampire entered long torpor, not just the sun-sleep, their body withered into a shrunken husk. The illusion of life fled from the Vampire, leaving behind a wizened relic awaiting revival. While the black veins and seizure symptoms weren¡¯t known to Yara, she¡¯d witnessed Vampires in torpor before. She knew Natalie needed blood to awaken or at least stave off the long slumber. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Glancing at the door, Yara thought about the fortress around them, of how they might react to Natalie¡¯s condition. A helpless Alukah presented all manner of opportunities to all manner of enemies. Cole would fight to protect Natalie, but he was just one man and one bound to another master. Besides, he¡¯d already failed to protect Natalie before; her undead existence testified to that. No, Yara wasn¡¯t going to run for help; she would offer herself to the woman who offered to care. Carefully avoiding Natalie¡¯s thrashing limbs, Yara managed to practically lay herself across her mistress while placing a wrist into Natalie¡¯s mouth. Gingerly, Yara forced needle-sharp fangs into her flesh. Natalie¡¯s jaw snapped shut, and Yara flinched. Instead of the bone-crushing force she expected to rip through her flesh, Yara found her arm simply trapped in Natalie¡¯s mouth. Blood poured from the thrall, guzzled down by the Vampire at such a rate Yara felt herself go light-headed in seconds. The veins of black started to slow their advance, and Yara smiled in triumph even as her life poured into a monster¡¯s maw. As Natalie¡¯s flesh started to shift, regaining its illusion of life, Yara tried to free herself. But no matter what she did, Natalie¡¯s jaw wouldn¡¯t let go. As grey spots started to form at the edge of Yara¡¯s vision, she started to struggle. She¡¯d die for Natalie if necessary but had no desire to sacrifice herself if other options were available. Free hand touching Natalie¡¯s neck by accident, Yara felt a spike of bitter cold burn her fingers. Gasping in pain, she looked down to see part of Natalie¡¯s neck glowing. Silver light burned so bright it shone even through her collar. The room started to freeze as the light grew and grew in intensity. Yara¡¯s rapid breaths became plumes of vapor, and frost grew like bewitched moss across the chamber. Slumping forward, feeling the vampire bite and arcane chill sapping her energy, Yara struggled to keep her eyes open. As the final sleep pulled Yara into its embrace, she felt a pang of genuine sadness. All she wanted was someone to care, someone who¡¯d protect her and give her purpose. Now that was being robbed from Yara, and instead, she¡¯d just leave a legacy of pain and grief.
Mina stared at Yara for a few seconds as her story finished before saying. ¡°You fed yourself to her?¡± Yara simply responded. ¡°She needed me.¡± Shaking her head, Mina put a hand on Yara¡¯s forehead and whispered words of power. A slight shiver flowed through Yara¡¯s flesh, and silver sparks glowed in Mina¡¯s eyes. Pulling her hand away and sighing, Mina said. ¡°Drink plenty of water and try not to strain yourself. Cole might have saved you, but it will take some time for your body to finish recovering.¡± Blinking in surprise, Yara asked. ¡°Cole?¡± Tapping Yara¡¯s forearm and the bandage there, Mina replied. ¡°His blood can apparently be shared with people other than his Vampire lovers.¡± Turning to leave, Mina said. ¡°I¡¯ll go get Natalie. Perhaps five minutes later, the door to Yara¡¯s room swung open again, and Natalie slowly entered the room, her skittishness surprising the thrall. Red eyes flicked over Yara¡¯s prone form, unwilling to meet her face. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Seemingly forcing herself to meet Yara¡¯s gaze, Natalie said. ¡°I promised to protect and help you; then¡­ then this happens!¡± Managing to sit up a bit, Yara rasped. ¡°You needed me.¡± Finding a pitcher of water and providing Yara with a glass, Natalie spoke. ¡°Mina told me what happened. I¡¯m¡­ well, thank you.¡± Yara gulped down her glass, the water tasting like sweet ambrosia. ¡°I didn¡¯t tell her everything, though.¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie asked. ¡°What?¡± Managing to set the empty glass down, Yara said. ¡°When I passed out, I saw things; I don¡¯t think they were dreams.¡± Blinking slowly, Yara felt flickers of the vision pass behind her eyelids. ¡°There was a blizzard worse than any I¡¯d ever seen. Snow fell, and the winds howled. I was standing atop a mountain, staring up into the storm. Two things were fighting above me; they were¡­ they were the storm but also birds. One was huge and black, with a cruel beak, like an eagle or buzzard. The other was smaller and ashen; its eyes were red and¡­ its talons were huge scything things.¡± Opening her eyes and seeing the confused worry on Natalie¡¯s face, Yara added. ¡°I think the smaller one was a dove, but its feet were wrong. The dove lost the fight, the buzzard tore it apart, and blood rained down, turning the snowflakes red. The vision ended when the dove¡¯s body fell into the clouds below.¡± Finally sitting down next to Yara, Natalie stared into the distance for a little while before saying. ¡°I had my own visions. The power inside me is waking up; that¡¯s what happened to me in the cell. Master Time¡¯s blessing saved me, but¡­ I tasted your blood as well. I don¡¯t know if it helped me, but thank you.¡± Rubbing her face in an oddly human gesture for one so far removed from mortalkind, Natalie looked at Yara. ¡°I¡¯m not the only one who''s been changed by the Alukah. My bite, my sting, is why you survived what happened. I don¡¯t know the details, but being my thralls has¡­ side effects.¡± Yara¡¯s hand went to her throat, to the bites marking her. Seeing this, Natalie¡¯s eyes fell from Yara to her own shoes. ¡°You entered a sort of hibernation after losing all that blood. I don¡¯t know what else you can do, but I¡¯ll find out if I can. I guess we are truly linked now, even if that¡¯s not what I wanted of you.¡± As Yara tried to digest this information, she felt none of the confusion or horror one might expect upon learning she was mutating thanks to an ancient evil influence. Instead, a timid but growing smile spread across Yara¡¯s face, and she let out a breath of relief. While Yara hadn¡¯t said anything, she¡¯d been scared Natalie would use the incident as an excuse to abandon her. Learning they were bound like this was¡­ a comfort. Reaching out with one arm, Yara offered her wrist towards Natalie, an old sign of thrall supplication. ¡°I want to help you, to be useful. If that means I change, then that''s fine.¡± Biting her own lip so hard, Yara was convinced Natalie would puncture the soft flesh; the Alukah nodded and accepted her thrall. ¡°I¡¯ll keep my word and do everything I can to help you. But if something like this happens again, please get Cole.¡± Yara nodded. She might not particularly like the Paladin, but he willingly offered blood to save her and her mistress. That alone was something to earn her respect and perhaps some trust as well. Refilling Yara¡¯s, glass, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m going to go get you some food. Captain One-fist is kicking us out tomorrow, and you¡¯ll need your strength for the next leg of our journey.¡±
Cole stared at a stone wall, trying to decipher its secrets. Despite his and Kit''s attempts, neither managed to uncover the mysteries hidden in the citadel¡¯s fortifications. After checking with the priests assigned to the fort, Cole got confirmation the plague¡¯s spread was significantly reduced inside the fortress. Soldiers only seemed to get sick if they weren¡¯t immediately cleansed or infected outside the walls. Peering into the Aether, Cole tried to understand the vague currents of power bound to the fort. Another layer of spellwork was hidden beneath the emotions, history, and more recent magical defenses of Fort Carnum. Kit seemed to think an older ward was built into the fort, but Cole had doubts. Something about the whisps of magic running through the ancient stone felt¡­ familiar. Just a vague sense of recognition, like a sound from a dream now heard again. This conundrum itched at the back of Cole¡¯s skull like most mysteries did. He could let larger, more complicated enigmas roll off him, but smaller oddities like this poked his well-honed paranoia. And, if Cole was being honest with himself, focusing on this puzzle kept his mind off matters with Natalie. She was doing better than before, especially now that Yara was awake, but there was an undeniable fragility to Natalie. Facing the Rabisu and thinking she¡¯d killed two companions had put a serious crack in her foundation. Cole knew what that was like. He¡¯d been cracked and pulped into dust, only to be compressed back into stone by pressure and time. But Cole didn¡¯t want to see Natalie suffer the collapse and years of slow recovery he¡¯d experienced. Containing the damage and helping her heal was Cole¡¯s priority. But that violently contrasted with his other duties. The harbinger of those responsibilities then came up next to Cole. Mina looked tired; there was a new weight on her shoulders. The incident with Yara and news about the Rabisu hadn¡¯t just rattled Natalie. Glancing up at Cole, Mina said. ¡°I don¡¯t think we can take the river to Crowbend.¡± Cole nodded. ¡°Agreed. Wading into that siege with the Stone would be incredibly risky. We must bypass the castle and keep moving towards the Prince¡¯s host.¡± Joining him in, staring at the wall, Mina said. ¡°Alia thinks we should brave the mountains. Taking a less-used pass and risking the Worcs. I¡¯m not happy with that idea, but it seems our best option at the moment.¡± Turning around to examine the fort, with its soldiers preparing for war, Mina continued. ¡°Nearly half the garrison is leaving to purge the Worcs and undead of these lands before joining the Crowbend muster. Perhaps we can join them? Punch through Turul Pass?¡± Thinking of the garrison¡¯s commander, Cole responded. ¡°Twenty-four hours ago, I¡¯d have agreed with that plan, but after everything¡­ Well, I don¡¯t think One-fist would let us accompany him. But it''s worth an attempt; it beats Kit''s recommendation.¡± Snorting in derision, Mina voiced her agreement. ¡°He might think he can turn a river boat into a sky boat, but I¡¯m not going to bet my life on him being able to work out all the problems his first craft had.¡± As if he was some demon summoned up, Kit appeared then, running towards the Priest and Paladin. He held a large piece of ill-treated paper and wore a maniac grin that made Cole tired just to see. ¡°At least one of us is handling events well.¡± Reaching them, Kit thrust the paper into Cole¡¯s hand and said. ¡°I found it!¡± Looking down at the strange markings of what might be a map, Cole asked. ¡°Found what?¡± Tapping a spot on the map and moving his finger in a line, he said. ¡°Fort Carnum is ancient, part of the old imperial defensive lines. The forts built along the Alidon were created back during the Third Epoch. Back before Iskandar, when the goblins and elves still attacked from the north!¡± A little more informed, Cole realized he could make out what Kit was referencing. The map depicted the western continent of Erebu as it had been over two thousand years ago. How the Iskan Imperium ruled the southern half of the continent. Stretching from the western reaches of the White Mountains to the eastern edges of the Dragontail Mountains. With the sea to the south, the main invasion route into the Imperium was a stretch of relatively flat land between the two mountain ranges cut through by the Alidon River. Long ago, the lands now called Norica and the Southern Marches hosted a line of fortresses designed to hold back Sidhe-touched invaders. Looking to Kit, about to ask for more clarification, Cole¡¯s eyes widened in understanding and he swore. ¡°Fixed-stars! Do you think some of those old spells are still active?¡± Kit¡¯s smile grew into something beyond maniacal. ¡°These forts were crafted by the iron legions and warded by Lictorum Magi! Resisting fae influence is part of their literal foundation!¡± Frowning, Mina got on her toes to see the map better. ¡°But people haven¡¯t used Imperial Lictorum magic since the Black Sun? Those spells should have faded or at least weakened to uselessness.¡± Sucking on his cheek, Kit took a moment to formulate his answer. ¡°Old, potent magic like this doesn¡¯t die easily. It can sleep for a long time until awakened. Then, if someone who knows what they are doing helps it wake up, it can be quickly restored to full strength.¡± Gesturing at the wall, Kit elaborated. ¡°This plague, it''s fae-based. In fact, it is probably the biggest incursion of the Elderborn since Iskandar was still breathing! The spells in this fortress are doing what they were meant to do: stop the Fae!¡± Tapping somewhere else on the map, Kit kept talking. ¡°You see these lines? They aren¡¯t Imperial roads, these mark Lictor Lines, where currents of focused magic connected settlements. See those ones branching off the northern forts? They combine in Harmas and then go south towards Fort Erdom and eventually Scordis! If Fort Carnum is protected from the plague, the other members of this ¡®circuit¡¯ are probably as well!¡± Eyes focusing on Fort Erdom, Cole felt a flash of realization go through him. ¡°It''s the Seraph-touched. She¡¯s at Fort Erdom and protecting the soldiers there. She¡¯s the one who breathed life into these spells; it has to be. Argentari thought it was just her magic protecting them, but she¡¯s probably using the Lictorum spells to do it.¡± Nodding wildly, Kit kept sliding his fingers up and down the circuit of Lictor Lines. ¡°Perhaps the effect is more powerful down at Fort Erdom, diminishing with distance and¡­ obstruction.¡± His finger rested on Harmas. ¡°It''s where the plague started. Now, it''s a nest of corpses, some walking, some not. That is, unless the quarantine is broken like your chest ache seems to think. Then, well, who knows what''s happening?¡± Deciding to ignore Kit referring to a holy omen as an ¡®ache,¡¯ Cole had a sudden thought. ¡°How¡¯d you find this map?¡± Pointing with a thumb towards the fort, Kit simply said. ¡°I was looking for another route through the mountains. They keep a large trunk of maps here for obvious reasons, and no one told me not to examine them.¡± Sighing, Mina said. ¡°Another route? That would be useful. It''s a shame you didn¡¯t find one.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Kit said. ¡°But I did.¡± Priest and Paladin stared at the Magi for a few seconds before he said. ¡°Ohhh, I didn¡¯t tell you? Sorry, got too distracted with all this fascinating stuff.¡± Casually, Kit traced a line east from Fort Carnum and through the northern edge of the Alidonian Mountains. A symbol along the route Kit marked caught Cole¡¯s eye. It was a Dwerick pictogram, a sigil depicting a bearded face drawn in a sharp runic style. Cole knew the mark; it wasn¡¯t any true dwarven character but a human approximation with a simple meaning. ¡®Here be the Deep Folk.¡¯ ¡°If we can¡¯t go over the mountain, we go under it,¡± whispered Cole, then added. ¡°Do you have more modern maps? It''s been millennia; there''s no telling if those tunnels are still usable.¡± Kit nodded. ¡°They still work. I asked one of the dwarven soldiers about it. He said the clan there can be a little insular but should be willing to let us pass.¡± Cole frowned. ¡°Even with Natalie?¡± Shrugging, Kit said. ¡°The fellow I asked seemed to think so. Besides, between you and me, we have a lot of connections to rely on. Even the Dwarves know of Vindabon¡¯s temples and Ivory Tower. Hells, maybe some of them read the city¡¯s gossip sheets like my colleague here does?¡± Thinking on all of what Kit had revealed, Cole said. ¡°Getting the stone to Fort Erdom and the Prince is even more important if you¡¯re right. I can¡¯t imagine what the Sage¡¯s Stone might do when combined with the ancient wards. Taking the route beneath the mountain seems like our best option.¡± Hand on her chin, Mina wondered aloud. ¡°Perhaps Iron-teeth has kin among this clan? I¡¯ve always wondered how he ended up in Vindabon.¡± Taking that as her cautious agreement to the new plan, Cole started walking towards the main fort. ¡°Let''s find those maps of yours, Kit, and start planning our route.¡± Turning his head to look at the Magi, Cole asked. ¡°By the way, do these tunnels have a name? If a single clan owns them, then it''s not a true hold.¡± Kit folded up the old copy of an older map and said. ¡°Funny enough, it doesn¡¯t have a dwerick name. They call the passage ¡®Turul¡¯s Tomb.¡¯ Supposedly, the old Jotunn who used to live in these parts first dug the path beneath the mountain, and the dwarves kept the name when they took control.¡± A slight frown creased Cole¡¯s scarred face. ¡°Turul¡¯s Tomb¡­ I don¡¯t suppose you know if the Jotunn¡¯s remains are somewhere in the passage?¡± Seeing where Cole¡¯s mind was going, Kit just shook his head. ¡°Not unless the Sidhe were kind enough to put them back after they were done with Turul. No, I think we¡¯ll have to wait until we''re on the other side of the mountains before facing any more undead horrors.¡± Pausing for a second, Kit amended himself. ¡°At least, none that aren¡¯t inside your girlfriend, that is.¡± Book III: Chapter 35: Fear, Respect and Love

Chapter: 35: Fear, Respect, and Love

¡°The exact number of Fell Gods is hard to quantify. But temple records, costly experiments, and divine portents have given us an estimate. Roughly six hundred and sixteen Fell Gods are active at any time, with their numbers swelling and shrinking as dictated by internal conflicts and external opportunities. Each of these metaphysical entities is significantly weaker than any of the Pantheon. Their ¡®domains¡¯ of godhood are much narrower than the Pantheon and encompass fewer concepts and, therefore, less power. More than once, a Fell God has attempted to upset this balance and achieve a broader dominion, but each time, they¡¯ve been stopped by their rivals, both heavenly and infernal.¡±- Excerpt from the ¡®Census of Infinity¡¯
The departure from Fort Carnum was a tepid affair. Despite Natalie¡¯s concerns, Yara managed to leave her sick bed and reach the wagon without issue. Only then collapsing into the nest of blankets set aside for her. Nestled between luggage and supplies, the thrall slept through the tense farewells. Despite their arrival tipping the battle in the garrison''s favor, the soldiers seemed glad to see the backs of Cole and Natalie. The Paladin wasn¡¯t particularly bothered by this; he was used to settlements being equally thankful for his arrival and departure. Natalie, though, didn¡¯t like the looks the soldiers gave her as they left. It wasn¡¯t just the undercurrent of fear and tension in the soldiers that distressed Natalie. She was used to that by now and knew to expect strangers to react like that. What truly bothered Natalie was her inability to discount their opinions anymore. In Vindabon and before the incident with Yara, Natalie could always armor herself with facts. She wasn¡¯t a danger to people; she was a ¡®nice¡¯ monster; she was in control. After waking up in what was almost Yara¡¯s icy tomb, Natalie wasn¡¯t so sure anymore. Still, despite the clear concerns shared between officers and soldiers, the garrison let them resupply and prepare for the next leg of their journey. That Mina left them with two barrels of the transubstantiated cure for future use did probably help matters. Cole shared his theory with Captain One-fist and his inner circle, and they took the news about the ancient wards relatively well. Even though the old Lictorum spells saved the garrison from plague; cultural taboos over the lost magic still held strong. Natalie didn¡¯t know much about Lictorum other than that it was the Iskan Imperium¡¯s backbone and was also what eventually destroyed the empire. Not the sort of thing a minor garrison who just survived a night of horrors wanted to think about. Leaving the fort shortly before dawn, the group traveled east, finding the imperial road and taking its tesselating brick towards Turul¡¯s Tomb. Sitting near the back of the wagon, checking on Yara and watching the sunrise, Natalie tried to keep her mind off of things. She¡¯d not been present when the decision was made to plot a new course, and while Natalie understood that was merely a product of circumstances, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if other factors were involved. Was she being left out of important discussions because of what happened? Were even Natalie¡¯s friends looking at her differently? While Natalie trusted Cole without a shadow of a doubt, a lesson the solstice ball carved into her, the same couldn¡¯t be said for the others. Earning Mina¡¯s friendship after their icy initial contact had been a major achievement for Natalie, another of the mental crutches she kept herself standing with. If she could befriend someone who¡¯d lost everything to vampires, then perhaps Natalie wasn¡¯t like her kindred. Natalie knew using other people''s opinions and behavior to judge herself wasn¡¯t exactly the healthiest; as someone literally being corrupted from the inside by an ancient evil, other¡¯s reactions were an excellent signpost Natalie couldn¡¯t afford to ignore. That thought made Natalie¡¯s mind circle back to the main source of her stress and exactly what she¡¯d been trying to avoid thinking about. The Rabisu waited, lairing inside Natalie¡¯s soul like some insidious parasite, ready to burst free and start eating her loved ones. Hand going to her chest and the silent heart hidden beneath, Natalie felt scared and alienated. The sense of never knowing if or when she¡¯d lose control was an old, horrible feeling Natalie thought long gone. Traveling through the spring fields, watching the road go by, Natalie got the strangest sense she was back to where things started. Not Glockmire, but those horrible months on the road with Cole. When she¡¯d been one missed feeding away from madness and still reeling from the loss of, well¡­ everything. Memories of her father¡¯s funeral came bubbling back up, and Natalie felt a lump grow in her throat. Seeing all the pyres of dead soldiers and destroyed ghouls had brought those memories back to the fore. Now, as she watched dawn-reddened clouds, Natalie was struck by a dark thought. There had been a beauty to her father¡¯s funeral, a solemn celebration of an ended life. What would Natalie¡¯s funeral be like? Would there be many people? Would it just be Cole and his tears? Would she even have a funeral? Or would it just be a celebration of the Alukah¡¯s death? Natalie hadn¡¯t put much thought into her own death, even less after becoming a vampire. The sense of youthful immortality any twenty-year-old felt was only compounded by being a literally ageless monster. Now, after too many close calls and with this new threat looming, Natalie was confronted with her (limited) mortality and things worse than that. Just because Natalie died didn¡¯t mean the power inside of her would. In fact, from the way Lord Glockmire, Master Time, and the jagging Rabisu spoke, Natalie could count on something horrible happening in the wake of her death. Images of the Rabisu wearing her skin, butchering her friends flashed behind Natalie¡¯s eyes. Only to be quickly replaced with vague notions of some bloody tide escaping her corpse to swallow cities. As her run-away imagination summoned up the sight of a weeping Cole holding her severed head in the middle of a battlefield, Natalie shook her head so hard she knocked against the wooden frame of the wagon¡¯s covering. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you would have to worry about mosquitos.¡± said a voice from nearby, and Natalie looked up to see Alia walking a little behind and to the wagon''s left. The city warden wore a sour expression and had surprisingly large bags beneath her cat eyes. Shaking her head a little less vigorously, Natalie said. ¡°No mosquitos, just bad thoughts. Hey, why aren¡¯t you upfront with Mina or ahead of the horses with Cole?¡± Glancing over her shoulder, back the way they came, Alia sniffed. ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering that since the second time the horses shit all over the road. With the way the wind is, it''s better for me to be back here to sense something. Besides, Cole¡¯s doing the whole ¡®glowing eye trick¡¯ up front, and I doubt anything nasty can get past him.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± replied Natalie, unsure what else to say. After a moment of staring at Alia¡¯s grumpy countenance, Natalie asked. ¡°Didn¡¯t sleep well?¡± Spitting a wad of phlegm onto the tesselating road, Alia said. ¡°There''s a storm coming, and that always jags with me.¡± Gesturing up at the red clouds overhead, Alia elaborated. ¡°Red skies at morning, ranger takes warning. That''s what my dad always used to say.¡± Natalie snorted. ¡°My uncle used the same saying, except shepherd instead of ranger.¡± Still frowning at the clouds, Alia shrugged. ¡°I bet the adage changes wherever you are.¡± Thinking of Barnabas and his cantankerous wisdom filled Natalie with another wave of melancholy. Deciding that stewing in her sense of loss wasn¡¯t good, Natalie jumped off the back of the wagon and joined Alia. A crossbow hung from the city warden''s back, and a pair of long knives dangled from her belt. She wore an odd coat that seemed to mix a woodsman¡¯s dress and a warrior¡¯s jerkin. Signifier patches of the Vindabon guard were sown to the breast and shoulder, marking Alia¡¯s occupation and loyalties. The dark, earthy colors of Alia¡¯s clothes matched her rich brown skin tone. Natalie guessed her cat-blooded friend had recent ancestry from the southern continent but never asked for details. Traveling with the Shohgards had provided Natalie a limited education about werefolk. So she knew most werelion and werecat bloodlines came from Sutu. Something Alia¡¯s feline eyes and dark skin testified. Eyeing Natalie, Alia asked. ¡°Why are you staring at me like that?¡± Shaking her head, Natalie apologized. ¡°Sorry, just getting lost in thoughts.¡± Flexing one arm so the toned muscle showed beneath her sleeve, Alia smirked. ¡°What, not used to seeing a gal built like me?¡± Rolling her eyes, Natalie felt one corner of her mouth twitch. ¡°Clearly, you don¡¯t know how tough mountain women are. Chopping wood and shoveling snow keeps you in good condition even in winter.¡± Answering Natalie¡¯s half smile with a full one, Alia said. ¡°Oh, so you are hiding some muscle under those curves of yours? Here I thought all there was to you was wide hips and nice tits.¡± A little shocked by Alia¡¯s crude words, Natalie felt her smile broaden. ¡°Thanks, my mom gave them to me.¡± Alia cackled, and Natalie couldn¡¯t help but laugh as well. While young women were a bit more subtle about it than their masculine counterparts, ribald humor was something shared between genders. Recovering herself, Alia playfully punched Natalie¡¯s shoulder and said. ¡°Cole must love getting you out of those frilly dresses you always wear.¡± Looking down at the mountain garment she wore, Natalie scoffed. ¡°They aren¡¯t frilly! They are practical! It gets cold where I come from, so layers help!¡± Raising an eyebrow, Alia replied. ¡°Like that matters to you anymore. You could have bought a whole wardrobe of proper clothing in Vindabon. Instead, I¡¯ve only seen you wear heavy skirts and long-sleeved bodices!¡± Deciding there was no winning this conversation, but unwilling to surrender, Natalie said. ¡°I like my clothes. They are warm, soft, and help me look good; what else do I need from them?¡± Shaking her head in mock disgust, Alia said. ¡°Stop dressing like a rural peasant! You know everyone back in Vindabon can tell you aren¡¯t native just from a glance, right?¡± Slowly becoming a little annoyed, Natalie snapped back. ¡°Not a peasant, a person of my hometown.¡± Hearing the hint of venom in Natalie¡¯s voice, Alia raised her hands in surrender. ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯m sorry. I was just trying to make conversation.¡± Natalie¡¯s barmaid intuition hadn¡¯t died with her, and something about this back-and-forth suddenly felt off. ¡°What are you trying to do, Alia?¡± Surprise, faux indignation, and finally, cool consideration crossed the catblood¡¯s face. ¡°Distract you the best I can. Shit got nasty back at the fort, and I¡­ well.¡± Gesturing at her eyes and teeth, Alia said. ¡°I get what it''s like to have people treat you like some rabid animal. I¡¯ve traveled through parts of the Holy League and been to places not so ¡®enlightened¡¯ as Vindabon.¡± Memories of the riot and attacks on werefolk back during winter filled Natalie¡¯s mind. Things had settled down in Vindabon after the Heart-stealer breathed his last, but there were still scars from what House Louon unleashed. It hadn¡¯t taken much for the undercurrent of fear and prejudice to rear its head in even a progressive and diverse city. Natalie really didn¡¯t want to think how more remote and insular villages might react. Seeing that Natalie understood her meaning, Alia continued. ¡°I¡¯m trying to treat you like a person, not some dangerous creature. So for me, that means talking jagged and being an ass.¡± To punctuate her remark, Alia playfully slapped her own toned rear. ¡°Look, I¡¯m not good at this touchy-feely shit, but hells, I¡¯m still going to try.¡± Nodding, Natalie said. ¡°Thank you.¡± Then, after a moment, she added. ¡°Are you scared of me?¡± Alia scoffed. ¡°Of course I am!¡± Natalie was too stunned even to reply, so Alia continued. ¡°You¡¯re the Alukah! I¡¯m not exactly devout like either of our partners, but I¡¯ve read the Book of Miracles and have an idea of what would happen if you lost it. And, as if that wasn¡¯t scary enough, now you are saying the fucking Rabisu is squatting inside you like a damned tapeworm!¡± Gesturing wildly, Alia said. ¡°I¡¯d be a fucking moron not to be scared of you, Natalie! But so what? Fear is part of life, and learning to deal with it is what we¡¯re supposed to do. I¡¯m afraid of the danger you represent, and because I don¡¯t have shit between my ears, I respect that danger.¡± Suddenly, Alia stopped to pull up one pant leg till her upper thigh and the ugly scar on it were exposed. Long hours of tracing Cole¡¯s body had given Natalie insight into scars, and she recognized the nasty claw wound marking Alia. Pointing at the discolored skin, the catblood explained. ¡°Bears scare me. They are too big, too strong, and too jagging smart. So my idiot teenage self tried to hunt one that was wandering near my clan¡¯s campsite. I thought killing it would make me brave. Instead, I nearly got eaten by the fucker after only pissing it off.¡± Letting her pant leg fall and walking a little faster to catch up with the wagon, Alia said. ¡°After that jag up, I learned to respect things I fear. If I¡¯d left the bear alone, it would have left me alone. Sure, if the bear were an active threat, then the situation would be different. But I went and literally poked the bear and got a large set of claws in me for my trouble.¡± Pointing a finger at Natalie, Alia finished her speech. ¡°I¡¯ve got no interest in poking you, but I¡¯ll fight to protect myself or others if I have to. Gods willing, neither of us gets stuck in that situation, and I can just keep respecting you as a friend and possible nation-destroying monster.¡± Finally finding her words, Natalie asked. ¡°Teasing me about my clothes is how you respect me?¡± Alia nodded. ¡°Yeah! I¡¯m treating you like a fucking person, which is what respecting you looks like.¡± Thinking through all this, Natalie slowly said. ¡°Thank you.¡± then, after a moment''s consideration. ¡°You are smarter than I thought.¡± In response, Alia just smiled and made a rude gesture.
They stopped to set up camp right as dusk came. Pressing as the mission was, traveling after dark in lands besieged by the undead would be courting disaster. Still, from Mina and Kit¡¯s reading of their maps the group was making good time. It would only be a few days until they reached Turul¡¯s Tomb. Kit¡¯s enchantments to the cart and their more direct route let the group cover a surprising amount of ground. Taking a more traveled road came with other advantages; instead of a forest clearing or fallow field, the group camped in the shadow of a wayside shrine. Little larger than a shed, the open-walled wooden pavilion was a blessing to any travelers who might find it. A rusted but serviceable well stuck from the shrine¡¯s rear, and a stone firepit sat nearby. The bushes and trees surrounding the rest stop were all fruit-bearing or otherwise medicinal. Not much use this early in spring, but still a clear sign of the shrine''s purpose. Standing under the pavilion roof, feeling the faint itching tingle of protective magic reacting to her presence, Natalie stared up at the shrine¡¯s saint. Carved from wood was a statue depicting a thin man with short curly hair and an easy smile. Carried in one arm was a lute, and in the other hand a walking stick. On the statue¡¯s plinth was a simple inscription. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡®Saint Bacho: wander where you wish, stay where you must.¡¯ Natalie didn¡¯t know the saint but could guess he was a holy bard of some kind. Probably a follower of Uncle Trickster who did enough good to end up a Seraph in death. Turning away from the statue, Natalie wondered at the Seraph-touched woman who¡¯d roused ancient wards and defended an entire army against the plague. Unlike Changelings and more mundane hybrids, Seraphbloods and Demonbloods weren¡¯t actually offspring of a Beyonder parent. They were instead infused with a measure of holy or unholy power while still in the womb. Mutating the fetus in their metaphysical progenitor¡¯s image. The idea of such blessed and cursed scions disturbed Natalie. It was one thing for an adult to willingly or unwillingly take up a holy mantle or experience a twisted transformation. It was another for a child, a baby, to be born into the world already shaped by powers so far beyond mortal understanding. Natalie credited the fact she remembered being human and what that entailed as a large part of what kept her well, humane. For someone to come into existence already so shifted just felt wrong. What choice or chance did someone have if the moment they first opened their eyes, some Beyond-born impulse dominated their mind? A voice from behind Natalie called. ¡°Are you ready?¡± It was Cole, and his words barely disturbed Natalie¡¯s musings, only adding to them. While she didn¡¯t like to think about it, Cole was a prime example of a being shaped by another¡¯s intent before they even properly existed. Some of what Isabelle shared about Cole¡¯s origin and habits came bubbling up into Natalie¡¯s mind. While the older vampire insisted Cole¡¯s abnormal nature didn¡¯t rob him of free will or truly shackle him, Natalie had her doubts. ¡°Natalie?¡± Cole stood maybe a meter before her, a look of concern creasing his scarred face. Reaching out and taking one of her hands, he said. ¡°It will be okay.¡± Looking past Cole towards the ritual circle Mina and Kit were putting the finishing touches on, Natalie wasn¡¯t so certain. After talking with Alia while on the road, Natalie had put a lot of thought into what the brash catblood said. About how respect and educated caution were the healthy evolution of fear. Buoyed by the unexpected wisdom, Natalie spoke with Cole about potentially answering some of their more troubling questions. Natalie wanted to try contacting Isabelle again to pick the older vampire¡¯s brain and see if the Rabisu would attack. Living in fear of the lurking horror inside of her wasn¡¯t going to work, so Natalie needed to learn what the limits and dangers of this new paradigm were. While Alia complained that Natalie was interpreting her words in the worst possible way, Natalie felt this was the correct step. Besides, the bear was already awake and ready to take bites out of people Natalie loved. Avoiding poking the metaphorical ursine wasn¡¯t an option; learning its strengths, weaknesses, and how to handle it was the best choice. To that end, Cole, Kit, and Mina had done their best to ensure no harm could come from this investigation. In a patch of ground cleared of plant life, a perfect circle was cut into the soil by Kit¡¯s precise hand. Salt was poured into the circle¡¯s tiny trench, and sigils flowed from the outer edge, giving the ritual space the vague appearance of an occult sunburst. A bucket of prepared holy water sat in the wayside shrine, taking advantage of the structure¡¯s Aetheric resonance to keep it blessed. Nearby, Alia mashed freshly cut garlic, swearing to herself the entire time. Half a dozen tent stakes had been sharpened and inscribed with runes of binding, ready for grim use. Then, as if all this wasn¡¯t daunting enough, Cole was wearing his full panoply of war, and his skin was deathly cold with prepared power. If the Rabisu tried to take control of Natalie or otherwise cause problems, it would find many nasty surprises waiting for it. Still, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but have doubts. Seeing this on her face, Cole let one of his hands drift to Natalie¡¯s neck and the silver mark there. It hadn¡¯t completely faded after its last activation, and faint lines covered blackened veins. Touching the stigma, Cole said. ¡°With your mark and our preparation, everything will be fine.¡± Nodding, Natalie found Cole¡¯s hand and kissed his fingers, hating how cold the usually warm flesh felt. ¡°Let''s get started then.¡± Entering the circle, carefully stepping over the intricate ritual marks, Natalie sat down, her legs folded beneath her. Collecting Cole''s offered amulet, Natalie held it in both hands, ignoring the numbing chill the blessed metal carried. Cole gently tied her hands, binding them with a soft but sturdy cloth so she couldn¡¯t let go of the medallion. With the hallowed trinket dulling her arms, it would take a noticeable effort to escape the amulet. A joke about finding another time to experiment with such acts formed on Natalie¡¯s lips but died as Kit came into view, carrying a sturdy lockbox. Bought from Fort Carnum¡¯s quartermaster, the container was Isabelle¡¯s new home, replacing the one Natalie smashed. Squeezing Natalie¡¯s bound hands, Cole retrieved the lockbox from Kit and opened it, taking out the cracked vampire skull and setting it before Natalie. This was the first time Natalie properly saw Isabelle after the incident, and a pulse of guilt flowed through her. The large fracture spread from one eye socket up Isabelle¡¯s brow and towards the crest of her skull. Meeting the empty sockets, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± Shutting her eyes, Natalie called upon the psychic bridge connecting her to Isabelle, offering a silent prayer to a certain God as she did.
Natalie opened her eyes and sucked in a nervous breath. She stood among red lilies, the once familiar sight rendered sinister by recent experiences. Within her own mindscape, Natalie looked around, seeking any other alterations or threats. The fang tree was still there, but the storm clouds had mellowed into the stark overcast of deep winter. Snowflakes still fell from above, covering the ground in a sheet of white. The red flowers stuck out of the snow, giving the appearance of countless blood drops upon pale skin. Growing claws and marshaling her psychic defenses, expecting to be attacked at any moment, Natalie cautiously moved towards the stream that flowed through her mindscape. Pieces of stained ice floated upon the creek, carried downstream to some other metaphor Natalie hadn¡¯t yet explored. As she approached the stream, an ice jam snapped and popped, filling Natalie¡¯s mind with the familiar song of deep winter. A large chunk of ice caught in the jam cracked then, splitting upwards and sending a shower of fragments everywhere as a familiar figure emerged from the creek. Isabelle Gens Silva did not look her usual imperial self while climbing out of a half-frozen stream. Natalie started reaching for Isabelle to help, but the changes to the older vampire stopped her. Cracks ran along Isabelle''s body, fracture lines that covered skin, clothes, and hair in defiance of logic. On more than one occasion, Natalie compared Cole¡¯s appearance to some vandalized statue of antiquity; now Isabelle almost matched him, resembling a work of marble beauty shattered and then glued back together. Seeing Natalie¡¯s shock, Isabelle bared her fangs. ¡°Admiring your handiwork?¡± Shame, guilt, and confusion flowed through Natalie. ¡°Cole said you weren¡¯t hurt!¡± Finding herself, Natalie moved forward, voice pitching higher with fear. ¡°Oh, gods! I¡¯m so sorry, what can I do-¡± Cutting Natalie off with a gesture, Isabelle said. ¡°You did this to me! You stupid peasant! My very soul is falling apart thanks to your ugliness!¡± Advancing on Natalie, Isabelle jabbed a finger into her student¡¯s breast. ¡°How greedy and foolish must you be? To eat not one, but two of our kind! If you were a normal Vampire, then the hallucinations and whispers would be bad enough. But no! You woke up the Rabisu and nearly killed me!¡± Taller than Natalie, Isabelle loomed over the younger Vampire, eyes wild with righteous fury. ¡°I barely brushed the monster sleeping inside you, and it did this to me! What do you think will happen as it grows stronger? Which of your friends do you think it will eat first? How many times will you murder Cole again before something puts you down!¡± A cruel backhand struck Natalie, and she fell onto the snow, stunned and horrified. ¡°In fact, why are you even here? The last time you tried to speak with me, the Rabisu did this!¡± Gesturing at her cracked body, Isabelle continued. ¡°It could wake any second and finish me off. Then where would you be? No, I won¡¯t be another corpse left in the wake of your blundering! Leave me! Leave Cole, and find some hole to bury yourself in! It worked for the last Alukah; it should work for you!¡± Confused, feeling her heart crack like Isabelle¡¯s flesh, Natalie pulled away from the raging Vampire. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry!¡± Arms wide, Isabelle screamed. ¡°This is what you always do! You leap into danger and let others pay the blood-price for your stupidity! Your father, your neighbors, Cole, the Shohgards, Yara, and now me!¡± The cracks on Isabelle¡¯s left arm widened, and the limb fell apart, landing on the ground in a shower of frozen gore. Staring at the stump, eyes wide and furious, Isabelle roared. ¡°This is what you are, Natalie! A stain of pain and grief that spreads and spreads to everyone you touch!¡± Shaking her head in disgust, dislodging a chunk of her cheek, Isabelle said. ¡°It¡¯s all you are good for, isn¡¯t it? Spreading tragedies and feeling sorry for yourself. This new life you¡¯ve made for yourself in Vindabon? It¡¯s a lie, a delusion that will fall apart the moment you lose control again! Hells! You don¡¯t even need to lose control; the Rabisu will take it! Then, if the world is still here in a thousand years, your name will be spoken of like Eresh or Annoch!¡± Each of Isabelle¡¯s words was like a knife, rammed into Natalie¡¯s heart with more force and cruelty than any wooden stake. Staring up at the collapsing Isabelle, Natalie felt like her mind was doing the same thing, crumbling along deep fault lines now exposed. Fears and insecurities, old and new, known and unknown, were given a terrible voice by a woman Natalie loved. Loved as a teacher, a friend, a mentor, a colleague in affection, and perhaps more. Despite everything, Natalie had grown to trust and care for the old monster, and to have those emotions returned with such venomous hate hurt worse than words could express. Another voice suddenly cut through the wintry landscape, coming from behind Natalie. ¡°Well, this is certainly disturbing.¡± Spinning about in confusion, Natalie saw another Isabelle, this one intact, standing a few meters away. In one hand, the new Isabelle held a spear of carved ice, and instead of her usual dress she wore the armor Natalie saw used against the Redcap. Marching over the snowy ground, lilies seeming to part for her, Isabelle moved past Natalie and approached her shattered counterpart. With a twirl of the spear, the armored Isabelle smashed its butt into the fractured Isabelle¡¯s face. Chunks of hardened flesh fell away, and Natalie stared at what lay underneath with dawning horror. A fanged skull covered in oily black worms stared out at Natalie with baleful eyes of stolen blood. The worms, no veins, started to undulate and grow, forming flesh and skin atop the skull. As short hair sprouted from a marble scalp lined with obsidian, Natalie knew what had happened. The Rabisu failed to destroy Natalie with pure strength, so now it tried another method. The Queen of Akzad stared up at Isabelle with those nightmarish eyes, its mouth opening, ready to drip more poison. Isabelle Gen Silva did not give the first vampire the chance. In a move of artful brutality that reminded Natalie what exactly her mentor was, Isabelle rammed the ice spear up into the Rabisu¡¯s chest cavity. Striking up from beneath the ribs, Isabelle lifted and impaled Eresh of Akzad upon the crystal weapon. A point of glittering sharpness punched through the Rabisu¡¯s upper back, sticking through its trapezius like a giant¡¯s arrow. Hosting the first vampire up, Isabelle let the spear¡¯s butt rest upon the ground, its shaft going from diaphragm to scapula. The grisly display reminded Natalie of Isabelle¡¯s death, and judging by the stoney expression on her mentor¡¯s face, she wasn¡¯t the only one who noticed the similarities. Throughout all of this, the Rabisu didn¡¯t make a sound, no screams, no cries, no furious roars, and somehow that was worse than any dire curses or fell invocations. Eyes transfixed by the twisted sight before her, Natalie watched as roots of ice spread from the spear''s butt and crystalline branches pushed out of the Rabisu¡¯s flesh and wrapped around its trapped form. Soon, in the place of a spear was an entire tree, impaling and enclosing the Rabisu in unnatural ice. Wide drooping branches expanded into a canopy, and soon, strings of layered frost dripped over and down those crystal limbs. Finally finding her voice, Natalie said. ¡°A willow?¡± Staring at the ice tree now standing by the riverbank, Isabelle corrected her student. ¡°A weeping willow. The gods are ever melodramatic.¡± Dusting her hands as if she were wiping away filth, Isabelle stared at the icy tree. ¡°That should keep her contained, for now.¡± Looking at Isabelle, watching her armor turn into normal clothes, Natalie slowly got to her feet. ¡°What happened?¡± Finally, looking at her student, Isabelle''s cold expression softened slightly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for not arriving sooner and giving that parasite time to act. The thing squatting in your mind is working hard to keep you to itself. I couldn¡¯t use the bridge between us without risking being torn apart.¡± Crossing her arms and speaking with undisguised disgust, Isabelle continued. ¡°To subjugate, one must isolate, violate, and manipulate your victim. An ugly adage but painfully truthful. I don¡¯t know if it''s trying to torture you into surrendering your body or just hoping to break you, but either way, it won¡¯t succeed.¡± Eyes suddenly alight with anger, Isabelle snarled. ¡°This parasite dared use my face and my voice, to hurt my student! That will not be tolerated.¡± Stepping towards the trapped Rabisu, wrath kindled into a raging inferno, Isabelle continued. ¡°Know this, you wretched metaphysical vermin! I am the greatest minds of this Epoch! My genius has mastered life, defied death, and created immortals! I will not forget such an insult to me and mine! I will tear you down from your rotting throne and dissect anything that survives the fall! All of your secrets and all your power will be taken from you! This I swear by my name and will!¡± Seeing this, Natalie felt her cracked heart start to mend, and a sob escaped the scared Vampire. Before she even knew what she was doing, Natalie rushed over to Isabelle and wrapped shaking arms around her mentor. Pressing her face into Isabelle¡¯s collar, Natalie cried. Wet, racking sobs escaped Natalie, and after a few tentative moments, Isabelle returned the hug. They stood like that for a time. Isabelle was clearly uncertain how to comfort Natalie but was still attempting to try. An overpowering sense of exhausted relief and other more complicated emotions flowed through Natalie. When finally the worst passed, Natalie pulled back slightly, not letting go of Isabelle but moving to see her face. ¡°Thank you.¡± Clearly uncomfortable, Isabelle made an almost Cole-like shrug. ¡°You needed my help.¡± Mind reeling with everything that happened, Natalie did something impulsive. She kissed Isabelle. Warm and cool lips met each other for a few seconds, and suddenly realizing what she was doing, Natalie pulled back, flustered, embarrassed, and more than a little guilty. Isabelle, for her part, was completely stunned, not even blinking as she stared at Natalie with undisguised shock. Letting go of Isabelle, Natalie found she couldn¡¯t meet her friend¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡­ I¡± Isabelle reached out then and put a hand on Natalie¡¯s cheek, rubbing away one of the drying tears. ¡°Well¡­ that was unexpected but not¡­ unappreciated.¡± Sucking in a breath, in an unusual display of nerves, Isabelle said. ¡°I suppose it''s only fair. If we are to share Cole perhaps he can share you with me.¡± Fidgeting where she stood, feeling her cold body warm with the blush her mind expected, Natalie said. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were¡­ well interested.¡± Isabelle raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m centuries old; I¡¯ve enjoyed romances and dalliances of all kinds. Most Vampires expand their palate as they age, and you certainly are beautiful.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie said. ¡°No, I mean, you¡¯ve always been so dismissive of me. Cole said his ability to match you in philosophy was what caught your romantic attention.¡± Isabelle¡¯s other eyebrow joined the first as she said. ¡°I thought Cole was being a soft-hearted fool when he first fell for you, but¡­ as time has gone by, I¡¯ve seen your appeal. Besides, if I was only interested in people who could match my wits, I would be stuck trying to seduce Leonid Lupa.¡± A snort of laughter that turned into a hiccup escaped Natalie. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for falling apart like that. It''s just been a lot and¡­ well, having someone you care for save you from a literal nightmare is¡­¡± Dismissing Natalie¡¯s apology with a wave, Isabelle glared back at the trapped Rabisu. ¡°That thing struck every mental weak point you have while wearing the face of a close companion. It''s waging a war on you, Natalie, seeking to break your will for some dark purpose.¡± Shuddering slightly, Natalie looked at the ice willow, seeing the Rabisu¡¯s shadow within the enchanted ice. Isabelle¡¯s voice, slow and unusually measured, asked. ¡°But, I should ask you the same thing. Why would someone like you be interested in me? Was it just the stress, or¡­¡± Turning back towards Isabelle, Natalie blinked at what she saw. A new expression colored the old monster¡¯s face, one that took Natalie a moment to decipher. Isabelle was unsure of herself and racked by self-doubt. It was so out of character Natalie briefly wondered if this was yet another doppelganger. Deciding any believable mimic wouldn¡¯t ever have Isabelle show such vulnerability, Natalie said. ¡°You didn¡¯t betray me. You¡¯ve had opportunities and motives galore to steal my body, subvert me somehow, or generally make my life worse. Despite our¡­ squabbles, you¡¯ve helped me and been a good teacher and confidant. No one else knows what it''s like to be a Vampire, at least no one else I trust.¡± Isabelle¡¯s composure cracked then; the old aristocrat sucked in a shuddering gasp, and she whispered. ¡°I have betrayed you.¡± Unable to meet Natalie¡¯s eyes, Isabelle spoke her confession. ¡°I fully intended to steal your body, Natalie. I¡¯d even started the process and planned how to take control of you. I was even going to alter Cole¡¯s mind! Remove his memories of you! I was going to take the Alukah¡¯s power, your flesh, and everything else I could!¡± Natalie could almost physically see Isabelle¡¯s self-control shatter. The mask of cold undead countess splintered under internal stress and revealed the guilt-ridden woman. Seeing Isabelle like this felt wrong to Natalie, like she¡¯d stumbled into someone''s dressing room. The strangeness of the sudden fracturing was almost enough to distract Natalie from the dread confession Isabelle spoke. Dry sobs escaped Isabelle, her mind so removed from mortality she didn¡¯t properly cry inside of an illusion. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry! I should have told you this before, but I¡¯m a fucking coward. When you started to trust me, when you started to care, I¡­ I couldn¡¯t do it. You don¡¯t deserve that horror, and I don¡¯t deserve another chance, especially one built on your bones.¡± Slowly, finding her words, Natalie said. ¡°You¡¯re right, you don¡¯t deserve that.¡± Flinching at the coldness in the words, Isabelle refused to look at Natalie and didn¡¯t see her student approach. So when Natalie¡¯s forehead rested against Isabelle¡¯s shoulder, it was a complete surprise. ¡°You don¡¯t have the right to steal my body or anyone else, but you do deserve a second chance. I¡¯m going to do my damn best to help you get that chance. Master Time said my story could have a good ending, and I think you should be part of that, Isabelle. ¡° Slowly, tentatively, the two women embraced. Much was still left unsaid, but in that simple moment, tender silence was all that was needed. Book III: Chapter 36: Links, Laughter and Lies

Chapter 36: Links, Laughter and Lies

¡°The Deeps are clearly not a natural phenomenon; those cave systems span much of the world and defy what we understand nature''s laws. No volcano, glacier, buried aquifer, or earthquake could produce them, nor could any known magical force carve them. They are simply too extensive, too random, and too old to be the result of any intellect we know of. But, their presence and the stories recorded in our histories and those of the dwarfs point us towards an obvious, if concerning, answer. An entity or group of entities of incalculable power and age are responsible for creating the Deeps. Entities we do not know the nature, location or motivation of.¡± - excerpt from Preceptor Ricardo Cetus¡¯s infamous ¡®Titan Proposal¡¯
After a small eternity where no words were said and the two vampires simply held each other, Natalie broke the silence. ¡°How the hells are we going to explain this to Cole?¡± A small laugh escaped Isabelle. ¡°Having two beautiful lovers who aren¡¯t just willing to share his bed, but each other? He might be a chivalrous gentleman, but he¡¯s still a man. Oh, of course, Cole will be awkward and halting at first, wracked by fears of hurting us or some other sweet but overly cautious sentiment. But once we help settle his concerns, convincing him this will work won¡¯t be too hard.¡± Eyes narrowing, Natalie asked. ¡°You¡¯ve put some thought into this¡­¡± Isabelle shrugged. ¡°Natalie, I have nothing to do but stew in bad memories or get lost in thought. Plotting out possibilities involving the two people I have left in this world is a good way to keep sane.¡± Wincing at that, Natalie looked at Isabelle; somehow, her teacher and confidant seemed¡­ brighter. The weight of guilt didn¡¯t press on Isabelle like it had. With the unseen load lightened, Isabelle was more relaxed and certain. A tightness of muscle and expression Natalie hadn¡¯t truly noticed before was gone. The cold analytical mask of Magi Countness was shattered, revealing the woman beneath. Sensing there was still some fragility to Isabelle, but also knowing some matters couldn¡¯t be left alone, Natalie asked. ¡°When did you change your mind?¡± The older vampire didn¡¯t flinch; she merely shut her eyes in a sign of tired sadness. ¡°I truly started to have doubts after I was exposed to the Temple, and you protected me. But after the solstice ball, I realized I couldn¡¯t hurt you or Cole like that.¡± Slowly nodding, feeling her mind trace over the memories, Natalie said. ¡°That''s why you asked for the twelve days after the Heart-stealer was dealt with. You abandoned one plan and moved to the next.¡± Isabelle didn¡¯t respond at first, merely bobbing her head in confirmation. Eventually finding her voice, Isabelle asked. ¡°How can you still care about me? I was preparing to do something worse than kill you only a few months ago?¡± Raising an eyebrow and wondering why Isabelle was arguing against herself, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯ve had a suspicion you were planning something like this. It''s why I was so jagging, reluctant to let you use my body. That entire time, I expected to be locked away inside my own mind or something equally horrible.¡± Thinking about those old fears, Natalie felt a spike of anger go through her. ¡°How far did you get in your original plan?¡± Unable to meet Natalie¡¯s eyes, Isabelle said. ¡°Far enough. Our souls are very enmeshed; it''s why the psychic link between us is so sturdy. I could probably still replace bits of you with myself, but now that I¡¯ve let the spellwork erode, it wouldn¡¯t be as quiet or clean.¡± Eyebrows raising in surprise, Natalie asked. ¡°You mean the magic you were working is still inside me?¡± In answer, Isabelle gestured to the mindscape around them. ¡°In part, the more¡­ parasitic parts of the spell are degrading quickly, but the strong link remains. I could break it, but there would be side effects, ones that would predominantly harm me.¡± Natalie could physically see Isabelle tense, prepared for her student to demand the link cut. Whatever the consequences of the psychic bridge falling were, they clearly wouldn¡¯t be pleasant for Isabelle. Weighing her options, Natalie shrugged. ¡°I want to know exactly what this link entails.¡± Isabelle nodded. ¡°At its most basic level, it allows us to communicate and reach into each other¡¯s mindscapes easily, but that isn¡¯t much different than a strong psychic bond. Our natures as Vampires and the blood you¡¯ve given does make the connection somewhat unique. It''s how I¡¯ve been able to loan you some of my knowledge and skills. Your blood is extremely potent, so by sharing them with me, I¡¯ve been able to stay awake and more cognizant than when Cole traveled alone.¡± Hesitating for a moment, Isablle continued. ¡°Our memories have also become slightly connected, as have our consciousness; that¡¯s the part I¡¯ve been working to undo. Because of that, your body and mind are¡­ prepared for inhabitation. I can slip into your flesh and mind with great ease. There isn¡¯t any true psychic bleed between us, but we both have metaphorical keys to the other¡¯s mind. But unlike you, I know where the doors and windows are to take advantage of that.¡± Thinking on this, Natalie decided now was as good a time as any to be honest. ¡°I found a few of those doors and windows myself. I poked through some memories and thoughts I shouldn¡¯t have back when you possessed me. It''s how I helped you realize the cure could be in two parts. I¡¯d seen pieces of your work on infectious emotion control.¡± Shock, outrage, guilt, and eventually sheepish acceptance flashed across Isabelle¡¯s face. ¡°Underestimating you continues to be one of my consistent errors.¡± Despite herself, a smirk spread across Natalie¡¯s face, only fading when another mystery was suddenly solved. ¡°Mina¡¯s spell! When she and Alia attacked us in the hallway, the spell was supposed to end any possession; instead, it shut me out! That was because of what you were doing to me!¡± Biting one cheek, Isabelle said. ¡°Yes, and the implications are concerning, especially in light of recent events.¡± Natalie was confused for a moment, then as she understood Isabelle¡¯s words, her stomach promptly hit the floor. ¡°If you can possess me that easily, and even Master Time¡¯s power couldn¡¯t dislodge you, then¡­ could the Rabisu do the same?¡± Isabelle¡¯s pained expression was all the answer Natalie needed. Before the wave of terror and fury building inside Natalie could crest, her mentor grabbed her hands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for endangering you, but I¡¯ve taken steps to amend my mistakes.¡± Seeing the deep sorrow and shame in Isabelle¡¯s eyes, Natalie thought of all the times those red pools were cold, unreadable enigmas. Angry as she was, Natalie couldn¡¯t ignore the vulnerability on display in Isabelle. Seeing her student calm slightly, Isabelle let go of one hand and gestured towards the icy willow containing the Rabisu. ¡°The new bindings will keep your parasite in check until a more permanent solution can be found. As long as the infestation isn¡¯t fed, it should stay dormant.¡± Looking at the crystalline tree, Natalie asked. ¡°How did you manage all this?¡± Natalie could guess the source of power and wisdom that helped Isabelle enter her mind and seal the Rabisu, but she wanted confirmation. Face twisting in a rictus of disgust, Isabelle answered. ¡°I did what the desperate and foolish have been doing to save those they care for since time immemorial. I made a deal with a Beyond-born intelligence to achieve my goals.¡± The venom in Isabelle¡¯s words made it sound like she¡¯d just confessed to selling herself on a red lamp street. Seeking aid from any God, no matter how benevolent, went against everything Isabelle believed. Yet still, she¡¯d swallowed her titan-sized pride and did her best to help Natalie. Not long ago, Natalie wouldn¡¯t have been able to see past her justified outrage and sense of betrayal at Isabelle¡¯s actions to see these other layers to the situation. But the gift time most easily awards to those worthy is wisdom. ¡°What did Master Time ask of you?¡± Natalie inquired, unwilling to suffer any more secrets. A noise close to a growl escaped Isabelle. ¡°He bound me to certain promises. Ironically, including swearing never to steal your body or that of another.¡± Natalie slowly nodded, thinking of her argument with Cole about helping Isabelle acquire another¡¯s flesh. It seemed Cole¡¯s patron deity took the time to solve the moral quandary the Paladin found himself in while also protecting the Alukah¡¯s vessel. The way Master Time wove multiple strands together to ensure a favorable outcome was impressive, even if it still rankled Natalie. But the fact that a deal had to be struck brought another question to Natalie¡¯s mind. ¡°Why did he make demands? Surely preventing me from being possessed is reason enough to help you?¡± Lips curling in disgust, Isabelle answered. ¡°Pure pragmatism, I¡¯d wager. I did not know of your condition, only that something was wrong. The Tenth came to me offering its aid in exchange for binding vows. Knowing you were possibly in danger, I didn¡¯t do much to negotiate or press the terms I¡­ I perhaps didn¡¯t do my due diligence before accepting.¡± Digesting this, Natalie slowly asked. ¡°You¡¯re saying he scammed you?¡± A little of Isabelle¡¯s domineering arrogance returned as she sneered. ¡°It manipulated me, using my emotions and vulnerabilities to get what it wanted.¡± Natalie felt laughter start to bubble up inside of her. ¡°He did! He swindled you!¡± Refusing to meet Natalie¡¯s eyes, Isabelle cooly replied. ¡°I acted hastily, desperate to help a friend. That deity took advantage of my vulnerability like any common Demon might.¡± Unable to suppress the laughter born of relief, surprise, and Isabelle¡¯s expense, Natalie doubled over cackling. Glaring down at her student, Isabelle snapped. ¡°I sometimes forget you''re still little more than a child.¡± Recovering a little, Natalie put a hand on Isabelle¡¯s arm. ¡°Thank you for coming to my aid; I mean that with all my heart. I don¡¯t know what would have happened if you hadn¡¯t intervened. But, you do have to admit it''s still kind of funny.¡± Still indignant, Isabelle replied. ¡°A boorish poet once said, ¡®Comedy is when tragedy happens to someone else.¡± Seeing the annoyance writ on Isabelle¡¯s face, Natalie sighed and kissed her new partner on the cheek. Isabelle mellowed slightly from the affection and spoke in the barest whisper. ¡°Helping you was worth the cost. I have many debts to pay for my sins, and of all my potential collectors, I prefer you.¡± Touching the spot Natalie kissed, Isabelle asked. ¡°I take that to mean my confession hasn¡¯t changed your feelings.¡± Shrugging, Natalie leaned against Isabelle, head on her shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s strange, but knowing you planned to betray me but couldn¡¯t go through with it is oddly¡­ relieving. I¡¯m still a little angry and probably should be more paranoid that this is some grand manipulation, but I¡¯m not. I trust and care for you, Isabelle, even if that''s not the wisest choice.¡± Slowly nodding, the former countess said. ¡°Only two people have believed I could be a better person. Only two people have earned my trust and extended their own to me. Only two people have helped me when my world turned to ash. I¡¯m madly in love with one and could see myself feeling similar for the other.¡± Feeling a smile spread across her face, Natalie said. ¡°You can be very sweet when you want to.¡± Exhaling in what might be a snort of amusement, Isabelle said. ¡°We¡¯ll need to call Cole into the mindscape soon to sort matters out. But till then, there is the more pressing matter of your parasite. The Tenth God was very insistent I inform you that acts of Molek are to be avoided at all costs. It also made reference to limiting how much contact you make with Vampire remains, particularly ash and blood.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked, ¡°Why vampire ash?¡± Isabelle hesitated before saying. ¡°I don¡¯t fully know, but I¡¯d wager there might be a magically sympathetic link between your parasite and those substances. Certain spells and arcane abilities can take advantage of such metaphysical connections. The parasite might draw power or something else from vampire ash and blood, which is not good. But if you avoid feeding the infestation, the bindings should hold for now.¡± Chewing her lip, Natalie remarked. ¡°You are being awfully vague. Is that because of ignorance or the desire to keep secrets?¡± Mouth curling in a crooked smile, Isabelle replied. ¡°Mostly ignorance. I have a few theories, but until I¡¯m certain, sharing them wouldn¡¯t do any good.¡± Forestalling Natalie¡¯s annoyance, Isabelle held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m trying to protect you the best I can. Right now, what little knowledge I might offer would do nothing but cause problems. I swear on my soul the moment that changes I will tell you more.¡± Natalie grimaced. ¡°I¡¯ve never known ignorance to protect where knowledge could not.¡± A sad laugh escaped Isabelle. ¡°Then you¡¯ve been lucky enough to experience the type of ignorance that can be a shield. Please, I know it''s much to ask, but don¡¯t pry. This is not just for your good, but my own.¡± Now, more than a little concerned, Natalie slowly nodded and started to say something when a familiar taste hit her tongue. Cole¡¯s blood filled her mouth, and Natalie cursed. ¡°Shit, they must be getting worried. Cole¡¯s trying to get my attention; I need to wake up.¡± Isabelle put her hands on Natalie¡¯s shoulders and said. ¡°Remember the Tenth God¡¯s warnings, and¡­ remember I¡¯m here for you. Thank you for trusting me in spite of everything.¡± Leaning forward, Isabelle kissed Natalie. As their lips parted, Natalie stared into her partner¡¯s eyes, seeing new and unfamiliar vulnerability there. ¡°Thank you for saving me.¡± Smiling sadly, Isabelle looked around the mindscape as it faded. ¡°I could say the same.¡±
Natalie¡¯s eyes snapped open, and she sucked in a pointless breath, nearly choking on the mouthful of blood that called her from the mindscape. Trying to cough and swallow at the same time, Natalie felt exhausted. Lying on her back in the protection circle¡¯s middle, Natalie could have sworn an invisible oxen was atop her. Groaning in discomfort, she felt strong hands touch her neck and then wrists. Blinking away her disorientation, Natalie found Cole kneeling beside her, untieing her hands. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°Are you sure it''s her?¡± said a voice nearby that Natalie slowly realized was Alia. Cole looked in Alia¡¯s direction, his eyes glowing silver, and nodded. A moment later, the weight of Cole¡¯s amulet left Natalie, and she sucked in a breath of relief. Slowly sitting up, she smiled tentatively at Cole and the others. Putting his medallion on, Cole took her hands, his warmth a wonderful balm on the stiff flesh. ¡°What happened?¡± Blinking slowly, Natalie leaned herself against Cole, breathing in the smell of his blood. ¡°Isabelle rescued me.¡± Looking up at her knight, Natalie explained the Rabisu¡¯s attack, how Isabelle thwarted it, and that she should avoid contact with other Vampires. Slowly trailing off her accounting of events, Natalie fidgeted slightly. ¡°There is uh¡­ one more thing. I need to speak with Cole in private.¡± Mina rubbed at her face before saying. ¡°Well, she doesn¡¯t seem possessed, and her story makes sense.¡± Staring off into the middle distance, she added. ¡°The God of Death working with a Necromancer¡¯s ghost to save the Alukah¡­ What strange bedfellows calamity make.¡± Natalie visibly twitched at the word ¡®bedfellows,¡¯ but no one seemed to notice. With Cole¡¯s help, she got to her feet and left the salt circle. Holding his hand with possessive fierceness, Natalie led him a little away from the group, towards the grove of barren fruit trees behind the roadside shrine. Once she was reasonably certain they were alone, Natalie swallowed nervously and looked up at Cole. Undisguised concern colored his face, and Natalie couldn¡¯t help but wonder if what she was about to say would soothe or inflame his worries. No matter his reaction, she couldn¡¯t keep this from him. Isabelle might believe in safety through secrecy, but Natalie was growing to think that idea was goatshit. ¡°When Isabelle rescued me from the Rabisu, I wasn¡¯t in a good state. The illusion it used to attack me was horrible, and I acted impulsively after being freed.¡± Seeing Cole¡¯s eyebrows arch in growing concern, Natalie forced herself to get to the point. ¡°I kissed Isabelle.¡± Cole didn¡¯t respond; he simply stared at Natalie, his face blank and unreadable. Knowing there was no turning back, Natalie hurriedly said. ¡°It was a response to the terror and relief of having it end. But¡­ just as she and I share you, would it be possible that¡­ well¡­ uh¡­¡± As a girl, Natalie once accepted a dare from a friend to climb into the town stable¡¯s hayloft and walk across one of the low rafters stretching over the season¡¯s last straw-bales. Clambering up onto the thin piece of wood, Natalie had started confident, knowing if she fell, the straw below would cushion her fall. But nearly halfway across the rafter, Natalie made a mistake; she looked down. Suddenly, the rafter felt much higher than before, and the straw-bales seemed woefully insufficient safety equipment. Natalie faltered then and fell to the ground, spraining an ankle, skinning her knees, and earning one hells of a lecture from her mother. Just as she once looked down and realized the full implications of her actions, Natalie now stumbled over her words in sudden embarrassed terror. What if Cole was angry? What if she was playing into some scheme of Isabelle¡¯s? What if acting like an impulsive teenager endangered her relationship with Cole and Isabelle? Looking up at Cole, Natalie forced herself to finish speaking. ¡°I want both of you, and you both want me. So¡­ uh¡­ do I have your blessing to be more than friends with Isabelle?¡± Thankful she wasn¡¯t projecting life and that the inevitable blushing and fidgeting such words would inspire were limited by undeath, Natalie watched Cole¡¯s face. A noise slowly escaped her knight, a low bubbling wheeze she initially thought was a growl. Before she could flinch away in trepidation, Cole¡¯s arms wrapped around Natalie, and the truth of his noise became clear. He was laughing, a deep, barely constrained laugh that shook his entire body. Leaning down, Cole kissed Natalie on the forehead in between loud chuckles. ¡°You would not believe how relieved I am to hear that,¡± Cole said as his laughter slowly ended. Blinking up at him in shock, Natalie asked. ¡°Wait, what?¡± Shaking his head, Cole replied. ¡°It''s one thing for a man to be torn between two women, even with their consent. It''s another for three souls to become equally involved. I don¡¯t know exactly how this will work, but knowing our connection might be a true triangle is heartening.¡± Barely processing this, Natalie tentatively asked for clarification. ¡°You aren¡¯t angry?¡± Cole raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯d have to be a much bigger hypocrite than I already am to be upset. But¡­ let''s try and keep this arrangement to the three of us.¡± Nodding, Natalie felt the tension flow from her. ¡°Yes, I can agree with that. About not wanting to share either of you more, that is. I just hope our bed can fit all three of us once I help Isabelle build a new body.¡± Slowly, Cole said. ¡°I¡­I hadn¡¯t considered that aspect.¡± Realizing what she just said and even more thankful she couldn¡¯t blush, Natalie asked. ¡°Really? I thought stuff like that was a common fantasy. I mean¡­ I wouldn¡¯t mind.¡± An almost lupine smile split Cole¡¯s face, and he grabbed Natalie¡¯s chin. ¡°You seem to be feeling better.¡± Staring up into his eyes, suddenly very aware of their closeness and privacy, Natalie felt her breath catch. ¡°How long do you think till they start to wonder about us?¡± Grabbing the small of Natalie¡¯s back and pulling her close to him, Cole said. ¡°That depends on how much noise we make.¡± Returning Cole¡¯s smile and feeling a bit of her confidence returning, Natalie placed her hands on his broad chest. ¡°Oh, then we best be quick, I don¡¯t feel like being quiet.¡± Cole¡¯s other hand slid to Natalie¡¯s hip, ¡°Perhaps I can cast a subtly spell before we get started?¡± Leaning forward so her breasts pressed against Cole, Natalie laughed. ¡°What a lovely idea.¡±
Heavy rain fell upon the Alidonian Mountains, sluicing down from the heavens to soak Wolfgang and his companions. Not that the cold spring storm bothered the group much, especially since Cleanor wasn¡¯t with them. She¡¯d been left behind in a prospector¡¯s burrow they¡¯d used as shelter the day before. Her presence would only cause complications for what the stone hunters had planned for that night. Walking along a crude dirt path, feet sucking in the mud with every step, Wolfgang glanced over his allies. Each of them was cloaked and hooded, a paltry disguise under normal occasions but near-perfect considering the current weather. Even the Dullahan¡¯s bulky frame was obscured by the treated cloth wrapping him. From a distance, the headless hunter simply appeared to be a large, barrel-chested man with a stiff gait. Hopefully, it was not enough of an abnormality to catch unwanted attention, but Marcus walked behind the three Vampires just to be certain. For Sir Thorm¡¯s gambit to work, they needed to avoid suspicion for a few precious minutes. The Strigoi Dwarf had found an old dwarven delve easily enough but with one major complication: it wasn¡¯t abandoned. At first, the coterie of monsters considered making other plans, but Sir Wulfhild¡¯s borrowed eyes and ears offered other options. A local crow¡¯s memories told of the delve¡¯s name. Words that held no meaning to the animal but stayed in its mind by virtue of hearing them over and over. Delve Njolk wasn¡¯t abandoned, but that wouldn¡¯t be an impediment if Wolfgang and Thorm approached matters correctly. Not far ahead of Wolfgang, he could see flickering lamps and the pale light of glowstones marking the entrance to the tiny mining settlement. Little more than a cluster of simple wooden huts surrounding the delve proper, the hamlet hugged a cruel rock face in a rough-semicircle. Protecting this meager settlement was a crude wall of packed dirt and cracked stone. The mine spoils of the delve put to use if Wolfgang had to guess. Reaching the delve¡¯s gate, a large slab of wood probably repurposed from a broken wagon, Thorm the Short banged on the door, calling out in dwerick. Wolfgang spoke some of the hard crackling tongue, but Thorm¡¯s use of some slurred accent made it nearly unintelligible. Still, the Black Fly knew the gist of the words; after all, he¡¯d helped Thorm choose them. As a silhouette appeared through the gate¡¯s loose planks, Thorm spoke the preplanned lies. He claimed to be a peddler coming to trade and deliver a message to the delves foredwarf. Saying the storm caught him and his employees on the road, and they¡¯d been forced to leave their mud-stuck cart a few kilometers up the road. Then asking if the good dwarves of Delve Njolk would invite this humble peddler and company inside for the night. Eventually, the silhouette disappeared, leaving the quartet of monsters alone in the rainy dark. Glancing back at Wolfgang, Thorm explained. ¡°He¡¯s going to get the foredwarf and some silver to test us.¡± Pursing his lips, Wolfgang nodded; things were going to plan. A few minutes later, two silhouettes reappeared, and the gate opened a fraction, revealing a pair of dwarves. One held a lantern and was young; judging by his short blond beard and unwrinkled skin, this was the watchdwarf to whom Thorm spoke. Beside him was a taller, more heavily muscled dwarf still wearing his night clothes. The foredwarf wore an expression of tired annoyance and held an axe in one hand. In a voice deep like his ancestral home, the foredwarf asked something in his native tongue. Thorm responded and held out his hand, gesturing for Tallclaw to do the same. Spitting words that Wolfgang knew had to be a curse, the foredwarf stepped past the gate, a silver coin in his free hand. Quick as the lightning splitting the sky overhead, Tallclaw grabbed the foredwarf¡¯s wrist and yanked him out into the night. Before the other dwarf could react, the Dullahan¡¯s armored bulk shot forward and grabbed the young gate guard¡¯s throat. In the time it took a mortal to blink, both dwarves were pulled from the safety of their home and forced into the mud. Wolfgang watched as the young guard¡¯s neck was snapped by one quick motion of the Dullahan¡¯s gauntlets. The foredwarf tried to scream for help, but Tallclaw¡¯s hands upon his mouth and throat prevented him. Arms pinned behind him, belly down in the muck, staring up at the coterie of monsters surrounding him, the foredwarf¡¯s eyes widened in fear and hate. Nodding in confirmation, Wolfgang reached into his memory palace, finding the mixture of memories and spells gifted by Spymaster Yezhov. Squatting down so he was at eye level with the prisoner, Wolfgang spoke. ¡°Sunfall 17th, 1406, a quarter past nine, seven kilometers north-west of Noyia.¡± The foredwarf stopped struggling against Tallclaw, and his expression became vacant. Speaking slowly and clearly so he might be heard over the torrential rain, Wolfgang addressed the waking sleeper. ¡°Foredwarf Ordin of Delve Njolk, you are to invite my group into your settlement and treat us as old friends. You will ignore what we are, provide us a hiding place, and then assemble your entire delve for an important meeting. Use the disappearance of the guard as an excuse to gather everyone.¡± At Wolfgang¡¯s gesture, Tallclaw got off Ordin and let the dwarf stand up. Wiping the mud off his night clothes, Ordin cursed in dwerick before saying. ¡°Awful night to be stuck out in this; let''s get you all inside. Say, have any of you seen Morg? He was supposed to be guarding the gate?¡± Morg lay not a meter away, his corpse cooling in the mud. Thorm stepped over the guard''s body and said. ¡°We haven¡¯t; perhaps you should get some people to search for him later.¡± Ordin nodded and turned towards the gate. ¡°Come, come, I need to get this mud off me and find you all a place to sleep.¡± As the three vampires followed the foredwarf, Marcus stayed behind, hoisting Morg¡¯s corpse up and walking away. The Dullahan wasn¡¯t shackled by the need for an invitation and would be more useful disposing of the inconvenient body. Ordin led Wolfgang and his knightly escort towards a simple storage shack, apologizing for the lack of better accommodations the entire time. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for putting you here; we don¡¯t have much space fit for long-bones.¡± Gesturing at a few crates scattered about, Ordin continued. ¡°There are places to sit, and I¡¯ll find some furs for bedding soon enough. I don¡¯t know what warm food we¡¯ve got this time of night, but I should be able to find something.¡± A patronizing smile spread across Thorm¡¯s face. ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary; instead, why don¡¯t you start gathering searchers for your missing guard. It''s an ugly night, not the sort you¡¯d want someone lost in.¡± Nodding, Ordin turned to leave. ¡°Good idea! Best to act quick in case something bad has happened.¡± As the dwarf shut the door behind him, Thorm looked to Wolfgang and suppressed a wheezing laughter. ¡°Remind me to never make an enemy of Lord Yezhov. I¡¯ve never seen such a perfect sleeper agent; how does he manage it?¡± Thinking of the secrets imparted to him by the spymaster, Wolfgang replied. ¡°I obviously don¡¯t know the full mechanism involved, but he plants the geas in children. Where it becomes buried behind a lifetime of memories and only activates when they hear or read certain words. After which, they will follow any instructions and not even realize what happened.¡± Eyes narrowing, the Strigoi Dwarf asked. ¡°How does he ensure the children grow up into useful pawns? It''s not like he could easily access the spawn of valuable mortals.¡± Remembering the pure rage in Ordin¡¯s eyes before the geas activated, Wolfgang answered with a question. ¡°You know what Duke Umbria¡¯s policy on children is, correct?¡± Frowning, Thorm nodded. ¡°Aye, his armies and vassals avoid killing them when they can. Are you saying that¡¯s connected to his spymaster¡¯s sleepers?¡± Wolfgang nodded. ¡°My sire always says to never do anything for a single reason. The Duke¡¯s policy is a good example of that. It makes him seem slightly more palatable to the livestock while also giving him a cudgel to use against problematic vassals and ensures there''s a plausible explanation for their being young survivors of so many raids. Children with memories clouded by trauma and a reason to seek valuable positions.¡± Thorm pieced it together and let out a laugh rancid as his breath. ¡°The children grow up seeking revenge! So they join the armies, temples, courts, and orders of our enemies! Oh, that is perfect; they spend their short lives trying to fight us but only forge themselves into better tools! Ha! No wonder there were so many strings Yezhov could pull at Crowbend; the castle must have been crawling with his planted seeds.¡± It was, as Thorm said, the lands bordering Roloyo were infested with sleeper agents, many of which were now being awoken as this new war raged. Yezhov seemed to think his ¡®seeds,¡¯ as Thorm put it, would be easy to discover once the mortals knew what to look for. So now the spymaster was reaping opportunities before they started to rot. Wolfgang knew he wasn¡¯t the only one offered these secrets, and had to wonder how many quiet betrayals akin to what he currently orchestrated were happening across the continent. The thought of seeds growing into crops to be reaped sent a chill down Wolfgang¡¯s spine. A Fell God¡¯s sickle hung above his neck, awaiting another soul to be offered in Wolfgang¡¯s place. Dealing with the Reaper and its church had been a gamble, and now the cards were falling in an ugly sequence. They¡¯d offered him the aid he needed to replicate Gen Silva¡¯s work and now wanted the disgraced countess¡¯s masterpiece as compensation. As much as Wolfgang would like to dissect and examine the Homunculus Knight, losing that opportunity was an understandable cost. Hand drifting to the twin knives strapped to his chest, Wolfgang mused on how well-informed Pater Epulo was. His source, the odd vampire named Scapino, was an enigma and one Wolfgang found annoyingly confusing. His memories of the man were unusually dull as if they¡¯d been blurred by drink or long years. Yet more concerningly, the story Scapino shared was razor-sharp in Wolfgang¡¯s mind. He could remember the specifics of how the disgraced Sir Dietrich tore off the Homunculus¡¯s arm and realized what he faced, but not what Scapino¡¯s voice sounded like. At the time, Wolfgang had been so overwhelmed and exhausted he¡¯d not put much thought into Scapino, just the information he shared. The ramifications were so important he¡¯d rushed to speak with his sire and gather more evidence, not dwell on the odd man in a cooper¡¯s cloak. Now, sitting in a shed, waiting for cruel psychic magic to pave a path for him, Wolfgang could focus on these abnormalities and what they implied. Scapino, Epulo, or both of them had ensnared Wolfgang in a spell he only now noticed. Forcing himself to stay calm, Wolfgang sucked in a pointless breath, an affectation he rarely indulged in. He¡¯d been psychically manipulated for a purpose, to spread the word of the Homunculus Knight and to hunt it down. But, more importantly, information about Scapino and his involvement with the Homunculus was obscured. Why would Epulo and this other debtor do that? Was the information wrong or otherwise flawed? What would be the reason to keep Scapino and his source hidden? Freezing with the deathly stillness only a living corpse can manage, Wolfgang realized there was another gap in his memory. Who had told Scapino about Dietrich¡¯s misadventures? Scapino relayed the information with startling detail and complexity but never mentioned where he¡¯d learned of events. Something was pulling at the edge of Wolfgang¡¯s mind, a revelation he could sense but not understand. Some thought, some key thought to all of this, was eluding him, like it was covered in oil and refused to be grabbed. ¡°They are assembling; we should signal for Marcus soon,¡± spoke Tallclaw, his deep baritone disturbing Wolfgang¡¯s thoughts. Biting down his annoyance at being distracted, Wolfgang looked to the hulking Strigoi. His eyes were shut, and he was clearly looking through the senses of owls or other nocturnal animals. Swallowing down his concerns, Wolfgang said. ¡°That would be wise. Where are they meeting?¡± Tallclaw¡¯s face twitched slightly. ¡°A structure near the cave¡¯s proper mouth; I think it¡¯s a miner¡¯s canteen.¡± Standing up from the crate he sat upon, Wolfgang said. ¡°Summon the Dullahan; we will begin when he arrives.¡± Elsewhere in the dark night, an owl cried seven times. Stepping from the storage shed, Wolfgang adjusted his spectacles and glanced around the delve¡¯s outbuildings. All of the inhabitants were in the canteen, clearly awaiting whatever dire news Ordin had woken them to hear. If any other members of the delve weren¡¯t present, they would be in the actual mine and a problem for tomorrow night. Marcus appeared then, having forced the gate¡¯s lock with his longsword. Green sparks flowed along the weapon''s edge and showed in the Dullahan¡¯s empty helmet; the cursed fire quenched for secrecy. An owl swept down from the night then and landed on Tallclaw¡¯s shoulder. Reaching up, the Strigoi crushed the bird¡¯s skull with a wet crunch, brain and blood dribbling through his hands. As the owl dropped to the ground, the Strigoi started to shift, his fingers becoming sickle-sized talons while grey feathers grew from his tattooed skin. Staring at the dead bird, Wolfgang couldn¡¯t help but feel like its fate was an omen. It was used for the Voivode¡¯s purposes and then discarded so another servant might be of more value. Unbuckling his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, Thorm Shortteeth said. ¡°The canteen has three entrances, one for each of us.¡± Looking at Wolfgang, his beady red eyes reflecting lamplight, Thorm said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry; we¡¯ll leave the scraps for you.¡± Something wriggled underneath Shortteeth¡¯s skin then, and Wolfgang watched pale flesh bulge with hidden movement. Slowly, the three monsters advanced towards the canteen, each preparing their tools of death. Watching them walk towards the unsuspecting dwarves, Wolfgang sighed in annoyance; Cleanor would be insufferable that she missed this. Book III: chapter 36.5 A Little Privacy

Chapter 36.5: A Little Privacy

¡°A Vampire¡¯s fun bits are the like the rest of them, not actually alive but capable of mimicking life. They can become warm and willing for a time, enough to enjoy the fun parts of sex but not deal with any of the responsibilities. I guess that''s why they tend to be such randy bastards since they can fuck without concern of pregnancy or disease.¡± - words of the infamously rakish Necromancer Carlyle Roque.
Staring down at Natalie, Cole couldn¡¯t help but get lost in her eyes; those red orbs brimmed with such life and intensity. Much of the fear and fragility he¡¯d seen over the past few days was gone, shoved aside by ignited passion. Lips meeting hers, enjoying the feeling of Natalie¡¯s quickly warming body, Cole tried to speak between kisses. ¡°Are you ready for this?¡± Pulling away slightly, her fingers still trying to find the gaps in his armor, Natalie replied. ¡°We¡¯ve not been able to fuck for too jagging long. There''s been no privacy, time, or energy for us to enjoy each other, and bluntly, I¡¯m sick of it. After everything that¡¯s happened, I want some normalcy, and this seems to be the most fun kind available.¡± Reaching up to tap his nose, Natalie smirked. ¡°Besides, you¡¯re the one who started to get handsy once I put the idea of Isabelle and I fucking you senseless into your head.¡± Bending down to plant kisses along Natalie¡¯s neck and collar, Cole said. ¡°As you said, it''s a common fantasy, and I¡¯m sure one we will enjoy in the future, but for now, I want you. Also¡­ who to say I wouldn¡¯t be the one leaving the pair of you comatose from pleasure?¡± Cole was surprised by the hunger in his voice; Natalie was right; he missed making love and was eager to sample some ¡®normalcy.¡¯ Going from being practically celibate to enjoying every evening in bed with Natalie, then back to the cold road, had left him¡­ pent up. Shuddering from the kisses, Natalie tried to remove her clothes with one hand and Cole¡¯s with the other. ¡°Bold, bold words, I¡¯ll have to put them to the test.¡± Finally, with an annoyed grunt, Natalie shoved Cole back, her fingers working with supernatural speed to loosen her bodice and other bits of clothing. Eyes smoldering like campfire coals, Natalie practically growled. ¡°If I were you, I¡¯d start getting your armor off and working on that subtlety spell.¡± Enjoying the sight of more and more pale, smooth flesh coming into sight, Cole worked quickly to doff his equipment and cut the enchanted rune into a close tree. Letting a few drops of blood fall onto the spell-mark, Cole felt its magic come into being. It was shoddy and wouldn¡¯t do much to provide true privacy, but hopefully, it was enough to stop anyone from investigating the noises he intended to get out of Natalie. Letting his cloak, shirt, and everything else fall to the forest floor, Cole found Natalie staring at him with undisguised lust. She¡¯d shed her own clothes, wearing only an inviting smile. Taking a moment, Cole let his eyes drink the sight of his lover in. In the setting, spring sunlight, surrounded by tall green-budded trees, Natalie looked like the incarnation of sensuality. Toned, graceful legs led to wide, inviting hips and her exposed sex. Seeing where Cole¡¯s eyes lingered, Natalie shifted slightly, a heavy blush spreading across her pale face. A smile to match Natalie¡¯s own split Cole¡¯s face as he took his time enjoying the marvelous sight before him. Her stomach was toned but not sculpted like his own, retaining enough padding to be soft and smooth. Natalie¡¯s large breasts shuddered with quick breaths; the rose-colored nipples capping them were stiff and inviting. Cole thought of how many times his lips had traced a path along her lips, neck, breasts, stomach, and sex. Memories of old passion combined with the fantastically beautiful sight before Cole and his cock felt almost painfully hard. Moving towards Natalie, Cole felt a noise like a growl rise in his throat. A sound half-between laugh and squeal escaped Natalie as his lips and hands found warm flesh. Natalie moaned into the kiss while Cole¡¯s large, calloused hand slipped between her legs. Gently, he started to massage Natalie¡¯s inner thighs and outer lips while his other hand found a full breast to playfully knead. Enjoying the purrs and hums he pulled from Natalie¡¯s lips, Cole couldn¡¯t help himself. Tweaking a nipple while simultaneously letting gentle fingers find her clit; Cole chuckled at the noise his partner made. Clearly unwilling to let Cole be the only one engaging in foreplay, Natalie¡¯s hands found his shaft and collected the fingers he¡¯d been teasing her sex with. Slowly, Guiding his hand to her mouth, Natalie found Cole¡¯s thumb and the small cut he¡¯d placed there for the earlier spell. Eagerly latching onto his digit, sucking and licking Cole¡¯s finger in a fantastically erotic display, Natalie leaned backward so she pressed against the tree behind her. Her free hand continued to stroke Cole¡¯s cock, smearing the first hints of moisture along his shaft. Finally, reluctantly, Natalie let Cole¡¯s finger leave her mouth, trailing a string of thick saliva in its wake. Eyes practically burning with need, Natalie rasped. ¡°I want you; I want you inside me now.¡± A smirk worked its way across Cole¡¯s face as he gripped Natalie¡¯s hips. ¡°How?¡± Staring up at his scarred physique looming over her, Natalie¡¯s breath caught, and she said. ¡°Rough, I want this to be intense. It''s been too long, and shit¡¯s has been too stressful. Cole, I need you to fuck me until I can¡¯t think of anything but us.¡± Cole understood exactly what she meant, so instead of responding with words, Cole twisted Natalie about, maneuvering her so his cock was nestled into her lovely ass. A breathy moan escaped Natalie as Cole lifted her up and slid his shaft forward. Feeling the warm wetness of Natalie¡¯s sex, Cole answered her moan with a shuddering sigh. Moving slowly at first, Cole gently pressed himself into Natalie, feeling her lips spread around his cock and the wonderful heat within his lover. Natalie was more than wet, but Cole didn¡¯t want to hurt her, so he slowly eased himself in and out, bathing his cock in the wonderful friction of her sex. A noise like a whine escaped Natalie, and she gasped. ¡°Harder.¡± One hand holding her hips to him, Cole shoved himself forward and pushed Natalie against the nearest tree. Arms outstretched before her, Natalie gripped the tree, her back arching slightly as she moaned. Admiring the view of Natalie¡¯s ass pressed against his pelvis and how the muscles of her back flexed, Cole said. ¡°We¡¯re alone in a forest; what better time to rut like beasts.¡± Something like a laugh started in Natalie¡¯s throat, but Cole''s increasing speed and ferocity quickly turned the sound into a series of growing gasps. Positioned as they were, Cole took full advantage of his size and supernatural strength. Looming over Natalie, Cole let one arm snake around her belly, his hand starting to squeeze, massage, and maul her breasts. His other arm journeyed downwards, his fingers finding Natalie¡¯s clit. Near instantly, Natalie¡¯s insides tightened around Cole in a spasm of pleasure, forcing him to growl in pleasure. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Seeing Natalie¡¯s ass ripple with every thrust and loving how she gasped and shook, Cole¡¯s grip on her left breast tightened as he said. ¡°I love you.¡± Ensnared by Cole¡¯s arms, Natalie writhed in pleasure and tried to form words. ¡°I¡­love¡­ you too. Now, please, please don¡¯t stop.¡± Rubbing her nipple between two fingers and lazily circling her clit with his thumb, Cole kept up the rhythm. He loved how she felt wrapped around him, the subtle but perfect grip of silken flesh clinging to his shaft. Catching some of her nectar on his finger, Cole sped up his work on Natalie¡¯s clit while gently squeezing her breasts. A high-pitched, wonderfully erotic sound escaped Natalie as her breathing sharpened and sex tightened. ¡°Cu-cu-cumming.¡± she managed to shudder out, and Cole slowed his ministrations but didn¡¯t stop them. Natalie twitched and thrashed, bathing Cole¡¯s cock in wonderful friction that started to push him toward his own peak. As Natalie¡¯s shaking started to slow, her breasts heaving with great lungfuls of cool dusk air, Cole began to move faster. An adorable squeak of surprise escaped Natalie, and she tried to say something, but pleasure and Cole¡¯s own heavy breathing drowned her out. Thrusting with renewed vigor, Cole watched as Natalie spasmed, her fingers digging furrows in the tree she held on to for dear unlife. Forcing his lover¡¯s orgasm into a cascade of overlapping pleasure, Cole felt himself start to erupt. Hilting inside Natalie¡¯s sex, he let shivers of ecstasy dance through his body. A low growl of primal satisfaction escaped Cole as he ground himself against Natalie, feeling her warmth anew on his overly sensitive member. Feeling the final streams of his eruption leave him, Cole slumped slightly, his grip on Natalie loosening. A pleased hum escaped Natalie as she swayed her hips back and forth, Cole¡¯s cock still inside of her. Gasping at the sensation, Cole heard Natalie chuckle. ¡°Turnabout is fair play.¡± Smiling down at Natalie, loving how her sweat-slick hair fell about in great ebony curtains, Cole grunted. ¡°Very true.¡± Then, with the explosive strength he normally reserved for killing blows, Cole gripped Natalie and spun her about, pushing her back against the abused tree and rehilting himself in one smooth motion. The couple shared a shuddering gasp at the overwhelming sensations coursing through sensitive flesh. Both hands gripping Natalie¡¯s shapely rear, Cole started to frantically kiss his lover while his shaft eased in and out of her. Wrapping her legs about Cole, Natalie made him fight to pull back enough to thrust. Enjoying the challenge and feeling of strong thighs about him, Cole let out a pleased groan. Ending the intense kiss they shared, Cole whispered. ¡°You make the most wonderful noises when you climax; I hope the subtlety spell is strong enough.¡± Face flushed with passion and embarrassment, Natalie ran her fingers along Cole¡¯s scalp. ¡°How¡­ how is it you still talk like a jagging knight while fucking me like this?¡± Chuckling, Cole started to thrust harder while planting kisses along Natalie¡¯s jaw and the side of her neck, unmarred by the stigma. ¡°If I can be clear and concise in the heat of battle, then why shouldn¡¯t I be in the heat of you?¡± A mixture of laugh and moan escaped Natalie. ¡°I¡¯d tease you for such a stupid line¡­ if you weren¡¯t so jagging good at this.¡± Kneading the flesh of Natalie¡¯s rear, enjoying this position''s new sensations, Cole couldn¡¯t help but smile. His body was designed to be physically perfect, with every internal system and process optimized by Isabelle¡¯s genius. The unnatural endurance and recovery he enjoyed had more uses than just combat. Rested and eager as he was, Cole could make love until even a vampire had their fill. Changing his rhythm slightly, thrusting with slower, longer strokes, Cole found Natalie¡¯s lips again. As their tongues battled, her hands left his head and reached the tree above them. The sound of cracking wood pulled Cole¡¯s eyes from Natalie to the victimized aspen. His lover, in her passion, sunk entire fingers into the poor tree, holding onto the abused wood as Cole drove her mad with pleasure. Glancing at his hips and where Natalie¡¯s legs wrapped around them, Cole guessed he¡¯d have bruises tomorrow, but he couldn¡¯t care less. As Natalie started to moan louder and louder, clearly approaching her climax, Cole met her eyes and drank in the delirious pleasure he saw there. Feeling his partner¡¯s warm, slick sex tighten around him and her eyes roll back, Cole let himself lose control and joined her in ecstasy. Another sharp crack pulled Cole from his bliss, and he swore upon realizing what was happening. The tree they¡¯d been leaning against was teetering dangerously, its fractured trunk finally giving way. Backstepping, Cole tried to disentangle himself from Natalie as the tree started to fall. Still holding Natalie but no longer inside of her or wrapped up in her legs, Cole tripped over his discarded clothes and landed heavily on his back. Suddenly smothered in Natalie¡¯s breasts, Cole reluctantly freed himself, finding his lover lying atop him, staring in the direction of the ruined tree with a sheepish expression. Finding his breath, Cole let a wheezing laugh escape him. ¡°Better that tree than our bed back in Vindabon.¡± Nose and face scrunching in embarrassment, Natalie shrugged. ¡°I was reinforcing my body so we could be rough, and¡­ and accidents happen.¡± Pulling Natalie into a kiss and resisting the urge to slip back inside her, Cole muttered. ¡°I think any privacy we might have had is well and truly gone.¡± Grumbling her agreement, Natalie uncoiled herself from Cole. After taking a moment to admire Natalie¡¯s nude form, Cole got to his feet as well. Looking over their dropped garments, Natalie sighed. ¡°We¡¯re going to reek of sex and have Gods¡¯ knows what clinging to our clothes.¡± Watching Natalie¡¯s hips sway as she went to collect discarded fabric, Cole was, for a moment, seriously tempted to grab his love and continue their fun until someone came looking for them. Dismissing the fantasy with a shake of his head, Cole suddenly felt cold wetness on his back and shoulders. Looking up, Cole noticed the slight wind disturbing the dusk''s calm. Droplets started to fall from above, the start of an evening shower. Quickly finding his undergarments, Cole chuckled. ¡°Well, that should help with the smell.¡± When Natalie didn¡¯t respond, Cole looked up and realized she was standing perfectly still, arms wrapped around herself, a look of fear on her face. Moving towards her, Cole asked gently. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Stirred from whatever private terror gripped her, Natalie let out a trembling sigh. ¡°It¡¯s nothing¡­ I-¡± Cole buried Natalie in a hug, unwilling to let her put up emotional walls. Muscles taught with stress relaxed, and Natalie melted against Cole. Her smaller body shielded from the rain by Cole¡¯s bulk. Gently but firmly, Cole asked again. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Letting her cheek rest against Cole¡¯s chest, Natalie said. ¡°It rained blood in my mindscape right before the Rabisu attacked. So¡­ so when I felt the droplets, I thought for a split-second¡­¡± She didn¡¯t need to finish the thought, Cole could understand it better than Natalie might imagine. For years, the clank of chains or the smell of long-dried blood would reduce Cole to a frightened animal. While Natalie¡¯s experiences weren¡¯t so¡­ elaborate when compared to Cole¡¯s year of torture, having one¡¯s own mind attacked in such a vicious way still left scars. Holding her close, letting the rain beat down upon them, Cole didn¡¯t say anything, simply letting his presence speak for itself. Slowly, Natalie detached herself from Cole and stepped into the rain proper. Head up, eyes shut, arms wide, Natalie looked like a glistening icon of beauty. Anointed by the cool dusk rain, Natalie let out a slow breath and turned back towards Cole, a smile on her face. ¡°I¡¯m all right now.¡± Bending down to collect her clothes, Natalie sighed. ¡°Ugh, I¡¯m going to be soaked.¡± Cole¡¯s lips parted, the obvious entendre sitting upon his tongue. Pointing a finger his way, Natalie playfully snapped, ¡°Oh, shush.¡± Smiling, Cole couldn¡¯t help himself. ¡°I think the time for subtlety passed when you knocked down a tree.¡± Book III: chapter 37: Arrival

Chapter 37: Arrival

¡°Oh great, Stonesinger, why have you gone silent? Why have you forsaken us? Oh mighty God of my foremothers, where is your voice, where is your heart? Oh, eldest patron, what have we done to deserve this cruelty? Have we not followed the rites and rules of our ancestors? Have we not delved deep and built high as commanded? Stonesinger! Answer us! Your chosen beg for your guidance!.¡±- The final prayer of Ynisar Hold¡¯s chanthall.
It stormed for the first few days after leaving Fort Carnum. Heavy rain and rolling thunder covered the Alidonian foothills, making travel a damp, slow affair for Cole, Natalie, and the rest. Thankfully, their route kept them on an imperial road and away from the inevitable mud such soggy spring weather would spawn. When the weather finally shifted, the group had made good ground, just not as much as they¡¯d hoped. But even with the worst of the storm gone, the weather still wasn¡¯t truly cooperating. The cool morning was trapped in a hazy drizzle. Still, Cuff and Clout continued their plodding march through the damp murk, carrying the stone keepers toward their destination. Blurring the line between rain and fog, the odd precipitation rolled off the mountains and buried the forest in a blanket of soggy air. Staring out from the top of the wagon, Natalie was oddly home-sick, seeing the unpleasant weather. Glockmire used to suffer terrible fog this time of year. The thick mist frightened Natalie as a child, its swirling banks hiding all manner of unseen terror. As a teenager, the fog instead annoyed her by making morning chores a damp, miserable experience. Now an adult and immortal, Natalie felt melancholic at the sight. Perched on one of the wooden ribs of the wagon, Natalie sat wrapped in a wool cloak to keep the dampness at bay. Painful experiences from the previous winter taught Natalie her biggest issue in poor weather was moisture, not cold. Aside from the obvious discomfort of being perpetually wet, the warmer weather offered other complications to being undead. Morri once spoke of a disgusting encounter involving a feral vampire with actual fungus growing on it. While Natalie was reasonably certain it must have taken years, if not decades, of animalistic unliving for that to happen, she wasn¡¯t taking any chances. So she sat bundled up, peering out at the foggy forest like some primordial hermit overseeing their domain. Alia was sleeping off her part of the previous night shift, requiring Natalie to act as the main eyes and ears of the group. By some unspoken agreement, the rest of the group had started taking turns on night watch, unwilling to leave Natalie alone. While ostensibly for her protection, Natalie knew it was equally for everyone else¡¯s. Isabelle¡¯s claims about the Rabisu being sealed were heartening but a poor reassurance in the face of Natalie becoming possessed and attacking everyone while they slept. The subtle but present distrust arising from the brig incident stung Natalie all the more because she couldn¡¯t disagree with her friend''s caution. Wrapping her cloak tighter, Natalie let out a tired sigh. It was depressing how much had changed and how the end results were damn near identical to where she started. Everyone was treating her like a mountain ready to avalanche, understandably so, but still. Then, there was the looming specter of possession or degeneration hanging above Natalie. All her angst about becoming a vampire and dealing with Isabelle had returned with reinforcements. A small smile forced itself onto Natalie¡¯s face upon thinking of Isabelle. Matters had worked out far better than she¡¯d dared hope in that regard. The nervous energy of infatuation and romance danced through Natalie, providing a much-needed counterbalance to her brooding. That, combined with what she and Cole got up to in the forest before the storm, was enough to keep the darkness at bay. To be loved, after all, is the most wonderful thing. Forcing herself back into the moment, Natalie refocused on her surroundings. While miring in the good was better than drowning in the bad, neither was beneficial to guard duty. Letting a little blood enhance her senses, Natalie checked for abnormalities in the surrounding forest. Even with her unnatural senses, penetrating the thick, muffling fog wasn¡¯t easy. It snaked through the surrounding pines like the frozen breath of some slumbering giant, or more accurately, considering their destination, Jotunn. Staring up above the treeline, Natalie squinted, catching hints of looming shadows within the fog. The mountains were close, and with them, Turul¡¯s Tomb. Of all the topics Natalie took the time to learn about in the Temple archive, Jotunn and their spawn hadn¡¯t been one of them. They didn¡¯t seem like major problems for her in the near future, especially compared to the myriad breeds of Undead. So, of course, here she was, heading into the (abandoned) lair of one. According to Kit, the Jotunn in question was long dead and not even buried in its supposed tomb. As rivals of the Sidhe, the Jotunn suffered worse than humankind during the Fae invasion. Not many of the ancient shapeshifters survived that era, and Turul hadn¡¯t been one of them. Still, much of his former domain, the Alidonian Mountains, held remnants of their former master, including the great cavern cutting a path beneath the mountain¡¯s northern half, supposedly where Turul made his final stand. Now, those tunnels held an insular Dwarven clan who might be willing to let them pass, hopefully. Wondering when the morning sun would finally burn through the fog, Natalie shut her eyes and focused on listening. Past the clop of hooves and creak of the wagon, there were the faintest signs of life. Bold squirrels venturing down from winter-worn nests. A few birds who made good time on spring migration fluttered between bud-laden branches. Somewhere at the edge of even Natalie¡¯s senses, a deer or boar pawed at the forest floor. These were encouraging signs; if the woods'' natives weren¡¯t overly cautious, then why should Natalie be? Opening her eyes and letting out an annoyed breath, Natalie wished she could just use the Lupus pack for this task. But Cole insisted they keep any signs of their ¡®untoward natures¡¯ hidden. All it would take was some Dwarven ranger or woodsmen spotting the spectral wolves, and negotiating with Clan Maugi would become much more difficult. The sound of boots on stone caught Natalie¡¯s attention, and she peered out ahead of the wagon, looking for the source of the noise. After a few seconds of listening, Natalie smiled. She knew those boots and footfalls, even distorted by the fog. Cole soon materialized out of the mist, jogging down the road toward the wagon. His pace and bearing told Natalie there wasn¡¯t an emergency, just that he¡¯d returned from scouting. Finally, freeing herself from the cocoon of wool she¡¯d been inhabiting, Natalie slid down the wagon¡¯s side. Even without body heat, she¡¯d been comfortable, and now returning to the surrounding dampness wasn¡¯t fun, but Cole¡¯s presence made it worth it. Trotting forward, Natalie caught Kit and Mina¡¯s attention. The Magi knew the route they were supposed to take but couldn¡¯t be trusted to steer the horses by himself. Kit found the task boring and tended to seek entertainment in ways inclemental to keeping the wagon on the road. ¡°Hey, Cole¡¯s back. I think he found something.¡± Natalie said, noting the look of genuine relief cross Mina¡¯s face. They¡¯d encountered a fork not included in Kit¡¯s directions the previous night, and there was some worry the group had taken the wrong route. But, if they were on the right path, signs of their destination wouldn¡¯t be hard to find. So Cole ranged ahead, trying to find a road marker or similar before the group went too far down the wrong path. Mist clung to Cole¡¯s cloaked form, evoking the many times Natalie witnessed him unleash his power. Reaching them, he gave the horses a wide birth and said. ¡°We are heading in the right direction.¡± Mina eyed the fog warily. ¡°Are you certain? It could be just another unmarked fork?¡± Cole¡¯s scarred face twisted in a slight smile. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m certain. The Dwarves don¡¯t ever hesitate to announce their presence. Come on, it should be just two or three kilometers up the road.¡± Sure enough, what Cole found became obvious when the wagon creaked its way forward. Jutting off the imperial road was a younger, less intricate track. Marking this new path was a large standing stone. Easily three meters tall, the pillar of carved rock was intricately decorated. The stone¡¯s peak was carved into a falcon¡¯s likeness, its wings splayed but downcast, giving the impression the bird was squatting over a nest. Beneath it were bands of pictograms, conveying layers of information in dwerick. Interrupting the sigils were scenes of dwarvish life and reliefs of heavy-browed faces. Kit hopped down from the wagon then and examined the standing stone. ¡°Yep, we are in the right place. This proclaims the lands beyond the stone belonging to Clan Maugi.¡± Staring at the indecipherable runes, Natalie asked. ¡°An awful lot of writing just to say that.¡± An amused snort escaped Cole. ¡°Kit¡¯s giving us the fireside version. The stone has an account of the clan¡¯s deeds, honors, and history carved into it. It''s a polite way to impress guests and warn off invaders and interest merchants.¡± As the wagon started to trundle down the new road, Natalie was struck by how damn knowledgeable Cole was. She¡¯d forgotten he could read and speak dwerick, which was not an easy feat, according to Barnabas. As Cole climbed into the wagon¡¯s back and helped her up, Natalie wondered how much of his knowledge was taught and how much was ¡®innate.¡¯ When Cole first told Natalie what he was, it hadn¡¯t bothered her. She¡¯d been too shattered by everything else that horrible night to think much of Cole¡¯s confession. And, if Natalie was being honest, she¡¯d also been too ignorant to understand the full implications. Now, as her perspective widened, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but wonder at her partner¡¯s origin. Not that she was distressed by Cole¡¯s unnatural existence; she¡¯d long, long passed the point of such petty concerns. No, Natalie accepted Cole and loved him, scars and all; she just knew enough now to consider larger questions. ¡°Are you all right?¡± spoke Cole, snapping Natalie from her musings. Blinking away her thoughts, Natalie smiled at the look of concern on Cole¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯m fine, just thinking myself into a hole. Spending so much time on the road does that to me.¡± Accepting that, Cole reached out and offered Natalie his arm. Accepting it, she snuggled against his bulk, letting him wrap them both in his cloak. ¡°How do you think the dwarves will react to me?¡± Letting his head rest on Natalie¡¯s own, Cole said. ¡°It will be tricky, but Kit¡¯s right. The Temple and Ivory Tower have long shadows; we can hide in them.¡± Sucking in a breath, Natalie muttered. ¡°I hope you two are right.¡±
By the afternoon, the fog faded and the forest gave way to windswept fields marked by cobblestone fences. Bored sheep nibbled on spring grass, paying the wagon little heed. After traversing wilderness and near-wilderness for so long, Cole had to admit the agrarian scene was somehow comforting. Walking a little ahead of the horses, Cole wondered how many times he¡¯d done something like this. Arriving at some remote settlement, usually one on edge from recent calamity and trying to talk his way inside. More than once, he¡¯d been run off by paranoid locals convinced whatever horror haunted them was his fault. Well, almost run off, Cole didn¡¯t mind skulking about the wilderness doing his duty secretly. He¡¯d planned on doing it in Glockmire after Dame Lorena attacked. Thinking about that ash-stained night, Cole felt a twinge of guilt and self-doubt. He¡¯d thought leaving Natalie and Wilhelm was the best option. Cole assumed the Leechs wouldn¡¯t have much interest in a petty innkeeper when a killer of their kind still drew breath. A good man paid for his error, and Natalie still suffered from that mistake. Staring at the looming mountains ahead, Cole hoped he¡¯d learned from all his failures. No longer was he just a lone immortal, throwing himself into danger with little care. As Cole¡¯s power had grown leaps and bounds, so had his responsibilities. But, in comparison to all those previous arrivals at new towns, Cole had a serious advantage now when it came to seeming less threatening. Mina walked beside Cole, wearing the mix of armor and vestments common to Temple Restbringers. While Cole could be mistaken for a monster, and perhaps was one, Mina looked like a true warrior priestess. Hopefully, any dwarves they encountered on the road would see Mina as a good sign. The Deep Folk might not follow any Gods, but they¡¯d be fools to ignore or mistreat a Priestess of Death when the undead were a problem. Mace swinging on her belt with every step, Mina narrowed her eyes at the mountains. ¡°I think we can reach them before nightfall.¡± Cole replied. ¡°It¡¯s important that we do.¡± Mina raised an eyebrow and then slowly nodded in understanding. ¡°Seeing Natalie in the sunlight will certainly help our argument.¡± Cole bobbed his head in confirmation and added. ¡°Yes, and arriving at night also makes people jumpy, especially in times like these.¡± A thoughtful look crossed Mina¡¯s face then. ¡°Do your scars make meeting people difficult?¡± Seeing Cole¡¯s mirthless smile, Mina verbally backtracked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that was insensitive. I just¡­ you seem to have a lot of experience with things like this.¡± Dismissing Mina¡¯s apology, Cole said. ¡°No, no, you are right. Iron-teeth wasn¡¯t the first person to think I was undead. I just thought it was funny since I was just thinking about something similar.¡± Mina spoke slowly then. ¡°It''s strange your blessing doesn¡¯t heal your skin like it should. Master Time mended your spine after the solstice but leaves you covered in scars? That¡­ doesn¡¯t make much sense.¡± Cole simply shrugged; he¡¯d debated telling the group, or at least Mina and Alia, what he was but never managed to find the courage or moment. A mixture of practiced caution and old shame kept Cole from speaking the truth. That he wasn¡¯t human and probably more of an abomination than even a vampire. Or explaining how the post-mortem regeneration Isabelle gifted him with struggled to affect skin. Frowning at Cole¡¯s none-answer, Mina spoke gently but firmly. ¡°Those secrets of yours, does Morri know about them?¡± Looking at Mina, seeing the guarded expression on her marked face, Cole replied. ¡°Yes, he does.¡± Fingering the pommel of her mace, Mina sighed. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you told me? I can maybe understand Alia and perhaps Kit, depending on whatever you''re hiding, but I¡¯m a Restbringer as well. With Natalie compromised, keeping another mystery and possible threat from me is a bad idea.¡± Sucking in a breath, Cole studied the petite but strong woman glaring up at him. She¡¯d matured an awful lot in the past few months, trial and tribulation acting as the whetstone for the blade she wished to be. Gone was the nervous uncertainty and paradoxical over-eagerness of the junior Priestess assigned to the city guards. While Mina was more Natalie¡¯s friend than his, Cole had to respect and appreciate her and what she could do. Unlike Cole, she¡¯d been properly trained and ordained into the service of Master Time. If the Temple Hierophants knew of his nature, why did Cole keep it from Mina? Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°I¡­I am not.¡± Cole stopped mid-sentence, a sound catching his attention. It was an odd pattern he almost didn¡¯t recognize. Seeing Mina¡¯s confusion, Cole pointed down the road and what was coming into sight. A pair of riders were approaching them, their steeds'' odd gait audible against the stone and gravel. Cocking her head to one side, Mina watched the approaching dwarves and asked. ¡°Are those¡­ goats?¡± True enough, the riders didn¡¯t use horses but giant goats. Easily the size of a small pony, the goats were stocky creatures with tan fur and great horns. They didn¡¯t walk like horses, their gait less rhythmic and more cautious. These were beasts bred for the mountains; flat terrain didn¡¯t suit them. Atop intricately woven saddle blankets, the riders guided their steeds easily with one hand, for they both held crossbows pointed at the sky but still loaded. Mina waived at the approaching dwarves. ¡°Hello! We mean no harm.¡± The two dwarves looked at each other, and one of them called out in accented western. ¡°Strange, ya wearin'' armor.¡± Shrugging, Mina said. ¡°These are dangerous times. I¡¯m a Restbringer from Vindabon; my friends and I seek passage through the mountains.¡± A few words of whispered dwerick were exchanged between the riders, and one trotted closer, crossbow resting easily on his lap. The dwarf¡¯s hair and beard were both braided into tight knots, and a gold ring pierced his nose like a bull¡¯s loop. Spitting a wade of phlegm onto the road, the dwarf cradled his crossbow and said, ¡°Prove it.¡± Slowly, Mina raised a hand and let pale light rise from her palm, forming a ten-sided star and then an hourglass. With a flick of her fingers the hourglass floated away and down, resting on a nearby patch of grass, creating a pattern of frost where it touched. Nose ring¡¯s grip on his crossbow loosened slightly. ¡°Fair nuff, who¡¯s the half-giant?¡± Cole put down his hood, watching the expression of shock and discomfort on the two dwarves'' faces. ¡°I am Paladin Cole; I¡¯d like to speak with your chieftain and bonekeeper as soon as possible.¡± Looking at each other, the dwarves spoke quickly, their dialect rough on Cole¡¯s ears. Still, he caught the general gist of the conversation. They were debating what to do, and after a minute or so of weighing the options, Nose Ring asked, ¡°Who is in the wagon?¡± Now, it was time for Cole and Mina to exchange looks. Licking her lips, Mina said. ¡°Our companions, a man and three women. We are all traveling towards Fort Erdom to help the war effort and bring important news of the Leech invasion.¡± The other dwarf, this one wearing a wool cap over his strawberry hair, clicked his tongue, and the ranger goat beneath him started to trot towards the wagon. Casually, Wool Cap drew a thick knife, its flat chisel-like tip shining in the afternoon light. Cole recognized that flash; it was silver, the one bane the Alukah was still truly susceptible to. Natalie could hide her fangs and fake a pulse, but the sizzle of silver would reveal all. Cursing under his breath, Cole moved to intercept the Wool Cap. ¡°We need to discuss a sensitive matter with your clan¡¯s leadership. Can you send word to them? We can wait here until a representative arrives.¡± Wool Cap sheathed the knife and leveled the crossbow at Cole. Holding his hands up, wondering if he could freeze his flesh quick enough to stop a bolt, Cole knew he¡¯d made a mistake. But before he could try and fix the situation or continue to make it worse, Natalie hopped out of the wagon¡¯s back and started towards Cole. Her skin was ivory, and her eyes were crimson; she¡¯d not even tried to appear human. Seeing her, Wool cap¡¯s eyes widened in incomprehension than fear. ¡°Sangracki!¡± Pointing his crossbow at Natalie he loosed before Cole could do anything. Casually, as if she was practicing some dance, Natalie spun out of the bolt''s way and let it clatter off the road behind her. Moving with that same liquid grace, she came up next to Cole and looked at the shocked dwarf with pure annoyance. ¡°What¡¯s in the sky?¡± So shocked by this, Wool Cap actually took his eyes off Natalie, seeing the sun hanging low but visible in the west. The distinct click-crack of a crossbow cut through the tense silence as Nose Ring took his chance. Natalie caught the bolt this time, or at least she mostly did. Her timing was slightly off, and the bolt¡¯s head was caught in the webbing between thumb and forefinger. Letting the steel and fletched wood clatter to the ground, shaking her hand, Natalie swore. ¡°Jag, that hurts!¡± Staring at the offending dwarf with a look Cole imagined was practiced over a thousand nights at the Silly Goat, Natalie pointed at the sun. ¡°I¡¯m not a normal vampire! I¡¯ve got the Gods, or at least one of them, vouching for me. I know that doesn¡¯t count for much among the deep folk, but at least use your heads and think! And if that¡¯s too much to ask, let your elders do that for you!¡± Wool Cap retreated towards Nose Ring, and Cole let him, seeing the nervousness on both dwarves'' faces. Eyes barely leaving Natalie, the pair spoke quickly, voices almost raising into an argument. It appeared they were trying to decide which of them would ride back to the hold for reinforcements and the clan¡¯s bonekeeper. Eventually, they simply played a game with their hands; Cole recognized the gestures of rock, axe, tree, and Nose Ring¡¯s customary request for ¡®two out of three.¡¯ As Wool Cap galloped away on his ranger goat, leaving Nose Ring alone with them, the dwarf cursed. It was a particularly wretched oath involving bodily orifices, mining tools, and animal fat. To Cole¡¯s surprise, Natalie let out a cute snort of laughter, her face contorted into a sad smile. Raising an eyebrow, Cole asked. ¡°You understood that?¡± Shaking her head, Natalie replied. ¡°Not really, but I recognize the words. One of the few times I ever saw Barnabas drunk, he went on a tirade capped by what our new friend here just said. My mom turned white as a sheet, emptied a pitcher over Barnabas¡¯s head, and kicked him out of the inn that night. She only let him return after apologizing for using such ¡®foul language¡¯ around me. Cole felt a smile split his own face. ¡°I wish I could have met her.¡± Seeing the flicker of sadness go through Natalie, Cole quickly added. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that wasn¡¯t-¡± Natalie cut Cole off by simply leaning against him. ¡°Me too. I don¡¯t think she¡¯d have liked you initially, but that would change.¡± Kissing the top of Natalie¡¯s head, Cole sucked in a deep tired breath. ¡°What do you want to do once the war is over?¡± Cole didn¡¯t know why he asked the question; perhaps thinking of happier times spurred him to start planning for the future. He¡¯d never had to do much of that before, only do his duty and hopefully survive it. Now, with Natalie and Isabelle in a more stable place, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder. Scrunching up her face in the way Cole found so incredibly endearing, Natalie took a moment. ¡°After the Duke¡¯s been driven back over the Tya? When we¡¯ve delivered the stone and, Harmas isn¡¯t a nest of ghouls? I think I¡¯d like to take a few months in Vindabon, maybe a year. Really start to build a life there or at least a foundation. Then¡­ I don¡¯t know, I¡¯ve always wanted to see the world, but it''s never been an option. Well¡­ it was for a time, but then, y¡¯know.¡± She gestured at her neck, completing the thought. Seeing the high collar she wore and the tiny hints of the stigma and black veins poking out, Cole said. ¡°I will need to start traveling again; staying in Vindabon has been nice, but¡­¡± He let the thought trail, and Natalie blew out a breath. ¡°Normally, this is the part where I¡¯d say we could go together; I could be your partner in battle, not just bed. But¡­ well, if the welcome is like this everywhere we go, then that wouldn¡¯t work.¡± They looked up at Nose Ring, who was checking his crossbow over with the nervous fastidiousness of any tense soldier. After a moment, Cole offered. ¡°News about you is spreading fast, and Argentari has ensured it''s been good. Perhaps after we help Prince Franz, the Holy League will be more amenable to you.¡± Thinking about that, Natalie asked. ¡°Maybe the Prince could write up some proclamation or letter of introduction for me. Being able to whip out something with an Elector-Prince¡¯s seal on it would make events like this easier. I¡¯m practically Vindabon¡¯s ¡®friendly vampire¡¯ already; might as well get it in writing.¡± An amused snort escaped Cole. ¡°That could work; it beats trying to convince people you were my prisoner or something else.¡± Natalie raised an eyebrow and smiled coyly. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know; perhaps having you lead me around with cuffs and a gag might be fun.¡± Mina, who¡¯d been sipping from her canteen a little ways away, spat out a mouthful of water and started coughing violently. Cole was simply stunned, a blush spreading across his tattered skin. ¡°Uh¡­ um¡­ well¡­¡± With a devilish grin, Natalie got on her toes and kissed Cole. ¡°You are very cute when flustered.¡± Recovering slightly, Cole shook his head. ¡°I love you.¡± Natalie answered with a kiss. ¡°I know.¡±
It was night when the dwarves of Clan Maugi finally arrived in force. Natalie was the first to hear them, but it didn¡¯t take the rest long; even mortal ears could pick out the drumbeat of marching feet and clanking armor. Forty dwarven warriors in full plate, carrying shields and hammers, came down the road. They wore flat-topped helmets with chain-mail veils covering their beards and walked with military precision. At this minuscule army¡¯s head were three ranger goats, these ones barded and carrying dwarves who Natalie guessed were the clan''s war leaders. Then behind the force, barely noticeable even to Natalie, there was a¡­ cart, or perhaps chariot was, more accurate, pulled by another goat with unusual horns. All together, the force assembled before Natalie felt insufficient; after everything at Fort Carnum, she was honestly a little insulted this is what Clan Maugi sent against them. That thought poked at some barely used instinct, and Natalie sucked in a breath, tasting the night air. Sure enough, the scent of old wool, dead vegetation, and sweat reached her, wafting over from the nearby fields. While she couldn¡¯t tell exactly where, Natalie knew an ambush waited nearby. Feeling a little better and worse about the situation, Natalie didn¡¯t envy the poor fools who now lay in bushes and sheep dung waiting for the signal to attack. Considering she hadn¡¯t sensed the ambushers till now, they probably weren¡¯t well armored and few in number but still skilled. A flash of bleak amusement went through Natalie; here they were, trying to negotiate safe passage, and she was sizing up the dwarves like meat to butcher. That fell humor curdled into something nastier when Natalie realized this was her predatory instincts at work. She was used to the creeping desires and cursed thoughts in the confines of Vindabon, but now, outside the city, they shifted. Normally, her mind whispered schemes related to luring people into dark, secluded spaces or drugging Cole to drink her fill. But like any successful predator, Natalie was adapting, seeking battle and carnage to sake her bloodlust. Forcing these concerns and revelations from her mind, Natalie watched the column of dwarf soldiers split, letting the chariot pass through them. Pulled by a sturdy white goat with curling rune-marked horns, the chariot held an extremely old dwarven woman. Stooped with decades and perhaps even a century of life, the elder was clad in solemn white robes. Like most dwarven women, she lacked a beard but grew long sidewhiskers that stretched from her jaw to chest even when braided. Strangely, a quartet of bejeweled golden rings pierced the woman¡¯s lower lip. On the front of the elder¡¯s robe was an odd collection of pouches and sacks, almost like Cole¡¯s bandolier except less organized. Stepping off the chariot, the old dwarf limped towards them; from how she walked, Natalie guessed one of her legs was maimed beyond healing magic¡¯s power. One of the armored riders dismounted then and removed his helmet. The chainmail veil rattled against his armor as he offered a hand to the elder. She eyed it for a moment before accepting his aid with a grunt. The war leader was large by dwarf standards with a thick black beard and eyebrows so large Natalie wondered how his helmet fit. His nose was also pierced, with both nostrils holding multiple rings of gold. By now, Natalie guessed the body art was some cultural quirk or clan marking, not that she was knowledgeable about such things. In a deep, rumbling voice, the war leader said. ¡°I am Chieftain Galjor of Maugi. Why have you brought a Sangraki to my clan¡¯s holdings, followers of death?¡± Mina stepped forward then, offering a polite bow to the clan leader. ¡°Honorable Chieftain, I am Priestess Mina Vrock of the Tenth Temple, and we come to you as agents of Vindabon engaged in a most important task. Our companion is cursed as the enemy is, but not one of them. She is marked by Master Time and warded by one of his Paladins.¡± Frowning, Galjor asked. ¡°Is it true the sangraki can survive the sun?¡± Nodding, Mina offered. ¡°We would be willing to camp here under guard until morning to confirm this for you.¡± Now, the dwarven crone spoke in a voice like creaking wood. ¡°No need.¡± Reaching into one of her pouches, the elder produced a piece of amber that seemed to glow with inner light. Something about the amber seemed familiar to Natalie, and the memory of what it was snapped into place just as the stone¡¯s light grew brighter. Shutting her eyes and letting out a tired breath, Natalie took a slow step forward, ignoring the clatter of raised weapons. Out stretching her arms, Natalie let the captured sunlight wash across her. Hierophant Nyami used a similar trinket while testing the extent of Natalie¡¯s powers. Warm golden light spilled out from the elder¡¯s hand, and Natalie ignored the familiar itching on her skin. As the warmth and radiance of the amber intensified, Natalie suddenly had a terrible thought. Nyami said it would take five times the sun¡¯s natural light to truly burn her. Would the dwarven mage go that far? Thankfully, right when the itch became truly painful, the light died. Opening her eyes, Natalie felt her pupils dilate as she looked around. It suddenly occurred to Natalie the captured sunlight might have ruined everyone¡¯s night vision. Not a good side effect for a tool with such use against vampires. Perhaps that¡¯s why she¡¯d never heard Morri, Mina, or Cole mention using them in combat. The crone grunted and put the stone back in its pouch. She then rattled off a lightning string of dwerick that even had Cole frowning. Pointing a knobby ring-wrapped finger at Natalie, the elder said. ¡°Too bright for Daywalker; she should be ash.¡± Blinking in surprise, Natalie had never considered those using stolen blood might not be able to match her resistance, but it did make sense. Shuffling forward with that limping gait, the female mage approached Natalie, her eyes narrowed, either in suspicion or poor night vision. Uncertain of what to do, Natalie let the woman approach, noting the almost geologic level of wrinkles covering her face and hands. Once she was close enough to touch Natalie, the crone rasped. ¡°Bend down.¡± Confused but not seeing any other option, Natalie got to a knee and let the crone run bony fingers across her face. After a moment of befuddlement, Natalie realized the crone was checking for some kind of protective coating. That a vampire might use something akin to makeup to avoid the sun hadn¡¯t ever occurred to Natalie, and it was a chilling thought. Seemingly satisfied, the crone nodded and then grabbed something from another pouch. Moving slowly, the mage brought whatever was in her hand to Natalie¡¯s forehead. It turned out to be a small iron nail, and the crone jabbed it painfully into Natalie¡¯s skin. ¡°Ow fuck!¡± yelped Natalie, and she batted the crone¡¯s hands away, uncaring of the ripple of steel her movements caused. Glaring at the crone, Natalie asked. ¡°Was that necessary?¡± A sour smile split the woman¡¯s wrinkled face. ¡°Not sidewalker, not daywalker, definitely a nightwalker and perhaps a streetwalker.¡± Slowly, Natalie asked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did you¡­ did you just call me a prostitute?¡± Still smiling, the crone shuffled back, waiving Natalie off with a gesture. ¡°Tis a joke; let an old lady have her humor.¡± Getting up, Natalie muttered under her breath. ¡°Yep, a lot like Nyami.¡± Collecting her nail, the crone proclaimed something in dwerick that got a murmur from the assembled soldiers. The chieftain frowned, his eyebrows meeting like cloudbanks, but he quickly started barking commands. As the crone clambered into her chariot, the dwarven soldiers arranged themselves to encircle the wagon. Almost as an afterthought, the chieftain collected a small bag from his belt and tossed it towards Cole. The Paladin caught it and looked inside, letting out a quiet breath. Seeing Natalie¡¯s confusion, Cole took her hand and smiled. Reaching the wagon and the rest of the group, Cole said, ¡°That went well; they are bringing us to the clanhold proper. They will have questions but are willing to let us in for the night.¡± Mina frowned a little. ¡°Any chance this is a trap? That they are taking us somewhere, we can¡¯t run?¡± Kit made a dismissive noise. ¡°I¡¯m assuming the bag was the usual custom? If so, then we are perfectly safe.¡± Cole nodded, and Kit took the bag from him and opened it. Casually, he plucked a strip of stiff, discolored material from the pouch and ate it. Seeing the looks of shock and confusion on the women¡¯s faces, Kit explained. ¡°It''s salted mutton, meaning they¡¯ve extended their hospitality to us.¡± Alia made a noise of understanding. ¡°Oh, just like in the old stories, that¡¯s clever.¡± Seeing Mina¡¯s raised eyebrow, Alia elaborated. ¡°In my lines of work, you learn a lot about guest rights and rites. They say the first dwarves learned animal husbandry from humans, and those same humans learned mining in return. So, really traditional dwarves will offer a mix of those two gifts as signs of welcome and protection.¡± Grabbing a piece of meat, Alia started walking, chewing noisily as she did. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine as long as no toes get stepped on. Now, c¡¯mon, I want to get there before morning.¡± Book III Chapter 38: Coincidence and Negotiations

Chapter 38: Coincidence and Negotiations

¡°Oh, you think this training is hard? Learning to empty your mind and commune with our patron deity is too difficult? Is staring at the reflecting pool and praying to Brother Moon just that much of an inconvenience? Well, it''s a good thing you aren¡¯t a dwarf! They don¡¯t have a God willing to offer such kindness and aid! Do you know what dwarven dousers do to learn spells that barely compare to the miracles gifted to us? Those poor bastards lock themselves in subterranean cells for weeks and try to sense underground rivers and aquifers through second sight alone! No divine aid, no temple instruction, just stubbornness, and necessity. So think about that next time I catch you asleep during nightly meditations!¡± - Priest Maurice Stapp¡¯s rebuke of acolytes at the Vindabon Moon Temple. (Audible from two city blocks away, according to witnesses.)
Blood dripped from the ceiling in a steady faucet pattern. Wolfgang looked at the stain and imagined stalactites of clotted red forming on the cold stone. The sound of weeping pulled the Black Fly from his pointless musing; looking over to one corner of the delve canteen, he saw Foredwarf Ordin kneeling over a ruined corpse. Dabbing at his lips with the shirt of the woman he held, Wolfgang let the exsanguinated dwarf fall to the ground with a wet thud. Ordin looked up at Wolfgang, his eyes red and confused. ¡°Why! Why did you do this? You are my friends!¡± The sheer effectiveness of the geas placed in the dwarf''s head was mildly disturbing to Wolfgang. Stepping over the body, Wolfgang walked among the dead and dying, puddles of blood splashing with every step. He disliked such waste, but there was only so much three vampires could drink. Staring into Ordin¡¯s face, Wolfgang struck the foredwarf psychically. While no Moroi, it was well within Wolfgang¡¯s power to knock out such a fragile mind. As Ordin collapsed forward, slumping over the corpse before him, Wolfgang turned to his colleagues. ¡°Are we done?¡± Thorm was using a water pitcher that somehow survived the violence to wash the blood from his beard. ¡°I believe so. Shall we call your lamia and prepare a nest for the day?¡± Elsewhere, a huge mass of pale feathers and paler muscle crouched over a ruined body. Bits of meat fell from the creature''s beak, each white and bloodless. Something akin to a bear¡¯s growl escaped Tallclaw, and his war form started to shift, slowly becoming more humanoid. Taking that as agreement, Wolfgang grabbed Ordin¡¯s collar and dragged him towards the door. The Dullahan stood in Wolfgang¡¯s way, his sword brown with burnt blood. Wolfgang noticed the hand holding the weapon was trembling, an oddity that suddenly made him cautious. Meeting the headless hunter¡¯s empty helmet, Wolfgang said, ¡°Step aside.¡± Slowly, jerkily, more like a common ghoul than the armored killer he was, the Dullahan moved, his bone sabatons practically grinding on the floor. The rage and murderous intent the soul within the witchfire felt was palpable, radiating out like physical heat. Raising a single eyebrow, Wolfgang gestured at the small pile of dwarven corpses surrounding the Dullahan. ¡°Hypocrisy is tiring; we aren¡¯t the only ones who fed.¡± Without comment, the former Pankrator started towards his victims, taking their bodies and trying to reassemble them. The tremor and hesitation Wolfgang saw in the Dullahan worried him; it was the first sign of true resistance he saw from his ¡®bodyguard.¡¯ Wolfgang wondered if the increasing distance from Marcus¡¯s skull was weakening the bindings put upon him. No expert on the cursed rituals to make Dulluhans, Wolfgang couldn¡¯t know for certain but was glad they didn¡¯t have much farther to go, especially with what he planned to use the dwarf corpses for. Reaching the door, Wolfgang addressed his allies. ¡°I¡¯m going to the foredwarf¡¯s office to learn about our route. Marcus, drag the bodies out into the main space; we¡¯ll need them for later. I trust the pair of you won¡¯t mind contacting Cleanor and finding us accommodations?¡± Before he could wait for a response, Wolfgang left the dining hall, dragging Ordin along the rain-slicked ground. The canteen sat beside the cave¡¯s entrance, and Wolfgang entered the delve proper. Passing by now-abandoned structures carved into the stone, Wolfgang noted the simple carvings on the walls and the series of glowstone brackets keeping the space dimly illuminated. Much time and effort went into this place, much of it wasteful by Wolfgang''s standards. He could never understand why people, be they living, dead, human, or dwarf, spent so much time with pointless things like art and beauty. Time was the only currency that truly mattered, and yet people gave it away. Moving deeper into the cave, looking for anything that might be an office or similar, Wolfgang felt a frown cross his face. Most people didn¡¯t understand the value of time, but he did, so naturally, instead of being able to spend it wisely, he was busy working off a debt. A debt split between multiple creditors, each with different demands and ways to take all the time he had left. But even more concerning than his forced subservience was what that debt was used to do to Wolfgang. There was no denying it now; Pater Epulo and Scapino put something in his mind. The only question was why and, more importantly, how? Wolfgang¡¯s psychic defenses were potent; if they weren¡¯t, he¡¯d long ago be ash. So that meant one of the two knew a chink in his armor, something that no one else could use. There seemed to be only one option based on Wolfgang¡¯s knowledge, and it sickened him. He¡¯d not sold his soul to the Reaper of Sorrows but offered part of it as collateral. If Wolfgang failed to repay the debt, his essence would be dragged into the Hells thanks to the Fell God''s hook in him. It seemed that hook could do more than collect debt, especially when a Priest of the Reaper was involved. Wolfgang knew ¡®normal¡¯ Priests, Paladins, and similarly ordained beings were susceptible to influence by their God. If a follower of the Pantheon could receive visions or warnings, it made sense their counterparts would be open to less charitable manipulations. Or perhaps the Light¡¯s minions were just as likely to have memories modified or stolen by their Gods; Wolfgang wouldn¡¯t put it past those serving the ¡®greater good.¡¯ That Wolfgang uncovered the modifications and was even thinking about their implications said the Reaper¡¯s influence was limited. But he needed to avoid Epulo and his ilk at all costs until the debt was paid. Perhaps recording key information or thoughts somewhere safe would be another project, but Wolfgang didn¡¯t have any feasible method for such a task. For now, collecting the Homunculus Knight and Sage¡¯s Stone was the chief priority. Besides, the Knight was supposedly a Paladin of Master Time; he might have hints of subverting the Tenth God¡¯s rival inside his mind. It would just be another secret Wolfgang needed to dredge out alongside Isabelle Gen Silva¡¯s knowledge. Reaching the seeming back of the cave, Wolfgang found the mine¡¯s entrance. The stink of rock dust, old sweat, and coal wafted from the great door separating the Delve from what lay beyond. Wolfgang hadn¡¯t known what to expect; mines weren¡¯t his area of expertise, but the heavy iron bars on a reinforced frame weren¡¯t it. The closest frame of reference Wolfgang had was a castle¡¯s portcullis or a jail cell. Runes were etched into the metal and Wolfgang could almost taste the protective magics worked into the material. Opening the gate without its key would not be easy. For a second, Wolfgang reconsidered the plan Thorm proposed. This delve used simple wood and stone to protect from surface threats, but invested steel and runes into keeping the Deeps contained. This gate spoke of a deeper fear, and that concerned Wolfgang. Judging by the smells and cart tracks on the cavern floor, the mine was still being used, but the caution on display hinted at potential threat. Searching the sub-caves branching off the main cavern, Wolfgang found what must be the foredwarf¡¯s office. Barely large enough for Wolfgang to stand in the chamber was little more than a simple desk and a few wooden boxes for papers. Wolfgang leaned Ordin against the room''s far wall and looked down at the dwarf. With a calculated amount of effort, the Blacky Fly kicked the involuntary saboteur in the gut, waking him. Vomiting onto the ground before him, Ordin gagged and gasped, clutching at his gut. Blinking tears from his eyes and trying to wipe bile from his beard, Ordin stared up at Wolfgang, a look of bewildered betrayal upon his face. ¡°Why-¡± Wolfgang cut him off, speaking slowly but clearly. ¡°Sunfall 17th, 1406, a quarter past nine, seven kilometers north-west of Noyia¡± Ordin blinked rapidly, his eyes glazing over slightly. In an authoritative voice, Wolfgang continued. ¡°Forget what happened in the canteen; tell me everything you know about the route through the Deeps. How long is it, what is a reasonable travel time, what are the dangers, where would be a good spot for an ambush, when and where is it patrolled, anything you¡¯d find pertinent for travel or military planning.¡± Shutting his eyes hard, Ordin looked up at Wolfgang, confused and concerned. ¡°What¡­ where is everyone? The blood! Why is there blood! Who are you?¡± Frowning, Wolfgang wondered if his orders had been too complicated and repeated himself. ¡°Sunfall 17th, 1406, a quarter past nine, seven kilometers north-west of Noyia¡± Again, Ordin¡¯s eyes glazed over, and Wolfgang said. ¡°Forget what happened in the canteen. I am your close friend; tell me what I want to know.¡± Ordin¡¯s mouth fell open, a line of drool adding to the filth in his beard. ¡°W-who, who, who?¡± Hesitating, Wolfgang realized he might have made a serious mistake. Yezhov gifted him names, locations, activation phrases, and a few faces but relatively little about the sleeper¡¯s actual limits. Brutal mind modification, no matter how well structured or planned, didn¡¯t come without consequences. Perhaps Ordin and his fellows could only handle one or two commands? Or maybe the geas couldn''t manage the dissonance between recent events and Wolfgang¡¯s orders? Meeting Ordin¡¯s eyes, Wolfgang wished he could easily manipulate minds like a Moroi. Perhaps he could untangle whatever knots were now in the foredwarf¡¯s brain matter. After trying a few more times, it became clear that Ordin''s condition decayed with every attempt. Eventually, conceding his meddling wouldn¡¯t help, Wolfgang knocked Ordin out again. Turning away from the unconscious dwarf, Wolfgang started looking through the office for anything of value. He¡¯d originally come thinking Ordin¡¯s advice would be more useful when combined with whatever maps or documents were stored here; now, Wolfgang would need to do with what information paper held. Sifting through ledgers and reports, Wolfgang reviewed the information Yezhov offered. Turul¡¯s Tomb and its kindred delves weren¡¯t filled with Sleepers like Crowbend or Harmas. There were only two sleepers for the entire region, which included one large dwarven town and half a dozen village equivalents. Honestly, it had been sheer luck they stumbled upon Ordin. As his fingers found a heavy iron key and a larger diagram of local Deeps below it, Wolfgang was struck by another possibility. The livestock¡¯s mortal tenders liked to say, ¡®coincidence is the Gods¡¯ domain.¡¯ But there wasn¡¯t any saying about the Pantheon being the only inhabitants of that domain. Collecting the key, papers and Ordin, Wolfgang hoped this aid wouldn¡¯t add to his debt.
Cole stared up at Turul¡¯s Tomb and couldn¡¯t help but frown. He¡¯d visited a number of dwarven holds and delves over his life, but none quite like this. Usually, the entrance to dwarven towns and cities resembled a castle growing from the mountainside. A nest of fortifications, towers, ramparts and beautiful stonework protecting the road leading from the surface into the hold proper. That was not Turul¡¯s Tomb; instead of a castle, the clan home resembled a monstrous impact crater. Even in the pale moonlight, there was no mistaking the signs of ancient destruction. Something large, strong, fast, or a horrible combination of all three struck the mountain¡¯s side, tearing a deep vertical pit into the rock. Easily a hundred meters in diameter, and who knew how many deep, the crater was unnatural. Suddenly, it became clear why the dwarves never changed their home¡¯s name. This was where a Jotunn made its final stand and fell fighting monsters even worse than itself; that history could not be erased, merely built upon, and built upon it, the dwarves had. Lights glittered inside the crater, giving the vague impression of some ill-made quartz now cracked open and exposed. It was difficult to tell in the dark, but Cole thought Clan Maugi had carved ledges into the crater, building their home into the cave¡¯s concave walls. Layered atop each other, the structure reminded Cole of a bee hive split in two, a normally hidden domain now exposed to the wider world. Along the outer crest of the crater were some of the fortifications Cole expected to find. Carved from the rock were watchpoints, ballista emplacements, and other similar structures. They clung to the clan home¡¯s outer edge like unusually angular barnacles, capping the ends of each carved layer and congregating into a proper wall at the crater¡¯s bottom lip. Altogether, the sight was surreal, a dwarven clan home exposed to the surface and ringed by impossible ramparts. Finding Natalie¡¯s hand, Cole looked at his partner and saw her red eyes wide with wonder and apprehension. They walked ahead of the wagon, flanked by stoic dwarf warriors, their hammers held at the position of guard. Squeezing her cold fingers, Cole whispered. ¡°Not far now.¡± Nodding, Natalie asked. ¡°Who was the old lady?¡± Peering over the ranks of warriors, Cole looked at the chariot ahead of them and its stooped occupant. ¡°I¡¯d guess the clan¡¯s elder bonekeeper or something similar.¡± Straightening her spine to partially match Cole¡¯s view, Natalie inferred. ¡°So a dwarf equivalent of Morri or Glynn?¡± Cole made a sound of confirmation. ¡°Yes, bonekeepers maintain their clan''s catacombs, free souls, and deal with the undead. But instead of a God, they rely on Spirits and traditional magic.¡± Half-whispering, Natalie said. ¡°It''s odd¡­ how they do all this without divine aid. The temples do so much for us humans; that the dwarves can function without them is shocking.¡± Unsure of this was the time or place for such a history lesson, Cole elaborated. ¡°From my understanding, the bonekeepers evolved from the old dwarven funerary priesthood. Many secular orders with religious origins exist in their society.¡± Natalie clearly wanted to ask more but seemed to sense delving into the ugly story of dwarven religion while surrounded by a troop of heavily armed dwarf warriors might not be the smartest idea. When the time came, Cole would answer her questions the best he could, but even he wasn¡¯t truly familiar with that tale. The Deep Folk were¡­ prickly about exactly how and why they lost their faith. They soon reached the main gate to Turul¡¯s Tomb; staring at the ramparts that arched up in either direction, Cole got the sense this clan home had seen better days. Few of the watchpoints along the wall and its vertical continuations were manned. It seemed likely the vast majority of Clan Maugi¡¯s military might was currently escorting them. There were also noticeable cracks in some of the more fragile stonework and the steady creep of moss along shaded surfaces. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Passing into the half-hold, Cole found his gaze being drawn upwards towards the town''s layered structure. Stone ledges competed with iron gantries and wooden walkways as methods of transversal. Some paths hugged the crater¡¯s edge, other more daring ones stretching over the open air. Carved stairways, rope ladders, and questionable cargo hoists provided transport between the levels. Dangling from the cavern¡¯s roof, overhead where Cole now stood, was a long chain ending in a half-sphere of crystal, amber, glass, and silver. Hanging roughly halfway between the floor and ceiling, the ornate structure glowed dully with warm light. Seeing how Natalie winced upon noticing the sphere, Cole¡¯s theory was proven correct. The crystalline object was the leviathan cousin to the piece of amber used to test Natalie. It was easy to see how magic and mirrors could produce an artificial sun meant to shine light into the cavern around it. Cole wondered how many mirrors dotted the clan home, allowing illumination to be bounced throughout the entire settlement. He also wondered how many skulking horrors might be caught in that false dawn. Vampires weren¡¯t the only things that loathed the sun, and such a device could protect where even sturdy redoubts might fail. The slumbering device was another piece of evidence Clan Maugi once saw better days. Such works of artifice weren¡¯t unheard of in larger hold-cities, and weaponized versions were known to exist in Jannah. Those kindred creations probably lacked the ugly cracks and chips marring Clan Maugi¡¯s mirror sun. This was a relic from a more prosperous time, one the clan lacked the knowledge or resources to repair and maintain. Now, the question itching at Cole¡¯s brain was, what caused this change in fortunes? Poor luck, wider circumstances, or something more pressing to his own concerns. Past the wall, the ¡®ground floor¡¯ of Turul¡¯s Tomb was a mixture of market and depot. This made sense to Cole; hauling goods and materials up a few levels for storage wasn¡¯t practical. Shops, warehouses, and similar structures lined the wide road leading from the gate deeper into the clan home. Eyes following this road, Cole found where it terminated; there was a crack in the crater, a fissure that ran along its middle bottom, almost like a chip in a bowl. Built into and around this imperfection was something akin to a castle. Seeing the great pictograms carved into the structure¡¯s walls and its domineering presence, Cole guessed this was the seat of governance. Passing empty streets, the group was escorted to the high hall of Turul¡¯s Tomb. Cuff and Clout were left with a tired-looking groom clearly more used to goats than horses. Cole considered recovering Isabelle from the wagon but decided against it. Dwarves weren¡¯t usually the type to poke through another¡¯s belongings without sufficient cause. By acting cautious and protective about the lockbox, Cole might just give the already skittish Deep Folk the justification they needed to investigate deeper. Most of the soldiers separated from the column, leaving Cole¡¯s group with a collection of clan elites. At their head was the chieftain and not far behind the old crone. Entering the high hall through great carved doors, Cole found himself in an audience chamber. Large, barely lit hearths sat in the middle of the columned room, casting the space in a dim flickering glow. Inspecting the murals, engravings, and similar covering the walls and pillars, Cole guessed this was where the chieftain held court. Galjor reached the far end of the hall and vindicated Cole, ascending a stepped dias and sitting on a profoundly uncomfortable-looking throne. Clustered about on the steps leading to the throne were a dozen dwarves, each with fine clothes and guarded expressions. The crone and two other members of the escort seated themselves in open spots, turning all eyes upon Cole¡¯s group. Arrayed as they were, the dwarves resembled a mountain range, each sitting courtier a peak surrounding the chieftain¡¯s high summit. Which, as Cole thought about it, was probably the point; leave it to the dwarves to somehow be blunt, even with their metaphors. Reaching a spot Cole guessed was seven dwarf steps away from the throne, Cole knelt. With a little prodding, his companions followed suit. Natalie¡¯s unspoken question as to why Cole did this was answered as she settled on the scuffed and marked stone. Many, many people had prostrated themselves at this spot, their armored knees and coarse clothes marking where to kneel with a sign those trained in courtly etiquette might notice. Head bowed slightly to the chieftain, Cole was once again surprised at how easily the skills of noble decorum returned to him. His time as Isabelle¡¯s champion had been a lifetime ago, several if he was being honest, but old patterns resurfaced when called. ¡°Chieftain Galjor, honorable head of Maugi, I apologize for the surprise and complexity of our arrival,¡± Cole spoke, letting his training take control. In his deep, rumbling voice, the chieftain spoke. ¡°You are a Paladin of Death?¡± Cole nodded. ¡°Yes, I am Cole, and these are my companions, Natalie Striga, Priestess Mina Vrock, Citywarden Alia Cat-eyes, Magi Kitthar Marono, and Yara Algal.¡± He gestured to each in turn, using titles where he could to hopefully earn some credibility. Leaning forward on his stone throne, the chieftain practically growled. ¡°Now, you claim to have important business with the leech war, yet you travel with one? This is curious and concerning, especially since you¡¯ve brought the creature into my territory.¡± Seeing how Natalie fidgeted at the dwarf lord¡¯s words, Cole tried to offer a truthful answer that didn¡¯t give away too much. ¡°Natalie was turned against her will and now works to protect the living and dead, just as the rest of my cohort do. She¡¯s earned the patronage of Master Time, the respect of Vindabon, and the love of a Paladin. Her presence is not meant as insult or threat, mearly a product of circumstances.¡± Stroking his beard, Galjor asked, ¡°What circumstances?¡± Now, this was where things would get tricky, and Cole needed to take a gamble. ¡°We are in possession of a powerful relic that must reach Prince Franz as soon as possible. It is a product of Vindabon¡¯s mightiest mages and requires unique handlers to even be used; Natalie is one of those handlers. She and the rest of my group are tasked with transporting and protecting the relic. We¡¯d originally hoped to take the Turulkin Pass, but the presence of White Orcs has made this impossible. Additionally, the battle waging around Crowbend Castle prevents us from using the river, leaving only one feasible path to the frontlines.¡± Cole¡¯s words caused a stir among both the dwarves and his allies. He¡¯d not conferred with them about sharing this much information, and Cole could practically feel Kit¡¯s questioning gaze burning into his back. But this wasn¡¯t the first time Cole dealt with dwarven clans, and he knew direct honesty was perhaps the only thing that would reach Galjor. One of the courtiers spoke now, a heavy-browed warrior who¡¯d not accompanied the chieftain''s show of force. ¡°Crowbend is under siege? We have not heard word of this?¡± Looking behind him, Cole nodded to Kit. The magi pulled a sealed scroll from his satchel and handed it to Cole. Handing the scroll to one of the lesser courtiers who ferried it to the chieftain, Cole watched the dwarf lord open and examine it. One-fist hadn¡¯t offered much in the way of aid, but he¡¯d been willing to write a letter regarding events, including a transcription of Lady Barbra¡¯s speech. The paragon and paladin could agree on ensuring all heard the call to arms. Galjor continued the awkward chain of handoffs and gave the letter to a white-bearded dwarf with heavy spectacles. It suddenly occurred to Cole then that the chieftain might be unable to read human script easily. After a few minutes of whispered conference with his scribe, the chieftain met Cole¡¯s gaze. ¡°This is grave news, and these are strange circumstances. What is it you wish of me, Paladin?¡± Letting the nervous breath he¡¯d been holding escaped, Cole said. ¡°From my understanding, this clan home is a tunnel that passes through the mountains. We seek safe passage through that tunnel.¡± A slight frown creased the chieftain''s brow. ¡°Your knowledge is lacking but understandably so. Turul¡¯s Tomb is not the path but merely its entrance. A section of the Deeps runs through what you call the Alidonian Mountains; we guard the main path to those tunnels but do not have true rulership over them. In ancient days, the Jotunn, whose name we honor, cracked open the Deeps in his final battle, damaging my people¡¯s original home and granting us a new one. That section of the Deeps is a mixture of ruins, natural caverns, and abandoned delves. Traversing them is difficult even for my clan, and we cannot offer safe passage. Still, we can give you permission and a guide.¡± As the chieftain paused, one of his courtiers made a strange gesture, and his lord nodded to him. Ghastly thin by dwarf standards, this member of Clan Maugi was dressed in white robes similar to the crones but with more ornamentation. Speaking in rapid dwerick, the courtier argued against Cole¡¯s passage, seemingly unaware the Paladin spoke his language. ¡°Great chieftain, we cannot allow the sangraki anywhere near the abandoned hold! Generations of fallen lie in those tunnels; a creature skilled in bone-dancing could unleash horrors crafted from our very ancestors!¡± Before Cole could speak in his defense, the old crone interrupted. She did not seek permission but merely barked. ¡°Oh, you imagine she¡¯d do that under the eyes of two servants of Death? Try not to be an idiot, Masga; while these long-bones are beholding to different masters, their purpose is kin to ours. Besides, the best route wouldn¡¯t take them near the old catacombs.¡± Before Masga could reply to the crone¡¯s insults, the chieftain slammed his fist on his throne¡¯s armrest. ¡°This is not the time or place for your squabbles, bonekeepers. Letting the Paladin traverse the Deeps is for the best.¡± Bowing his head, Masga continued. ¡°Respectfully, chieftain, it is not the Paladin that concerns me. Sangraki can never be trusted and can never be reasoned with; all one does by indulging them is present chinks in our mail! What if this leashed leach escapes her fetters? What if in a hundred, nay, two hundred years'' time, she returns at the head of a corpse legion, knowing the hidden paths of our home? The Paladin may be besotted with her, but his time will pass, and the threat to Clan Maugi will remain.¡± There was an ugly logic to the bonekeeper¡¯s words. This was a factor few considered when dealing with vampires, how they could outlast adversaries and even their own morality. The Rabisu¡¯s curse slowly mutilated its victims into something new. Cutting away compassion, mercy, and all else that was good, replacing them with cruel hungers. Vampires reduced to naught, but feral predators were common; the person they once were eroded by centuries of undeath. This was the fate Glockmire¡¯s corpse-tender warned Natalie against and why a quick blade was considered the only mercy a vampire could receive. Cole also knew every rule had its exception, even ones believed adamant-clad. The God of Death promised Natalie that her story might be more than a tragedy. Fearing what Natalie might become, given time and torment, was logical, but faith has never had an easy relationship with logic. As a man of faith, Cole believed in Natalie and Master Time. Even if Natalie herself feared a fall, Cole did not; besides, if she were to stumble, he¡¯d be there to catch her. Still, an argument of faith would fall deaf for these dwarves, who¡¯d turned from their Gods. Speaking in slow, simple dwerick, Cole addressed the chieftain¡¯s court. ¡°Much can change in a century, that is true. But if my cohort fails in our mission, I doubt Clan Maugi would need to wait that long for an army of the dead to come. If the Southern Marches, if Alidonar falls, then our mutual enemy will come for your people. Besides, even if the worst were to pass and my companion sought your doom, enough time would pass for Clan Maugi to prepare. The moment we leave these mountains, you could start fortifying or shutting tunnels you fear exposed.¡± Seeing the shock on the court¡¯s face, Cole slowly stood up, allowing his full height to emphasize his words. ¡°The dangers of letting us pass through the mountains are minimal, mitigable, and purely theoretical. The danger of letting this war continue on its current trajectory is incalculable. Tens of thousands will die, hundreds of thousands will be enslaved, and your people will contribute to both those sums.¡± Standing as he was, Cole could look the chieftain in the eye without craning his neck, and the two warriors locked gazes. Slowly nodding, Galjor spoke in common Western. ¡°You speak our tongue acceptably for a human. You also speak sense; as much as my people would like to be simply left alone, I know that is not possible. Helping you traverse the Deeps is the best way to protect my clan from this conflict. Tomorrow, provisions and a guide will be provided. But for now, it has been a long night. You will find acceptable quarters here in the high hall.¡± Bowing in the courtly human fashion, Cole thanked the chieftain. Galjor then pointed at Masga. ¡°That being said, I understand your logic. Bonekeeper Masga, I task you with accompanying the Paladin through the Deeps. Keep our ancestors and secrets safe, as is your duty.¡± Mollified, the bonekeeper saluted his chieftain. Answering with a nod, Galjor waved his hand in dismissal. ¡°We are adjourned. Torm, Clagim, help our guests get situated in the long-bone rooms.¡± A pair of servants appeared from one of the audience chamber¡¯s shadowed corners and started to coax the group towards a nearby door. Natalie took Cole¡¯s hand then, squeezing it and asking in a whisper. ¡°What was all that about?¡± Eyes flicking to Masga, Cole answered. ¡°Healthy paranoia, which I hopefully assuaged.¡± Seeing where Cole looked and noticing the ugly glare on the wiry dwarf¡¯s face, Natalie winced. She clearly could guess what that look meant; she¡¯d seen much of it recently. As the group exited the chamber and were led down a connecting hallway, a voice called out from behind. ¡°Paladin, a word.¡± Turning, Cole found the old crone standing there, a pipe in one hand. Cole looked at Natalie, and she just shrugged, letting go of his hand. Leaving the group, trusting Mina to keep them out of trouble, Cole turned to the crone. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I caught your name, elder.¡± Lighting the pipe and taking a breath, the crone glared up at Cole. ¡°You are annoyingly tall; looking at you is bad for my neck.¡± Unsure how serious the old woman was, Cole offered. ¡°I can sit or kneel if you¡¯d like.¡± Waiving him off the crone said. ¡°Bah, do you coddle everyone who complains? But to answer your question, I am Elder Bonekeeper Seohal Tinfoot. I¡¯d like to offer my condolences for being stuck with my ill-mannered former apprentice.¡± Tinfoot, Cole could now guess the origin of the bonekeeper¡¯s limp. But he didn¡¯t want to even consider wading into whatever bad blood existed between Clan Maugi¡¯s two bonekeepers. ¡°His concerns were justified. Having him travel with us is no problem if it assuages those worries.¡± Letting a puff of rancid-smelling smoke waft up towards Cole, Seohal snorted bitterly. ¡°I worry about him causing problems. I pulled that boy from his family¡¯s ruined home and trained him the best I could. But the scars he bears inside might match those on your skin. No one who survives a sangraki attack comes away the same.¡± Getting an understanding of the bonekeepers hostility and fear, Cole nodded. ¡°I can relate; I¡¯ve lost people I care about to them as well.¡± Looking past Cole, down the direction Natalie left, Seohal snarked. ¡°But you don¡¯t mind sharing a bed with one, I see. Heh, I can¡¯t imagine how that works or how your god tolerates it.¡± Deciding this conversation wasn¡¯t going anywhere good, Cole said. ¡°Thank you for your warning, I¡¯ll work to ensure Masga has as little reason to assume the worst as possible.¡± Seohal¡¯s lined smile split into a crooked grin. ¡°Tell me, does the knife-eared half-breed still run Vindabon¡¯s death temple?¡± Cole was starting to dislike Seohal; she had a callousness that felt unbecoming for someone in her profession. ¡°Hierophant Glynn is well. I take it you know him.¡± Letting more smoke issue from her wrinkled mouth, Seohal nodded. ¡°Aye, I¡¯ve dealt with him longer than you¡¯ve been alive. His habit of poking that pointy nose into other people¡¯s business keeps forcing our paths to intersect. But for all his pretension and self-righteous fervor, I¡¯ll admit he¡¯s capable. So, does he know you aren¡¯t truly human?¡± A jolt of shock went through Cole, his surprise at the completely unexpected question ruining any chance to bluff or misdirect. ¡°How¡­?¡± That twisted smile grew into an almost painful rictus on Seohal¡¯s face. ¡°My order doesn¡¯t have a God to pamper and aid us. We need to learn our skills properly. I¡¯ve seen more souls than you can count, Paladin, but none quite like yours. It does a good job of pretending to be normal but not good enough. Your essence sucks on the Aether like a babe on a teat. The effect is subtle; I almost didn¡¯t see it beneath your emotions and blessings, but it''s there. I can¡¯t guess what sort of creature you are to have a soul akin to a curse. So I¡¯ll ask again, does Glynn know?¡± Disturbed, Cole slowly said. ¡°Yes, he and my God are both aware of what I am.¡± Tipping a little ash out of her pipe onto the stone floor, Seohal sighed. ¡°Pity, I¡¯d hoped someone had actually managed to fool the half-breed and your patronizing deity. No matter, I was just curious.¡± Even more confused, Cole asked. ¡°What do you intend to do with this information?¡± Seohal shrugged. ¡°Nothing unless you cause problems for my clan. But I will give you this warning. Few people on the continent can match my spiritual senses, but sooner or later, others will notice. Just like they¡¯ll realize your paramour is more than a simple sangraki. She¡¯s got a parasite and a bad one, worse than any leech. The pair of you are a nest of ugly secrets, and you¡¯re starting to leak. People are bound to notice and ask questions more uncomfortable than mine.¡± Turning away, the bonekeeper started to hobble down the empty hallway. ¡°Sleep well, abomination. I hope the bloodsuckers don¡¯t bite.¡± Standing alone in the cold tunnel, Cole felt his existence become that much more precarious. He¡¯d already been walking a narrow path; now, he was dancing on a knife-edge. Slowly, horribly, Cole realized Seohal was right. It wasn¡¯t a question of whether his nature would be exposed; it was when and how. But beneath that concern was another; the way the bonekeeper described his soul was similar to what Natalie said horses saw. For the past few months, Cole had tried desperately to ignore the mounting evidence that his immortality was more complex than Isabelle told him. Now the question was, did he have the courage to confront her for the truth? Book III: Chapter 39: Descent

Chapter 39: Descent

¡°Safe? Slag and soot, boy, of course, the Deeps aren¡¯t safe! You can¡¯t even imagine the things that breed down there in the dark! See, crystals collect magic, and where do crystals come from? Yes, boy, underground! The Deeps are filled with gems of all kinds, each guzzling magical power and just waiting to be used. All that energy, all that arcane essence, changes life around it. Anything nesting, eating, rutting, or even shitting near those crystals is liken to start mutating. So give it a few generations, and you¡¯ve got another breed of jagging monster! What? No, of course, people don¡¯t get mutated! We aren¡¯t animals; we can channel and resist the crystal''s power. Well, at least most of us; you might be dumb enough to count more as beast than man.¡± - Captain Yuno Vlaki of the Stoneshield mercenary company.
Cole struck the ashy wastes with more grace than previously, but his legs still buckled on impact. Catching himself with his hands and managing not to fall face-first into the soot, Cole considered this arrival a marked approval over his previous dreams. Slowly standing up, ignoring the horrible pain in his legs, Cole looked about the familiar wasteland and sighed. After the vision on the night of Jak¡¯s funeral and Yara¡¯s arrival, Cole hadn¡¯t experienced any dreams of that vividness. He¡¯d occasionally awake with the taste of ash in his mouth or every muscle tensed for impact, but not much else. This started to change when the plague arrived; Cole would remember flickers of the nightmarish sky and falling bodies, but nothing so sharp as before. Standing among blasted ruins, ash dunes, and familiar corpses, Cole knew his reprieve was over. As if to signal this truth, a corpse struck the ground a meter or so from Cole. Flinching from the spray of gore and soot, Cole forced himself to look at the body. It was a young man or at least part of one; the boy¡¯s lower body was missing; he¡¯d been ripped in half. Tendrils of grey ash started to slither about the corpse, encasing it in an armor of grit. Forcing himself not to look away from what was about to happen, Cole watched the layer of ash reshape itself and the corpse beneath. Soon, he looked at a horribly familiar body, his own. Reaching to his belt, hoping to find the familiar weight of Requiem, Cole realized he was naked, just like all the other bodies. What he¡¯d thought were lumps and ripples in the ash were other husks, half-buried or piled together. Cole was no stranger to mass graves or places of slaughter, but to have dismembered copies of himself among the dead was a new level of disturbing. Movement nearby caught Cole¡¯s attention, and he realized something was moving beneath the ash. Cursing under his breath, Cole prepared himself for whatever new strangeness this nightmare would hold. Instead of some huge worm or another burrowing beast as he¡¯d feared, the displaced ash revealed a sight so bizarre it danced the line between humorous and disgusting. A lower body, legs, pelvis, and all the other bits surfaced from the ash. It wriggled along the ground, reaching the upper body Cole watched reform into a doppelganger earlier. The new lower body wasn¡¯t Cole¡¯s. It lacked the scars, size, and muscle tone to be him, but that didn¡¯t stop the flesh from meeting the nearby upper half. More ash flowed up and around the legs and pelvis, meeting questing fingers of grey reaching from where the torso was torn. Soon, a nearly complete copy of Cole lay on the soot; it was still missing chunks of flesh around the navel, but lines of ash flowed into those wounds, slowly filling them. A bolt of white lightning ripped down from the sky and struck the newly finished husk, sending spasms through its flesh. Cole watched as the copy slowly stood up and faced him; its eyes were blank and emotionless. Cautiously, Cole started to reach out for the body, and to his surprise, it mimicked him. Slowly, uncertainty, Cole rested a hand on the husk''s shoulder, and it did the same for him. For a long moment, the two Coles simply stared at each other, feeling familiar but alien hands on their flesh. Then, casually, the copy turned and walked along the ashen dunes. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Cole started to follow. They trudged through piles of shifting soot, clambered over stone ruins, and kept heading in the moon¡¯s direction. Hanging low in the grit-filled sky, the moon glowed the sickly red of infection, a corona of silver leaking from its edges. The moon seemed to be the duplicate¡¯s north star, but Cole couldn¡¯t be certain. As they walked, Cole noticed more and more bodies and parts of bodies. Some were pulped beyond recognition, others disturbingly familiar. He saw dozens of himself, each suffering a different grisly end, and interspaced among them corpses ruined by impact. Stopping by one of his corpses, Cole frowned; something about it seemed familiar. One forearm was ripped off, and a mix of frostbite and bruising covered the nude body. Peering down at the stump, seeing where the flesh was cut and torn, Cole remembered the injury. It was identical to how he¡¯d cut off his forearm to escape Dietrich. That act of desperation bought Cole victory and an escape, putting enough space between himself and Dietrich to die and revive unhampered. Leaving the body, Cole tried to find the copy he¡¯d been following but couldn¡¯t find it. Frowning, Cole followed the footprints in the ash for perhaps ten meters before they simply vanished. Staring down at the broken trail, Cole could tell the copy simply stopped walking and then disappeared. A nervous breath escaped Cole, and he tentatively poked the soot where the tracks ended; it was solid, eliminating one possibility. Scratching at his face, Cole guessed there was some deeper meaning to this but couldn¡¯t guess what. Becoming a little concerned the dream wasn¡¯t ending, Cole found a nearby ruin, a hill-sized pile of broken stone that might have once been a castle tower. Climbing it without much difficulty, Cole tried to get a better lay of the wasteland. In every direction, the ashlands stretched, disrupted by collapsed structures, piles of corpses, and¡­ more Coles. Distantly, he could see figures trudging across the soot, dozens of them all about. Each was heading in the moon¡¯s direction, walking with a steady, almost ghoul-like pace. As he watched, Cole saw versions of himself appear, assembling out of the corpse piles like patchwork dolls. Lighting would flash as each completed, and the new copy would begin its steady procession moonwards. Other bodies continued falling from the sky, raining intermittently, hitting the soot near or on one of the corpse piles. Squinting at the nearest pile that had just suffered an impact, Cole realized the newest arrival was a dwarf. Disliking what that implied, Cole looked towards the distant horizon, trying to figure out where the copies were headed. Try as he might, Cole couldn¡¯t see any noteworthy sights, just the moon hanging in the sky like some baleful eye. Staring up at the moon, Cole squinted against its silver corona and tried to make out details. Scarred and pockmarked, the lunar body was bloated but cracked. A cold white star burned behind the moon, its light warped by the great clouds of ash filling the sky. That silver glow felt familiar to Cole, reminding him of a cool spring day seven years ago. When he¡¯d made an oath to a God who should hate him. Frowning, Cole thought about his understanding of mystic signs and some of what Natalie shared about her internal world. Still staring at the moon, Cole decided there was no point in denying it anymore; this blasted ashland was his mindscape, a psychic representation of his soul. Thinking about Natalie¡¯s lily field and Isabelle¡¯s red lake, Cole felt suddenly melancholic. Even discounting the rain of corpses and marching simulacra, Cole¡¯s mindscape wasn¡¯t a pretty place. It seemed broken and desecrated, a charnel land akin to one of the more bleak Hells. Squatting down on the collapsed tower he used as a vantage point, Cole let his fingers brush away some of the ever-present ash to inspect what lay beneath. Chipped stone and crumbling masonry greeted him, its soot-polished surface shockingly smooth compared to the surrounding grit. Faint symbols were etched into the stone, worn away by ash winds and only barely detectable by Cole¡¯s gentle touch. Something about the material and sigils felt familiar to Cole, a faint, itching sense of recognition he couldn¡¯t place. Standing up and sighing, Cole looked out across wastelands and nearly fell over with shock. The base of the ruin he stood upon was surrounded by a small army of husks. At least two or three hundred false Coles stared up at him, their eyes blank and unfocused. They didn¡¯t climb the ruined tower or seem to notice each other, simply standing and staring, more of them joining the crowd every minute. Cole bizarrely felt like some general standing before an arrayed force awaiting the speech before the battle. More and more copies came from every direction, trudging towards the tower until their kindred¡¯s presence stopped them. Strangely, they came from all different directions instead of a singular one like Cole expected, considering their earlier movements. That revelation spurred another one; staring up, Cole realized the moon was gone, no, not gone, moved. Instead of sitting low in the sky, bleeding silver fire, it now hung directly above Cole. Craning his neck, Cole stared at the now shockingly large celestial body. It sat behemoth in the sky above, swelling with every second. Vertigo crashed into Cole at the impossible sight, and a moment later, he found himself being pulled upwards. For a terrifying moment, Cole felt himself yanked between two worlds, the ash wastes, and the broken moon. As weightlessness settled upon Cole, he awoke.
For a few terrible moments, Cole thought he was being crushed by the falling moon, its incalculable weight forcing the breath from his lungs. Then Natalie moved; she¡¯d been lying on his chest and now reacted to his groans. Eyes fluttering open, trying to dispel the surreal dream, Cole found his lover lying beside him, her red eyes brimming with concern. ¡°You were thrashing and making noises; bad dreams?¡± They shared a bed that was too small in the Maugi high hall¡¯s guest quarters. Little more than a cubby hole cut into the rock, there was barely enough room for Cole on the straw mattress. Squished between the wall and Cole¡¯s bulk, Natalie¡¯s position reminded him of the first time they technically slept together. He¡¯d been half-dead after facing the Walking Charnel, and she¡¯d curled up next to him for warmth. That memory was enough to pull a smile from Cole as he blinked sleep away. ¡°Yes, more of the falling ones.¡± Leaning her head on Cole¡¯s shoulder, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, love. Hasn¡¯t it been a while since you¡¯ve had one of those?¡± Cole nodded and explained his dream the best he could; the details were already a little fuzzy but still communicable. As he finished, Natalie blew out a breath. ¡°You really think that¡¯s your mindscape?¡± As Cole made a grunt of agreement and tried to free himself from tangled blankets, Natalie slithered over him and stood up in the room proper. Watching Cole try to sit up without banging his head on the sleeping alcove¡¯s ceiling, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯d normally offer to go into your mind and see if I could help. Between Isabelle and I, we should be able to get an understanding of whatever¡¯s happening. But with my current¡­ condition, that wouldn¡¯t be wise.¡± Cole flinched slightly at the thought of someone entering his mind. Even without the Rabisu¡¯s threat, Cole would be extremely leery of letting anyone, even Natalie, visit his mindscape. Pulling himself out of the alcove, Cole asked. ¡°Do you know what time it is?¡± Pursing her lips at the topic shift, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Around dawn? I felt the sun come up not long ago.¡± Finding the room¡¯s stone wash basin, Cole washed his face with icy mountain water. ¡°What have you been doing all night?¡± Shrugging, Natalie leaned against one of the walls. ¡°I spoke with Isabelle for a while; we¡¯ve been working on reinforcing our link for easier communication. She misses you and is very insistent you join us in my mindscape soon. When Isabelle became tired, I split the remaining time between reading one of Kit¡¯s books and snuggling with you.¡± Noticing the abandoned text sitting near the sleeping alcove, Cole asked. ¡°Does Isabelle want me for a particular reason¡­ or?¡± An amused snort escaped Natalie, and she struck Cole with a familiar smile. ¡°She¡¯s jealous of our fun in the forest. Apparently, she intends to ¡®demonstrate the full potential of psychic intimacy¡¯ for both of us. Heh, leave it to Isabelle to find a way to make sex a grandiose display of magical power.¡± Contradictory emotions flared through Cole; of course, the idea of spending time with both his lovers was enticing, but such acts also threatened to tear open old wounds. He¡¯d never told anyone the full scope of what was done to him in the Voivode¡¯s larder. Natalie perhaps had the best idea, having helped him wake from some of the nightmares, but he¡¯d not burdened her with all the details. Even when traveling alone with Isabelle, Cole didn¡¯t confess what happened to her silent skull. Cole didn¡¯t blame Isabelle for what happened to him, even if her arrogance was the direct cause. But on some level, Cole feared that might change if he told Belle what happened to him. Stepping forward, Natalie reached up to cup Cole¡¯s face, frowning in concern as she did. Feeling her force life and warmth into her fingers, Cole let himself relax into the touch as she asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Shaking his head slightly, Cole explained. ¡°Your mindscape is beautiful, so is Belle¡¯s in a way. My internal world is broken and haunted by things I don¡¯t understand. Yet my ignorance is born of choice instead of circumstances. I¡¯ve not demanded the truth from Isabelle even when it''s well within my right and potential to do so. Natalie, I¡¯m afraid of whatever horrible things she did to make me.¡± Natalie met Cole¡¯s eyes, and he could see his own grief reflected there. ¡°It scares me, too.¡± Cole was shocked by the words, but Natalie¡¯s gentle hands calmed him. ¡°Keeping those secrets from you has been Isabelle¡¯s way of protecting you. She truly thinks it''s the right thing to do, and from what I¡¯ve learned, Isabelle might be right. Perhaps ignorance is better than knowing whatever fucked up shit she did to create an immortal homunculus.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Placing her hands on Cole¡¯s shoulder with surprising strength, Natalie met his gaze with sudden iron. ¡°Isabelle might be right, but she also could be very wrong. I care for her, but underestimating people is her chronic mistake. Isabelle is almost always the smartest person in the room, hells, the smartest person in the whole country. So, she assumes she knows best and that everyone else can¡¯t handle whatever truths she holds.¡± Poking Cole in the chest, Natalie continued. ¡°You are the strongest person I know, Cole. Despite everything that has happened to you, all the monsters, malice, and madness, you¡¯ve managed to keep being a good person. So what if Isabelle did something unforgivable in creating you? Is that going to change anything truly? Find out the truth, process it, and keep doing what you¡¯ve always done: the right thing.¡± Leaning forward so her head rested on Cole, Natalie spoke softer. ¡° So, as someone who truly loves and believes in you, Cole, let me say this. Whatever terrible secrets Isabelle hopes to protect you from won¡¯t be enough to break you or redefine you. It might be painful and even change how you view Isabelle, but if anyone could hear the truth and come away better, it would be you.¡± Meeting Cole¡¯s eyes, Natalie embraced him. ¡°You fell in love with me because of my spark, my passion. Each time I¡¯ve been at the brink of despair or madness, you¡¯ve helped me remember that spark and been there to stoke its flame. You¡¯ve done that for me so many times; now let me return the favor and ensure you know I always will. Whatever happens, whatever secrets are uncovered, know I¡¯ll love you and be here for you, my knight.¡± Returning her hug, Cole let a tired breath exhale him. ¡°When this is over, when we are at the front and have time to catch our breath, I¡¯ll get the truth. I¡¯ve delayed this for too long, and you are right; I can handle whatever comes.¡± They kissed for a long moment, and Cole could almost feel the tension melting off him like snow in spring sunlight. Eventually, Cole broke the kiss and said. ¡°Thank you.¡± Smiling, Natalie just shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ve done the same for me, and besides, what''s the point of being in love if we aren¡¯t there for each other at times like this? Now, let''s get dressed and moving. The quicker we¡¯re on the road, the quicker the cure reaches the prince, and the quicker we are back in Vindabon with a comfier bed.¡±
The rest of the morning was a hectic mess of preparation and information. Details about the plague, local military situation, and wider context were shared with the Maugi court, alongside a few barrels of the prepared cure. So far, Turul¡¯s Tomb was spared the pestilence but that might change. Natalie didn¡¯t know if the leeches would send more infected wyverns or other vectors into these lands, but whatever happened, having some kegs of ensorcelled wine couldn¡¯t hurt. Getting supplies and a guide proved to be fairly easy. The clan often sent scouting missions into the Deeps, so simply replacing the detachment of soldiers with the stone carriers wasn¡¯t that difficult logistically. The group would be accompanied by three dwarves, two seasoned rangers used to the Deeps, and the Bonekeeper Masga. None of the chaperones seemed particularly eager for this task, with Masga spending much of his time staring at Natalie with undisguised contempt. When Masga wasn¡¯t attempting to murder Natalie with a look, he was objecting to parts of the plan. He¡¯d not even wanted to let Cole and Mina see maps of the prospective route. The ornery dwarf only relented when Natalie agreed to leave the room while travel details were discussed. Masga¡¯s paranoia could rival Cole¡¯s worst days and wasn¡¯t in any way tempered by her knight¡¯s kindness. So when the time came for the expedition to leave, Natalie was completely in the dark about their path. She¡¯d only managed to catch they¡¯d be exiting the Deeps somewhere called Azyge, which should put them uncomfortably close to Harmas. Speaking of being uncomfortable, the group faced their first serious challenge right out of the stables. Cuff and Clout were well-trained Vindabon draft horses, but that mattered little in the face of their next challenges. They¡¯d not liked entering the dwarven clan home and would react worse to the Deeps. Even if Natalie dulled their discomfort at being underground, it would only be a stop-gap; the route ahead wasn¡¯t suitable for hooves and wheels. After Kit¡¯s suggestions involving further enchantments to the wagon were rejected, another solution was found. Natalie was currently staring at said solution with a mixture of interest and apprehension. Nine bizarre pack animals were coaxed from their burrow and laden with the wagon¡¯s contents. Each the size of a small pony, the creatures seemed a mix of pig and shrew, with squat bulbous bodies, a tubular snout, and large deer-like ears. Thick claws capped its four strong legs, their blunted shapes reminding Natalie more of mining tools than weapons. A thick, hairless tail stuck from the creature¡¯s rounded backside, and calcified growth covered the tail¡¯s end like a mace¡¯s head. Eyes wide, Natalie watched one of the creatures sniffling along the ground, its long snout capped by thick, bristly hairs. One of the stable grooms emptied a bag of odd-smelling powder before the beast, and to Natalie¡¯s shock, a snake-like tongue shot from the animal¡¯s mouth and started licking up the powder. The clank of metal pulled Natalie¡¯s attention, and she found an armored Cole standing beside her, an amused smile on his face. ¡°Aardigs are strange to look at, aren¡¯t they?¡± he said while checking his belt and pack for what must have been the fiftieth time. Nodding, Natalie watched the ¡®aardig¡¯ gobble up the powder and nose its handler for more. ¡°You have experience with them before?¡± Cole nodded and shrugged. ¡°Every dwarf I¡¯ve met swears by them as the best beast of burden for working underground.¡± One of the aardigs started to sniff the air, its tube-like snout snuffling inquisitively. Beady black eyes focused on Cole, and the creatures whined before shuffling backward. A deep sigh escaped Cole. ¡°But, I¡¯ve never personally worked closely with them, for obvious reasons.¡± Chewing her lip, Natalie offered. ¡°I could dull their fear like I did with Cuff and Clout?¡± Shaking his head, Cole eyed the servants finishing loading the aardig¡¯s large sidepacks. ¡°No, I can just keep my distance. We aren¡¯t in a situation to step on any toes. But if circumstances change, I¡¯ll ask for that particular kind of aid.¡± Accepting that, Natalie stared out past the assembling caravan and towards their eventual departure point. They¡¯d exited the high hall on its opposite side, where dwarven fortifications met a deep crack in the rock. The light of Turul¡¯s Tomb shone only so far into the crevice; deep shadows barely disrupted by distant glowstones stretched out before Natalie. Generations of dwarf labor had smoothed the crevasse¡¯s floor, turning it into a slightly downward-slanting road. Combined with the crack¡¯s sharp triangular top, the entrance to the Deeps reminded Natalie of some colossal beast¡¯s throat. With that ominous thought echoing in her mind, Natalie watched as the Clan¡¯s chieftain approached them, an honor guard of three warriors at his back. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, Cole went to speak with the chieftain. Left alone among the final preparations, Natalie noticed an oddity among the group. Kit was sitting on the ground nearby, his legs crossed and eyes shut. Slowly approaching him, she found the Magi muttering under his breath the strange lantern he carried sitting before him. The aardigs and grooms gave him a wide berth, clearly uncertain what to make of him. Forcing herself to make more noise than usual, Natalie came up beside Kit, hoping not to startle him. ¡°What are you doing?¡± She wasn¡¯t successful; the Magi jumped and cursed before looking up at her with annoyance. His expression barely softened into displeasure. ¡°Trying and failing to become a better magi.¡± Uncertain if she¡¯d made a mistake in speaking to him, Natalie asked. ¡°How?¡± Kit started to glare up at her but quickly caught himself. Letting out a sigh, he gestured at the lantern. ¡°The accursed thing won¡¯t listen to me! If I could get it to work consistently, we¡¯d still be able to use the wagon! Instead of those¡­ creatures.¡± He gestured at a nearby aardig that seemed indifferent to the implied insult. Frowning, Natalie tried to think of a time she¡¯d seen Kit this upset. He¡¯d not even seemed this distressed when literal wolves were nipping at his heels. While she could understand the desire to master a forbidden relic better than most, his word choice seemed odd. ¡°What¡¯s important about the wagon?¡± Shoulders hunched, Kit stared at the lantern. ¡°I don¡¯t travel light.¡± Momentary confusion faded as Natalie understood his meaning. They¡¯d needed to strip down their load for the aardigs to carry. For Natalie, it hadn¡¯t been difficult; undeath allowed for entire categories of supplies to be skipped. Kit hadn¡¯t been so lucky; most of his books were being left behind. That trove of texts and other unessential cargo were being packed into the now abandoned wagon to be taken by Maugi merchants back towards Vindabon in the summer. Apparently, some of the more canny members of the clan were willing to return Cuff and Clout along with everything else the stone carriers had to abandon in exchange for favors from the Tenth Temple. Natalie wasn¡¯t so certain Cole and Mina had the authority to offer such a deal, but she kept her mouth shut. Trying to comfort Kit, Natalei said. ¡°The books will be alright; merchants know the importance of transporting goods safely.¡± Kit made a noise of annoyance. ¡°Yes, but they won¡¯t be with me. I¡¯m stuck with just five books, and that isn¡¯t enough. We are heading into the jagging Deeps and will probably fight our way through undead-infested territory to reach Fort Erdom. I don¡¯t want to do that without every resource and advantage I can get!¡± Standing up, Kit picked up the lantern and stared at its strange crystalline material. ¡°Instead of nice, ordered, collected knowledge to rely on, I have this. A miserable memento that won¡¯t even listen to me! I can coax power out of it, but not much else. I¡¯m using a priceless magical tool like a mere quintessence collector!¡± With a tired sigh, Kit finally looked at Natalie, his expression becoming sheepish. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I shouldn¡¯t be complaining to you of all people. My trifles are¡­ trifling.¡± Natalie thought about what Kit shared about his past, of the pain he¡¯d experienced and his cursed lineage. ¡°Hey, can you do me a favor?¡± Looking at her, eyebrow raised, Kit nodded, and Natalie smiled. ¡°Back in Vindabon, I spend many of my nights in the temple archive, learning what I can. But I lack a proper tutor or, hells, any true direction. I¡¯d like to learn more about magic but don¡¯t know where to start. Could you make a list of maybe ten books you think any beginner should read?¡± A little befuddled, Kit asked. ¡°Just ten?¡± Hiding her amusement, Natalie nodded. ¡°That''s why I¡¯m asking you. A good librarian might give me a book or two as a starting point; a bad one would give me the whole library. I think you¡¯d be able to find a middle path even out here on the road.¡± Tapping his chin in consideration, Kit said. ¡°An interesting challenge, a little below my steel price, but¡­ yes, it will keep me distracted.¡± Smiling, Natalie was glad Kit understood the secondary reason for her request. ¡°Thank you.¡± He brushed her off with a dismissive wave. ¡°Not a problem.¡± Fifteen minutes later, a whistle went up from one of the rangers, an old dwarf with a tightly braided beard. ¡°Oi! Last checks, and then we head out!¡± Packs were inspected, lead lines tied, and weapons prepared. In his full panoply, Cole was the most heavily armored of the expedition, but he was far from the only one wearing protection. Checking the questionable stitches on her own leather kit, Natalie watched her companions make final adjustments. Kit was the only one without any true armor; even Yara had a sturdy gambeson draping her petite form. The thrall had recovered physically from her near-death experience, but she was even more silent and reserved than before if that was possible. Natalie hoped she could find some time to speak with Yara in the near future; much seemed to be still left unsaid after the brig incident. Cole¡¯s gentle hand pulled Natalie from her musings, and she let herself be led forward into the organizing convoy. Soon, the aardigs were shuffling along, their claws scraping the stone floor in a clattering rhythm. Positioning themselves roughly in the caravan¡¯s middle, Cole and Natalie walked into the darkness of the Deeps. Looking left at Cole and then right at the nearest aardig, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but laugh at how the creature felt more comfortable with her than him. Glancing behind her, Natalie watched the triangle of light that was Turul¡¯s Tomb shrink with every step. Even with her phenomenal night vision, the tunnel was horribly dark. Dim glowstones marked the tunnel walls at what Natalie thought might be kilometer intervals, but they were just errant sparks in a sea of shadow. Once they reached the first of the glowstone markers, Natalie watched the younger of their two scouts walking down the line, rubbing something on the noses of each aardig. The female dwarf nodded at them as she passed and gestured towards the front-most beast in answer to Natalie¡¯s confused look. Squinting, Natalie realized the beast¡¯s nose was glowing, the brush-like hairs on its snout shining pear-green. Something close to a smile crossed the ranger¡¯s face on seeing Natalie¡¯s shock. Speaking in thickly accented western, she said: ¡°Aardigs eat bugs main like; der nose hair glows ta tract prey. With ta right incentive, we canna trick dem into being lanterns.¡± Without further comment, the ranger continued her work, and soon, all nine of the beasts of burden glowed with green phosphorescence. Natalie looked at Cole in wonderment and found his face set with concentration, his eyes shining silver. It wasn¡¯t like the usual sign of his power. Instead, Cole¡¯s eyes seemed glazed with a reflective coating. After a moment, the shine started to fade, and Cole sighed. ¡°It''s ironic that I can see into the Aether easier than I can pierce the dark.¡± Staring out at the carved cavern walls, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Trust me, you aren¡¯t missing much. Besides, I¡¯ve got enough night vision for both of us, so just stay close to me, and I¡¯ll protect you.¡± An amused snort escaped Cole. ¡°I truly hate being underground.¡± Patting his armored shoulder, Natalie smiled. ¡°I can¡¯t tell if your dislike is ridiculous or perfectly logical.¡± Sucking in a deep breath and glancing around at the shadowed tunnel, Cole said. ¡°Fear born of ignorance can be dispelled with knowledge. Fear born of knowledge is much harder to dismiss. So, can we please stop talking about being literally beneath a mountain?¡± Understanding the message, Natalie decided she¡¯d change the topic. ¡°Well then, aside from the tons of rock above us, what here is trying to kill us?¡± Ending Cole¡¯s glare with a kiss on the cheek, Natalie shrugged. ¡°Sorry, I just don¡¯t usually see you this perturbed, and it''s cute.¡± Grunting in acknowledgment, Cole stared down the tunnel ahead. ¡°Too many things to count; the Deeps are home to every manner of monster. Trolls are probably the most obvious, but they aren¡¯t the only ones. Dire insects, puppeteer spiders, echo-spawn, knockers, lindwyrms, carnivorous fungi, basilisks, and other things I¡¯m probably forgetting. Oh, and that''s discounting gas pockets, flooded caves, poisonous foliage, and the aforementioned tons of rock falling on top of us.¡± Natalie winced. ¡°Okay, okay, I think I can better understand your dislike.¡± After a moment¡¯s thought, staring at the barren walls and claw-scratched road, Natalie asked. ¡°How can this place support so much life? This place seems empty of anything edible, and if prey can¡¯t find enough to eat, neither can predators.¡± The ranger who¡¯d been walking down the line of aardigs chuckled from the darkness behind them. Looking at the tough dwarven woman, Natalie raised an eyebrow. Fiddling with one of her sidelocks, the ranger said. ¡°We ain¡¯t in ta Deeps proper. Dis is justa taste of what be coming.¡± Pointing down the tunnel, the ranger squinted. ¡°You got good eyes, sangraki?¡± Natalie nodded, and the ranger smiled. ¡°Taka good look, you see ta light?¡± Letting a little blood enhance her eyesight, Natalie stared into the darkness, trying to find what the ranger expected her to. After a second of letting her eyes adjust, Natalie saw it. In the distance, barely detectable, was a faint bluish glow that seemed to flicker and spark. Seeing Natalie¡¯s face change, the ranger¡¯s smile broadened. ¡°Tat ta true Deeps.¡± HKB3 Chapter 40: The Deeps

Chapter 40: The Deeps

¡°This world¡¯s mountains are too tall. I know, I know, that doesn¡¯t make sense to you, but let me explain. I¡¯ve traveled far in my time, visiting other celestial spheres and observing their wonders. So I have a broader perspective than you natives and know what is ¡®typical¡¯ for a world, even one grown from the same seed as Vardis. Your world is ever so slightly exaggerated; its mountains are taller, its oceans deeper. At first, I thought this was simply a long-term side-effect of when the Sidhe tried to subsume the planet; they tend to turn their property into parodies of itself. But, my closer inspection shows that while that is the case in some situations, the mountains are different. I know this sounds mad, but I think something is pressing your mountains up, pushing them higher than they should be.¡± - World Walker Billiam of Valalon.
Natalie stared down the tunnel, eyes fixed on the dancing glow. The more she watched the faint flickers, the harder it was to say what color they were. At first, the light was blue, but hints of purple and green now crept into her vision. The look of nervous confusion painting Natalie¡¯s face was apparently amusing as the dwarf ranger laughed. ¡°Oh, youa in for a treat, sangraki.¡± Before Natalie could respond, Bonekeeper Masga snapped something in harsh dwerick. Bowing to the thin dwarf, the ranger walked away, having clearly been rebuked. Watching her go with coal-dark eyes, Masga then glared at Natalie. Speaking in stilting western, he said. ¡°Do not speak with my people. I know what your kind can do with just eye contact.¡± Cole said something then in dwerick, his tone calm but stern; Masga turned his wrathful eyes upon him, and a few short phrases were exchanged like arrow volleys. Eventually, Masga pointed at Cole¡¯s neck, and then Yara before spitting some final words Natalie could just tell weren¡¯t very diplomatic. With a dismissive gesture, the bonekeeper stalked away, muttering under his breath. Watching him go, Natalie couldn¡¯t help but be torn between annoyance and understanding. While she objected to her rude treatment, Natalie knew it was born of both logic and fear. If their places were reversed, she wouldn¡¯t want to escort a mysterious mutant vampire through shadowy monster-infested tunnels with only the assurances of pagan gods to go on. Letting out a tired sigh, Natalie looked at Cole. ¡°How long are we going to be down here?¡± Staring down the tunnel, Cole weighed his words. ¡°About a week. But that''s not counting if we run into any of the less hospitable denizens of the Deep.¡± Grunting in annoyance, Natalie asked. ¡°So, do you know what¡¯s creating the glow I see?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°I can guess, but¡­ well, there isn¡¯t a good way to describe it; better for you just to see.¡± Even more annoyed, Natalie muttered. ¡°I¡¯m starting to come around to your view of the underground.¡± A small laugh escaped Cole. ¡°That might change in a few kilometers and then revert again in a few more.¡± Glaring up at her unusually obtuse boyfriend, Natalie grumbled. ¡°If you say so.¡± As they kept walking, the distant light grew and grew; soon, Cole and the others could see it. Both he and Mina seemed apprehensive, while Alia and Kit were excited, Natalie vacillated between both reactions, and Yara just didn''t seem to care. After half an hour of hiking, the glow¡¯s source became clear; the tunnel they were in exited into a wider cavern, one brimming with illumination. Glancing behind them, Natalie couldn¡¯t see the light of Turul¡¯s Tomb. They¡¯d traveled at least five kilometers down the slightly sloping path and finally reached the ¡®proper Deeps.¡¯ The tunnel¡¯s end was roughly square-shaped, a natural feature clearly sculpted by dwarven hands into something more convenient. Reaching the tunnel mouth, Natalie had to squint against the radiance, her vampire eyes taking a moment to adapt to what lay beyond. As the scene became clear, Natalie stopped and let a quiet oath escape her. ¡°Fixed stars¡­¡± They were atop a cliff overlooking an impossible valley. The rockface they stood upon stretched out left and right for kilometers, its sharp slope extending down into an alien jungle upon the valley floor and¡­ up into the vaulted heights of the cavern ceiling. From where she stood, Natalie guessed the cave had to be a kilometer from top to bottom and at least twice that wide. The opposite side of the valley was barely visible; thick clouds of uncertain origin filled the sky, twisting around stalactites the size of castle towers dripping from the ceiling. Streams of faintly shimmering water flowed down the dripping spears, forming bizarre waterfalls that dissolved into banks of iridescent fog. Bats with glowing bones swooped through the air in great caldrons, dancing between the rising jungle and falling stalactites. Natalie was so stunned by this sight she forgot to breathe for a few seconds; when she restarted the old habit, her lungs filled with hot, damp air. Only then did she realize the sweltering heat of the cave and its cloying humidity. Thankful she wouldn¡¯t stink up her leathers with sweat, Natalie glanced at her comrades and guides. She saw expressions of wonder, tired resignation, and forced boredom; the dwarves seemed unwilling to appreciate the sight in the presence of outsiders. Speaking slowly, afraid to trip over her own tongue, Natalie whispered. ¡°This is the Deeps?¡± Cole smiled at her. ¡°I told you it wasn¡¯t easy to describe.¡± Looking down at the jungle seeing strange tubular plants reaching up from a canopy of mushroom caps, Natalie whispered. ¡°How is this possible?¡± The younger dwarven ranger, the one who¡¯d told Natalie to look for the glow, pointed at the cliff wall. Following the gesture, Natalie realized the jungle below wasn¡¯t the true source of the light she¡¯d seen. Running along the sides of the cavern were monoliths of curved crystal shining with arcane radiance. Spaced apart and arching with the cave walls, the crystal structures reminded Natalie of ribs, furthering the metaphor that they¡¯d journeyed into some beast¡¯s belly. Each ¡®rib¡¯ pulsed with rich colors, shifting as Natalie watched between green, blue, indigo, and violet hues. Wisps of white light occasionally flowed from one of the ribs, questing out for a time before fading away into a shower of rainbow sparks. Feeding blood into her eyes, Natalie caught sight of those sparks drifting down like dandelion seeds, falling onto the fungal canopy, or snapped up by strange shining insects. Understanding bloomed as to why everything living in this impossible landscape glowed. The rule ¡®you are what you eat¡¯ applied here in some very unique ways. The older ranger spoke then. ¡°Nuff gawking, let''s move.¡± Pulled from her inspection of the cavern, Natalie started walking again, trying not to think about the dizzying drop they skirted. Falling off the walls of Vindabon had been a painful educational experience, and just as Cole disliked being underground, Natalie had no love for high places. Continuing along the cliff, the caravan approached a watch tower carved into the cavern wall; it overlooked the tunnel towards Turul¡¯s Tomb and a horribly long switchback leading down towards the valley floor. Reaching the tower¡¯s base and the start of the switchback, the caravan started to descend. Soon, the jungle canopy became clearer, and Natalie tried to study the bizarre plants that stretched out in a nearly unbroken sea of rich color. Spires of green-blue fungus stuck out above the spongy ¡®tree tops¡¯ of the towering mushrooms. Bulbous growths jutted between interlocking fungal plates, their porous structures leaking a cloud of spores. Large jewel-shelled insects flitted between grasping bronchial tubers while beady-eyed rodents with coiling whip tails chased after them. Shelves of layered growths clustered upon stems thick as tree trunks, their flickering bioluminescence luring hapless gnats into hungry gill slits. Descending the switchback, the caravan soon passed beneath the tree line, the two rangers taking a moment to hack away at questing mycelia, seeking anchorage on the dwarf-cut path. Nearer the jungle floor, the air was cooler but no less damp, every breath flavored by strange spores. At Cole¡¯s prodding, the group covered their faces with treated cloth pulled from the aardig¡¯s saddlebags. The three dwarves merely adjusted their facial hair, the lone woman among them wrapping her sidelocks over her face like a scarf. Fidgeting with his cloth mask, Kit spoke, his voice muffled but understandable. ¡°I¡¯m assuming these won¡¯t be needed once we reach the jungle floor?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°They probably aren¡¯t even necessary, but I¡¯d rather we avoid infection or poison. You never know what is floating around just below the canopy.¡± Natalie wasn¡¯t certain how much Cole¡¯s concerns applied to her, but the idea of some enterprising fungus growing inside her cold flesh wasn¡¯t appealing. Trying not to think of that disturbing notion, she asked her partner: ¡°How many times have you been to the Deeps?¡± Glancing up at the cliff wall, they descended, Cole replied. ¡°This will be my second time in a vault.¡± Seeing Natalie¡¯s raised eyebrow he gestured at the vaulting ceiling far above them. ¡°It''s what they call these huge caves.¡± Enjoying that she didn¡¯t need to breathe unless she wanted to speak, Natalie adjusted her face covering and said. ¡°This is incredible; I knew there were tunnels all beneath the world but¡­ but nothing like this.¡± Kit was panting a little, clearly having difficulty getting enough air, but still managed to say. ¡°This is an unusually shallow vault; from what I¡¯ve read, they are supposed to be much deeper.¡± Cole nodded his agreement. ¡°The other vault I visited required multiple days'' worth of travel through lock caverns to reach.¡± Natalie made a noise of tired annoyance. Here she was, thinking she¡¯d managed to scrape together a proper education from the temple archive. But of course, her unlife was nothing but surprises, and now Natalie was neck-deep in topics she¡¯d not even known enough about to start researching. In a testament to their time together, Cole could understand what Natalie¡¯s huff meant and elaborated. ¡°The Deeps have roughly three types of cave. Keys, which connect to the surface and can be dwarven delves or natural tunnels. Locks, are generally larger and stretch beneath the surface, linking the other two categories. Then, of course, there are vaults, which are the ¡®true Deeps¡¯ and each a unique world of sorts.¡± Masga spat something then, his voice low and barely audible. Cole nodded in response and whispered. ¡°We¡¯ll talk later; conversation isn¡¯t wise right now.¡± They¡¯d reached the switchback¡¯s end, and yet again, Natalie was mired in both awe and confusion. The jungle floor was not a verdant carpet of strange underbrush as she¡¯d expected, but instead akin to a miniature badland. Instead of arriving among the trunks of the mushroom forest, they stood in the interlocking chasms cutting between islands of alien growth. Natalie¡¯s mind struggled to make sense of the bizarre geology. It was like the jungle floor was a gigantic stone slab shattered into pieces and poorly reassembled. Life grew atop each piece of the slab, stretching up into the impossibly thick canopy, but little grew in the cracks between each section, which is where they now walked. The tiny canyon they entered was wide enough for two aardigs to walk abreast, so their caravan could move without issue. Glancing at the walls of the crack, Natalie used Cole as a measuring stick to guess they were two and a half meters tall. That top half meter was a spongy mass of moss, fungus, mycelium, ?roots, and rot, which Natalie guessed was what passed for soil around here. Beneath that were layers of porous rock riddled with holes ranging from barely visible to fist-sized, the stone eventually melding into the claw-scratched floor beneath them. Natalie was forced to reassess her opinion; the canyon they walked through wasn¡¯t a crack in the slab but a gouge. Some force she couldn¡¯t imagine carved these paths through the jungle floor, creating winding passages of bare stone where naturally life should grow. Thinking about all the monsters Cole listed as inhabitants of the Deeps, Natalie decided she didn¡¯t want to encounter whatever was responsible for these gouges. After maybe fifteen minutes of walking, Cole took off the protective cloth he wore, and the rest followed him. Sucking in a breath of rot-sweet air, Natalie started to ask questions, but Cole¡¯s gesture for silence stopped her. His and Masga¡¯s insistence on not speaking bothered Natalie. The aardigs made plenty of noise, and so did the rest of the caravan. Stealth didn¡¯t seem to be the goal, but whatever the reason for the enforced silence was, Natalie couldn¡¯t guess. The path was winding and branched constantly, but dwerick runes marked each intersection and were the only reason Natalie didn¡¯t fear getting lost. They were in an alien labyrinth so far outside her realm of understanding it might as well be a different cosmic sphere. While the experience was fascinating beyond words, the sheer otherworldliness and her own ignorance kept Natalie on edge. The constant noise from the surrounding jungle and its overwhelming bouquet of scents weren¡¯t helping. It got so bad Natalie actually borrowed one of Isabelle¡¯s techniques and dulled her sense of smell down to mere human levels. Cole seemed unbothered, but he seemed immune to stink, no matter how horrid; but Alia was still wearing the spore mask and violently rubbing her face every minute or so. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Two hours after they entered the jungle proper, the rangers called the caravan to a halt. They¡¯d arrived at a small grotto carved into the rock and dominated by a pool of clear water. Greedily, the aardigs drank their fill, while canteens were refilled and beards washed of spores. Tentatively, Natalie dipped a hand into the cold water. She missed being able to drink things other than blood, and the idea of sharp, clean mountain flow suddenly sounded wonderful. A sound caught her attention then, pulling Natalie from staring at the pool. It was unlike the clicks, chirps, creeks, and worbles Natalie now knew to expect from the jungle; this was a voice. Grabbing Cole¡¯s arm, Natalie said. ¡°I hear someone.¡± Cole forced a hand over Natalie¡¯s mouth and sucked in a deep, steadying breath. With his free hand, he pointed at the rangers and then his ear. All three dwarves exchanged glances and drew weapons. Confused and frightened, Natalie tried to understand the distant but growing voice. Her sensitive hearing soon caught the pain and ragged desperation conveyed by the speaker. A word of dwerick, one of the few she knew, was being repeated over and over. ¡°Help¡± The older ranger gripped his axe tight and called out into the jungle something in dwerick. For a moment, the voice stopped, then it restarted, this time with company. Half a dozen or more people were calling out for help in the dwarvish tongue. Moving quickly, the old ranger took out a carving knife and etched a pictogram onto the grotto wall. Turning from his crude marking, the ranger grabbed the lead aardig¡¯s guide rope and started moving the caravan back in the direction they came. Prodded by the ranger, the aardigs moved quickly, waddling forward fast enough the dwarves needed to jog and humans trot to keep up. Profoundly unsettled but unwilling to break the taboo of silence, Natalie stayed next to Cole, both of them holding their weapons ready. The caravan doubled back two junctions in the canyons and continued on a different path. As they moved, the distant voices grew louder and louder before slowly fading. When they finally stopped, Natalie did her best to communicate this to Cole. A look of cautious relief passed over the Paladin¡¯s face, and he relayed the message in slightly better pantomime. The caravan¡¯s pace slowed then, but they didn¡¯t stop again, even when they encountered another grotto. Eventually, after enough time walking that Kit could barely stand, they reached the jungle¡¯s edge. Staring up at the looming valley wall, Natalie tried to get her bearings. She thought they¡¯d simply crossed the jungle, reaching the vault¡¯s eastern edge, but that was about all her navigational accum could decipher. Hugging the space where jungle and cliff met, the caravan continued in what Natalie hoped was a southern direction. Checking over her companions, Natalie noted they all seemed tired but intact. Kit was walking easier, his gait almost skipping, which, after a moment, Natalie realized was due to him altering his own gravity. Alia wore her mask and scowl, while Mina seemed to be regretting the layers of armor and cloth she bundled herself in. Yara merely walked silently, showing no signs of distress or wonder at the surroundings. Cole was still tense from the encounter at the grotto but seemed calmer now that they were out of the proper jungle. Soon, the travelers found a tunnel carved into the valley wall, its mouth lined with runes and pictograms. A large piece of quartz sat at the entrance¡¯s peak, glowing with pale yellow light. Natalie noted the ever-present jungle creep didn¡¯t touch where the light shone, mycelium feelers and mossy patches stopping abruptly as if cut by an invisible blade. The caravan filed into the tunnel, and its nature became apparent; they¡¯d entered the dwarf equivalent of a rest stop. Centered around a bubbling artesian well, the small cave contained a few sleeping alcoves, a crate of what Natalie guessed were emergency supplies, and, most curiously, a defaced statue. Taking up much of the cave¡¯s back wall, the statue relief depicted a strange creature with dwarven proportions but the claws and tail of an aardig. The face was destroyed, carved away with a maniac intensity, but hints of a beard and floating crown of gemstones were still visible. A pictogram at the statue¡¯s base was also smashed, the edges of it only betraying the identity. Sitting before the statue¡¯s clawed feet was a large offering basin, now containing a pile of gravel and what Natalie thought must be a very old chamberpot. Masga walked towards the tunnel''s entrance and ran fingers along the runes carved there, then said something in dwerick. The final bit of tension escaped Cole then. ¡°We¡¯ll be safe here.¡± Taking that as her sign it was alright to speak, Natalie asked. ¡°What the hells was that back at the grotto?¡± The younger ranger just chuckled, the mirthless sound of a soldier finding humor in a junior''s ignorance. ¡°Youa not ta only monster tat pretends to be its prey, sangraki.¡± As if that was answer enough, the ranger started unlinking the aardigs and leading them towards a mossy burrow in one wall of the cave. Natalie watched as her companions sat down where they could and rested tired legs. She alone was unbothered by the trip, or at least mostly unbothered; some blood would be nice, but feeding around the dwarves felt like a bad idea. Deciding to curl up next to Cole, Natalie let her face rest on the cool metal of his armor. A snort of incredulity escaped her then; they¡¯d been trekking through a sweltering jungle for hours, and the only way his armor would still be cold was if he¡¯d been using his powers. ¡°What would Master Time think of you using his gifts like a glass of water on a hot summer day?¡± Natalie said, putting a little teasing humor into her voice. Finding her hand, Cole chuckled. ¡°I think he¡¯d prefer me not to pass out from heat stroke while performing my duties.¡± A noise of utter exhaustion escaped Mina, who sat nearby. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that was an option?¡± Cole just shrugged. ¡°Keeping ourselves functional isn¡¯t a waste of our God¡¯s blessings. Learning how to use miracles in unorthodox ways is a valuable skill.¡± Hanging her head, Mina let out a low, tired sigh, her breath frosting as she worked magic. Reaching out, she placed a hand on Alia and earned a groan of satisfaction from her girlfriend. Seeing this, Kit looked at Yara and said. ¡°I feel rather left out; what about you?¡± Rolling her eyes and making a gesture, Mina let a puff of icy vapor waft over the two. Kit actually started to shiver at the surge of cold, but Yara seemed completely unbothered; in fact, she showed little sign of general exhaustion. Staring at her thrall, Natalie thought about what Isabelle had shared about Ancilia. Yara¡¯s body was warped; altered to better serve Natalie¡¯s interests. A good thrall was reliable, durable, loyal, and unnoticeable. It seemed just as Yara could enter a primitive healing coma and slip through the cracks of awareness; she could resist inclemental weather. The younger ranger plopped down then, looking at them with undisguised interest. ¡°I¡¯m Nokin, ana the old feller is Olkar. We dinna chance to offa ou names beefore.¡± As usual, Masga spat something, probably objecting to the starting dialogue. Nokin replied, and the bonekeeper made a noise of disgust but didn¡¯t speak further. Rolling her eyes, Nokin explained. ¡°Ya need to know oura names if ya getta trouble. Canna have yoo calling out like one of them.¡± She put an ugly emphasis on the last word, and again, Natalie asked. ¡°What were those things? The mimics.¡± Olkar spoke then, his western better than his junior. ¡°Don¡¯t speak of ''em, bad luck. They lure folk away from good paths, can only say one or two words; that''s all you need to know.¡± Looking at Cole and Kit, Natalie was surprised and annoyed when they didn¡¯t elaborate. Natalie suddenly got a terrible idea that Olkar¡¯s caution and refusal to name the threat was more than simple paranoia. Shuddering, Natalie decided Cole was completely right. She¡¯d started to find the Deeps fascinating, now she just wanted to get out from underneath the mountains.
Planning an ambush in unfamiliar terrain was never a good idea; it left one open to all manner of unforeseen danger, like having said ambush reversed upon the ambushers or the ambushee slipping away through some unnoticed escape path. So naturally, the obvious solution was to only plan a sneak attack in known territory or try very hard to make what started unfamiliar become familiar. Considering the first option wasn¡¯t possible, Wolfgang¡¯s coterie now worked to secure a position of strength within the Deeps. After much consideration and pouring over maps claimed from Delve Njolk, the death squad selected a lock cavern known as Gurim¡¯s Watch as their point of ambush. The cave connected to three other locks and, more importantly, was part of the route to Azyge. Azyge was the largest dwarf settlement in the Alidonian Mountains outside Turul¡¯s Tomb and sat close to Harmas. The trading village was the most likely destination of the stone carriers; its location and human-occupied gate town made it the best place to prepare for an expedition towards Harmas. Gurim¡¯s Watch was a well-named cavern, being a large, roughly dome-shaped lock with three points of ingress. Approximately a hundred meters in diameter, the cave¡¯s center was occupied by a hulking column of living rock carved into a guard tower by dwarven generations past. The three-leveled structure provided an almost unobstructed view of the entire cave; it was as close to perfection as Wolfgang could hope for a place to prepare an ambush. Standing on a balcony clearly carved for quarrelers and a ballista emplacement, Wolfgang thought about his good fortune to find such a place. Gurim¡¯s Watch seemed another casualty of the current dwergaz dark age. Close to a millennium had passed since the dwarf pantheon fell silent, but the deep folk still showed little sign of recovering from that calamity. This cave should have been an important fortification, protecting trade and travelers moving through the Alidoninan mountains; instead, it lacked even a simple garrison and was barely maintained. Playing with his newly acquired knife, Wolfgang considered Gurim¡¯s Watch a bleak vindication of his views on multiple levels. No matter their origin or nature, the Gods could not be relied upon. One could make deals or arrangements with them, but faith would never be rewarded when it truly mattered. At best, the inhabitants of the Mundane could expect paltry boons and plenty of manipulation. Wolfgang¡¯s ¡®luck¡¯ in finding Delve Njolk and now Gurim¡¯s Watch were prime examples of this. His path was being guided by Beyond-born influences, but the aid came with a cost and would probably end at the most inconvenient moment for Wolfgang. No god would be there to save the Black Fly; he needed to take care of himself. Letting the chisel-like dagger taken from Ordin dance between his fingers, Wolfgang examined the acid-etched runes decorating the blade. Relying on the gods was foolish; relying on his fellow monsters was idiotic. So he¡¯d spent valuable time and less valuable corpses to gain a weapon that might protect him in place of either. Modifying the Gashadokuro ritual to fulfill his current needs hadn¡¯t been easy, but was well within Wolfgang¡¯s abilities. In place of a siege engine, he¡¯d sculpted the dead dwarves of Delve Njolk into a sword and shield for his use. When the battle against the Paladin came, he wouldn¡¯t be at the mercy of his coterie or enemies. Sheathing the knife, Wolfgang patted the other two blades he held, each another tool for his survival but more specialized. The stargent-coated stiletto was something of an educated guess on Wolfgang¡¯s part. Unless the reports he read were completely mistaken or the homunculus had further mutated, stargent would slow its reanimation. While Wolfgang was counting on the Tall and the Short to kill ¡®Paladin Cole, ¡¯ the stiletto would help keep the creature dead until it could be delivered to Epulo. Then, even if the stargent wasn¡¯t sufficient, the other dagger would be, even if it did risk truly damaging the specimen. Aisan thread-cutter knives weren¡¯t weapons people recovered from, even supposed immortals. The clanking of footsteps pulled Wolfgang¡¯s attention to the approaching Dullahan. Green fire flickered in the creature¡¯s empty helm and trailed behind it in emerald sparks. Wolfgang¡¯s new bodyguard had clearly fed well from the massacre, its flame growing with each kill. In other circumstances, Wolfgang might be more concerned with the Dullahan¡¯s burgeoning strength and unbroken will, but right now, it was still a useful tool. Noting the speckles of drying blood on the Dullahan¡¯s bone armor, Wolfgang asked. ¡°I take it you were successful?¡± In a voice like scraping metal and wet logs burning, the former Pankrator answered. ¡°Yes. Caught four of them.¡± Wolfgang took the taciturn words as a good sign. The slow erosion of dignity and sanity from something once mortal took many forms, but interestingly, one of the more common symptoms of an undead minion breaking to their master¡¯s will was a clipped, abrupt speaking pattern. Cracks were starting to show in Marcus, his iron soul beginning to warp under the stress of being. Participating in the slaughter of civilians seemed to have finally broken something in the Dullahan. Walking towards the stairs, Wolfgang decided he needed every advantage possible, even if that meant sacrificing subtlety. ¡°Tell me everything you know about the Sage¡¯s Stone, and I will release you from your existence when the Homunculus is captured.¡± The Dullahan didn¡¯t reply; it simply stared at Wolfgang. ¡°I¡¯m serious; I swear by my blood, and will, I¡¯ll do everything I can to grant you true death once my objective is complete. All you need do is tell me what little you know about the stone and its protections.¡± Slowly, the undead priest-paragon reached out to the tower wall next to him and sank his fingers into the stone. Rock cracked and groaned as Marcus gouged a fist of gravel from the column. Letting the pebbles fall onto the ground, the Dullahan spoke. ¡°You are a fool.¡± Hiding his displeasure, Wolfgang replied. ¡°You say that while smashing things like an angry child.¡± Dragging his fingers along the rockface, tearing into the carved stone, Marcus growled. ¡°Perhaps, but that changes nothing. You are a fool and will die like one.¡± Most vampires would let rage at the insult control them, but Wolfgang wasn¡¯t like most vampires. ¡°Why am I a fool?¡± Letting another handful of gravel tumble to the ground, Marcus spoke. ¡°Many reasons, most obvious, is your poor offer. You ask me to betray Paladin Cole for a reward he will give without hesitation.¡± Wolfgang stared at his bodyguard. ¡°That is assuming he will be victorious over me. Considering we will ambush the homunculus with overwhelming power, that seems a poor assumption.¡± Turning away from Wolfgang and descending the stairs, Marcus spoke with grim finality. ¡°Not an assumption. I have faith.¡± A scoff escaped Wolfgang. ¡°Faith? I know you aren¡¯t deaf, Dullahan; you know what the Paladin truly is. He¡¯s an abomination, a product of flesh crafting, soul binding, and other fouler things. That is what you trust to rescue you?¡± That horrible grinding laugh escaped Marcus. ¡°I¡¯ll trust Master Time¡¯s judgment over yours, leech.¡± It seemed the Pankrator was not yet broken, merely warped, but that might change. Wolfgang would just need to find more ways to pressure the Dullahan¡¯s mind until something finally snapped. Descending the staircase, Wolfgang entered the main chamber of the watch tower. The stink of blood, feces, and fungal rot filled the abandoned room. Cleanor, Thorm, Wulfhild, and Ordin waited in the chamber. The two knights seemed unconcerned by the smell, Cleanor was clearly disgusted and their wasn¡¯t enough of Ordin left to care. The source of the reeking odor lay in a pile in the room''s center. Four trolls grunted and squealed as they tried to escape their fate. Hulking and vaguely simian the hairless troglodytes were maimed, their arms and legs cut away by Marcus¡¯s blade. Trying to ignore the wretched odor, Wolfgang stared at the thrashing, panicking creatures. While a poor substitute for human blood, troll ichor was better than animal. Besides, the beast¡¯s regeneration would keep them alive for repeated feedings. Which was exactly why Wolfgang ordered Marcus to find them. After all, he didn¡¯t know how long they¡¯d be waiting to spring the ambush. Book III: Chapter 41: Help

Chapter 41: Help

¡°We don¡¯t know what happened to their gods. In fact, we don¡¯t even have a set date for when the Dwergaz pantheon disappeared. Testimony and evidence indicate the ¡®silence,¡¯ as the dwarves call it, started sometime in the early bloody centuries. But the exact year, let alone the day this occurred, is an actual matter of debate among our thick-boned cousins. At first, our research thought this was a side-effect of different holds and clans having unique calendars, but testimony from those few dwarves willing to speak about the subject offered another very worrying explanation. It seems likely the Dwergaz pantheon did not go silent simultaneously.¡± - Preceptor Erik Stonefriend¡¯s report to the Tauri Ivory Tower.
They traveled through the vault for two more days, heading steadily south and hugging the massive cavern¡¯s walls the entire time. Aside from the encounter with echo-spawn, they managed to avoid much of the Deep¡¯s wildlife. While Cole wasn¡¯t completely certain how true the dwarf superstition that even discussing the creature drew them was, he didn¡¯t want to risk it. Other than that tense chase on the first day of the trip, the only other encounters of note were a pack of wild aardigs, scraping the path clean in their eternal search for burrowing insects, and a tense stand-off with a territorial jungle badger that ended when Ranger Olkar tossed a stink pellet at the creature. So far, the trip was going well, with no major complications or issues, which was enough to have Cole¡¯s hackles constantly raised. While he was no stranger to fate flowing in his favor, Cole¡¯s good fortune usually only happened amid a broader calamity. Master Time rarely helped Cole avoid danger, merely evened the odds so the Paladin might triumph in the face of it. Considering this, the relative ease of trekking through a hostile subterranean jungle was enough to have Cole convinced some disaster was waiting just around the other bend. When Masga nearly caused a scene about Natalie feeding on the second night, Cole was almost relieved for the incident. Thankfully, Mina and Cole talked the irate bonekeeper down from doing anything stupid. The lack of Sting in Cole¡¯s blood and Natalie demonstrating how she was still susceptible to divine power kept the prickly dwarf from escalating things. As they moved forward, Cole found his already healthy respect for the dwergaz and their practicality grew. Rest points were spaced along the vault wall, roughly a day¡¯s walk from each other. While none were as large, or well maintained, as the desecrated shrine they¡¯d stayed the first night, each was reasonably comfortable and, more importantly, safe. Aside from the rest burrows, other signs of dwarven preparation and engineering were visible in the monolithic cavern. Much of the path they took along the vault¡¯s edge was more of the porous stone making up the jungle floor, but remnants of a long-lost road could be found in places. Similarly, switchbacks and stairways rendered treacherous by time marked the cavern walls, leading to watch towers, tunnel mouths, and other crumbling structures. The degradation Cole sensed back at Turul¡¯s Tomb was on full display here in the vault. It seemed the cave was once a more tame place; the jungle kept pruned away from well-made infrastructure. Now, the vault was a true wilderness, its verdant life working hard to reclaim any territory once ceded to dwarven structures. When Cole asked their guides about these signs of decay, they offered little answer. Nolkin, the most verbose of the three, merely said. ¡°Wea lost moredan ar faith wen ta Gods fail dus.¡± Those words made Cole think of the Black Sun and the blood-soaked centuries following it. The entire world was still paying for Emperor Lucius¡¯s greed, with myriad magics and mundane secrets lost in that calamitous period. If the collapse of an empire stretching between three continents could have that sort of impact, Cole could scarcely imagine what the loss of an entire pantheon would do to a people. It was frankly incredible so much of dwarven civilization survived and even thrived without Gods to help them. But the scars of that cultural wound were apparent beyond crumbling ruins; when Natalie tried to inquire about dwarf religion, or more accurately, their lack of one, she¡¯d received iron-cold stares that efficiently shut down the conversation. Cole himself was curious about the enigma of the dwarvish pantheon; he¡¯d never gotten a straight answer from anyone, be they priest, text, or scholar. But the mystery would have to wait, as, on the third day of travel, the caravan reached their destination within the vault. The path to Azyge started at a gently sloping ramp leading up from the jungle¡¯s edge to a tunnel mouth perhaps three meters above the ground. Living rock mixed with quarried stone to provide a slanted apron surrounding the lock cave¡¯s entrance. Stepping onto this apron, the group climbed the ramp up towards the tunnel mouth. Staring up at the worn carvings marking their destination, Cole was surprised by the lack of defenses. While it was a true a bottleneck leading onto an inclement slope wasn¡¯t anything to sniff at, neither did it seem especially secure when compared to the watchtowers of other entrances into the vault. As they reached the top of the ramp and prepared to leave the subterranean jungle, Natalie stared out at the incredible vista behind them. Cole joined her, trying to find joy in the awe-inspiring sight. Unfortunately, all his brain would do was think about what monsters might stalk the fungal jungle before him. With the occasional interruption of other more personal concerns, like his immortality or the Rabisu¡¯s presence. Just as Cole started to fret, Natalie¡¯s fingers interlaced with his, and she smiled. Vibrant joy, the type that first caught Cole¡¯s eye, shone across Natalie¡¯s face, unblemished by her eyes and fangs. Quietly, she whispered to him. ¡°Amazing, isn¡¯t it?¡± Seeing her expression, Cole forced himself to start breathing again. ¡°Yes, yes, it is.¡± Walking hand in hand, the couple left the Alidonian Vault and headed into the next tunnel. Giving the glowing jungle a last look, Natalie added. ¡°Is there a word for a place you¡¯re glad to have visited but never want to return to?¡± An undignified snort escaped Cole, earning him a reproachful glare from Masga. Recovering himself, Cole just kissed the top of his partner¡¯s head, a tricky feat to do with a helmet but one he¡¯d learned quickly. ¡°I¡¯d be surprised if there isn¡¯t.¡± With the vault properly behind them, the cave air steadily cooled but stayed humid. The overpowering stink of alien life that defined the jungle faded, replaced by an odd, damp, earthy smell Cole long associated with the underground. But just as the jungle¡¯s smell faded, so did its brightness, and soon enough, lanterns were coaxed to brightness, and more of the odd paste was smeared on the aardigs¡¯ snouts. This new lock cave was wider and more contorted than the path from Turul¡¯s Tomb. That key cave was a titanic fissure formed by the mountain itself shifting. By contrast, this lock reminded Cole of some burrowing animal¡¯s path. Snaking upwards and forwards, the tunnel was not barren, with colonies of hardy fungi and odder life growing from cracks in the rock. Occasionally, Cole caught flickers of movement out the corner of his eye, a hint at the cave¡¯s more¡­ ambulatory occupants. Every time Cole noticed a scurrying shape or the twitch of many legs, he¡¯d glance at Natalie, using her expression to decipher what lurked around them. Head on a swivel, Natalie tried to drink in the surrounding cavern, her vampire eyes capturing more than anyone else. Cole saw lots of confusion, curiosity, and occasionally disgust in response to whatever she witnessed, but no genuine fear, which he took as a good sign. By every reasonable standard, the trip was going well; they should reach Azyge in another few days. Once there, the truly hard part of the trip would start. Cole still didn¡¯t have a clear picture of what was happening at Harmas, but judging by the cold tug in his chest, it couldn¡¯t be anything good. Azyge sat practically on the city¡¯s doorstep, burrowed into the foothills that kissed Harmas¡¯s outskirts. If Harmas was truly breached, then Gods knew how much of the territory between Azyge and Fort Erdom was infested with ghouls. Crossing kilometers of rot land would not be easy; Cole needed to prepare both himself and his allies.
Marcus stared out the vault-way entrance of Gurim¡¯s Watch. The Dullahan¡¯s not-eyes drank in the dome-shaped cave, observing the place of ambush, a sense of tired detachment creeping over him. With its high ground, clear lines of sight, and sturdy walls, the guard tower was admittedly a good place for a battle, but any soldier worthy of their sword could tell that. As a pankrator¡­ or a former pankrator, Marcus could tell a great deal more about Gurim¡¯s Watch, but he wasn¡¯t sharing. This was a place to defend from, to hold back some invading force, not ambush a foe. Glad that wisdom, like most of his secrets, stayed safe in his mind, the Dullahan mused on his options. He would lend his fire and steel to these monsters, but not what might be his most valuable asset: his experience. Wolfgang was a scholar of the worst sort, a spidery little craven who sought knowledge and didn¡¯t care who or what paid for his quest. The two vampire ¡®knights¡¯ were assassins, bestial killers, and masters of murder, not battle. Cleanor¡­ well, she was a predator in every sense of the word, with little discipline and thought outside pleasure and pain. None of them were soldiers or even true warriors who might take full advantage of Gurim¡¯s Watch, thank the Gods. No, the collection of monsters Marcus now numbered among were approaching this as hunters ambushing prey, not soldiers waging a surprise attack. This was an important distinction and one seemingly lost among the predators surrounding Marcus. A place like Gurim¡¯s Watch was meant to keep an enemy out, not lure them into a trap. All it would take was some luck and grit for Cole¡¯s group to retreat from this ambush or turn the battle completely around. If the initial strike didn¡¯t guarantee overwhelming victory, events might become considerably more complicated than the leeches expected. An outcome Marcus could only hope and pray for. If Marcus could sigh, he would, staring out in a constant vigil. The frailty of his hopes became painfully clear. He¡¯d spoken of faith and presented fiery conviction to Wolfgang, but Marcus couldn¡¯t tell how much of his words were meant to convince the leech or himself. The Black Fly¡¯s offer had done nothing close to tempting Marcus; he wasn¡¯t at risk of betraying anyone but himself. Existing as a hollow husk, feeding on the spiritual scraps of innocents and unable to even sleep, Marcus could feel his mind being slowly ground down. He didn¡¯t allow himself the dissociative stupor that took him after his first acts of murder, but the temptation to slip away into that empty state called to Marcus more than any petty deal with Wolfgang might. Looking out across the cave, Marcus thought about the preparations his allies had made. Spells of detection and marking clung to all three tunnels leading from Gurim¡¯s Watch. The moment anything larger than a rat was within fifty meters of the cavern, Wolfgang would know. While the magic was part of the trap, it would also act as protection. It was doubtful anything would arrive by the south tunnel as the stone hunters had; only Delve Njolk and a path up into the mountains above lay that way. But travelers coming from Azyge were a distinct possibility. The Leeches didn¡¯t seem too concerned, though; a few scouts or merchants would be a welcome meal for them. Turning away from the door, Marcus entered the guard tower and trudged over to its only other conscious occupants in these early hours. Three of the trolls persisted, their bodies shrunken into pitiful shells. Dull beady eyes stared up at Marcus from beneath heavy simian brows as the creatures watched him approach. Marcus had hunted trolls a few times in his life; the beasts were dangerous. He¡¯d seen one rip a fully armored knight limb from limb before eating the poor man like a boiled crab. Still, seeing the monsters reduced to something worse than livestock disgusted the former pankrator. At least when you slaughtered pigs or cows, it was over quickly for them. People didn¡¯t keep them alive, carving off pieces bit by bit; only monsters did that. Unable to even grant the creature¡¯s mercy, Marcus felt a terrible kinship with the trolls. They were simple ugly brutes who now existed in a state of torment they couldn¡¯t escape. The sound of shifting stone caught Marcus¡¯s attention, and he watched the other members of this bloody coterie arise. Tallclaw and Shorttooth hadn¡¯t made nests in the upper levels of the tower like Wolfgang and Cleanor. Instead, they tore small burrows into the structure¡¯s floor, piling rubble upon themselves when dawn approached. Now, the two strigoi pulled themselves from self-made cairns, patting rock dust from their pale forms. If they were awake, that meant Wolfgang was as well, but the Black Fly seemed happy to stay in the rooms he¡¯d taken for himself, clearly working on a project. As for Cleanor, the lamia slept most of the time she wasn¡¯t needed, her body conserving energy in the most practical way. Deciding watching the two strigoi was a better use of his time than staring at the cave walls, Marcus observed the pair of killers go about their evenings. After feeding on the poor trolls, Tallclaw left, moving to scout the connecting caves and ensure nothing ambushed the ambushers. Shorttooth simply sat on a stone stool and shut his eyes, muttering to himself. The greasy strigoi was also scouting, but in his own unique and wretched way. Scores of rats now infested the connecting caves, providing a more subtle and wider-ranging net of observation than Tallclaw¡¯s eyes and nose might provide. But as Marcus had learned from observation, such power wasn¡¯t without drawbacks, chief among them sorting through the memories of hundreds of vermin; which was what Thorm now did. Watching the strigoi twitch and whisper, Marcus wondered what would be the easiest way to kill the vampire knight. Considering the ability the leech showed back at the delve, fire and lots of it seemed the best option. A deep shuddering need flowed through Marcus; he wanted to burn Thorm and make him squeal. Disgust quickly replaced the desire; what Marcus felt wasn¡¯t a warrior¡¯s rage but a monster¡¯s hunger. Wolfgang was right; he¡¯d fed from those poor dwarves he¡¯d murdered, his flame growing with each kill. Forcing himself to stare at the stone floor, Marcus tried to refocus and found his memory drifting to the Alukah. She was an odd creature cursed with terrible hungers but kept them controlled¡­ mostly. Perhaps Marcus could find some inspiration in the girl, until her lover killed him, that is. Thorm¡¯s eyes shot open then, pulling Marcus¡¯s attention. An ugly smile spread across the knight''s face, yellowed fangs glistening in the dim glow of the Dullahan¡¯s flame. ¡°I think I¡¯ve found them; go get the Black Fly.¡± A surge of panic and anticipation flowed through Marcus; the moment of truth would arrive soon. Now, the only question remaining was whether the truth was a joyous or terrible one. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Yara sat on a rock, staring out at the endless darkness surrounding them. They¡¯d stopped for the night, whatever that meant this deep underground, having found a reasonably flat section of cave to rest in. Normally, setting up camp and doing the general minutiae of logistics was something Yara excelled at, but here in this land of mushrooms and darkness, she was useless. So rather than risk causing problems, she now sat by herself, peering over the camp wall. A fortification of snoring aardigs encircled the caravan, the unburdened pack animals sleeping tail to snout. The beasts were another example of Yara¡¯s usual duties being usurped; she didn¡¯t know how to feed, brush, or otherwise care for the creatures. Strange as it was to say, Yara missed Cuff and Clout; the sturdy draft horses had, in some ways, been her closest companions. The crunch of feet on stone pulled Yara¡¯s attention from the speck of distant light she¡¯d been trying to identify as a glowing mushroom or shining crystal. Kit approached her then, a tired look on his face. She¡¯d done her best to avoid the Magi and couldn¡¯t help but let out a tiny noise of exasperation. If Kit noticed, he said nothing, instead offering Yara a weary smile while his hands fiddled with a hairpin. Reaching Yara, he offered the small piece of metal to her. ¡°A present.¡± Confused and a little uncertain, Yara stared at Kit¡¯s hand. ¡°What?¡± Wincing, Kit showed her the hairpin¡¯s top, where a tiny fleck of quartz glimmered. ¡°Practicing with my violin makes too much noise to be safe, but I don¡¯t want to get rusty, so I¡¯ve been tinkering. I¡¯m trying to make it so my violin is silent, except for those I want to hear it. Which¡­ is proving a little harder than I thought, but my experimentation produced this!¡± Still not fully grasping the situation, Yara repeated herself. ¡°What?¡± Tapping the hairpin¡¯s top, Kit elaborated. ¡°I¡¯ve enchanted this so anyone touching it won¡¯t hear my violin; the sounds will just bounce off of them. It''s funny how much easier this was than doing the opposite. But anyway, I know you don¡¯t like music, or at least mine, and I figured this little trinket would serve you well.¡± Staring at the hairpin, Yara found a word other than ¡®what.¡¯ ¡°I can¡¯t take that. It''s valuable.¡± Kit snorted. ¡°Not really; I¡¯ve got a pouch of them with my stuff. They are a quick and easy way to anchor enchantments. Go ahead, it''s yours.¡± Slowly, almost expecting the hairpin¡¯s metal to burn her, Yara took the item, feeling the slight tingle of its magic in her fingers. ¡°Thank you?¡± Beaming, Kit bowed slightly. ¡°My pleasure!¡± Then, with a jaunty wave, he turned back toward the lichen-fueled fire the dwarves were cooking over, leaving Yara with the hairpin. Staring at the present, she tried to think of the last time someone gave her a genuine gift. Natalie, of course, bought her food, clothes, supplies, and even a dagger she barely knew how to use, but that was her mistress, not this¡­ stranger. Well, perhaps he wasn¡¯t a stranger; she knew him and spent time with him. He¡¯d made her a gift, something small but important, an act of kindness in physical form. Was¡­ was Kit a¡­? A noise suddenly caught Yara¡¯s attention, and she realized one of the aardigs was moving. With a rumbling grunt, the creature shook its back, knocking a tiny shape from its flank. The shape moved, scurrying towards Yara. Even in the near total darkness, Yara recognized that shape; anyone who lived among vampires knew the telltale movements of a rat. Faster than her conscious mind could work, Yara grabbed a nearby rock and hurled it at the rodent. To her surprise, she aimed true, and a wet crunch filled the night. Carefully unsheathing her dagger, feeling its cold weight in her hand, Yara approached the crushed rodent. A few of her companions had detached from the cooking fire and were coming to investigate. Deciding waiting until someone like Cole was between her and whatever counted as a rat in these accursed tunnels was a good idea, Yara paused. Mina, Alia, and two of the dwarves, the younger ranger and bonekeeper, if she remembered correctly, came towards Yara. Pointing her blade at the oil-dark splatter of blood on the stone, Yara said. ¡°I saw a rat.¡± Alia made an appreciative whistle at seeing the kill. ¡°Gorey guts, I¡¯ll have to teach you how to use a sling sometime.¡± The ranger, Nokin, flipped over the rock and frowned. A string of dwerick escaped the female dwarf, and her bonekeeper superior answered in kind. Looking at the three non-dwarves, Nokin said. ¡°Wronga tip o¡¯ rak.¡± Mina and Yara were both confused by this, but Alia seemed to understand. ¡°What do you mean ¡®wrong type of rat?¡¯¡± Nokin shrugged and looked at the wall of aardigs. ¡°Tis fat anda furry, like a¡­ cellar eater, nota deep runner.¡± Alia grunted. ¡°Course, you folk have got terms for different types of rodent¡­ Well, is it anything to worry about?¡± Rubbing her chin, Nokin glanced back at the campfire and a resting Natalie. Yara¡¯s mistress had taken to entering torpor for a few hours after making camp to keep herself sane. Slowly, the ranger said. ¡°Norma, no, just wee bit odd, but wid da sangraki¡­¡± Squatting down by the smashed rodent, Alia looked to her girlfriend. ¡°Mina, can you tell anything about this?¡± A flicker of silver crossed Mina¡¯s eyes. ¡°No, too dead and too damaged.¡± Masga, the bonekeeper frowned, his gaunt face gaining a new layer of lines. Taking out a metal wand, he poked the husk and made an annoyed grunt. Without a word, he went to the nearest aardig and unceremoniously woke the beast and forced it to move. Stepping out past the wall of animals, he looked around at the wider cave. Tentatively, the others followed him, even Yara, driven by some foolish curiosity. Standing in the gap left by the aardig, Yara watched as Masga raised his wand and cut glowing runes into the air. The runes shattered into a swarm of tiny brown sparks and rushed out into the cave beyond. A clot of the sparks latched onto a shadow, revealing a wriggling, squealing rodent; with a gesture, Masga pulled the rat toward them. Hovering through the air, encased in a film of flickering umber, the rat thrashed and protested. Once it hovered at eye level for the bonekeeper, the rodent suddenly stopped panicking and just stared at the Masga. Its beady black eyes flicked over all five of its captors, resting on each for half a second. Then it went limp, its body reduced to an unmoving sack of black fur. Masga shook it gingerly, and Yara found memories of Isabelle¡¯s experiments returning to her. When it became clear, the rat was unconscious, or worse, Masga brought it closer, gently dropping it on the ground before them. Both the Bonekeeper and Priestess knelt down to examine the rat, apparently reaching similar conclusions. Speaking slowly, confusion leaking from her words, Mina said. ¡°It¡¯s dead¡­¡± Alia nudged the rat with her boot. ¡°As in, undead, recently dead, or something else?¡± ¡°Recently dead. I think its body just¡­ stopped.¡± answered Mina, her eyes dripping silver. Masga snapped something in dwerick and Nokin translated. ¡°Sometin wasa controlling it. Kilt it so we couldn track ta spell.¡± An oath escaped Alia. ¡°Fire and iron! does that mean we¡¯ve got another jagging vampire to worry about?¡± The dwarves exchanged some more words before Nokin said. ¡°Sangraki nut only tings tat coulda rule rats down ere. Could be vamper, or somethin else.¡± Casually kicking the rat¡¯s corpse into the dark, Alia sighed. ¡°Great, just jagging great.¡±
Wolfgang hated being interrupted while he was working, which didn¡¯t make him that much different from most artists or scholars. But what did set Wolfgang apart was how a lapse of concentration in his work might lead to a calamity. He¡¯d been doing some final adjustments to the modified gashadokuro when the Dullahan demanded his attention. After a few frantic moments, Wolfgang managed to stop the spell from dissolving, thanks to his lapsed focus. The anger he felt at this nearly catastrophic interruption only somewhat dimmed when Marcus informed him of its reason. ¡°Why does Thorm think he¡¯s found them?¡± Wolfgang snapped at the Dullahan as he pushed past the headless hunter. The Dullahan didn¡¯t respond, merely following Wolfgang, radiating that horrible malice. Wolfgang hoped this wasn¡¯t a false alarm; the quicker he was rid of Marcus, the better. Some instinct told the Black Fly this Dullahan would eventually slip its leash, and he didn¡¯t want to be the one holding said leash when that happened. Downstairs, Wolfgang found Thorm seated, his eyes shut, fell words upon his lips. Impatient but unwilling to interrupt, Wolfgang waited while the strigoi¡¯s face twitched occasionally. Eventually, Shorttooth dragged in a rattling breath and smiled. ¡°I think our quarry is fast approaching.¡± Adjusting his spectacles, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Your rats found them?¡± Thorm nodded. ¡°I doubt many humans are traveling in this section of the Deeps, especially with a bonekeeper as an escort. I saw no sign of the stone or the Paladin, but my scouting was interrupted.¡± Wolfgang frowned. ¡°Were you discovered?¡± The strigoi raised a shoulder. ¡°Yes, but no. I shut my rat¡¯s heart off when it was caught. They won¡¯t find much from its corpse; I can assure you of that.¡± Concerned, Wolfgang said. ¡°If they know to be suspicious, that will cause problems.¡± Shaking his head, Thorm chuckled. ¡°No, no, no; skittish prey can be tricked into a trap they might otherwise avoid. All we need to do is apply the right pressure and they will come running towards us, which will also solve another problem.¡± ¡°That being?¡± asked Wolfgang Smile broadening until Wolfgang thought the undead dwarf¡¯s face would split, Thorm explained. ¡°They camp at night and will probably start putting up wards or other defenses now. Attacking them as they are wouldn¡¯t be easy, and we can¡¯t risk them stumbling upon us during the day. So when they get close and prepare to camp, we scare them into not stopping. With the right prodding, they would push on even when night came, seeking safety here in Gurim¡¯s Watch. Arriving into our clutches, tired, fearful of the threat behind and unthinking of the threat ahead.¡± It was a good plan and a cold reminder of what exactly Thorm and Wulfhild were. By the Voivode¡¯s will, the pair of them had hunted and killed dozens, if not hundreds, of dangerous foes. Still, Wolfgang was technically in command of this mission and wanted to assert that authority. ¡°I¡¯d like to see your scout¡¯s memories to make sure we have the right prey.¡± Asking for another vampire to share memories was tantamount to an invasion of privacy and an insult to dignity. Wolfgang never would have dared if the situation was even slightly different, but he needed a clearer understanding of things. Thorm didn¡¯t so much as blink at the request, simply nodding and saying, ¡°Just a moment.¡± Wolfgang expected the strigoi to reinforce his psychic defenses or do some other internal restructuring; instead, Thorm opened his mouth wide. A horrible wet noise issued from the dwarf¡¯s throat, and to Wolfgang¡¯s surprise, he realized the organ was being distended. Climbing up out of Thorm¡¯s esophagus like it was a common drain pipe, was a rat. It scrambled over the strigoi¡¯s teeth and descended his beard to the ground. A gurgle escaped Thorm, and he cleared his throat. ¡°The rat contains the memories; look into its eyes.¡± Squatting down, Wolfgang examined the rat. Meeting its gaze, he found what he sought in the creature''s simple mind. The recollections of Thorm¡¯s dead scout was stamped into the rat¡¯s mind, allowing Wolfgang easy access. Despite how¡­ unpleasant the technique seemed to be, Wolfgang couldn¡¯t help but be impressed. Sorting through the memories, trying to decipher the sights, smells, and sounds of a rat, Wolfgang found his mind locking onto one particular detail of the vision. A name and face, both barely caught by the rat¡¯s mind but striking a cord in Wolfgang¡¯s. Two sets of gifted memories overlapped, and a remarkable conclusion reached Wolfgang. ¡°Coincidence is the Gods¡¯ domain.¡± Thorm took the rat back, giving Wolfgang a questioning look. Shutting his eyes, digesting this new stroke of fortune, the Black Fly said. ¡°I think one of the sleepers is among that group.¡± A harsh laugh escaped the strigoi. ¡°Oh, this will be easy, then!¡± Feeling the unseen hand of the Reaper upon him, Wolfgang jerkily nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll plan the best way to use our new asset. How do you intend to flush the quarry towards us?¡± Thorm didn¡¯t so much as smile this time, but bare his teeth in dark glee. ¡°By impersonating a monster only mildly less dangerous than we are.¡± On cue, the rat stood up in Thorm¡¯s palm, and its mouth opened. Out from the vermin¡¯s mouth came a word, in loud, perfect dwerick. ¡°Help!¡±
The day after the rat incident, the caravan moved faster; eager to flee whatever was spying on them. Cole had slept through the excitement, much to his embarrassment. He¡¯d taken off part of his armor to snuggle with Natalie and fell fast asleep. Her presence continued to be a remarkable sleep aid for him, and he¡¯d unwittingly taken advantage of that while she rested. Natalie needed to enter torpor at least once a week to stay functional. It didn¡¯t matter if the sun or Cole¡¯s amulet put her to sleep; either way, it helped. Without a day of torpor, Natalie got¡­ erratic, not something they could afford right now, so she stole an hour or two every day when they set up camp. It seemed to work, and she was handling the trip well enough. That couldn¡¯t be said of everyone else, though. Kit wasn¡¯t athletic and needed to use his magic just to keep pace with the group. All the strange smells and sounds were grinding on Alia¡¯s nerves, rendering the catblood even more prickly. Mina, though, reacted the worst; she was becoming unusually taciturn and wasn¡¯t sleeping well. Every time Cole was on night watch, Mina would wake from a nightmare at least once. She didn¡¯t bolt up screaming like Cole sometimes did, but he still recognized the moment of animal panic when bad dreams and consciousness blended together. Thankfully, the Rangers thought they didn¡¯t have long to go. Tomorrow, they¡¯d reach somewhere called Gurim¡¯s Watch, and then Azyge would be in sight¡­ or at least close. So, concerned as Cole was about whatever entity was behind the peculiar rodent, it seemed possible the caravan might avoid that particular trouble. Upon hearing of the event, Cole¡¯s gut instinct had been to assume a Strigoi or Wyrmoi was spying on them, but Nokin and Masga didn¡¯t seem to think so. While feral vampires finding refuge in the Deeps wasn¡¯t unheard of, other more common threats seemed more likely. Certain types of monstrous fungi were known to possess simple animals and use them to seek out new hosts, and then there were odder creatures like skin pipers, rat emperors, and verminicks who might do manipulate rodents. Life mutated into unimaginable forms down here in the Deeps, and mad as it sounded to Cole, vampires weren¡¯t the most dangerous possibility. Cole glanced over at Natalie then, wishing she¡¯d been awake when the rat came skulking about; she might have been able to capture the rat alive and learn its secrets. Leaning against him, his lover was staring at a colony of mushrooms that rippled with a green light above them. They¡¯d started to make camp for the night, something the dwarves insisted their long-boned fellows not help with. Apparently, it was easier for them to do the work alone than to let a bunch of surface dwellers muck things up. Running a hand through Natalie¡¯s hair, Cole enjoyed the simple peace of the moment. With his free hand, he stroked a bulge on his pack with a similar gesture. He¡¯d decided it was better to carry Isabelle with him than leave her on one of the aardigs. Idly, Cole wondered what it would be like to lie with both of them, just spending an hour enjoying each other¡¯s company with no catastrophe or danger. Smiling at the silly fantasy, Cole shut his eyes. Natalie exploded out of his arms then, whirling about, head frantically twisting back and forth. All eyes were on her, and she frantically motioned for silence. Seeing her expression grow tense, Cole got to his feet, finding Requiem at his belt. Staring at Cole, Natalie spoke in a tiny whisper. ¡°I hear something.¡± Stopping Cole¡¯s question with a finger, she shut her eyes and, after a second, swore. Except, instead of spewing out the curse, she mouthed it, and then Cole understood. Even though he couldn¡¯t hear it, Cole would have bet good steel that somewhere down the tunnel a voice was speaking dwerick, saying a single word over and over. ¡°Help.¡± Book III: Chapter 42: Predator or Prey

Chapter 42: Predator or Prey?

¡°It¡¯s a simple enough idea. Dogs, horses and other useful beasts are bred for specialties by those with the time to do so. As nocturnal nobility, we have an incredible wealth of time, so why not use it creatively? After only three hundred years, I¡¯ve bred three successful clans of improved thralls, each cultivated for distinct uses. Those of Clan Otus are loyal, intelligent, eager to please, and taste oh so sweet. They make perfect stewards and servants, being both capable and docile. Clan Bubo¡¯s members are hardy and warlike, obsessed with honor and strength. Each of them would rather face torture than risk failing their master, who better to watch us during the day? Then we have my masterpiece, Clan Tyto, who are beautiful, wise, and blessed with potent blood. It''s from this family I select my own scions and sacrifices, which should tell you everything you need to know about their quality.¡± - Voivode Igori Gens Suillia
It was shocking how quickly the caravan got moving again. Natalie¡¯s warning was barely past her lips and the dwarves started working. The aardigs were packed and shuffling forward before Natalie could even tell if the voice was getting closer. Claws scraping along the cavern floor, the beasts of burden grunted and complained as Olkar and Nolkin drove them forward. Seeing the tension grow among the group with every step, Natalie had a moment of doubt. What if this was an actual call for help? No one else could hear it, and she didn¡¯t know what to listen for. That quickly growing worry withered away as Natalie fed blood into her ears and listened. Three voices were crying out for help in dwerick, each filled with desperation and panic. As the voices repeated their cry, Natalie sucked in an involuntary breath. Her sensitive hearing had pierced the deception. All three of the voices were identical. There was no variation to their cries. No person sounded like that, especially one frantic enough to scream for aid. It was like some witchery had bottled someone¡¯s last cry. Horribly, Natalie wondered if her metaphor was the literal truth. Frantically whispering what she just learned to Cole, Natalie glanced behind them at the quickly dimming remnant of their campfire. She half-expected some spindly horror to swallow up the dying embers as it chased after them. Thankfully, whatever hunted the caravan was far enough away that even Natalie¡¯s night vision couldn¡¯t detect it. In fact, with how the lock cave around them echoed, Natalie wasn''t certain how far away the threat was. Close enough to detect them, it seemed, but thankfully not within striking distance. As Cole relayed Natalie¡¯s findings to the dwarves, a rapid conversation in dwerick made its way up and down the caravan. That Cole and the dwarves didn¡¯t bother with silence worried Natalie. She somehow didn¡¯t think abandoning one form of caution while they ran like frightened rabbits was a good sign. Eventually, some sort of agreement was reached and Cole addressed the non-dwarves of the group. ¡°If we are being hunted outside the vault, then they are probably hungry and desperate. Our guides don¡¯t think we can shake our pursuer like in the jungle. But we¡¯re only a few hours away from a safer cave. If we can push forward, then Gurim¡¯s Watch will have protections.¡± Brow creased with worry, Mina asked quietly. ¡°Is it okay to talk?¡± Cole shrugged his armored shoulders. ¡°Probably not, but Olkar doesn¡¯t think it will make much of a difference at this point. If our pursuers have followed us this far, then our best bet is finding good ground to fight them off.¡± Alia winced. ¡°We¡¯ve already been hiking all day. Retreating like this and then fighting doesn¡¯t sound like a good idea.¡± Kit tried to gather his breath. ¡°I could use¡­ some¡­ magic to lighten¡­ our loads¡­ Just need to¡­ to pause for a second.¡± Considering this for a moment, Cole shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know if we have the time, and we might need your spells later.¡± Looking at Natalie, Cole hesitated before adding. ¡°When we reach Gurim¡¯s Watch I can hold the tunnel mouth.¡± Shaking her head, Natalie said. ¡°Not alone you won¡¯t. Both of us can handle this trek better than the others, we¡¯ll do the heavy lifting.¡± A smile flicked across Cole¡¯s face and Natalie was struck by a random thought. ¡°Say¡­ whatever is chasing us, do they bleed?¡± Amused snorts and revolted wretches escaped Natalie¡¯s companions, eliciting an annoyed huff from her. ¡°What? They are already trying to eat us. What¡¯s wrong with returning the favor?¡± Unsheathing his axe, Cole pondered her question. ¡°I don¡¯t know if they bleed. Shall we find out?¡± Nodding, Natalie joined him as they slowed their pace, letting themselves reach the caravan¡¯s end. Seeing Nolkin¡¯s expression as they changed formation, Cole said. ¡°We¡¯ll act as rearguard, we¡¯re better suited for it.¡± Glad to not be the one with monsters nipping at their heels, Nolkin jogged up the line, leaving paladin and vampire to make up the caravan¡¯s tail. Glancing over her shoulder, Natalie still didn¡¯t see any sign of the threat, merely hearing the distant calls. ¡°Do you know what to expect from these things?¡± Natalie asked, drawing her short-sword and wondering if the steel edge or silver tip would be more useful. Cole grunted. ¡°Unfortunately no. I¡¯ve only heard of them, never fought any. The dwarf superstition about our enemy makes researching them not particularly easy.¡± The voices were getting closer; it wasn¡¯t easy to tell with the echo but Natalie was certain of it. ¡°Jagging lovely.¡± Monsters on their heels, the caravan fled, moving as quickly as they could through great caverns and winding tunnels. Try as they might, the distance between them and their pursuers barely budged. It seemed both hunters and prey were pushing themselves hard in this chase. Feeling at her reservoir of blood, Natalie almost smiled. She¡¯d fed after leaving Fort Carnum, consuming half a deer herd and what little blood she spent the past few days Cole helped replace. If these mimics expected to corner weary prey, then they¡¯d have one hells of a surprise waiting for them. After the first hour of flight, signs of exhaustion showed among the caravan. Kit no longer ran, but skipped, his every step sending him bouncing forward; gravity¡¯s grip on him slipping. Masga was puffing, the wiry dwarf red in the face, and hanging onto an aardig¡¯s saddlebags for support. The only sign of exhaustion from Cole was the faint condensation on his armor. Using holy power to keep cool always made Natalie laugh. It made sense, but something about the habit was humorously surreal. Axe in hand, Cole looked to Natalie and said. ¡°When the fight happens, we¡¯ll need to drop our packs. Can your wolves take them to safety?¡± Natalie nodded, understanding the request hidden in the question. Isabelle was in Cole¡¯s pack and he was asking her to protect the skull. ¡°No problem, should I summon the pack now?¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°Save your power, we might need it.¡± By the second hour of their flight, only Cole and Natalie were still unbothered by the exertion. The dwarf scouts along with Mina and Alia were slowing down, the Priestess and warden wheezing hard. Cole¡¯s decision to have Natalie and him act as the rearguard made more sense with every step. Just when Natalie wondered if they could throw Kit and Masga onto one of the aardigs, Olkar whistled and pointed ahead. Squinting her eyes, Natalie realized what he¡¯d noticed, a glowstone marking a tunnel mouth. They were almost safe! Feeling the weight of her sword in one hand, and stroking the wolf skull strapped to her belt with the other, Natalie felt a wash of nervous excitement flow over her. As a human, the idea of violence scared her. Now, as a vampire, she hungered for the pure, bloody intensity of battle. Whatever was coming, she¡¯d meet it with bared fangs and sharp steel. The tunnel mouth grew closer and closer, its dim light a beacon of safety to the exhausted caravan. Rolling her shoulders, a tic she¡¯d picked up from Cole, Natalie prepared to fight. Once everyone was safely into Gurim¡¯s Watch, she and Cole would turn about and hold the passage, using their powers, both fair and fell to do some good. At the head of the caravan, Olkar was the first to make it into the next cave, gesturing wildly for the others to hurry and follow him. Frantically, both humanoid and aardig reached the safety just ahead of them. When Cole and Natalie passed into Gurim¡¯s Watch the Paladin froze, his body instantly tensed. Eyes wide beneath his helmet, Cole looked around the dome-shaped cave and said. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong, my chest-¡± Three things happened before Cole could finish speaking. First the entrance to Gurim¡¯s Watch collapsed, carved stone shattering as some invisible force smashed into the tunnel mouth. Second, the scattered glowstones in the cave went dark, snuffed out like candles in a maelstrom. Last but most horrifically, Olkar died. Something massive and so fast even Natalie could barely track it appeared out of nowhere and turned the senior ranger into a wet stain with a single swing of its clawed limb. The force of the blow was intense, it didn¡¯t stop at Olkar and ripped the aardig next to him in two, the creature''s front half skipping along the cave floor, leaving a trail of gore in its wake. As shock gave way to instincts, Natalie called up her pack, a tide of snarling spectral canines swirling around her; their ghostly flesh glowing in the darkness. It was in that haunting light that Natalie first saw the bone knight. A hulking warrior clad in ivory plate, its joints glowing with green fire, charged Cole from the side. Before a warning could be shouted, Cole spun to meet his new opponent, Requiem shining silver with holy cold. A longsword dipped in witch flame clashed with the halberd and Cole was pushed back slightly. Using the space, Cole dropped his pack and cloak, giving Natalie the barest glance before meeting steel with the bone knight. Grist ran forward, grabbing the pack and dragging it away from the melee. The rest of the Lupus pack fanned out trying to give Natalie an understanding of what was happening. Alia, Mina, Yara, Kit, along with the two surviving dwarves were clustered together, the remaining aardigs bellowing, their clubbed tails smashing the cavern floor in warning. No¡­ not in warning, the beasts were under attack. A carpet of black furry bodies skittered around the aardigs. Rats, hundreds of them, flowed around the aardigs, trying to sneak through kicking claws and thrashing tails. Deciding a wolf pack trumped a rat swarm, Natalie sent her familiars forward, letting them feast upon the vermin. Cole¡¯s backpack and Isabelle went with them, joined by Natalie¡¯s own bag dragged by another ghostly wolf. Commanding the wolves to protect her friends, be they skull-bound or otherwise, Natalie turned her focus back to Cole. Icy vapor leaked from Cole, clashing with the bone knight¡¯s green fire as they dueled. Rushing towards him, Natalie fed blood into her limbs, preparing to strike. The hand of some invisible giant slammed into Natalie then, knocking her to the ground and applying bone-creaking pressure. Laying on her stomach, Natalie struggled against the phantom force, feeling bars of iron-strength pressing her down into the rock. Redirecting her blood to strengthen bones and muscle, Natalie got one hand beneath her and pushed up, the effort straining her body. The invisible cage crushing her shifted slightly, and Natalie managed to roll out from underneath it. Moving more on instinct than anything else, Natalie leapt towards Cole, dodging another invisible blow, feeling the wind it left in its wake. Right behind Natalie, the stone cracked, as her attacker¡¯s strike hit the ground. Sparing a glance, Natalie¡¯s eyes widened at the mark the impact left on the rock. It was a skeletal handprint, one the size of her torso. She really had been hit by an invisible giant, an undead invisible giant, no less. Words ringing with arcane power shook through the cave, and lines of earth-brown magic surged out from where Mina and the others were clustered. The lines wove themselves into walls of glowing runes, surrounding the panicked aardigs and driving back the rats. A ball of painfully bright light floated up from the caravan¡¯s position, filling the cave with stark illumination. Flinching away from the blinding light, Natalie felt a firm hand grip her shoulder and pull. She tensed and prepared to strike, before recognition reached her mind, it was Cole, she¡¯d know that hand anywhere. Allowing herself to be guided forward, Natalie¡¯s vision returned. They were close to the wall of runes now, and just as the last spots left Natalie¡¯s eyes, Cole half-shoved, half tossed her through the magic barrier. Flinching, Natalie was pleasantly surprised that she passed through the runes, with only a faint static shock upon her skin. Regaining her balance, Natalie looked through the shimmering wall and saw Cole clashing with the bone knight, fending off the pursuer with efficient strikes. Glancing behind her, Natalie found her companions, clustered together around the source of the magical wall. Masga stood tall, his wiry frame a blur of motion as he wove runes into the air, reinforcing his defenses with every gesture. Kit stood beside him, violin bow pointed up at the ball of light that now dimmed to a less oppressive radiance as he whistled. Alia had her blades drawn and was standing protectively over Mina, who worked to close an ugly gash in Nokin¡¯s side. Yara somehow blended in among the cracked stone and nervous aardigs, her panicked expression calming slightly on seeing Natalie. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Commanding her wolves to circle about the wall, and keep the rats away, Natalie joined her friends, finding Grist sitting next to Yara, Cole¡¯s pack in his spectral jaws. Just as Natalie was about to ask questions, the surrounding ward vibrated with a tremendous impact. A huge monster slammed itself into the barrier farthest from Natalie, cracking some of the overlapping runes into red-brown dust. Masga redoubled his efforts and more runes flowed to reinforce the damaged section. In the light of Kit¡¯s tiny star Natalie could now get a good look at the thing that killed Olkar. Standing taller than Cole despite walking hunched over on its knuckles was a chimera of hideous features. The basic frame of a troll was grotesquely swollen with muscle, and additional limbs. Aside from the tree-trunk-like arms it walked on, a pair of clawed hands with too many fingers, protruding from the creature¡¯s back like wings. A long insect-like tail capped with a hooked spike snaked after the monster, while its bruise-colored body was covered in a mix of half-grown feathers, leathery hide and prickly hairs. But all of these mismatched features didn¡¯t hold a candle to the blazing fire of horror that was its face. It had eight eyes like a spider, each amber like an owl¡¯s and moving independently, darting around the cave, in every direction. The chimera¡¯s jaw was split down the middle, each half bristling with jagged teeth; somehow resembling both a dog¡¯s maw and an insect''s mandible. Thick, clear fluid dripped from the monster¡¯s upper fangs, scoring the rock where it struck. Faster than Natalie could process, the chimera struck again, driving its full weight into the shield, making the ward ring like a bell. In response Mina, raised a hand and shot a gout of silver fire at the monster. The creature skittered away, its movements jerky and spider-like in contrast to its hulking size. Natalie considered siccing her wolves on the chimera, but decided that would just be wasting blood. This was the type of threat only Cole was equipped to handle, the wolves wouldn¡¯t even slow it down. Backing away from the shield, the monster was joined by three other figures. The largest of them was clearly not human, instead a figure Natalie recognized from the most disturbing tales teenagers of Glockmire shared with each other. Lamia, the snake women of the south, monsters who offer unspeakable pleasures to their victims before devouring them alive. Besides the serpentine seducer, the other two newcomers seemed positively mundane, that is until Natalie met their eyes. Both were vampires, one a short dwarf with a greasy beard, the other a thin man with dark curly hair and oddly familiar features. Slight and unassuming, this vampire wore bizarre spectacles that refracted his eyes like an insects. Coming up to the barrier''s edge, the vampire with glasses spoke, his voice soft and papery. ¡°Hand over the sage¡¯s stone and we will let you live.¡± Mina stood up then, having finished patching Nokin¡¯s injury. ¡°I have no jagging idea what you are talking about, leech!¡± Face still impassive, the vampire said. ¡°That is a lie. Give the relic to us and once the homunculus is dealt with, we¡¯ll leave. Otherwise you will die, painfully.¡± Genuine confusion went through the group, except for Natalie, of course. Hidden behind the others, no one could see the look of shock and terror that erupted on Natalie¡¯s face. Whoever this vampire was, he knew too much and could not be allowed to walk away from here alive. Then, as her initial panic turned to confusion, Natalie realized the vampire hadn¡¯t mentioned her. How could they know about Cole and the stone, but not about her? Mina¡¯s eyes started to glow with silver fire. ¡°Listen well, monster. I am a Priestess of Master Time, and with me travels a Paladin of my god! It is you who should run if you seek to steal more nights of unlife!¡± The vampire¡¯s expression became almost bored. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought negotiations would work. Very well. Chillheart 9th, 1434, midnight, the hamlet of Moreb. Hurt your companions the worst you can.¡± Even more confused, Natalie tried to understand the meaning behind the Vampire¡¯s words. Then Masga¡¯s skull was smashed by a swinging mace. The bonekeeper fell to the ground like a sack of tubers, blood and brains pouring from his skull. As the rune wall faded with Masga¡¯s life, the mace swung again, striking Alia, sending a spray of red across the cracked stone. A look of incredulity and utter betrayal showed on the city warden¡¯s face as she stared up at her attacker. Voice slurred, Alia rasped. ¡°M-M-Mina?¡± Eyes wild with a rage so intense it distorted her face into a rictus, Priestess Mina Vrock turned from her victims and charged Natalie. Vampire instinct compensated for Natalie¡¯s shock and she ducked under the mace, its head coated in bits of scalp. But fast as Natalie was, she was still too stunned to recognize the feint. Mina¡¯s free hand came up, burning with silver light. Words of holy power escaped the Priestess and slammed into Natalie. Skin burnt, blood froze and Natalie screamed at the familiar pain. Falling onto her back, Natalie tried to call upon her blood, finding it slow and unresponsive. The mace fell then, smashing into Natalie¡¯s chest, forcing pointless breath from her. Looming over Natalie, Mina struck again, breaking ribs and driving them into dead lungs. After the third strike, Mina yelled, ¡°Let go of her Isabelle! Leave her! Don¡¯t make me hurt you more!¡± Trying to force her body to heal, Natalie stared up at Mina, her confusion reaching an impossible level. Quickly turning back towards Alia, Mina kneeled down and started to frantically say. ¡°No, no no no, I¡¯ll fix this! You¡¯ll be alright!¡± Like some carrion eater descending on a fresh corpse, the lamia slithered forward, twin blades licking out and killing the aardigs closest to her. Slowly, sensuously, the lamia wrapped her coils around Mina. Still frantically trying to fix her girlfriend¡¯s cracked skull, Mina didn¡¯t even react until she was constricted and pulled away from Alia. Screaming in frustration and panic, Mina was bound in ropes of thick scaled muscle. ¡°Isabelle! Damn you! Damn you for this!¡± Natalie fought with all her will to crack the ice in her veins, to free the power she needed right now. Whatever was wrong with Mina could be dealt with later. Right now Natalie had to heal, she had to fight! As the mad Priestess was pulled away by the grinning lamia, the thin vampire approached Natalie, the apparent leader of these monsters. Polished boots came into sight as the spectacle wearing leech loomed over Natalie. He stared down at her, examining the horrible burns covering every inch of Natalie¡¯s exposed flesh. ¡°Now who are you?¡± With one lung punctured, and her skin practically burned off, Natalie couldn¡¯t respond; she could hardly think. The horrible insect-eyes of the vampire bored into Natalie. ¡°You are kindred of mine, I can tell that much. A strix, and a relatively young one¡­ but of an exotic bloodline. Tell me, what are you doing among the enemy?¡± Feeling her skin start to regrow, Natalie could only gurgle as undead flesh fought to put broken ribs back where they belonged. The vampire adjusted his glasses, the lenses clicking and flickering in the pale light. ¡°But more importantly, why did the Priestess call you Isabelle?¡±
Upon seeing her mistress burn, Yara tried to run to Natalie, but a clammy hand grabbed her and pulled her into the shadow of a still aardig. It was Kit, one hand keeping Yara quiet, the other holding up his occult lantern. Motes of color bled from the lantern, multi-hued specks like the stars seen after a blow to the head. Struggling against Kit, Yara prepared to start breaking fingers when the magi frantically said. ¡°Stop moving! If we want any chance of rescuing them, then listen to me!¡± Brandishing the lantern at her, Kit said. ¡°I¡¯m hiding us from them for now, but I don¡¯t know how long this will work. Neither of us stands a chance against these bastards, especially if they can twist Mina like that!¡± Yara¡¯s panic faded slightly and she whispered. ¡°They¡¯ll kill Natalie if we leave her!¡± Kit shook his head. ¡°She¡¯s too valuable. We need to pull back, get Cole, or find other options to help.¡± There was truth to those words and Yara forced herself to look away from the smoking ruin that was Natalie. Running out and dying to another vampire wouldn¡¯t help her mistress. ¡°Let''s go.¡± Gripping Yara¡¯s hand, Kit quickly exited the circle of worryingly docile aardigs. Looking at where he touched her, Yara recoiled, wanting to pull away. Sensing her distress, Kit whispered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but we need to stay in contact otherwise this won¡¯t work¡± Stepping past the corpses of rats, moving away from the aardigs, the unlikely pair moved quickly and quietly. Glancing back at those they were abandoning, Yara asked. ¡°Why can¡¯t we grab Alia, or Nolkin?¡± Kit winced. ¡°Aside from their injuries? Well, this isn¡¯t even a proper spell, just something I theorized could be done. I¡¯m empowering your abilities as an ancilla and honestly have no idea how this is working so well.¡± Yara suddenly remembered something Natalie said, about how she always seemed to slip past people¡¯s attention. This was apparently part of her being an ancilla, Yara was hard to notice when she wasn¡¯t needed. Now Kit had strengthened this magical effect with his lantern, and that was all that kept the pair of them from death or worse. Back near the entrance to Gurim¡¯s Watch, the Magi and Thrall were drawn by the sound of clashing steel. Ahead of them were two storms, one of frost, the other of green fire. Paladin Cole was wreathed in cold mist, his halberd glowing silver. Facing him was a knight clad in armor of warped bone. Both warriors fought with speed and strength Yara could barely imagine. Each leaving a trail of their respective element as they danced around each other, halberd and sword clashing. Tongues of blood-red flame lashed out from the Paladin, colliding with emerald witchfire as the two knights dueled. More of the occult fire leaked from the bone knight with every movement, showing in the joints of his armor and the number of cracks Cole had inflicted. But the contest was clearly not one-sided. Ugly scorch marks decorated the Paladin¡¯s plate and Yara was fairly certain a patch of frozen blood covered one of Cole¡¯s legs. Staring at the brutal fight, Yara imagined her previous master¡¯s final battle must have looked something like this. Until now, Yara had a hard time believing Dietrich lost to Cole. The scarred man who first spoke to her back at Castle Glockmire just didn¡¯t seem a peer to the force of focused destruction she¡¯d once served. She was now disabused of those notions as the bone knight tried and failed to parry one of Cole¡¯s strikes. Lashing out with his halberd, Cole came from the right, aiming for his foe¡¯s hip. The bone knight deflected the strike with his own blade but Cole adapted, letting the poor parry drive his halberd up and towards the knight¡¯s helm. Fast as the burning undead was, it wasn¡¯t fast enough, and an axe wreathed in silver power tore the top half of the bone knight¡¯s helmet right off. Yara expected the monster to topple over, its skull split, instead it struck back. If Cole was surprised by his opponent¡¯s survival, he didn¡¯t show it, backing away and using his halberd¡¯s extra reach to his advantage. Reaching up with one hand, the bone knight gripped the attached half of its helmet and yanked it free. The sculpted bone cracked as it hit the ground and Yara sucked in an involuntary breath upon seeing what lay beneath. A column of crackling green fire came out of the bone knight¡¯s neck, the flames taking the shape of a screaming face, its skin, muscle and bone flickering in and out of existence. Something about the face made Cole hesitate. He stopped and said something to the bone knight. It just roared, a sound like a kiln being stoked, and charged the Paladin. Kit had gone very pale then, staring at the duel. ¡°That¡¯s a Dullahan. This isn¡¯t a fight we can interfere with. We¡­we¡¯d only make it harder for Cole.¡± Looking at the Magi, Yara hissed. ¡°Then what do we do?!¡± Glancing around the cave, Kit swallowed nervously. ¡°Improvise.¡±
Wolfgang had to admit he¡¯d almost not expected the geas to work. If anyone could resist it, a servant of the Tenth God seemed the most likely, especially one trained by the infamous Hierophant Morri of Vindabon. But in a testament to Spymaster Yezhov¡¯s genius, the spell worked perfectly. Wolfgang awoke the sleeper and crippled his enemy beyond recovery. All that remained to do was capture the homunculus and decipher the mystery of the burned vampire before him. Seeing the female strix wasn¡¯t going anywhere or even able to speak, Wolfgang looked back towards Thorm and Wulfhild. ¡°Help the Dullahan, if you would.¡± Tallclaw moved without hesitation, the bestial strigoi eager for blood, especially in his honestly disgusting war form. Shorttooth glanced over the wounded dwarf and cat blood. ¡°Yes, I suppose they won¡¯t be any trouble.¡± Alone except for the dying, the demented, and depraved, Wolfgang continued to stare at the strix lying before him. The lack of restraints and how Mina Vrock attacked her was plenty proof the strix wasn¡¯t a prisoner. She was obviously a member of this motley band, but that made little sense. For a second Wolfgang was struck by the terrible idea he was faced with the new Alukah, but he quickly dismissed it. The Tenth God would never let such a powerful relic escape his temple¡¯s secure custody. Besides, if that was the case, then Wolfgang would have sensed something, or more likely¡­ be dead. The burned strix¡¯s lung inflated, Wolfgang recognized the noise. In a voice raw with pain the mystery vampire asked. ¡°Why does it matter what she called me?¡± Squatting down, Wolfgang watched fresh skin slowly grow across the vampire¡¯s face. ¡°I know what the ¡®paladin¡¯ is. That creature is Isabelle Gens Silva¡¯s masterpiece and the one responsible for curing my plague. I seriously doubt you are Gens Silva, considering she¡¯s very dead, but I¡¯m still curious. Did the homunculus take you as some kind of replacement? A pet he¡¯s broken into thinking is his master?¡± The false-Isabelle twitched at that, her body still suffering from whatever spell the priestess unleashed. Taking that as confirmation, Wolfgang continued. ¡°This is most unusual, the rumors I¡¯ve heard claim the Paladin keeps the Alukah itself as his paramour, which you certainly aren¡¯t. Perhaps two different prisoners have been blended together by the rumor-mill? The girl from Glockmire, who is probably locked in some Temple oubliette now, mixed with you, the replacement Isabelle.¡± Tapping his chin, Wolfgang looked over at the two heavily wounded mortals. The catblood was trying to crawl towards Cleanor and Mina Vrock with little success, while the dwarf teetered on the edge of shock. ¡°That might be too complicated. You couldn¡¯t possibly be the Alukah, but you still might be the girl from Glockmire. Did they rip the ancient¡¯s power from you? Leaving you a husk enslaved to an insane monster? Or was the Alukah¡¯s power contained in something other than a unliving vampire?¡± Red eyes stared up at Wolfgang from the healing face. ¡°Your plague? You created the screaming plague?¡± Tapping his chin, Wolfgang answered the false-Isabelle¡¯s question. ¡°Yes, my plague. I took the works of your master¡¯s creator and improved upon them. Strange, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯re both successors to Isabelle Gens Silva, aren¡¯t we? You embody her failures and weaknesses, while I¡¯ve claimed her knowledge for myself.¡± Wolfgang found himself being unusually verbose. Perhaps the stress of this hunt and the relief of success were influencing him too much. ¡°I don¡¯t need to kill you, ¡®Isabelle.¡¯ I¡¯m sure the homunculus has shared many secrets with you and those might be traded for your-¡± Only now had the false-Isabelle¡¯s face finished healing, and the sight of it made Wolfgang stop. He knew that face. It had been decades since he¡¯d last seen it but would never forget that face. Slowly, incredulously, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Iona?¡± The false-Isabelle¡­ no false-Iona wore a look of shock that Wolfgang guessed matched his own. Speaking in a voice so similar to his niece¡¯s but not quite hers, the strange woman said. ¡°How do you know that name?¡± HKB3 Chapter 43: Eye for an Eye

Chapter 43: Eye for an Eye

¡°Me Pa was a true werewolf. He could turn into a great big mix of beast and man. I¡¯m not like him. I¡¯m just a member of the werefolk, a werekin or beastblood. But like most of my people I was bitten when I turned sixteen. Dear old Pa transformed and sunk his fangs into me arm. After that I could do all sorts of things like grow claws on that hand, or make my bicep thick as rope! See the curse didn¡¯t go through my whole body, Pa¡¯s blood stopped that, instead it got stuck in me arm. It''s pretty useful, I gotta say, lets me do things like save that girl of yours. So will you untie me now or will I have to free myself?¡± - Arto of Scoiflem explaining to the villagers of Moiburg how he was able to cut a troll in half with a single sword-strike.
Cole barely managed to get Natalie past Masga¡¯s barrier when the Dullahan caught up to him. Turning about, he parried an incoming strike and refocused on his opponent. While he appreciated Natalie¡¯s attempts to help, Cole knew this wasn¡¯t the type of opponent she¡¯d fare well against. Witchfire would burn a vampire just as easily as mundane flames, Natalie was better off helping their friends, and leaving this foe for him. Striking hard and fast, Cole drew upon his power, reinforcing his flesh, armor and weapon with Master Time¡¯s gifts. Holy cold filled Cole and his halberd glowed silver as it lashed out. He¡¯d never properly fought a Dullahan before. They¡¯d always been too strong to risk direct confrontation. Still, the fact Cole had never crossed blades with one of the headless hunters didn¡¯t mean he was ignorant of their dangers. Years before, Cole destroyed a Dullahan with Morri¡¯s help, the pair relying on trickery to beat the monsters. But in the present, guile wouldn¡¯t be enough, Cole needed every ounce of his martial skill. Furiously, Cole hammered at his opponent, every strike of Requiem flowing into the next. Axe cuts, spear thrusts, staff strikes, and the occasional burst of magic worked to push the Dullahan back. Cole couldn¡¯t afford to let the witchfire monster attack his friends, so putting some space between them and it was paramount. More than once, Requiem cut past the Dullahan¡¯s guard, cutting into the molded bone it wore. Much to Cole¡¯s annoyance, the magical cold infusing his weapon didn¡¯t spread from his successful strikes. Cursed fire leaked from the rents Cole put in the Dullahan¡¯s armor, scouring away the cold of entropy. Accepting a strike on the torso, the Dullahan stepped in, bringing its bastard sword past Cole¡¯s guard and slashing his hip. Cole turned with the strike, his armor catching most of the blow, but not all of it. Thankfully, the injury wasn¡¯t deep, Cole¡¯s frozen flesh stopping it from tearing muscle. In response, Cole let his quickly freezing blood power a burst of fire. Red flames spat out from the spark stone on his right hand, meeting the green witchfire and giving Cole time to reposition. Now the Dullahan was on the offensive, its strikes were fast and brutal but not the worst Cole had suffered. Whoever this cursed soul was in life, they¡¯d been an excellent warrior with years of experience. But as Cole stopped a sideways chop, it became clear that experience was working against his opponent. There was a delay to the strikes, a tiny hesitation Cole recognized from his own past. The Dullahan was new, probably only a month or two risen, perhaps even less. Cole¡¯s foe knew how to fight, and fight well, but with a different body. Just as it took time for Cole to adjust to his increased strength, this Dullahan hadn¡¯t fully adapted to the unnatural potency its cursed existence provided. But a sword master unused to an undead existence was still a sword master. Halberd and longsword clashed in a hurricane of blows, neither opponent gaining a clear advantage. As the battle raged on, Cole became more confident he could win a battle of attrition against this foe. Each of Cole¡¯s successful strikes put gouges and cracks in his opponent¡¯s armor. While in contrast, Cole¡¯s own armor weathered most blows without issue. It seemed a halberd infused with holy wrath trumped a longsword dipped in cursed fire. Then, as matters ever did for Cole, things became more complicated. Masga¡¯s shield fell and screams filled the cavern. Turning to his friends, his nose picking up the smell of blood and ash, Cole felt a surge of fear. The Dullahan lashed out then, seeking to punish Cole¡¯s moment of distraction. In testimony to his growing experience, Cole deflected the coming strike and redoubled his efforts to put the headless hunter down. Gritting his teeth, Cole cut and thrust, frost swirling about him as he tried to finish this fight. Not long ago, Cole might have turned from his opponent, rushing to Natalie in a panic and earning himself pointless injuries. Now, he knew better, the only path to his love wasn¡¯t past the Dullahan, but through it. Crackling witchfire surged around the cursed soul, meeting Cole¡¯s frozen wrath. Just as their weapons clashed, the powers inhabiting the two warriors dueled. Redoubling his efforts, Cole combined every trick and technique he could. Green and red flames snapped at each other, as Cole turned every drop of blood he lost into an attack. While the blood magic fire wouldn¡¯t hurt the Dullahan, it was still a distraction. Lacking eyes, or even a head, Dullahans perceived the world through magic, and ironically enough arcane fire hampered their vision. Using a burst of his flames as cover, Cole went for the Dullahan¡¯s hip, seeking to crack enough bone to cripple it. Disoriented, the Dullahan tried to parry the strike, and only knocked Requiem¡¯s axe-head upwards. Riding the shifting momentum, Cole struck his foe¡¯s helmet. The stiff, unmoving helm had been in part what told Cole he faced a Dullahan, now its splintered top half sailed away. Just as Cole feared, the blow did little more than anger his foe. Stepping back out of blade range, Cole prepared another strike. Reaching up, the Dullahan gripped the remaining section of its helmet and pulled the carved bone free. In the armor¡¯s place was a whirling bonfire of emerald flames, surrounding a screaming face. As the witchfire crackled and shifted, the face faded in and out of existence, leaving sections of muscle, or bare bone exposed for less than a heartbeat. Even with that ghastly distortion, Cole recognized the features. The screaming visage of Pankrator Marcus stared out from within the fire. A hundred thoughts flowed through Cole then, all the questions this ambush raised, coming to the forefront of his mind. The necessity of battle had forced him to focus on dueling the Dullahan. But now, seeing that howling face, several terrible revelations clicked into place for Cole. Whatever horrible event he¡¯d sensed at Harmas swallowed up the Pankrator, spitting out this undead parody of the boisterous soldier Cole met after facing the wyvern. The powers that slew Marcus and enslaved his remains had come for Cole, Natalie and the Sage¡¯s Stone. Staring at Dullahan Marcus, Cole whispered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Pankrator, allow me to end your pain.¡± For the barest moment, Marcus¡¯s face formed into a smile before returning to its rictus. Roaring with all the rage of a caged animal, Marcus charged Cole, his blade engulfed in witchfire. Leveling his halberd at the charging Dullahan, Cole whispered. ¡°Master Time, protect the living and protect the dead. Master Time, give us long lives and quick deaths. Master Time, keep our souls and judge them truly. Tenth God, Last Judge, First Cold, He-Who-Ends, Master of Time, stand with me now!¡± Dancing to the left, Cole dodged a brutal overhead strike and sent a surge of fire towards Marcus. Requiem followed right behind the flames, hiding in their arcane currents. The Dullahan expected this and stepped into the blow, stopping the axe-head from biting him, and letting Requiem¡¯s haft crack against his pauldron. Even strong as Cole was, the blunt impact didn¡¯t shatter the bone armor, but he could still use the strike. Yanking hard on his halberd, Cole let its head bite into Marcus¡¯s shoulder, pulling him off balance. Normally, bringing a burning undead horror into grappling range wasn¡¯t a good idea, but with Master Time¡¯s power coursing through him, Cole hoped he might have an advantage. Using one of his newer tricks, Cole focused on the hourglass sigil marking his helmet and imbued the dwarven steel with holy power. While he couldn¡¯t exactly headbutt an already decapitated undead, Cole figured if mildly magical fire could disorient the Dullahan, shoving divine fury right into its face might stun it. Marcus flinched away from Cole as silver light overpowered green witchfire. Seeing his chance, Cole kicked out at the Dullahan¡¯s knee, shattering his foe¡¯s poleyn and further robbing Marcus of balance. Yanking on his halberd with one hand, and kicking out with the opposite leg, Cole toppled the Dullahan. Slipping past the tumbling bones, Cole shortened his halberd and shifted its mass to the spike edge. As Marcus hit the ground, Cole struck, coming in with an underhand blow, aimed for the Dullahan¡¯s armpit. Naturally, the falling Marcus had thrust out his hand to catch himself, leaving the joint exposed. The hooked spike of Requiem speared through the underside of the Dullahan¡¯s shoulder, cracking armor, and cutting the limb off. Kicking the severed arm away from the collapsing Marcus, Cole winced. There wasn¡¯t a clean way to kill a Dullahan, or at least not a method currently available to Cole. As much as he wished to give Marcus a warrior¡¯s mercy, Cole had to tear his former ally apart. Requiem came up and down like a pick-axe, its sharp beak stabbing into Marcus¡¯s backplate, ripping the crafted bone away like he was shelling a crab. Preparing another strike to sever the exposed spine before him, Cole barely caught sight of the next threat he faced. A wall of mutant flesh hurtled towards him, tree-trunk arms outstretched in a blow meant to pulp Cole. Throwing himself to the side, Cole rolled beneath the strike and came to his feet, Requiem lengthened back into a proper polearm. Bear-like claws sunk into the stone, granting the new monster enough traction to stop its charge. Whirling about, the wickedly fast creature faced Cole, its muscles twitching with tension. Seeing the malformed thing before him, how its flesh combined the features of a dozen different predators, Cole hissed. ¡°Strigoi.¡± In response, the hulking vampire gripped a rocky outcropping, tearing it free and hurling the anvil-sized stone at Cole. Spinning out of the way, Cole suddenly found his own balance disrupted, as a score of rats erupted out of a crack in the rock. Thrashing about, Cole tried to tear the insane rodents from his body. Frostbite consumed the vermin near instantly, but that didn¡¯t stop them from launching themselves at him, desperately seeking gaps in his armor. A fist the size of Cole¡¯s torso hurtled towards him, catching the paladin clean on the breastplate. Cole¡¯s chest instantly went numb as the Hakon steel rang like a bell. Hurtling backwards, Cole slammed into a boulder, his legs turning to jelly. Only with his halberd¡¯s help did Cole remain standing, as he desperately tried to steal back some of his breath. He¡¯d just taken a blow that would turn a normal human into paste. Even with his enchanted armor, Cole¡¯s reinforced flesh barely withstood the strike. Feeling at the dent in his breastplate, Cole decided he¡¯d need Emma of Stonebone to make him a few sets of replacement pieces when he got back to Vindabon¡­ if he got back, that is. Remembering the world beyond his own paralyzed diaphragm and probably cracked ribs, Cole looked up at his opponents. Marcus was standing again, holding the arm Cole severed to his fractured shoulder. Witchfire flared from the sight of injury, and Cole could see the curse animating Marcus forging his bones back together. In front of the Dullahan were two contradictory but paradoxically kindred figures. The war-form Strigoi prowled towards Cole, a squat ugly dwarf by its side. Examining this newest threat, Cole noted the dwarf¡¯s body seemed to undulate slightly, as if something was pressing out from beneath the skin. A nasal laugh escaped the dwarf. ¡°By the blood! It really is you! Long time since I saw you last, homunculus. I¡¯ve got to say the scars are fitting.¡± Cole recognized the voice,. Blinking away more of his confusion, Cole sucked in a breath. ¡°The Tall and the Short.¡± Thorm Shorttooth cocked his head and smiled. ¡°Oh, you remember us! I¡¯m pleasantly surprised, to say the least.¡± Regaining his balance and leveling Requiem at the two strigoi, Cole growled. ¡°Still acting as the Voivode¡¯s hounds?¡± Shrugging, Thorn replied. ¡°We serve loyally and are rewarded. I¡¯d expect you¡¯d know something about that, considering¡­ well, everything. Tell me, how long did it take you to get over the burned bitch and go crawling to the Tenth? I¡¯m very curious how a madwoman¡¯s favorite pet ended up in service to a God?¡± Finally, taking a properly deep breath, Cole examined the two killers before him. They¡¯d been there when Thoas fell, just another set of monsters among the legion that destroyed Isabelle. Even before then, Cole had encountered them. The Tall and the Short were Voivode Igori¡¯s favorite enforcers; they''d attended many of the same events he had as Isabelle¡¯s champion. Their presence was all the confirmation Cole needed; Igori knew he still lived. As the Homunculus Knight, Cole hadn¡¯t been a match for either of these Strigoi, even with all the boons Isabelle showered him with. Back then, he¡¯d been a very different creature, a true magnum opus instead of the broken unworthy paladin Natalie met. Now, things were different, and Cole couldn¡¯t guess how he compared to his enemies, but that didn¡¯t matter. Failure was not an option, it simply would not be allowed.
Mina couldn¡¯t breathe, speak or do much more than think. The snake woman''s coils wrapped about her chest, constricting and crushing the priestess. But even as every lungful of air was a hard-fought victory, Mina didn¡¯t lose focus. Things were bad, very, very bad, but if she let the spell dissipate, then all would be lost. After Isabelle seized control of Natalie, she¡¯d killed Masga and nearly killed Alia. If that scheming vampire bitch got full access to Natalie¡¯s power, then they¡¯d have no chance of victory. Cole was still fighting, even if Mina didn¡¯t see the battle, she could feel it. The icy power of a Paladin filled the Aether, calling out to those who knew how to listen. That chill, that shocking bite of her God¡¯s wrath, helpt keep Mina focused. Feeling at the Aether, letting Cole¡¯s mere presence empower her, Mina looked past the snake¡¯s embrace and tried to see what was happening. Isabelle was still weakened, laying nearby, conspiring with the glasses-wearing vampire. Alia¡­ oh Gods¡­ Alia was on the ground, her scalp practically ripped from her head. Blood flowed down her girlfriend¡¯s face in a red waterfall. That sight brought another wave of determination to Mina. She wouldn¡¯t fail, she couldn¡¯t! This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Horrible serpentine eyes came into view, the lamia looming over Mina. Red lips split into a smile filled with a terrible hunger. A clawed hand reached out and stroked Mina in an intimate, almost affectionate way that made her stomach convulse. Glaring up at the monster, Mina didn¡¯t have the breath to spare for a curse. Licking those lips with a forked tongue, the lamia chuckled, a husky, seductive noise sickeningly at odds with the situation. ¡°Hush now, little priestess. Don¡¯t worry your head about things, just relax. It will make things so much easier for you.¡± Glancing behind her, the lamia added. ¡°Let''s find some privacy and leave dear Wolfgang to his scheming.¡± Mina tried to resist the impossibly strong coils wrapped around her, but to no avail. She was pulled away from Alia and everyone else, watching her girlfriend desperately trying to crawl towards her. Now alone with the monster, Mina stared up at the lamia. Fangs dripping with venom shone in the pale light and Mina tried to struggle against her bonds. Feeling hot breath upon her neck, Mina tensed as the lamia crooned. ¡°Wolfgang might have some more use for you, but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t have a little fu-AHHGH.¡± Instead of feeling sharp fangs sinking into her flesh, Mina was greeted by the warm, slick patter of fresh blood. Looking up, she saw the lamia covering her face, screaming in pain. Sticking out from between the snakewoman¡¯s fingers was the steel tip of a quarrel. As the lamia pulled shaking hands from her face, Mina felt sick at the sight underneath. A crossbow bolt stuck through the lamia¡¯s face, entering at a diagonal near the temple and exiting right out of the eye-socket. Positioned as it was, the quarrel looked like some over-sized horribly placed piercing, punching through muscle, bone, brain, and eye. Yet the injury wasn¡¯t enough to kill, at least quickly. Internal bleeding, infection and everything else might finish the quarrel¡¯s job, but for now the lamia still lived. A furious hiss grew in the snakewoman¡¯s throat as she whirled on the bolt¡¯s source. Alia knelt on one knee nearby, her crossbow dropping from shaky fingers. Spitting a gobbet of blood onto the ground, Alia growled. ¡°Let go of her, you scaled cunt!¡± Hands unsteady, Alia grabbed a metal vial from her belt and downed its contents in one. As the vial clattered onto the stone floor, Alia unsheathed her twin shortswords and slowly got to her feet. ¡°I said let go of my girlfriend before I turn you into a fucking pair of boots!¡± Mina¡¯s blood went cold, she knew what was in that vial. Cole had only given it to Alia after explaining its effects in terrible detail to both city warden and priestess. It was a combat drug, and a viciously potent one as well. A normal human might be able to wrestle a troll using the concoction, but they risked tearing every muscle in their body in the effort, including the heart¡­ A tough beastblood might handle the drug better than most, but that would be a gamble under even the best conditions. Seeing how most of Alia¡¯s scalp dangled from her head, and her front was soaked in blood; these were far from the best conditions. Cat and snake stared at each other and slowly the lamia unsheathed her own blades. A forked tongue licked out past red lips, and the monster hissed. ¡°I¡­I am going to feed you your sow¡¯s eyes!¡± Alia¡¯s hands were shaking again, but not from exhaustion, Mina could almost hear her girlfriend¡¯s heart pumping faster and faster. ¡°No, you won¡¯t, if you want the Sage¡¯s Stone then Mina needs to be intact. So unless you want to explain to four-eyes back their how you fucked up, you¡¯re going to let her go, and then come skewer yourself on my claws.¡± The lamia¡¯s eyes flicked down to Mina, and with a hiss, she squeezed. To Mina¡¯s shame, a strangled scream escaped her as bones broke. But before the damage could go from agonizing to lethal, the snake woman uncoiled from Mina, leaving the priestess crippled and helpless. It took every ounce of will left in Mina to keep the spell going. She could feel Isabelle fighting against the binding, but would not let them fall; stopping the arch-necromancer from claiming the Alukah''s power was more important than anything else. Laying as she was, Mina could only stare as the two opponents circled each other. They seemed to be strange mirror images of each other, both wielding similar weapons and moving with a predatory focus. Blood dripped down both their faces, and each wore an expression of concentrated fury. In a rasping hiss, the lamia continued her threats. ¡°Those eyes of yours are pretty. I¡¯ll take one as payment for your insult. I think it will look better in my skull than rotting with your corpse!¡± Those feline eyes flicked to Mina, and Alia asked. ¡°What¡¯s your name, snakebitch?¡± An amused huff escaped the lamia. ¡°Cleanor. Why? Do you want to know whose name to scream when I¡¯ve got the pair of you in my coils?¡± Face masked with drying blood, Alia bared her fangs. ¡°So I know what to have embroidered on the boots I make from you. My name is Cat-eyes, by the way.¡± In the time it took Mina to blink, Alia had crossed the distance and was clashing blades with Cleanor. Wickedly fast, Alia¡¯s shortswords were twin blurs, exchanging strikes with the lamia¡¯s scimitars. Sparks flew from clashing steel as they dueled, each strike so quick Mina literally couldn¡¯t see it. Alia wore better armor than Cleanor, which wasn¡¯t hard considering the lamia was clothed in what amounted to ornate lingerie, but considering the speed of the fight the tough leather of a city warden wouldn¡¯t be much use. This was a battle of speed and skill, whoever struck the first clean blow would win. Alia danced around the snake, lashing out with experimental blows. None got past Cleanor¡¯s guard, but they were non-stop, a never ending flurry of strikes always probing for an opening. Sitting atop her coils, Cleanor was on the defensive, her upper body weaving back and forth, blades flashing. As they fought, Alia kept moving constantly to the right, dancing on the edge of Cleanor¡¯s blind-spot. It quickly became clear that while the lamia had longer reach, and a better defense, she couldn¡¯t match Alia¡¯s speed or acrobatics. Every exchange of blows wasn¡¯t a simple strike and parry, they were blistering clashes with a dozen movements from both combatants. Alia would dance forward, ducking, jumping, and twisting beneath flashing scimitars, lunging out for scaled flesh to cut. Each time, Cleanor repositioned, deflected or stole back the initiative with raw aggression. Neither snake nor cat could get the upper hand, and the fight dragged on. Blood poured down from Alia¡¯s face and Mina felt a knot growing in her stomach, how much more blood could her girlfriend lose? This couldn¡¯t turn into a battle of attrition, or Alia would surely fall. Staring down at her hands, Mina considered her options while muttering a focus mantra under her breath. She could not intervene, at least not without dropping the binding. Mina might land a sneak attack on the lamia, but that would let Isabelle break free. The knot of stress in Mina¡¯s gut swelled as the terrible choice before her became clear. Save her girlfriend or protect the world from an ancient evil? How in the world¡¯s name could she choose?
Yara and Kit ran away from the battle. Kit¡¯s sweaty hand gripped onto Yara¡¯s with a strength she hadn¡¯t guessed he possessed. Holding up his lantern before them, Kit kept muttering under his breath. Yara couldn¡¯t tell if he was casting a spell or just panicking, as another horrible scream cut through the cavern, she considered he might be doing both. When it became clear their destination was the central tower, Yara asked. ¡°What are we going to do?¡± Kit stopped his muttering long enough to say, ¡°A lock cave like this should have magical defenses. If I can awaken and aim them, then we might have a chance.¡± Accepting that, Yara looked behind them, seeing another duel had started. The catblood was clashing blades with the lamia. Yara couldn¡¯t imagine how Alia was standing, let alone fighting; but she was. There wasn¡¯t any sign of the priestess though, and that concerned Yara. It was that traitors'' fault everything was going so horribly. If it was up to her, Yara would use this magical stealth to put a blade in Mina¡¯s skull, but that wouldn¡¯t solve as many problems as Kit¡¯s plan might. Reaching the tower¡¯s main entrance, Kit stopped, frantically examining the carved opening. After a moment, he cursed. ¡°Fuck it, no time¡± He pulled Yara into the tower and a freshly carved rune marking the doorway glowed red. Sparing a glance at the rune, Kit muttered. ¡°Hopefully, whoever set that spell is too busy to notice us.¡± The tower¡¯s inside stunk of filth and decay. Dagger drawn, Yara glanced around, trying to find the smell¡¯s source. Any glowstones built into the structure were dimmed or broken. The only light Yara¡¯s sensitive eyes could pick up came from the sphere of illumination Kit had put in the main cavern and his lantern. Long deep shadows filled the tower and Yara¡¯s gaze flicked about, every muscle in her body tense to run. Kit led them across the room, heading for the staircase leading up to the higher floors. Piles of rubble and debris covered much of the chamber¡¯s floor, heaped up like crumbling middens. As the pair walked between two of the piles, one of them moved. Yara pulled on Kit, yanking him away from the mound. The eldritch light of Kit¡¯s lantern shone on the heap revealing its identity. It was a troll, or at least what remained of one. Desiccated and rotting, the troll lay on the ground, its sunken eyes staring up at Yara. Slowly, it blinked, and tried to move, only shifting its withered hulk a little. Turning about, Kit let his lantern illuminate more of the room. Two more trolls lay in similar states of living death, not to say undeath, but teetering on the brink between states. Missing arms and legs, the trolls were little more than shrunken torsos, their necks showing half a dozen puncture marks each. Seeing those unhealing wounds and the blank broken stares of the creatures sent a shiver up Yara¡¯s spine. Tightening her grip on Kit¡¯s hand, Yara pulled him towards the stairs. They ran up the steps, heading towards the top floor of the tower. Once at the landing, Kit shut his eyes and paused for a second, his muttering turning into a low hum. Nodding to himself, Kit went to an unassuming door and opened it. Inside was a ritual chamber of some sorts, a large eight-sided rune covered much of the floor, its insides filled with self-similar patterns of precious metals and gems. At the rune¡¯s center, connected to the greater rune by lines of inlaid gold, was a skull-sized crystal embedded into the floor. Over in the room¡¯s far corner lay a dwarven corpse, the early stink of putrefaction wafting off it. Filthy and unmoving, the corpse was probably the caretaker of this watch tower. Kit shut the door behind them and finally let go of Yara¡¯s hand. Flexing her fingers, Yara watched as Kit stepped gingerly over the more intricate patterns of runes and reached the artifacts heart. Going around the outer-edge, Yara approached the corpse, curious if it might hold some clue to the spells woven into this chamber. Also, as someone raised in the Duchies and servant to vampires, Yara knew better than most to never leave a dead body unexamined. Dagger at the ready, Yara crept towards the corpse, seeing its matted, filthy beard and stained clothes. Nearby, Kit started communing with the chamber¡¯s magic, a low whistling hum escaping his lips. Cautiously, Yara reached out with her dagger and poked at the corpse''s forehead. Its head lolled to the side, and it didn¡¯t react, even when Yara felt the blade sink into filth-encrusted skin. ¡°FUCK!¡± spat Kit, pulling Yara¡¯s attention from the corpse. Knife at the ready, she saw him frantically scrabbling over the floor, checking a dozen different spots on the rune. Looking up at her, Kit said. ¡°They damaged the defenses! I hoped I might be able to call up sunlight or something similar using this array, but¡­ well whoever attacked us thought of that.¡± A small noise caught Yara¡¯s attention, and she glanced down at her dagger, blood dripping off the tip, bright red, living blood. Eyes widening, Yara turned as the ¡®corpse¡¯ threw itself at her. Thick arms, heavy with the strength of madness, closed around Yara and carried her to the ground. Yellowed teeth snapped at Yara as the dwarf tried to bite, its dirty fingernails groping at her, trying to find something to break. Kit swung his lantern at the dwarf, cracking it in the skull. The strike barely stunned the dwarf, proving the byname of its people ¡®thick-bones¡¯ true. Wild eyes fixed on Kit, and the dwarf lunged for him. Panicked and desperate, Yara lashed out with her knife, driving it into the dwarf¡¯s chest. Forcing herself not to scream, Yara plunged the blade in and out of the dwarf, showering her and Kit with hot stinking blood. Red leaked from the dwarf¡¯s mouth as he tried to claw at Yara, gibberish bubbling from his mouth. Kit struck again, and using the opportunity, Yara drove the dagger up to its hilt and threw the dwarf off her. The dwarf tried to crawl towards them, but his blood poured free from a dozen stab wounds. Hand outstretched towards them, the dwarf stared at them, more of its gurgling words escaping in what Yara quickly realized was a death-rattle. The wild sickly light in the dwarf¡¯s eyes faded, leaving the husk behind. Slowly getting to her feet, Yara found Kit looking her over. ¡°Are you hurt?!¡± As panic faded, Yara felt the first twinges of pain reach her. She¡¯d been scratched by the dwarf, a trio of long gouges going right through one of her sleeves. ¡°Not badly, I¡¯ll need to clean this quickly, but first¡­¡± Stepping over to the dwarf, Yara flipped him on to his back and swallowed down bile. Stabbing down with her dagger she struck his spinal cord, taking three tries to achieve her intended result. Pulling her blade free, Yara looked at the stunned Kit. ¡°He played dead once, and I don¡¯t want him to reanimate.¡± Staring down at her dagger, its tip dripping with blood, Yara tried to will her hands to stop shaking. She¡¯d been responsible for deaths before, many in fact, but that was the first time Yara held the blade herself. Forcing herself not to throw up, Yara looked to Kit. ¡°Was he saying anything in dwarvish, or just speaking in tongues?¡± Kit frowned. ¡°A bit of both I think. From what I understood, he was calling out for a master and¡­ and begging for death.¡± Shivering at that, Yara asked. ¡°So the enchantments are useless? What do we do now?¡± Hesitating, Kit glanced down at the now bloody lantern he still carried. ¡°Whoever attacked us took the time to cripple the defenses. See, the main purpose of the array is to illuminate the cavern during a battle, and even produce false sunlight in a pinch. But that¡¯s been totally wrecked. Vampires don¡¯t have any need for light and wanted to make damn sure no one could use this against them.¡± Yara thought she understood what Kit was saying, but knew her own insight into this sort of things was worse than useless. ¡°Can you fix it?¡± Kit shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not familiar with dwarven magic, but maybe with a few days of work I could; which is not exactly an option.¡± Squatting down next to the main crystal, Kit started to set his lantern down, but hesitated. Multi-hued sparks danced between the two glowing crystals, and Kit sucked in a breath. ¡°I can¡¯t fix it, but I can repurpose it.¡± Placing the lantern atop the array¡¯s locus, Kit fumbled with his bags, pulling out a dozen hair pins like the type he¡¯d given Yara. Examining them, Kit smiled, a wild, desperate expression that entranced and unnerved Yara. Muttering to himself, he said. ¡°The magical array is like a body, and this crystal is the brain. Just because the array is lobotomized doesn¡¯t mean it''s dead! I can¡¯t fix it, but I can give it a new brain. Sure it won¡¯t do what the old one would but¡­¡± Turning to Yara, Kit held out one of the hairpins. ¡°You killed that rat with a single good throw, right? Could you do something like that again?¡± Taking the pin, testing its balance, Yara shrugged. ¡°I think so? I don¡¯t know for certain but I can try.¡± Returning his focus to the array, Kit sucked in a breath. ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡± Book III: Chapter 44: The Ties that Blind

Chapter 44: The Ties that Blind

¡°Nothing good grows in Golgido. Even after all these millennia, the soil there is still sick from Daru¡¯s touch. Any meager plants that find purchase in its red-stained soil are inevitably diseased, malformed things. Yes, you heard me, the ground is still rust-colored in Golgido. Daru the Red earned his epithet for multiple reasons. The Fourth Alukah was a psychotic butcher, even by his kin''s standards, but he was also a master in manipulating blood, particularly the iron in it. But all that blood and wrath wasn¡¯t enough to save him. The holy ones put Daru down at Golgido and the land will never forgive them for that. See, the fact nothing good grows in Golgido is the secondary problem. What really haunts my nightmares is what happens to anything that dies at Golgido.¡± Fire-keeper Ramsar of the Golgido Dakhma
Lying on the cold cavern floor, staring at the duel that would decide her fate, Mina was racked by indecision. The duel between catblood and snakewoman continued, both combatants exchanging blows in a lightning dance Mina could barely track. Despite her injuries and ever worsening blood-loss, Alia held her own, circling about Cleanor, staying in her foe¡¯s blindspot. It was incredible how fast Alia moved, her body reacting to strikes Mina didn¡¯t even notice until they finished. But even with one eye, Cleanor was formidable, leveraging her reach and serpentine flexibility to attack from every angle. The duel was at a stalemate, and Mina knew every second she hesitated the worse things would get for her girlfriend. But even as Mina was torn between love and duty, Alia fought on. Jumping over another sword strike and twisting midair, Alia kicked out, striking the flat of Cleanor¡¯s blade, knocking the flashing scimitar off course and forcing the lamia to retreat from the twin shortswords seeking her flesh. As Alia landed, she rolled to the right, staying in Cleanor¡¯s blindspot while dancing closer. Every time Alia moved, there was an explosive energy to it. Her muscles seemed taut as bowstrings, but worked with incredible precision. Something about the mixture of maniac intensity and unfailing accuracy of Alia¡¯s movements itched at Mina¡¯s brain. The part of the Priestess¡¯s mind not occupied with keeping her spell working suddenly understood what was happening. Alia didn¡¯t just fight like a trained warrior, she fought like a cat. Her reflexes and actions imbued with an almost supernatural agility. A memory flickered past Mina¡¯s eyes then, of lying in bed with a naked Alia, tracing her dark skin and whipcord muscles. Mina¡¯s fingers had found an odd series of indents on Alia¡¯s upper-back, and upon having them touched, Alia spasmed like, well¡­ a startled cat. After a few frantic apologies, Mina soon learned the origin of the scars. Alia¡¯s aunt had bitten her when she¡¯d turned sixteen, sinking werecat fangs into the muscle just below Alia¡¯s nape, right along her spine. That bite had imbued some of the curse of Therianthropy into Alia, granting her powers she now drew upon. While Alia might keep her family name of Cat-eyes, a more accurate epithet might be Cat-spine. As understanding grew in Mina, it bore an unexpected fruit: hope. She¡¯d never seen Alia use her beastblood gifts, at least never to this extent. Maybe, just maybe, with the help of Cole¡¯s concoction, Alia might emerge triumphant without Mina needing to intervene. Laying on the ground, her legs broken and ribs cracked, Mina offered a quiet prayer as she redoubled her efforts to keep the spell binding Isabelle intact. Then, just as the final words of Mina¡¯s prayer left her chapped lips, Alia stumbled. The city-warden¡¯s feet caught on a hidden crag in the rock and her footwork suffered. Alia recovered quickly and started moving backwards, trying to gain some distance. But the stumble and subsequent efforts to stay balanced was all the opportunity Cleanor needed. Uncoiling like a scaled spring, the lamia shot forward, blades ready to slice apart the retreating Alia. As Mina¡¯s heart leapt into her throat, she noticed the small boulder behind Alia, and more importantly the flash of sharp teeth behind a mask of blood. Even stained red and blurred by movement, Mina knew that cocky grin. It was the fierce smile of a triumphant predator and the expression Alia wore whenever a hunt''s conclusion was in sight. City-warden Alia Cat-eyes hadn¡¯t stumbled, she¡¯d feinted. Leaping backwards with explosive force, avoiding the questing tips of Cleanor¡¯s blades, Alia landed on the sloped side of the boulder and pushed off of it. As the snakewoman¡¯s momentum carried her forward, Alia jumped over her and came down on the lamia¡¯s exposed tail. Cleanor twisted, trying to cut Alia from the air, but her own greater mass and strength worked against her. Dodging the swiping scimitars, Alia came down upon the back third of Cleanor¡¯s lower-half. Twin blades punched through scaled flesh. Blood sprayed out as Alia got to her grim work. One shortsword cut, sinking through thick muscle, while the other stabbed, seeking organs and blood vessels. Screaming in fury, Cleanor finally spun about, her body thrashing with pain. Alia rode the snake¡¯s panicked movements, using them to carve deep furrows into her foe. As Cleanor lashed out, Alia pushed off her foe, sailing through the air, her swords leaving a shower of blood in their wake. After landing roughly, Alia rolled to her feet and laughed. ¡°Jagging hells! You really are like a snake! Just as stupid as those jumping vipers we used to hunt!¡± Cleanor¡¯s remaining eye bulged with fury. ¡°Kill you! Kill you! KIIILLLL YOU!¡± Walking slowly towards the lamia, Alia smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I got your liver or one of your kidneys just now, but either way, you''re still fucked. It would be hard enough to survive the poison I put on that quarrel without some internal organs ruptured.¡± Momentarily stunned, Cleanor reached up towards the bolt sticking through her face and in that moment, Alia charged. To Mina¡¯s amazement, the snakewoman tried to flee. A shriek of pain escaped Cleanor, and she collapsed sideways. Blood squirted from the lamia¡¯s flank, where Alia¡¯s blades had torn through muscle. Barely raising her scimitars up in defense, Cleanor caught Alia¡¯s swords, but not the vicious kick aimed at her gut. As the lamia spasmed in pain, Alia slipped past her foe¡¯s guard and struck. With a wet thunk, Cleanor¡¯s head rolled away from her neck. Casually, Alia kicked the severed head, sending it sailing into the dark. With a final contemptuous spit, Alia turned from her foe and shuffled towards Mina. Any joy the priestess might have found in Alia¡¯s victory upon seeing her girlfriend¡¯s condition. Every movement Alia made was labored, her body trembling with the type of exhaustion only found in the wake of a crisis. Reaching Mina, Alia fell to her knees, using one shortsword like a crutch to stop herself from fully collapsing. Eyes flicking from the blade sticking from the rock awfully close by, Mina took in her girlfriend and felt her stomach drop. It wasn¡¯t the godsawful amount of blood covering Alia, or even how her body shook with stress that shocked Mina, it was the look in Alia¡¯s eyes. There was a cold intensity to Alia¡¯s gaze, an expression that made Mina¡¯s heart freeze. She¡¯d never seen Alia look at anyone like that. In fact, Mina had only seen that gaze once before. An old man in her home village wore that expression when he protected his grandchildren from a ghoul that was once his own daughter. Alia was preparing to do something both horrible and necessary. Forcing her lips to form words, Mina asked. ¡°Alia?¡± A pained grunt escaped Alia, and she fell forward, practically collapsing on top of Mina. Panic surged in the priestess and she shakily felt at her partner¡¯s pulse. It was incredibly strong and horribly inconsistent. Her heart was ripping itself apart. Frantically rolling Alia onto her back, Mina stared at the ruin of the city-warden¡¯s scalp and the fresh blood being pumped out by her damaged heart. Half a dozen spells welled up in Mina''s mind. She could stop the bleeding, stabilize Alia¡¯s pulse, and maybe even start reattaching the flaps of skin that had once been her forehead. But she couldn¡¯t do that while keeping Isabelle bound. Staring down at her girlfriend, at the wonderful, silly, and oh so amazing woman dying in front of her, Mina whispered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±
Natalie repeated herself. ¡°How do you know that name?¡± The spectacled vampire stared at her, his refracted eyes wide with shock. Slowly, as if he didn¡¯t trust his vision, the vampire removed his glasses and stared at Natalie. ¡°You¡­ you look so much like her.¡± Gritting her fangs, trying to struggle against the cold, Natalie spat. ¡°How do you know my mother¡¯s name?!¡± Folding his strange lenses, the vampire slowly spoke. ¡°I am Lord Aloysius Wolfgang. In undeath I am a scion of Voivode Igori Gens Suillia. But in life, I was a member of Clan Tyto. Does that mean anything to you?¡± Forcing her frantic mind to calm, Natalie nodded slightly. ¡°You knew my mother?¡± Wolfgang nodded slightly. ¡°She.. she was my niece. I take it Iona is dead?¡± This was too much for Natalie¡¯s rattled mind. It was one thing for a vampire spawn of Igori to be hunting Cole. That made a terrible sort of sense, even if Natalie couldn¡¯t guess how the bastard ambushed them. Mina¡¯s betrayal¡­ or more likely subversion had sent Natalie reeling, but was still conceivable in a way. Wolfgang¡¯s inability to realize she was the Alukah and the depth of her relationship with Cole was insulting but understandable. But the idea of this cold, cruel creature looming over Natalie being¡­ family? That was too much, that defied all reason. After taking a long moment to digest this impossibility the best she could, Natalie felt a surge of disgust and rage join her confusion. ¡°My mother is dead. Another victim in your ilk¡¯s schemes.¡± Wolfgang shut his eyes for what could have been an unusually long blink. ¡°I promised my sister I¡¯d protect her. I failed that, but I can at least save you. Tell me everything you can and I¡¯ll take you back to the Duchies with me. You¡¯ll be free of the insane homunculus and be one of my vassals.¡± A bitter laugh tried to escape Natalie, but her frozen flesh wouldn¡¯t cooperate. The spell Mina cast was powerful, stronger than when it had crippled Isabelle, or perhaps Natalie just couldn¡¯t resist its effects as well. A surge of confused anger welled up in Natalie at the thought of Mina. It seemed like the priestess was under some type of magical control, or at least Natalie prayed that was the case. The idea someone like Mina could be so horribly subverted was disturbing enough, without considering the possibility of true betrayal. Forcing herself not to dwell on that crisis, Natalie focused on the one right in front of her. Yet again she was powerless, isolated and speaking with a monster that thought of her as family. Truly, despite all her efforts, things hadn¡¯t changed. Channeling some of her old rage, Natalie stared up at Wolfgang. ¡°If you couldn¡¯t protect my mother, then why in the infinite hells should I think you could protect me?¡± Natalie was fishing and stalling at the same time. If she could outlast Mina¡¯s spell¡­ or outlast whatever was being done to Mina, then the situation might change. Besides, learning some family history might be useful. In response to her biting words, Wolfgang glanced away, his cool expression cracking the tiniest bit. ¡°Iona fled. She ran away and abandoned all the protections one of her station would be offered.¡± Lip curling in disgust, Natalie snarled. ¡°Station? Is that what you call being a human sacrifice or brood mare? I know what Clan Tyto is, and what my mother escaped.¡± Wolfgang hesitated a moment. ¡°That wasn¡¯t to be Iona¡¯s fate. There is another possibility members of our clan can aspire to. It''s ironic, she ran away from her destiny only for you to claim it instead. Tell me, grandniece, did you inherit even a portion of Iona¡¯s savantism? If you did, then I can ensure a place of power in the Voivode¡¯s court.¡± An old argument between her and Isabelle reared up in Natalie¡¯s head. Isabelle had utterly discounted the idea that Iona had fled becoming a vampire when Natalie raised the notion. As her mind quailed from these growing revelations, Natalie found bleak solace in being correct. Her mother escaped becoming a monster, but Natalie hadn¡¯t. She¡¯d, in fact, become a greater and more terrible monster than her mother could have ever imagined. Then, as a final twist of irony, now when Natalie needed the power her curse provided she couldn¡¯t use it to escape her grand uncle. Natalie decided appearing like a useful opportunity to Wolfgang was the right idea. Somehow, she sensed Wolfgang offering her a place of protected servitude was about as much as his familial loyalty extended. ¡°My name is Natalie, and yes, I inherited my mother¡¯s abilities.¡± Frowning, Wolfgang looked her over. ¡°Natalie¡­ so you are the girl from Glockmire? Of all the places for Iona to hide¡­ Tell me, did you host the Alukah for a time?¡± It was almost funny how Wolfgang refused to see what was right before his eyes. Although, considering Natalie was currently a frozen block of uselessness, it was understandable Wolfgang couldn¡¯t piece all the parts together. Flat on her back, skin blue from the cold and body covered in ash, Natalie didn¡¯t look like a nation-eating monster. Feeling her frozen blood slowly but steadily push against the spell chaining her, Natalie hoped she¡¯d be able to ¡®correct¡¯ Wolfgang¡¯s assessment of her very quickly. ¡°I did, I¡¯m the grandscion of Johan Glockmire, I was the only one who could take the power.¡± Natalie answered. She was probably giving away too much, but keeping Wolfgang distracted seemed a good idea. Better for him to be engrossed in the mystery she represented than hunting after her friends. Cole was fighting for his life against three powerful monsters. Alia was¡­ was missing but also badly wounded, and Mina couldn¡¯t be trusted. As for Kit and Yara, Natalie had no idea, which she hoped was a good sign. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Eyes narrowing, her ¡®grand-uncle,¡¯ frowned. ¡°I can imagine the priests of the Tenth might have methods of removing and sealing away the Alukah. But I find it strange you still live. I¡¯d assume they would simply dispose of you once the Alukah was dealt with. So¡­ I take it the rumors are true, and the homunculus is infatuated with you? I can see no other reason for them to spare you, Natalie.¡± Natalie just shrugged, unwilling to risk Wolfgang detecting an outright lie. Still, Natalie realized what she said was only part of the equation inside her grand-uncle''s mind. Stress and tension practically exuded from Wolfgang. He had already formed his conclusions and was not in a state of mind to easily change them. Part of Natalie felt seriously concerned that her captor was this worried. It seemed unlikely whatever had him this tense would be beneficial for her. But grim practicality meant it was better to exploit Wolfgang¡¯s frayed state than worry about what it implied. Accepting her non-answer as confirmation, Wolfgang continued to work on the problem. ¡°So why did the Priestess call you Isabelle? Is the homunculus just that insane?¡± Glancing in the direction Mina had disappeared, dragged by the lamia, Natalie said. ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask her yourself? If you could get her to betray us, then offering an explanation wouldn¡¯t be hard.¡± Wolfgang dismissed this with a wave. ¡°She might be useful in the future and too much of the geas might¡­¡± He stopped himself and looked down at Natalie. ¡°You really look and sound like Iona.¡± Shaking his head, Wolfgang¡¯s voice became a little colder. ¡°Answer my question, I don¡¯t want to hurt you if I can avoid it.¡± Licking her cold-cracked lips and hating the taste of ash she found there, Natalie asked. ¡°You are here for Cole and the stone right? How did you find us?¡± Instead of answering, Wolfgang drew a knife from his clothes, a long shining stiletto. ¡°Do you care about the homunculus? If he¡¯s kept you as some kind of paramour and replacement, then it would make sense for a young woman like yourself to become emotionally dependent upon him, especially in the wake of all that transpired in Glockmire. I wouldn¡¯t fault you for it. You are young and clearly fragile.¡± Eyeing the knife, sensing something profoundly wrong about the blade, Natalie decided it was time to lie. ¡°He calls me Isabelle, so do the others¡­¡± Wolfgang shook his head slightly, a tiny motion of disgust. ¡°The creature is clearly insane, which might make all of this more difficult.¡± A scream suddenly echoed through the cavern, and Wolfgang whirled about. He clearly recognized the sound¡¯s source, but Natalie didn¡¯t. If she had to guess someone just hurt the lamia badly, the only question was who and how? Pushing at the spell binding her, Natalie gritted her teeth, the magic was still strong. If Mina hadn¡¯t dropped the spell to strike at her captor, then did Kit or Yara do something? In a low, cold monotone, Wolfgang said. ¡°The priestess¡­ I¡¯ll need to deal with her, it seems. I¡¯d thought Cleanor was more than capable of-¡± Natalie cut him off. ¡°You can¡¯t kill her or me. The Sage¡¯s Stone needs both of us to be used. The Lych made damn sure of that.¡± Again, Natalie was probably sharing too much, but if it kept Mina alive, then it would be worth it. Also, she wasn¡¯t the only one letting secrets slip. Wolfgang seemed to be almost thinking out loud, his words carrying far too much information than they needed to. Natalie guessed she had her mother and grandmother to thank for that. Her face and voice seemed to have found a crack in the plague-sowing monster¡¯s composure. As Wolfgang¡¯s eyes settled on Natalie, she tried to keep him distracted and off balance. ¡°What happened to my grandmother, your sister?¡± The tiniest twitch of sadness flicked across Wolfgang¡¯s face. ¡°She¡­ she bore three children and then her blood was used in an important ritual.¡± Anger, righteous and cruel, burned deep in Natalie. Her mother never talked about her own family, and Natalie had assumed she was an orphan until Castle Glockmire. Thinking of her mother¡¯s face, of her smile and laugh, Natalie wondered what her grandmother had been like. Who she¡¯d been and what it must have been like to live such a cruel life. Staring into Wolfgang¡¯s eyes, Natalie slowly said. ¡°The Voivode and his court¡­ they devoured your sister and you still serve them?¡± The first true emotion, not the quickly stifled flickers she¡¯d caught, showed on Wolfgang¡¯s face. Long repressed rage, grief and shame showed in his expression. Now, with their kinship revealed, Natalie knew why Wolfgang looked vaguely familiar. There were hints of her own face in his features, evidence of how well the Voivode bred his favored livestock. Snarling at Natalie, Wolfgang spat. ¡°Do you think I had a choice in the matter? Do you think I want to be shackled to them? No! The ability to choose, to be free is a privilege, and one the powerful hoard for themselves! So do not dare to-¡± Wolfgang shook his head, dispelling his momentary loss of control. ¡°Enough of this. You will return to the Duchies with me. That will settle my debt to Iona and free you from the homunculus.¡± As Wolfgang turned from her, heading towards the scream¡¯s source Natalie sucked in an involuntary breath, and started to push herself off the ground. ¡°My grandmother, what was her name?¡± That struck a nerve. A furious Wolfgang whirled on Natalie. ¡°Be quiet! Do not make me stake your heart!¡± Slowly, Natalie started to stand, her feet shaky, legs numb. Letting out an annoyed hiss, Wolfgang marched up towards Natalie and reached out, ready to break something in her. With fingers like cold iron, Natalie gripped onto Wolfgang¡¯s outstretched wrist and pulled him forward. Her grand-uncle¡¯s eyes widened at the strength in Natalie¡¯s flesh as her power returned. Feeling the cold lethargy fade away like ice melting in the summer sun, Natalie smiled, an expression cruel and predatory like a starving wolf. ¡°I asked you a question, Uncle Wolfgang. What was my grandmother¡¯s name?¡± Staring at his wrist, feeling the bones creak under Natalie¡¯s strength, Wolfgang asked. ¡°How are you doing this? You aren¡¯t even a year embraced? Even without the priestess¡¯s spell- AAAGGGHHH!¡± Natalie squeezed harder, crushing undead flesh and bone in a vice-like grip. Wolfgang tried to pull away, to no avail. He was a young Strix, a creature of spells and secrets, not strength and speed; Natalie was more than Wolfgang¡¯s match in physical power. Seeing the pain and shock on her great-uncle¡¯s face brought forth a surge of emotions in Natalie. Part of her felt pity and even some guilt. Wolfgang was probably the last bit of blood she had in the world, and he¡¯d cared for her mother in his broken way. But whatever sadness she felt at his suffering was drowned out by the waves of wrath building in Natalie. Anyone who¡¯d stand aside and let their own sister be devoured and then serve her killers wasn¡¯t family. Wolfgang might share her features and blood, but he¡¯d hurt those she cared about. Natalie would make sure his bones were buried properly. That was all she owed him. Just as Natalie¡¯s power returned, so did the cruelty of her nature. After her terrible period of helplessness and confusion, Natalie was intoxicated by the dark strength flowing through her. Dimly, Natalie knew her curse was reacting to the temptation Wolfgang represented. The Alukah¡¯s hunger whispered to Natalie, a new thirst joining her ever present bloodlust. It would be so easy to sink her fangs into Wolfgang, to take a key step in avenging her family, and claim his power. Memories of a willow tree flashed in Natalie¡¯s eyes, and she shut her mouth with a click. She¡¯d not even realized her jaw was open, or how close she¡¯d pulled herself to the stunned Wolfgang. Pushing down the cannibalistic desires, Natalie grounded herself with old-fashioned rage. ¡°What was your sister¡¯s name? Do you even still remember? My mother, did you ever look for her? Try to help her?¡± Wolfgang¡¯s wrist was visibly contorting under Natalie¡¯s grip. ¡°What are you?¡± Reaching out, Natalie wrapped fingers around Wolfgang¡¯s neck and hoisted him into the air. ¡°I see Isabelle¡¯s estimate was correct. You are just a conveying little plagiarist. Smart enough to steal another¡¯s work but not figure out an obvious truth. All the pieces are in front of you, Uncle, and yet you can¡¯t complete the jagging puzzle.¡± Wolfgang¡¯s free hand shot to one of his knives, Natalie let go of his ruined hand and stopped him from plunging the blade into her flesh. It wasn¡¯t the shining stiletto of before, but a dwarven chisel-dagger. Suddenly, an invisible giant¡¯s fist slammed into Natalie, sending her hurtling backwards. Skidding along the ground, Natalie reclaimed her balance and came to a halt. Bits of skin and muscle were clutched in either of her hands, torn free from Wolfgang. Staring up at him, she saw her grand-uncle on one knee, black blood covering much of his throat. Quickly dropping the rapidly disintegrating tissue she¡¯d pulled off him, Natalie frowned. Isabelle¡¯s warning rang in her ears. She needed to beat Wolfgang without getting her hands dirty, literally. Cautiously, Wolfgang got to his feet, trying to hold his knife and put on his spectacles with his working hand. Natalie plucked her shortsword off the ground and called up a quartet of wolves to flank her. She guessed the chisel-dagger Wolfgang held was connected to the phantom force he¡¯d used against her. Removing that knife, and preferably the hand holding it, was Natalie¡¯s next step. Finally getting his glasses in place, Wolfgang hurriedly fiddled with their rune-touched sides. Natalie could see his eyes widen in utter horror at whatever he saw in the compound lenses. Vampires seemed to have a hard time identifying what she was straight away, her youth and original bloodline camouflaging the Alukah¡¯s potency. The glasses were clearly a magical trinket of some kind and Wolfgang finally used them to look past his assumptions. In a croaking voice, Wolfgang gurgled. ¡°Are they mad?! Why would the Tenth let you walk free? Don¡¯t they know what you can do?¡± Slowly approaching Wolfgang, her blade shining in the stark light of Kit¡¯s false-sun, Natalie snarled. ¡°Oh, they know, and you are about to find out, Uncle.¡±
Mina shut her eyes in abject despair. She¡¯d failed her duty and only prolonged the inevitable. But staring down at the unconscious Alia in her arms, Mina knew she couldn¡¯t have made any other choice. The worst of Alia¡¯s wounds were shut, and her heart was beating normally. It would take a more talented healer than Mina to fix her scalp, but at least it wasn¡¯t dangling by a few pieces of skin anymore. Unable to move and having spent all of her remaining power healing Alia, Mina teetered on the edge of collapse. Any moment now Isabelle would finish with whatever was distracting her and come take Mina¡¯s head. In saving Alia, all the priestess had done was buy a few moments for her girlfriend and potentially damn the entire continent to an era of bloodshed. Yet looking down at Alia¡¯s haggard and blood-stained face, Mina knew she couldn¡¯t have made any other choice. Glancing toward the raging battle, Mina¡¯s shoulders slump. Even if Cole emerged victorious against three different monsters, he¡¯d fall before Isabelle. Mina still didn¡¯t know the entire story of that twisted romance but feared for what it might portend. Something about her fellow servant of Death had always disturbed Mina. There were too many mysteries surrounding Cole, and most of them seemed to trace to the vampire¡¯s darkest secrets. Normally Mina would never doubt her God¡¯s judgment in picking Cole, but after her own failure¡­ well, Mina¡¯s faith in Master Time¡¯s ability to select worthy servants was shaken. While Mina doubted Cole would ever consent to Natalie being truly supplanted by his older love, an ancient vampire with the Alukah¡¯s strength could twist the paladin¡¯s mind. Perhaps the reborn Isabelle would arrive at any moment, with Cole at her side, having completely forgotten about Natalie and even the rest of his friends. The sensation of cold steel against her neck pulled Mina from her bleak prognostications. A dagger¡¯s edge sat on Mina¡¯s throat, the hand holding it looping up and behind her. Stunned at how she¡¯d been ambushed, Mina mentally kicked herself for wallowing in angst. Even if she and everyone else were doomed, that didn¡¯t mean it was her right to meekly accept that fate. A voice from behind her spoke, its tone familiar and tense with a rebuke. ¡°No! Don¡¯t kill her!¡± Another slightly less familiar voice growled. ¡°Why not?!¡± Tentatively, Mina asked. ¡°Kit? Yara?¡± Neither responded directly, Kit just quickly said. ¡°We might need a healer if any of us survive this.¡± The knife at Mina¡¯s throat pulled back slightly, and Yara muttered. ¡°Fine. Do you think this will work?¡± Mina suddenly found fingers calloused from violin practice, maneuvering a thin piece of metal into her hand. ¡°Hold on to this if you don¡¯t want to die.¡± Confused and exhausted, Mina complied and watched as Yara finally came into view, or at least sort of did. Mina¡¯s eyes kept slipping off the thrall, her mind groping at the image in front of her, and failing to find purchase. It was a subtlety enchantment and a potent one, considering Mina knew of Yara¡¯s presence but still couldn¡¯t focus on her. Instead of trying to watch Yara, Mina looked at Alia and saw Kit pressing something into her limp fingers. It was a hairpin, the cheap quartz-tipped tip favored for their durability and simplicity. Kit made a strange humming noise then, his lips whistling and buzzing at the same time. Instantly, a wave of disorientation and vertigo smashed into Mina. Her body felt strange and nausea rocked her stomach. Kit wrapped his arm around her torso and pulled. Mina expected terrible pain, being dragged over uneven ground with broken bones would not be fun. To her shock, she instead floated up into the air, her vertigo increasing by the second. Right next to Mina, Alia also floated up, pulled along by Yara¡¯s slippery presence. It was a surreal experience, being moved through the air as if it was water. Kit had clearly reduced Mina and Alia¡¯s gravity, making them practically buoyant. Soon they approached the central tower, heading for one of its open doors. Managing to speak without being sick, Mina asked. ¡°How did you escape them?¡± Not looking at her, Kit kept moving. ¡°Better if you don¡¯t know.¡± A sudden terrible thought occurred to Mina. Yara was Natalie¡¯s thrall and easily subverted by a powerful vampire. Her ¡®conversion¡¯ from Dietrich¡¯s service proved that much. While Kit¡¯s mentor was an ancient undead horror with some kind of connection to Isabelle. This might not be a rescue, but a mere movement of prisoners. Tensing, Mina put some iron into her voice, an impressive achievement considering her body was limp and broken. ¡°Kit, how did you slip past the leeches when they attacked the rest of us?¡± Grunting in annoyance, Kit pulled Mina harder, moving them both towards the doorway. Bracing herself, Mina brought her hand holding the hairpin up to Kit¡¯s side. ¡°Tell me, or I put this in your liver.¡± From nearby, Yara hissed. ¡°I told you we should have just killed her!¡± Kit shot a glare at where Yara might be standing and snapped. ¡°Please don¡¯t agitate our compromised friend while she¡¯s holding my organs hostage.¡± Clicking his tongue, Kit quickly said. ¡°I strengthened Yara¡¯s innate subtlety magic when everything went to the hells. Considering neither of us are much use in a straight fight, it seemed a good idea to hide and use our gifts in other ways. Now please let me get us into cover! We can talk more when our illusion of safety is more certain.¡± Not moving the needle pressed against Kit¡¯s side, Mina asked. ¡°What did you mean when you said I was compromised?¡± Kit winced, an expression she doubted had much to do with his imperiled liver. ¡°How about this? You tell me what you think happened during the ambush and I keep moving us towards somewhere less exposed. Then once there, you can continue to threaten me while we¡¯re better concealed.¡± A flash of white and green fire from nearby made Mina hesitate. Cleanor the Lamia might be dealt with, but she was far from the only monster attacking them. ¡°Fine.¡± Book III: Chapter 45: Cold Dead Hands

Chapter 45: Cold Dead Hands

¡°In those early days of the Rector Rubrum, there were many such as I in service to the Archduke. Angry, stupid young vampires forged in the Bloody Centuries and eager to claim lands and territory. Many of my ilk died, more often to rivals than any righteous mortal or other ¡®proper¡¯ threat. But some of us triumphed and became the founders of what you now call the Blood Duchies. As I was a little wiser than most of my fellows, I didn¡¯t set out to conquer a city or enslave a mighty tribe, instead I sought an easier place of dominion. I found it in an abandoned castrum and the desperate wretches nesting in it. To my surprise, the mortals greeted me openly and eagerly. They said my coming was foretold by the mountains, and I were chosen by their god as their protectors. At the time I thought this was strange, but in my arrogance dismissed the implications. Now I wish I¡¯d been more ambitious and never settled for the valley that would eventually bear my name.¡± - personal journal of Lord Johan Glockmire.
Cole was no stranger to combat. He¡¯d been fighting his entire life and become something of a self-taught expert on many elements of battle. So he knew better than most what factors helped decide a fight in the favor of one side or another. Skill, both magical and martial, is important, as is knowledge of the foe and local environment. But the simplest and most obvious predictor of a battle¡¯s outcome was who had the advantage of numbers. Of course, monumental imbalances of power could more than compensate for this disparity. The ill-fated riot Natalie tried to stop, and Cole¡¯s own experiences fighting Eternal Soldiers spoke to that. But when two forces of roughly equal potency match, the one with more swords almost always wins. This ugly truth itched at the back of Cole¡¯s mind, reminding him of the precariousness of his situation as he stared at the three monsters preparing to kill him. Forcing down a lungful of damp cave air, Cole eyed his opponents. Marcus was the least dangerous for now. His severed arm was barely ¡®welded¡¯ back in place, and Cole could see straight through the Dullahan¡¯s armor in some places. But the headless hunter was still a formidable foe and would not break easily. Tallclaw paced back and forth, his hulking body almost vibrating with barely constrained energy. This chimeric form the strigoi wore reminded Cole of Petar the Feeder and his minions. But where the vampires of Glockmire were ignorant usurpers over-using a power they didn¡¯t understand, Tallclaw was a centuries old killer of a particularly brutal bloodline. Those of House Narfin mixed features from animals they killed with an ease and creativity that set them apart from their fellow strigoi. But in terms of strangeness, Tallclaw¡¯s vampiric lineage couldn¡¯t compare to Shorttooth¡¯s. Cole stared at the squat dwarf, watching his skin writhe; while all around the paladin, dark shapes skittered and skulked, beady eyes peering out from cracks in the rock. It took a talented strigoi to swarm-shift and if Cole¡¯s recollections were accurate, then Shorttooth practiced a technique even more difficult and vile than that. Well, at least he now knew where the rat Yara spotted came from. Feeling the last flickers of pain from Tallclaw¡¯s blow fade beneath the numbing cold, Cole asked. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Shorttooth shrugged, stroking his oily beard as he did. ¡°Paladins are a-a rare treat. My war-brother and I-I want to savor killing y-you. Especially since w-we were otherwise oc-occupied back at Thoam. Also, considering t-the jaws of Wolfgang¡¯s second tr-trap have finished closing, sta-stalling you some seemed a go-good idea. Tell me, who is the fle-fledgling? E-eh it doesn¡¯t mat-matter, Wolfgang will find out for u-us.¡± Cole exploded forward, his halberd glowing with holy light, but he wasn¡¯t the only one to move. Tallclaw shot towards Cole, his warform a cyclone of sharp claws and poisoned stingers. Ducking beneath a troll arm capped with a bear¡¯s paw, Cole lashed out with Requiem, cutting into thick hide and thicker muscle. A stain of frostbite seeped through Tallclaw¡¯s flesh, spreading from the gash Cole put in his side. As the Narfin Strigoi pulled away from Cole, the creature tore at the ¡®infected¡¯ tissue, ripping a piece of itself away and casting it at Cole. Dodging the gobbet of rapidly dissolving flesh, Cole caught the barest hint of exposed ribs on Tallclaw¡¯s wounded side before sheets of congealed black blood covered the injury. Now standing too close to a crack in the rock, Cole was forced to spin away as a dozen snapping rats lunged out for him. A few of the bolder vermin latched onto his armor where they quickly froze. Desperately knocking away some of the more persistent rats trying to fit through gaps in his armor, Cole barely countered a gout of green fire surging towards him. Red and green flames clashed, swirling about the paladin and incinerating some of the surrounding rats. The moment the flames faded Cole rolled to the right, escaping a boulder-pulping blow from Tallclaw. To Cole¡¯s horror and disgust half a dozen worm-tailed forms latched onto him the moment he touched the ground. Cursing under his breath, Cole came to his feet and barely avoided the spiked ¡®wings¡¯ that sprouted from Tallclaw¡¯s back. Marcus¡¯s longsword came down then, taking advantage of Cole¡¯s split attention and striking his pauldron and scoring the metal. Thankfully, the Dullahan could only use his off-hand and the blow merely knocked Cole off balance instead of taking his arm. Lashing out wildly with Requiem¡¯s butt, Cole felt a mix of fear and desperation rise within him. This wasn¡¯t a fight he could win. At best he might deny his enemies victory for a time. But this second trap Shorttooth spoke of bowed ill. A terrible weight in Cole¡¯s chest told him he couldn¡¯t delay until help arrived. No, his friends were probably trying that already, desperately hoping for him to come to their aid. Working to regain his balance, Cole kicked out at the rats trying to trip him up. There seemed to be a constant trickle of the vermin, never enough to overwhelm Cole, but enough to harass him. Frantically trying to clear some space, Cole let a tongue of fire swirl around him, catching a few of the slower rodents, who were quickly replaced by more of their kind. Capitalizing on Cole¡¯s distraction, Tallclaw struck, his paws ready to tear the paladin apart. Twisting away from the strike, Cole forced more power into his flesh and armor, willing both meat and metal to hold. Just the tips of Tallclaw¡¯s namesake touched Cole and hakon steel tore. Yanked to the left Cole stumbled and fell, rats quickly gnawing on any unarmored parts of him even as they froze. Before Cole could muster his power to drive off the swarm, a flash of green fire washed over him. Steam boiled off of Cole as his icy plate weathered the onslaught. Forcing himself to stand, Cole pushed through the emerald flame, his numb flesh barely acknowledging the new burns decorating it. Marcus¡¯s attack had seared him, but more importantly, consumed the rats and forced Tallclaw to pull back. Cole did not know if some remnant of Marcus''s will orchestrated the ill-timed attack as an act of resistance, or if the Dullahan¡¯s desire to burn triumphed over tactical reasoning; either way, the paladin was grateful. Blinking away frozen sweat and flakes of burnt skin, Cole prepared to counter-attack. His fights with the wyvern and dire bear spoke to needing tools for fighting larger foes. It wasn¡¯t enough to simply hack away at some giant monster while the Cold of Entropy did its work, other faster methods were necessary. So now with a little space between himself and the two strigoi, Cole prepared his solution to this problem. Sucking in a breath, infusing it with holy power, Cole modified one of the earliest ways he¡¯d used his mantle. Exhaling part of his soul transformed into a killing fog had long been Cole¡¯s winning move. In the wake of Glockmire, he¡¯d been forced to realize it was costly and wasteful. It was better to strengthen his body and enchant his weapon than unleash that sort of attack. But after a few discussions with Mina and Kit, Cole found several improvements he could make to his frozen breath. Why spend so much energy creating a wave of entropy-blessed frost when mundane cold worse than any arctic blizzard might have a similar effect? Now, as he breathed out a bank of sparkling mist, Cole showed those modifications in full force. The fog flowed from him, carried forward by an unfelt breeze, light glinting off the countless ice crystals suspended in the spell. Instead of practically vomiting up half his soul as a cloud of unstoppable death, now Cole merely exhaled a splinter of his essence, letting it diffuse into the Aether and bring with it a God¡¯s wrath. Wherever the frozen breath fell, rats died. The first few ignorantly skittered into the cloud and freezing to death mid-stride. Others turned to flee, the luckier ones merely losing limbs or tails, the frost-kissed flesh snapping off like thin icicles. But in the center of the dying swarm was Cole''s main target, Tallclaw, and he was no stranger to dangerous magic. Leaping to the side with simian dexterity, Tallclaw circumvented the cloud and came at Cole from the side, ready to catch the paladin in the wake of his spell. Cole expected this and braced Requiem against the floor, ready to take his foe¡¯s charge. Right as Tallclaw pounced, Cole exhaled for a second time and unleashed the other half of his spell. This time, his breath had no time to disperse and become a rolling cloud. This time it struck Tallclaw cleanly as a wall of holy cold. The strigoi¡¯s scything claws and stabbing spines did not close in upon Cole as the monster intended, the muscles controlling those limbs froze and cracked impossibly quick. Instead of crashing into Cole and ripping him apart with lashing limbs and hungry jaws, Tallclaw impaled himself right on the halberd¡¯s point. With a wet crunch, Requiem punched through Tallclaw, the speartip and axehead burying themselves in frozen flesh. Hands numb from the impact, Cole stared up at the snarling mandibles an arm¡¯s length from his face. The strigoi¡¯s split jaws tried to snap at Cole, but flash frozen flesh merely twitched as the killing cold sunk deeper into Tallclaw. With a mighty heave Cole shoved on Requiem knocking the looming monster back, its legs cracking as it collapsed onto the ground. After a few tugs, Cole pulled his halberd free from the frozen strigoi¡¯s chest cavity and brought its killing edge down upon the monster''s skull. Bone rendered brittle by the cold splintered and Cole¡¯s axehead sank clean through Tallclaw¡¯s head, only stopping when it reached the warform¡¯s thick neck. Panting heavily, Cole stared down at the pieces of bisected skull before him. After sparing a moment he really didn¡¯t have, Cole swore. ¡°Fuck.¡± Tallclaw hadn¡¯t dissolved into a mound of ash, and bone like Cole hoped. Instead, the strigoi¡¯s frozen body lay there mostly intact. Reaching out with his magical senses Cole could see faint wisps of emotion bubbling off Tallclaw. Despite taking the full force of Cole¡¯s ice magic and two killing blows, the strigoi persisted. Cole wagered he might be able to hack through the frostbitten husk of Tallclaw¡¯s warform and destroy his foe¡¯s proper body, but that would take many minutes of grim work and he needed to spend that time elsewhere. Bitterly, Cole turned from his enemy, knowing it was a mistake, but also understanding he needed to capitalize on this opportunity quickly. Tallclaw was incapacitated; Marcus and Shorttooth were not. Stalking away from his frozen foe, Cole moved through the sight of his first breath. Banks of cold fog still hung in the air, mundane side-effects of the supernatural frost Cole unleashed. The craggy ground was littered with frozen corpses, probably close to a hundred rats all caught in the fog. Cole absently noted the cracks and crevices many of the rats had tried to flee into were clogged with corpses. Some trying to enter the places of perceived safety, others trying to flee the frost that followed them into their boltholes. Cold air sinks, that''s a simple fact, and one Cole used to his advantage, flooding the crude warrens with murderous temperatures. Ignoring the almost-arctic air thanks to his powers, Cole kept moving forward. Kicking one of the closer rats, one that hadn¡¯t tried to flee or didn¡¯t have the time to. It exploded into a slurry of frozen ash and icy gunk. Repeating this test with another rat, this one near a burrow, Cole watched its broken but reasonably intact body sail away. Crude as his method was, it told Cole much about Shorttooth. A strigoi capable of summoning vermin or turning into them was already a tricky prospect, but those of House Tartuat like Thorm Shorttooth could do something far worse; they could combine the two techniques. Cole knew this when this fight started, but not what it truly entailed, now he had a better idea. Shorttooth squatted atop one of the aardigs, or at least its frozen corpse. This had been the last in the convoy and the farthest from Masga¡¯s shield. Cole didn¡¯t know how the beast became isolated, but he hoped his cold killed it quickly. It seemed the canny strigoi avoided Cole¡¯s breath by clambering atop the aardig, using it like a man might a boulder in a flood. In front of the dead beast was Marcus, a ring of scorched rock marking where he¡¯d pushed back the frost. The Dullahan leveled his sword at Cole, and the paladin nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the delay, you¡¯ll be free soon.¡± Charging forward, Cole brought his halberd down in an overhead strike. Marcus dodged to the right and lunged forward with his own blade. Using his advantage of reach, Cole avoided the blow before shifting Requiem''s momentum to cut at Marcus¡¯s feet. Movement from Shorttooth pulled at Cole¡¯s attention as Marcus parried. Sending a gout of flames towards the Dullahan, Cole refocused on the strigoi and realized Throm¡¯s hands were pressed into the aardig¡¯s flesh. But the silent strigoi wasn¡¯t what caught Cole¡¯s eye; the aardig was moving. A spasm worked along the beast''s flank and Cole tried to understand what benefit reanimating the aardig might provide. The creature twitched, its squat bulk rocking while Thorm muttered oily words as his fingers sunk into dead flesh. Moving towards the aardig, Cole kept a constant stream of flames in Marcus¡¯s direction, hoping to delay the Dullahan. Striking out with Requiem, Cole tried to disrupt whatever magic Thorm worked. The blow was wild, guided only by one arm as Cole kept the flames flowing. Thorn didn¡¯t need to so much dodge as lean back slightly to avoid tasting enchanted steel. Still, the halberd¡¯s axehead bit into the aardig¡¯s flank, cutting through cold-toughened flesh and splitting the beast''s side open. Thorm smiled, yellow teeth a cruel crescent in his oily beard. ¡°Thanks for that.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Cole expected frostbitten innards or dark frozen blood to pour from the aardig, and either disgusting option would have been preferable to what came in their stead. Rats, hundreds of fat black rats spilled from the wound, a chittering tide of sharp teeth and dark fur. Cursing, Cole turned his flames upon the rodents but it wasn¡¯t enough. They swarmed over him, scrabbling for soft flesh to sink their fangs into. A surge of panic welled up in Cole as he felt one of the rats try and squeeze through the tears Tallclaw put in his breastplate. Flailing about, Cole struck with his halberd, and flames to little effect. Of all his weapons the cold still filling worked best. It killed each rat touching him in seconds, but every rodent was replaced by two more, gnawing through their dead kin to reach Cole. Before the Paladin could call up another frozen breath or do something more drastic, fire smashed into him. Cole roared in pain as emerald flames burned his skin. Incinerated rats fell from his armor as holy cold and cursed fire dueled for his flesh. Frantically trying to knock away the half-burned, half-frozen rats clinging to his helmet and face, Cole took a furious strike to the chest. The blow took him right where his sternum ended and sunk through his damaged armor. Hot metal sank into Cole¡¯s flesh, catching on his ribs and thankfully going no further. Knocked backwards, Cole felt Marcus¡¯s sword slip free from his skin as he landed on his back. Desperately, Cole used the hot blood dripping from his chest to power a surge of fire; but it wasn¡¯t enough. Marcus knew where he lay, a smoke screen would be no use. Armored fingers shot through Cole¡¯s wall of fire and closed upon his hand. Green fire surged from the gaps in Marcus¡¯s gauntlet, choking Cole¡¯s flames while the Dullahan squeezed. The pain took some time to arrive, but it eventually did, as Cole¡¯s hand was slowly crushed by his foe¡¯s adamant grip. Cole tried to reinforce his hand, but Marcus was strong, and his grip certain. Feeling one of his knuckle bones crack, Cole shortened Requiem into an axe and swung it with his free hand. Marcus didn¡¯t even bother to stop the clumsy strike, letting it bury in his armor¡¯s side and stop there. Marcus¡¯s other hand gripped Requiem¡¯s axe head, trapping the weapon while he continued to crush Cole¡¯s fingers. Clenching his jaw, trying to keep the scream building inside of him contained, Cole focused on the hourglass symbol on his helmet. Silver light shone dimly, and Marcus pushed through whatever discomfort it brought him. The terrible pain of having his hand slowly crushed weakened Cole, disrupting his concentration. While most forms of agony were old friends of Cole''s, even he couldn¡¯t block out what was happening to him. His palm was stuck between the metal of his gauntlet and his sparkstone; proving the idiom ¡®between a rock and a hard place¡¯ horribly accurate. Through all this, the rats scurried about, staring at Cole with hungry eyes, but they didn¡¯t come any closer, fearing Marcus¡¯s flames. A small mercy, but probably the only Cole could expect at the moment. Those same flames licked at Cole, but found little purchase. The power within him was still strong and while he¡¯d have serious burns if he survived this, Cole¡¯s mantle kept his flesh reasonably intact. A strange mix of fog and steam flowed from Cole¡¯s armor as he tried to find a way out. Releasing another freezing breath seemed the obvious option but the debilitating pain sapping Cole¡¯s focus and Marcus¡¯s resistance to the cold presented serious challenges. An audible crack from Cole¡¯s hand filled the cavern and the scream he¡¯d been keeping caged finally escaped. Something, or more likely many things, in the paladin¡¯s hand had just broke. Marcus¡¯s grip tightened even further as Cole¡¯s hand took on a new shape. Staring up at the Dullahan, Cole saw the face of Pankrator Marcus appear in the flames. In a voice like crackling fire the Dullahan spoke. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Forcing his scream to end, Cole rasped. ¡°So am I.¡± He didn¡¯t have any other options, Cole needed to unleash a blast of holy power, converting his entire soul into a storm of divine wrath. The act would kill him, and Marcus, but leave Cole helpless as the battle continued around him. Hating his weakness and failures, Cole pulled on his power, preparing one last miracle as he looked into the dark voids where Marcus¡¯s eyes should be. Then something flew through the air and right into the flames of Marcus¡¯s face. The fire barely parted and whatever it was, it traveled down the Dullahan¡¯s open neck and landed somewhere with a clank. Then the horrible weight of Marcus lessened and the Dullahan¡¯s expression became one of shock. The hand holding Requiem in place shot out towards the ground near Cole¡¯s head. Instead of crushing the paladin¡¯s skull or otherwise attacking him, Marcus merely gripped the ground with incredible strength. Unwilling to waste this opportunity, Cole brought his axe in close and swung it at Marcus¡¯s wrist. Frantically, Cole hacked at the armor and bone connecting the Dullahan¡¯s hand to his own. As the paladin worked madly, Marcus twisted and thrashed, his movements erratic and pointless. With a final crunch Cole cut off Marcus¡¯s hand and freed his own mauled digits from this foe¡¯s grip. Marcus pulled away then, his arm and body retreating from Cole. Rolling along the ground, Cole came to his feet and stared at Marcus with shock. Marcus wasn¡¯t pulling away from Cole, he was being pulled up, up into empty air. Staring at this bizarre sight, Cole tried to force some sense into it. Marcus looked like he was doing a handstand, his legs dangling in the air, kicking frantically like a scared swimmer. The ground where Marcus¡¯s hand gripped cracked, and the Dullahan drifted upwards. Suspended mid air, the former pankrator thrashed and spun, slowly ascending like a soap bubble. A noise half between a laugh and a cough escaped Cole as he finally understood what was happening. ¡°Kit, you are incredible!¡±
Hand still outstretched from when she¡¯d thrown the enchanted hairpin like a dart, Yara couldn¡¯t believe what she was seeing. There were multiple levels to her disbelief. First was the fact she¡¯d actually aimed correctly and got the makeshift dart to strike the Dullahan. Second was that no one, not even Cole, noticed her standing maybe five meters from the insane battle. Third and most importantly was that Kit¡¯s spell worked exactly as he said it would. After dragging Mina and Alia into the guard tower, they¡¯d given up on explaining what had happened to the priestess. She refused to believe Kit¡¯s explanation of events and denied having any memory of betraying them. Despite having both her legs broken and being near-delirious from pain the priestess had tried to attack Kit, claiming he¡¯d been subverted by Isabelle. Before Yara could settle the problem of the traitor once and for all, Kit simply increased how much Mina weighed, trapping her. At Kit¡¯s insistence, Yara bound and gagged the furious Mina instead of cutting her throat. The mad priestess had betrayed Yara¡¯s mistress; there would need to be consequences for that, but Natalie could decide them later¡­ if there was a later. Aside from securing one ally and another ¡®ally¡¯ the rescue had proved Kit¡¯s magic worked. He¡¯d repaired, or at least repurposed, the magical array inside the tower. Yara didn¡¯t understand the minutiae involved, only that Kit could now manipulate the gravity of anything touching one of the hairpins. He¡¯d also kept her strengthened subtlety spell working without touching her, something Yara was thankful for. So with Kit¡¯s part done, matters fell to the thrall. Holding half a dozen of the enchanted hairpins she¡¯d left the tower and approached the furious battle between Paladin and Dullahan. Except, by the time she arrived, the Dullahan wasn¡¯t alone and Cole was in serious trouble. She¡¯d hesitated upon seeing the flesh-beast and rat dwarf, and considered trying to find Natalie. That indecision actually saved Yara¡¯s life, as Cole unleashed his killing cold right then. If she¡¯d rushed to his aid, then she¡¯d have been caught in the frost like all those rats. The lesson wasn¡¯t lost on Yara and she waited patiently, preparing her moment to strike. It came soon enough, and she tossed the hairpin right into the Dullahan¡¯s neck. As the headless hunter floated away from Cole, Yara marveled at how easy the throw had been. She¡¯d never played darts before and tossing rocks at mice in the cellar or barn back in Glockmire was about her experience in the matter. Yara assumed the rat she smashed was a fluke aided by those childhood acts of pest control. Now, as she danced the next dart through her fingers with unfamiliar dexterity, Yara wasn¡¯t so certain. Muttering to herself, she whispered the word that seemed responsible for this strangeness. ¡°Ancilla¡±
Cole didn¡¯t know how Kit managed to hex Marcus like that, and right now, he didn¡¯t particularly care. All that mattered was exploiting the opening and killing Shorttooth before either Tallclaw or Marcus became threats again. This, of course, was much easier said than done. Unwilling to risk interrupting whatever magic was at work with the Dullahan, Cole stalked past the floating undead and took stock of his situation. His right hand was in tatters. The metal of his gauntlet was actually pressed into his flesh at multiple points. But somewhat more important than that was the bits of broken stone falling away from the mass of broken skin and muscle that had once been Cole¡¯s palm. The sparkstone was shattered, the enchanted trinket now little more than bloody gravel. Taking a moment, Cole dug the worst bits of rock and metal out of his flesh and then after a moment''s hesitation ¡®set¡¯ the bones in his hand. ¡°JAGGED HELL!¡± he spat as his hand took on a slightly more familiar shape. Glancing at his trembling fingers, Cole willed preserving cold into the ruined flesh. The pain subsided slightly, and he managed to squeeze his hand around Requiem''s haft. It felt like his hand was trapped in a wet, stiff mitten sized for a child. Which, considering he¡¯d experienced a crippling injury, was the best Cole could hope. He next found the shattered remnants of Marcus¡¯s sword on the ground nearby, the metal unable to handle the constant flux between extreme heat and cold. Feeling the comforting weight of Requiem in his hands, Cole was once again appreciative of the weapon''s unknown maker. It also suffered from the fight, but much like both his lovers, it healed with some offered blood. Marcus¡¯s blade hadn¡¯t been so well made, having probably cracked in that final strike and sparring Cole from being impaled during the ill-fated grapple. Cole didn¡¯t think for a second this bit of luck was happenstance; it was a coincidence, and Cole knew who ruled over those. Weapon at the ready, Cole faced the next threat. Rats scurried about, unwilling to get close, clearly wary of another icy breath or similar surprise. Shorttooth still stood atop the ruptured aardig, a snarl on his face. Injured as Cole was, the strigoi didn¡¯t seem to like his odds of a straight duel with a paladin. Meeting the beady red eyes of Thorm Shorttooth, Cole roared. ¡°MAGNI! MORTAE! MUNDUS!¡± Charging forward, Cole quickly closed the distance between him and Shorttooth. The rats swarmed towards him, a chittering mass of black fur and hungry mouths. Ignoring his wounds, Cole poured power into his weapon, coating Requiem¡¯s head in killing cold. Sweeping out ahead of him, the Paladin scythed through the closest rats, sharp steel and icy fog reaping a grim toll. But still the rats came onwards; leaping from the cave floor, trying to find purchase on the charging Paladin. Cole ignored the vermin, letting them freeze and die in droves as he launched himself towards Shorttooth. Leaping up, bringing Requiem around, Cole met the strigoi¡¯s eyes and felt a surge of panic. The fear he¡¯d seen there before was gone, replaced by dry amusement. Unable to change direction, Cole gritted his teeth and swung Requiem with the grim certainty he¡¯d fallen for a trap. The axehead sliced through the air and cut Shorttooth¡¯s head clean from his shoulders. The head still smiled as it sailed away, even winking at Cole before falling from sight. Landing atop the aardig, Cole wasted no time and brought Requiem down again, trying to split the dwarf strigoi¡¯s body. The strike was clean but not perfect, and Cole tore Thorm from collarbone to crotch. Frowning as the headless body collapsed backwards, Cole¡¯s trepidation only grew. He¡¯d cut through lots of bodies and¡­ and Thorm¡¯s hadn¡¯t felt right. The flesh gave way too easily once he got past the outer layer of muscle and bone. Disgusting as it was to admit, internal organs, even those of a vampire, had a distinct¡­ texture when cut, a texture Thorm¡¯s body completely lacked. Knowing what he¡¯d find, Cole poked the split open husk with his halberd¡¯s butt. A half frozen rat wriggled free from the flesh, followed by more of its fell ilk. Thorm was hollow, his torso a plaster cast of dead flesh surrounding a rat¡¯s nest. Even now some of the vermin fled their ruined home, surging up through the cut Cole put in Thorm, reminding the paladin of hornets fleeing a broken hive. Bringing an armored boot down on Thorm¡¯s chest, Cole crushed the body and rodents inside of it. These rats died like they should, rapidly freezing blood splattering Cole¡¯s sabaton. As the husk fell apart into grey sludge, Cole looked down at the sagging aardig corpse he stood upon. ¡°Fuck¡± Leaping from the aardig, Cole found the frost and fire scorched battlefield absent of rats, a sight that only made him more worried. Marcus was now three meters in the air, still thrashing uselessly, and the frozen bulk of Tallclaw remained where Cole left it. Glancing back at the hollowed out aardig, Cole now had a better idea of what twisted power vampires of House Tartuat used. Thorm Shorttooth hosted a colony of mutant rats inside of him, creatures fed and altered by his power but still technically alive. By combining his control of vermin and ability to turn into them, Shorttooth could infect these rats with¡­with himself. He was a parasite inside each of them, exploiting the explosive breeding of vermin to spread his essence wide and far. A normal female rat could spawn a dozen offspring in a month, and the female half of that brood would be fertile in about the same time. But judging by what happened with the aardig, normal rules of reproduction weren¡¯t applicable here. There were ways to speed up growth magically, or even clone a creature in minutes, but the usual result was a malformed horror with a lifespan measured in days. That¡­that was if you were using the rules of living flesh, not undeath. Shorttooth didn¡¯t need to grow a ¡®working¡¯ rat, merely a husk that his power could puppeteer effectively. This explained the difference in the rats Cole killed. Some were ¡®actual¡¯ vermin with living organs and tissue only controlled by the strigoi. Others were just husks of fur and muscle held together by a vampire¡¯s power. But these husk rats were still dangerous and explained what the strigoi did to the aardig. At that thought, something else clicked into place and with it a flash of fear went up Cole¡¯s spine. There were nine aardigs, that was a lot of flesh to use, and Cole hadn¡¯t even finished with the rat swarm created from one. The shadows in the cave started to move then, flowing towards Cole, from cracks in the rock and tiny alcoves he¡¯d not even noticed. Thousands of black beady eyes stared at Cole as a tide of oily fur and wriggling tails moved towards him. In the growing ocean of vermin¡¯s center, a column of rats formed. Bodies climbed atop each other, their fur becoming a writhing pattern of darkness like spilled oil. The rodents started to ¡®congeal¡¯ forming Shorttooth¡¯s face and form. Wearing a robe of skittering bodies, the remade strigoi smiled at Cole. ¡°I¡¯m curious about how y-you¡¯ll resurrect from this, homunculus. Will y-your gnawed bones sprout ne-new flesh? Or will pieces of y-you burst from my swarm¡¯s belly and fuse back together like I-I just did?¡± Marcus plummeted down then, crashing into the rats; the spell Kit cast on the Dullahan having run its course. Slowly standing up, Marcus glanced over his surroundings while the rat swarm parted around him and his broken sword. Picking up the hilt to his weapon, Marcus seemed to take a moment to examine the hand-length of steel still usable. Green fire flared from the Dullahan¡¯s hands and covered the surviving blade. Thorm gave the former pankrator a look and said. ¡°Try to avoid b-burning my swarm, w-will you?¡± Staring at the skittering mass of hungry jaws and the two monsters facing him, Cole let out a tired breath and rolled his shoulders. He knew the answer to Shorttooth¡¯s question about his regeneration, of course, but didn¡¯t respond to the taunt. Instead, Cole met the strigoi¡¯s eyes and whispered under his breath. ¡°Natalie, Isabelle, just hold on a little longer.¡± Book III: Chapter 46: Red Right Hand

Chapter 46: Red Right Hand

¡°It''s silver that falls from the stars; hence ¡®stargent.¡¯ The ancients were never particularly creative in their naming schemes, but it''s sufficient. As an alchemist, you will become very familiar with this substance. You will learn to love and hate it in equal measure. Its presence in even the most minute amounts will ruin rituals and disrupt experiments. Which depending on the situation could save or end your life. It''s for this very reason knowing how to identify and remove stargent impurities is crucial to your education.¡± - Professor Victoria Proust, alchemist preceptor of Andeca¡¯s Ivory Tower.
The two things Wolfgang hated more than anything else in the world were being confused and frightened. In his estimate, those emotions were the ultimate markers of failure. They signaled a loss of control, both internal and external; they were signs of ignorance and impotence. Wolfgang had worked hard over his relatively short span as a vampire to protect himself from those emotions and what they meant. Now, at what should be his moment of triumph, he was well within the grasp of confusion and fear. A monster was hunting him, a primordial terror beyond his strength and previously hidden right under his nose. Natalie, his grandniece, was painfully correct; he¡¯d failed to see the obvious, and now faced a threat he¡¯d already discounted. The part of Wolfgang still clutching to denial like a life raft couldn¡¯t believe the Tenth God would let something like the Alukah roam free. But as much as he wanted to hold on to that raft and buoy himself with logical assumptions, Wolfgang couldn¡¯t ignore what his very eyes were seeing. With his spectacles back on, Wolfgang saw into the Aether and witnessed the truth he so wanted to disbelieve. Before, when the ambush was sprung, he¡¯d barely noticed the ink-stain of Natalie¡¯s metaphysical aura. Her mark upon the Aether was almost lost among the holy powers Wolfgang calibrated his glasses to find. Now, free of the icy chains the priestess bound her in, Natalie¡¯s true nature was on full display. His grandniece was a miniature typhoon of roiling blood and hungry shadows. Faces, both human and animal, some screaming, some snarling, appeared in the metaphysical storm front for the barest moment before disappearing into the red tempest. Wolfgang was facing an unliving nightmare, a horror from ages past now resurrected in the skin of his kin. That the Pantheon would allow this creature to walk free, even with a Paladin as its gaoler defied reason. But as Wolfgang had often bitterly noticed, just because something was insane didn¡¯t mean it wasn¡¯t true. Moving fast as he could, Wolfgang tried to avoid the snapping pack of phantom wolves chasing him. He¡¯d turned and ran from Natalie the moment he realized the full extent of her threat, trying to reach Cleanor. But as a strix, Wolfgang lacked the raw physical power of most breeds of vampires and couldn¡¯t escape the spectral lupines. The modified gashadokuro Wolfgang spent so much time on was proving inadequate for this threat. He could only summon one part of the invisible Rattler at a time, and devastating as a blow from it was, the wolves barely seemed to notice. A giant unseen hand would crush two or three wolves to vapor and give the rest an opportunity to get closer to Wolfgang. Still, despite his relative fragility Wolfgang wasn¡¯t helpless, he unleashed a staccato of spells upon the wolves, keeping their jaws from his flesh. Something whistled past Wolfgang¡¯s ear, and a chunk of gravel smashed against a nearby boulder with horrible force. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Wolfgang saw Natalie preparing another improvised barrage. Clutching the gashadokuro dagger, Wolfgang summoned up the monster¡¯s ribcage as an invisible shield around him. Most of the thrown rocks clattered against the plank-sized ribs but Wolfgang hissed in pain as sharp stone cut into his back and side. Dodging a lunging wolf, the Black Fly tried again to understand why his grandniece hadn¡¯t killed him already. She should have been able to run him down and tear him apart with ease. While it was obvious she didn¡¯t have full access to the Alukah¡¯s power, from what he¡¯d seen Natalie was easily his physical superior; so why hadn¡¯t she killed him? Wolfgang could only imagine Natalie was hesitating out of caution, curiosity, or cruelty. Whatever her reasoning, Wolfgang would not let this opportunity slip by. If he could reach Cleanor, then they could hold the priestess and catblood hostage. Pushing more blood into his legs, Wolfgang managed to finally put some distance between himself and the wolves. It wasn¡¯t far now, he just needed to follow the trail of blood the injured werekin left behind. Taking a sharp turn around a large boulder, Wolfgang¡¯s panicked mind latched onto two details he¡¯d almost missed. Upon finding the smears of red left on the stone, Wolfgang assumed Cleanor dragged her other meal away with the priestess. But now he realized the bloody smears weren¡¯t right. They were too haphazard and pooled to result from someone being pulled. As that realization crashed into Wolfgang, the second detail struck him. Mixed in with the stink of beast blood was another flavor of ichor. Wolfgang smelled lamia blood, and lots of it. He found the remains of his bodyguard stretched out across the cold stone, a lake of red spreading out from her neck and serpentine body. Wolfgang was stunned. How could Cleanor be dead? Could the priestess have done this? Was that how Natalie escaped the spell binding her? No, that didn¡¯t make sense, Cleanor knew how to kill godpawns. She¡¯d not have given Mina the breath or time to counter-attack. Had the catblood managed this? That seemed even less likely, considering the dark-skinned woman¡¯s skull was cracked open by a treacherous blow. But¡­ judging by the blood trail, the werekin managed to crawl here. Wolfgang realized he might have grossly underestimated both women. Which was an already worrying prospect without considering there wasn¡¯t hide nor hair of either priestess or wereblood. Wolfgang¡¯s old enemies, fear and confusion, grew stronger, gnawing at his mind as he tried to find answers and options. A tiny noise caught Wolfgang¡¯s blood-honed senses then, something was moving through the air towards him. Leaping towards Cleanor, he snatched the projectile from the air. Cursing himself internally, Wolfgang knew he¡¯d wasted what little time he had by being shocked at Cleanor¡¯s death. Landing next to the cooling lamia corpse, Wolfgang¡¯s thoughts about how he might repurpose his dead bodyguard were interrupted by an abnormality. The object he¡¯d caught wasn¡¯t a hunk of gravel, but a tiny rod of metal. Looking at the thin almost stiletto-like projectile, Wolfgang¡¯s eyes widened as his glasses revealed the truth. A spell was anchored to the metal length, and it had just activated. Before Wolfgang could drop the enchanted metal, a sudden impossible weight slammed into his shoulders. Wolfgang¡¯s knees buckled, and he collapsed forward, crashing into the ground with a loud crunch. He struck face first, his nose shattering and body laying flat upon the ground. It felt like an aurochs was sitting on him¡­ or more like he¡¯d suddenly become heavy as an aurochs. Gravity magic, that had to be what this was. Wolfgang wasn¡¯t an expert, or even familiar with the esoteric branch of magecraft, and held only the vaguest ideas of what it involved. But among those vague ideas were notions of crushing people beneath their own bodyweight or sending them drifting into the sky like a dandelion seed. Yet again Wolfgang was forced to reckon with something that made no sense. Where did a Magi talented in graviturgy come from? Was this some skill of the Alukah¡¯s not in the records or had reinforcements arrived, bypassing his detector spells? Frantically reaching out with his mind, Wolfgang groped at the crude runic marks decorating the entrances to the cave and tower. Two of his alarms were tripped, one from when the Paladin¡¯s caravan entered the cavern the other though¡­ Someone he didn¡¯t know had entered the central tower, and sloppily altered his detector spell in the process. Instead of bypassing or destroying the spell, whoever altered it simply stopped the magic from alerting Wolfgang directly. He could still reach out and check it as he did now, but the spell wouldn¡¯t call to him as it should. That settled it, there was a Magi of some skill among the enemy, but HOW? How had someone like that slipped through the ambush undetected, only now striking at such a bizarre moment? Another emotion joined the confusion and fear boiling inside Wolfgang: outrage. How was all of this happening? The ambush, the perfect brutal ambush, prepared by him and his allies, was collapsing around Wolfgang. Feeling the cold metal of the spell anchor still clutched in his hand, Wolfgang let out a hissing growl as he fought to let go of the accursed trinket. Slowly, oh so painfully, slowly his creaking joints opened, fighting against gravity that would probably kill a mortal person. Then, as a perfect metaphor for his current situation, a boot stomped down on Wolfgang¡¯ hand, crushing his fingers and pressing the metal into his palm. Slowly turning his head, afraid of breaking his spine, Wolfgang looked up at the monster staring down at him. Natalie loomed over Wolfgang, a shortsword in one hand, her wolves circling about. But his grandniece wasn¡¯t alone; someone stood in her shadow, a figure Wolfgang¡¯s eyes couldn¡¯t focus on. The slight Aetheric bloom of the stranger¡¯s emotions the only thing proving he wasn¡¯t seeing things. This must be the Magi then, come cloaked in a spell to help Natalie end him. Boot still crushing his hand, Natalie turned to her accomplice. ¡°I¡¯m glad you are alright. Thank you for helping me.¡± Whatever the stranger said in response, Wolfgang¡¯s mind struggled with the words, their meaning leaking from him like soapy water. Still, Natalie¡¯s part of the conversation was not shrouded. ¡°No, sparing Mina was the right choice. Whatever happened to her, we¡¯ll figure it out, and he¡¯ll help us.¡± Wolfgang watched his grandniece¡¯s shortsword being pointed at him for emphasis. ¡°Lets get that dagger from his other hand and then stake him. I¡¯ve got a lot to ask my Uncle Wolfgang after we rescue Cole.¡± The silhouette Wolfang couldn¡¯t quite track moved, and his eyes widened upon seeing the look on Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°No! I meant-¡± Cold steel sank into Wolfgang¡¯s wrist, driving into the muscle and bone with shocking force. A muffled scream forced its way from Wolfgang¡¯s mouth, his crushed lungs trying their best to express his agony. Natalie stared at Wolfgang for a second and took a breath as if to mock him. Her red eyes met his own, and she said. ¡°Part of me is sorry for that, uncle, but not enough. Just¡­ just consider yourself lucky I¡¯m not acting on my worst instincts.¡± How was she this in control? Wolfgang saw the hunger in Natalie, the cannibalistic desires at work, when she nearly ripped his throat out. Then, during his escape, he¡¯d experienced moments of raw animal panic as the maelstrom of bloodlust emanating off Natalie licked at his soul. But now¡­ now she seemed almost normal, her presence in the Aether showing barely a sign of what he knew slept beneath the surface. Was this why the Tenth God let this monster out of its cage? Had the Pantheon trained one of the first vampires like a dog? The strange connection between Natalie and the homunculus now made a little more sense. He was the leash upon the tamed wolf¡¯s neck, a fetter that could survive any lapse in the beast''s training. These thoughts helped distract Wolfgang while the invisible Magi sawed at his hand. Crushed beneath the gravity magic, Wolfgang couldn¡¯t call upon the gashadokuro. Even if he could muster the arcane focus to use the enchanted dagger, he feared what the spell imprisoning him might do to the invisible rattler. Wolfgang¡¯s modifications were untested and crude, it was very much possible the phantom bone he summoned would splinter under the gravity and crush him. Bitterly, Wolfgang realized he¡¯d exchanged a little bit of his ignorance for a great sum of impotence. In a horrible final note to his song of agony, Wolfgang¡¯s hand was cut from him. Robbed of the ability to even properly scream, Wolfgang just hissed in pain. Looking at Natalie¡¯s boot, keeping his remaining hand firmly attached to the enchanted spike, the irony of Wolfgang¡¯s situation was not lost upon him. Everything had been reversed so quickly and his only salvation lay in humiliation. If the Tall and Short could triumph over the homunculus and save him, then Wolfgang would be marked a failure. But Wolfgang wasn¡¯t a fool. Better to survive and lose standing than become ash. Still, Wolfgang had one last move to make before the game was decided. He¡¯d never been one for most of the traditional vampire powers but that didn¡¯t mean he was completely negligent in that aspect. Shutting his eyes, Wolfgang focused on his blood and the secrets contained within. This was easier than normal magic, and might be possible even with the gravity hex crushing him. Slowly, the Black Fly felt himself soften, his flesh and bones gaining an almost clay-like consistency. While the strigoi were the undisputed masters of turning into animals, the strix had their own favored transformations. Wolfgang struggled to become a pool of blood or cloud of fog, but he could turn into a sludge. This wouldn¡¯t be easy, even with the drops of blood he¡¯d smeared on all his clothes and equipment upon first gaining them, taking so much matter with him wasn¡¯t simple. Especially considering the enchanted daggers strapped to his chest. Wolfgang didn¡¯t want to test what a thread-cutter knife or stargent stiletto would do to his amorphous flesh, so keeping them in their scabbards and carrying them with him like an amoeba¡¯s meal was his best option. The Aisan thread-cutter worried Wolfgang especially. It was old magic, first crafted by Aisa herself, one of the original Strix. Spells and souls parted under the enchanted knife¡¯s edge just as easily as flesh and bone might. A massive crash caused Wolfgang¡¯s eyes to snap open. The sound of breaking stone and falling debris came from the tower. Before Wolfgang could wonder at the disturbance¡¯s source, reality shifted. The crippling weight crushing him disappeared as if it had never been. Carefully turning his head, Wolfgang realized his captors weren¡¯t looking at him, they were busy staring at the central tower and the hulking shape leaping down from its outer rampart. Tallclaw in his humanoid form sailed through the air, a limp person gripped in one hand trailing after him. Both Natalie and the enchanted silhouette spoke, voices unified in shock and horror. ¡°KIT!¡± Wolfgang didn¡¯t know how he heard the silhouette¡¯s words now, or who Kit was, but he didn¡¯t care. With an effort of will, Wolfgang dissolved into a reddish-black sludge, flowing out from beneath Natalie¡¯s foot and away from his grandniece. Distracted by whatever Tallclaw had done, Natalie noticed what happened a moment too late. The Black Fly slithered along the ground and into a crack in the rock, his two sheathed knives carried comfortably within him.
Marcus looked down at his shattered blade. Green fire danced along the ruined longsword, flaring from the splintered metal in a shower of emerald sparks. For the first time in his existence, Marcus was thankful he¡¯d never been good with a dagger. Clenching the shortened blade¡¯s hilt with his remaining hand, Marcus looked at his foe. Cole still stood, frost swirling about him, his halberd glowing silver. All around Marcus, the rat swarm teemed and chittered, awaiting the disgusting strigoi¡¯s commands. Shorttooth had clearly caught onto Marcus¡¯s tiny acts of disobedience, and reigned him in from burning the vermin in an effort to injure Cole. Still, Marcus wasn¡¯t completely helpless in arranging his death. It hadn¡¯t been easy to mistime his sword stroke, so when he pulled his blade from Cole it would catch on armor and rock. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Holding up his impromptu dagger, Marcus hoped he¡¯d evened the odds. Cole¡¯s right hand was crippled, but somehow the Paladin kept a grip on his halberd. Glancing at the hollow stump where his own hand was cut away during that strange bit of magic, Marcus wondered if this was enough. Pushing off the cracked stone, uncaring of the rats dying beneath his heavy footfalls, Marcus exploded forward, ready to finally meet his end. Cole didn¡¯t let the former pankrator close the distance, using his halberd''s reach to keep Marcus at bay. Unfortunately, while the enchanted steel was enough to stop Marcus, the rats had no such compunctions. The river of black fur that parted around Marcus now came together and crashed into Cole. Even as the paladin¡¯s halberd reaped scores of the rats, the vermin swarmed over their kin and clambered onto Cole¡¯s legs. The rodents froze in seconds but it didn¡¯t matter; they swarmed up the paladin¡¯s armored shins, climbing over each other''s corpses. Marcus saw the opportunity Thorm¡¯s minions created and the magic binding him forced the Dullahan to exploit the opening. Lunging forward, Marcus tried to bury his dagger in Cole¡¯s armpit. Despite being eaten alive by the teeming rats, Cole parried the strike and stepped in close to Marcus. Swinging his stump in a haymaker, Marcus¡¯s blow was knocked aside by Cole as the paladin shrunk his halberd into a pole-axe. Barely catching Cole¡¯s counterstroke with his fractured sword, Marcus spread his stance to avoid another trip or grapple. As he did, Marcus realized the reason for Cole giving up the reach advantage. Rats sizzled and popped as the green fire dripping from Marcus burned them. Caught between holy cold and cursed flames, the vermin struggled to continue their assault on Cole. Forced to follow Thorm¡¯s orders, Marcus smothered his witchfire. Which, it seemed, was exactly what Cole expected. Marcus could see the rising tide of divine power emanating from Cole. The paladin was preparing another spell, probably the ice breath he¡¯d used earlier. Compelled by the magic binding him, Marcus tried to disrupt the gathering power, but with his flames diminished, so was he. Unable to lash out with gouts of witchfire, Marcus could only use his shattered blade, and that was woefully insufficient to stop Cole. The paladin sidestepped, or more accurately, sidestumbeled away from Marcus, forcing his way through the teeming rats, leaving piles of frozen rodent behind him. Well outside Marcus¡¯s reach, Cole did something the Dullahan hadn¡¯t expected. He brought his pole-axe¡¯s head to his mouth and seemed to kiss it. As Cole pulled the weapon from his lips, icy vapor trailed after it. A corona of swirling frost built up around the axehead, refracting the silver light of the power Cole channeled into his weapon. The twisting mass of super-cooled air grew, fed by Cole¡¯s breath in a display that reminded Marcus of a confectioner spinning up sugar cotton. As the final wisps of magic left Cole¡¯s mouth, he whispered words filled with arcane intent. ¡°Blessed breath, bring rest and death.¡± Then Cole swung his weapon, and the magic was unleashed. A wave of frost flowed from the pole-axe¡¯s head, freezing scores of rats solid and smashing into Marcus. For the second time since his death, the Dullahan felt cold, not the horrible freezing burn of undeath but truly cold. Stunned by the sudden onslaught of sensation, Marcus looked at himself and realized layers of hoary rime covered his armor. Faint emerald embers shone through the cracks and joints in Marcus¡¯s plate, but they were guttering candles accosted by a winter storm. Stepping over frozen rat bodies, crushing them into ash and slime, Cole moved forward, continuing his scything strikes. The enchanted frost swirled around the pole-axe, lashing out in a whip-wave that followed Cole¡¯s will. Overcome by the numbing chill, Marcus struggled to move, barely avoiding the paladin¡¯s wrath. Marcus smiled as he fought the killing cold; he recognized what Cole was doing, or at least part of it. Using magical power to reinforce one''s weapons, armor and flesh was the bedrock of a warrior-mages talents. The techniques and minutia of this practice varied across its practitioners, be they priest, magi, shaman or paladin; but the results were all similar. In life, Marcus was a master of letting the red-bronze potency of his god flow through him. But that foundational skill wasn¡¯t where the magical art ended, something Cole clearly understood. Before, Cole merely let the power of his mantle infuse him or expelled it in a spell; now the paladin was doing both. Instead of simply unleashing his frozen breath, Cole anchored the magic to his weapon, enchanting it with a more complex working than mere infusion. Wherever the pole-axe moved, it left a trail of billowing frost that spread out in a cloud of death. With each strike and stroke, Cole not only attacked with steel and ice, but defended himself with his weapon¡¯s wake. Oddly, the technique almost reminded Marcus of something he¡¯d seen pyromancers use, except instead of lashing flames, it was creeping cold. Still, there was no denying its efficacy. Cole had killed an aardig worth of the rats and Marcus didn¡¯t like his odds of surviving much more of the ice magic. So naturally, the Dullahan charged ahead, ready to see if his flame could be snuffed. Ankle deep in dying rats and ashen slurry, Cole met Marcus¡¯s attack, knocking the Dullahan¡¯s shattered sword aside and landing a clean blow on his upper thigh. Sluggish and clumsy thanks to the magic, Marcus took the strike, feeling it part stressed bone. Unfortunately, the bone in question was only his armor. The strike cut through Marcus¡¯s tasset and notched his femur but didn¡¯t break it. Still, Marcus felt his leg go numb, the fire animating it struggling against the holy cold. As Cole pulled his weapon free and struck up towards Marcus¡¯s breastplate, the Dullahan staggered back. With monumental effort, Marcus slowed the fire¡¯s growth, trying to give Cole a larger opportunity to finish the fight. It was a fantastically strange thing, to have one''s body fighting with all your skill and potency, while your mind could only watch and try to disrupt things. Marcus had found more success in ¡®aiming¡¯ himself in suboptimal ways than in active sabotage. But right now, as his leg remained numb and clumsy, Marcus thought he¡¯d found his opportunity worth fighting for. So much of martial arts came down to stance and footing after all. Failing to dodge another strike, Marcus spun backward as his breastplate sported a new fissure. Barely able to stay standing, let alone counter attack, Marcus wanted to smile at the sharp steel coming his way. Finally, finally, he¡¯d be free. But then the giant rat attacked. Cole had left a path of ashen slush in his wake, the crumbling remains of hundreds of rats reduced to slime and soot. Out of that filth now erupted a snarling horror of oily fur and jagged teeth. No¡­ it didn¡¯t emerge from the ash but was made from it, a magical construct using the dead vermin as building material. The size of a lion, the rat was exaggerated, its features distorted and more akin to murophobe¡¯s nightmare than any real rodent. Cole barely spun in time as the creature pounced. The paladin¡¯s pole-axe struck the giant rat¡¯s skull cleaving through muscle and bone but it wasn¡¯t enough to stop the construct¡¯s momentum. The already dissolving giant rat slammed into Cole, knocking him back and leaving him open to the second and third oversized rodent. Marcus¡¯s concentration wavered, and he felt the flame coursing through his leg, burning away the cold infecting it and restoring him. A surge of anger boiled up in Marcus and with it his fire was roused. He¡¯d been so close to being free! But yet again he¡¯d been robbed, and by a lord of vermin no less! Driven by the bindings, Marcus joined the frantic melee surrounding Cole. Rats both large and small attacked the Paladin while Marcus waded into the fray, adding his splintered blade to the fight. Even with his formidable ice magic, this was too much for Cole; he was quickly becoming overwhelmed.
Cole¡¯s bag of tricks was just about completely spent. He¡¯d known another breath of frost might get most of the rats but not all of them. So in a moment, in inspiration, Cole tried to modify the spell he¡¯d used in Barlstine, and managed to wreath Requiem in killing cold. The technique was less powerful and more mentally demanding than a simple breath, but its longevity and adaptability made it near-perfect for fighting the rat swarm. Things had been going well for a time, but then as ever, the paradigm shifted and now Cole was struggling to stay alive. Vermin of all different sizes and shapes struck from every angle. Sculpted from rotten tissue and ash, the malformed rats were shockingly fragile, each coming apart easily; but they still kept attacking. Cole would tear a wolf-sized rat apart just to have its scattering body parts reform into gnashing rodents who¡¯d fall to his frost. It was like fighting the ocean surf, every strike sent ripples through the rats but soon enough another furry wave or toothed undertow would strike. Cole didn¡¯t want to think what his legs looked like; even with the numbing cold he could feel the hundreds of tiny bites from those rats lucky enough to reach his flesh. But, however gruesome the damage was, Cole was still standing and fighting. Cole knew Thorm must be exhausting himself keeping this complicated magic working, and that was the only thing that gave him hope. Shorttooth had killed the aardigs and converted their mass into rats, who were then controlled and warped as the strigoi pleased. That sort of working was grotesquely difficult, and expensive; it wasn¡¯t a coincidence the giant malformed rats started attacking when Cole¡¯s victory over Marcus was almost secured. If Cole could hold out just a minute or two longer, then he might be able to win. A massive crack and crash caught Cole¡¯s attention and despite himself, he found his attention split. Someone had smashed a hole in the central tower¡¯s upper floor and knocked most of a rampart loose in the process. To Cole¡¯s shock, Tallclaw leapt from the hole, sailing through the air, a limp Kit dangling from his grip. Frantically looking at where he¡¯d left the frozen strigoi, Cole felt his heart sink. The strigoi¡¯s warform was still there, but a rupture ran along its chest. While Cole was fighting Marcus and Shorttooth, the other vampire knight broke free of his frozen flesh and snuck away from the fight. Cole had no idea why Kit had been in the tower or how Tallclaw found him, but that mattered little now. The hulking strigoi landed with a crunch, the rat swarm parting for him. He held Kit up like a plucked chicken, his huge hand wrapped around both of Kit¡¯s. Tallclaw¡¯s arrival put a pause to the frantic melee, even the rats stopped their incessant assault. In a deep growl, the strigoi said. ¡°Smelled fresh blood from the tower. Found this one. Surrender homunculus or I rip his head off.¡± Blood dribbled from Kit¡¯s lip and he seemed concussed. Glancing up at the sphere of light the magi summoned earlier, Cole guessed it would fade after some time no matter its creator¡¯s state. Looking back at Kit, Cole weighed his options. ¡°Let my companions leave unmolested, and I will surrender.¡± At best, Cole was playing for time, at worst¡­ well, Natalie and Isabelle would rescue him¡­ eventually. Besides, Kit¡¯s survival was important for purely pragmatic reasons. Even if the plague was being treated, the faerie used in its creation was still out there. The Lych himself seemed to think Kit would be key in banishing the Gallarwyll Queen. Cole couldn¡¯t risk upsetting whatever plans were being laid to stop a powerful faerie from calling more attention to the world. So¡­ as ever was his fate and purpose, Cole prepared to sacrifice himself. But inside that already risky gamble was another wager. If the vampires guessed what Natalie was, they¡¯d never leave without her. From what Cole had seen of Natalie and other vampires, they had a hard time deciphering her identity. Maybe, just maybe in all the chaos surrounding him and his own identity, she and Isabelle could slip through the cracks. It was probably a vain hope, but was better than letting Kit die and then being torn apart by the three monsters he faced. Also, the fact no one else had been taken hostage, seemed a good sign. Cole did not know what was happening with the rest of the convoy and hoped it was better than his situation. Pointing his pole-axe at Tallclaw, Cole repeated his demands. ¡°Swear you will let my companions leave safely and I will surrender peacefully. If you don¡¯t, I will be forced to use up what remains of my soul in a final miracle. None of you will survive it.¡± Before negotiations could proceed, an unfamiliar figure clambered out of a crevice near Tallclaw. Wiry and wild-eyed this new vampire fumbled with his clothes that seemed to be slightly damp and not quite on correctly. Stumbling forward the vampire put on a pair of spectacles using his only hand, the other being severed at the wrist. Drawing a long silver knife, the newcomer shouted. ¡°The Alukah is here! They¡¯ve brought the Alukah with them!¡± Cole reacted quickly, he surged towards Tallclaw, hoping to end him while the shock of the new vampire¡¯s pronouncement was still fresh. But the battle hardened strigoi reacted quickly and violently tossed Kit to the side, revealing the horrible damage inflicted on the magi¡¯s hands and forearms. Drawing a cleaver from his belt with one hand, and turning the other into a massive chimeric claw, the strigoi met Cole¡¯s pole-axe. The frost spell woven into Cole¡¯s weapon had faded and he could only rely on the normal magic infusing Requiem. Desperately, Cole attacked, putting all his remaining strength into a series of brutal strikes. Tallclaw dodged the blows easily, as exhaustion, and hungry rats gnawed at Cole. Bringing his pole axe down in a final blow, Cole felt his hopes die as the strigoi caught the weapon in his clawed hand. Thick armored scales covered Tallclaw¡¯s palm and Requiem only sank a few centimeters into the vampire¡¯s flesh. Before Cole could pull his weapon free, Tallclaw shut his grip around the pole-axe¡¯s head and yanked. Cole didn¡¯t let go of the weapon and was pulled forward right into Tallclaw¡¯s cleaver. After an incredible amount of abuse Emma of Stonebone¡¯s suit of plate broke. The cleaver tore through already mauled hakon steel and buried itself in Cole¡¯s guts. Finally, Cole let go of Requiem and stumbled back, the cleaver leaving his flesh with a wet squelch. Warm blood flowed over cold flesh and Cole clutched at his belly, desperate to keep anything from spilling out. With a wet crunch, Tallclaw let his clawed hand fall from his wrist, the rapidly freezing tissue clamped around Requiem. As he grew, a new hand, Tallclaw came over towards Cole and raised his cleaver. Collapsing to the ground, Cole eyed the surrounding rats, he¡¯d die before letting them get to him. Sucking in a deep breath, Cole prepared one final miracle, but before he could the vampire with glasses spoke. ¡°Wait!¡± Rushing forward, the gaunt vampire approached Cole, and the paladin almost smiled. Ensuring the newcomer burned might help Natalie stay hidden. Calling on his power, Cole let the leech get closer and closer, preparing to die and take someone a less amenable to the condition with him. The leech with spectacles kneeled down and looked at Cole, and right as the paladin was about to cast his spell, the vampire sunk his stiletto into the paladin¡¯s gut. Like a candle doused by a washbasin, the magic fled Cole, leaving him with nothing but pain. A horrible scream built in his throat and escaped as the truth of all his injuries announced itself. Forcing the blade deeper, the vampire spoke. ¡°My name is Wolfgang, and I have some questions for you, homunculus.¡± Stargent, the blade was coated in stargent, the celestial metal had ripped away Cole¡¯s magic and left him powerless. Staring down at the blade in his gut, Cole tried to push Wolfgang away, but he was too weak. The vampire twisted the blade and forced another scream from Cole. ¡°I know this will stop you from resurrecting, and I know you hold Isabelle Gens Silva¡¯s secrets. You¡¯ve lost homunculus, the Tall and the Short will capture the Alukah and this horrid little affair will finally be over.¡± A familiar voice cut through Cole¡¯s pain and he felt his heart drop. ¡°Leave him alone!¡± Wolfgang turned about, leaving the dagger in Cole and gesturing for Marcus to ensure the blade stayed where he left it. Natalie stood nearby, standing atop a boulder and looking down at everyone. She was clutching something in both hands, and her wolves skulked about, growls bubbling from them. Glaring up at Natalie, Wolfgang said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what your leash has told you, but I know how to truly kill him. I¡¯ve got a blade of stargent in his gut, and it''s one good push away from his largest artery.¡± Cole had wondered in his darkest moments if telling Natalie of his weakness was a mistake. But right then, he knew without a doubt he¡¯d made the right choice. ¡°You¡¯re bluffing. I¡¯ll pull the stargent out of him and he¡¯ll be fine. Now, I¡¯ve got someone who''s very interested in meeting you, uncle.¡± Blinking slowly, Cole tried to understand Natalie¡¯s meaning and if shock had made him mishear something. But before he could dwell on Natalie¡¯s words, Cole finally realized what his lover was carrying. It was a skull, a fanged skull. Book III: Chapter 47: A Helping Hand

Chapter: 47: A Helping Hand

¡°I¡¯d like to stick a dagger in whatever sick jagger came up with this idea. Necromancy is already bad enough with desecrating remains and enslaving souls; but of course some cock-biting lunatic had to take it farther. See, an unconsecrated body already holds a soul, right? So if it can fit a soul in there, what about something else attracted to souls? Demons, I¡¯m talking about demons; it''s possible to summon one right into a corpse and control the resulting horror. Or at least try to control it, half the bastards who try this end up eaten by the very thing they summoned. Which is just about what they deserve considering what happens to the ¡®hosts¡¯ of these demons.¡± - Paladin Mak Murtrey.
Of all the rooms in the Thoas Citadel, none held such emotional importance to Isabelle as its library. The great chamber of books and scrolls was the heart of her castle and the most well-defended section of it. Generations of House Silva had collected knowledge of all sorts and stored it in these hallowed halls. Texts on every possible subject filled shelves that stretched two stories high and sprawled in a labyrinthian maze. The smell of old leather and parchment suffused the chamber while the creak of book spines and flutter of pages whispered at the edge of awareness. When not engaged in her myriad projects and obligations, it was here where Isabelle Gens Silva often found herself. Such was the case now, as she sat in the central reading room of the library and stared at the documents covering the table before her. Captured moonlight shone down from an enchanted oculus far above and brought a pale crispness to the scene. In that eerie illumination, Isabelle gently played with a heavy signet ring, while getting lost in her thoughts. She was alone, except for the myriad wraiths bound to the library as custodian and keepers. But judging by the footfalls echoing off the marble floor, that was about to change. The reading room was surrounded by a circle of shelves with only one gap leading out to the wider library. Through that opening now walked a pretty young woman with curly red hair and an easy smile. Her name was Yuli Gens Silva, and she was one of Isabelle¡¯s scions and vassals. Moonlight shone off the gaudy jewelry she wore and Isabelle could almost taste the magic bound to every piece. If one ignored the red eyes and fangs, Yuli looked like a wealthy merchant¡¯s favorite daughter. The type of young heiress with more vivacity than sense. Which, while not a strictly inaccurate assessment, missed that Yuli was a profoundly talented enchanter and powerful member of a vampire court. ¡°Can you still not decide, my countess?¡± she asked, looking at the papers decorating the reading table before Isabelle. Slipping the signet onto her finger, Isabelle sighed. ¡°It¡¯s a tempting offer and interesting project, but I¡¯m wary of taking commissions.¡± Yuli raised an eyebrow and said. ¡°The letter seemed most insistent.¡± Isabelle waved her scion¡¯s words away with a scoff. ¡°If he wants this so badly, he can entrust it to his own immediate vassals. I¡¯m sure the pervert or the parasite would eagerly jump at this chance.¡± Smiling slightly, Yuli approached the table. ¡°If he thought his voivodes were capable of this, then he¡¯d have given them this ¡®commission.¡± Standing up from the high-backed chair she¡¯d been lounging in, Isabelle prodded the spread out papers like a venomous insect might be hiding among them. ¡°Perhaps, or maybe he¡¯s made the offer to both them, myself and who knows who else. It would just be like Dracon to turn an interesting project into a squabbling competition. But it matters little, I won¡¯t play his game.¡± Delicately, Yuli said. ¡°Mistress¡­ this is the Archduke, I don¡¯t know if refusing him is really an option.¡± Isabelle¡¯s eyes locked onto her scion and Yuli winced at the sheer intensity of her sire¡¯s glare. ¡°Options are what the weak and foolish must pick from; I am neither. I have the privilege of choice and if I choose not to take this commission, then Dracon must accept that. He may command his slaves and servants, but I am neither.¡± Picking up one of the papers and looking at it, Isabelle added. ¡°That being said, the compensation being offered is unique, and my own research might benefit from what Dracon wants me to do.¡± Eyes down cast, Yuli nodded. ¡°Of course, mistress. Will you have Pavlos draft your response or someone else?¡± Sitting back down, still staring at the piece of paper, Isabelle replied. ¡°I will do it myself. Dracon is worth such an investment.¡± Yuli stood there in silence for a time as Isabelle started gathering paper and stylus. Looking at her scion, Isabelle gestured for Yuli to speak. ¡°What is it?¡± Tentatively, Yuli asked. ¡°Is what the Archduke asks for even possible? And if it is, would creating it be¡­ wise?¡± Isabelle scoffed at that. ¡°If something is possible it will be done, and better for me to unlock this secret than some other idiot stumbling across it. Besides, success would put me in a very interesting position and change things in our lands for the better.¡± Nodding, Yuli said. ¡°As you say, my countess.¡± Eyeing her scion, Isabelle sighed in annoyance. She¡¯d hoped Yuli would differ from the others, and not simply fold under a little pressure. Yuli was naturally a vibrant and outgoing person, never afraid to speak her mind. That mix of confidence and intellect was in part why Isabelle sired her. But when confronted by Isabelle¡¯s force of personality, Yuli crumbled so easily. None of Isabelle¡¯s scions would rise to the occasion and spar with her; they simply acquiesced with little more than a meager sentence of disagreement. While Isabelle knew she could win any argument or debate with her students, she wanted those victories to mean something. Besides, they should be glad to lose an argument with Isabelle. Few had the opportunity to sharpen their minds against such an incomparable whetstone such as her. Deciding not to wallow in her disappointment, Isabelle looked at Archduke Dracon¡¯s proposal. She had to admit it was a unique idea and would revolutionize the Duchies. Vampire alchemists had long been able to create artificial blood for use in transfusions, but the substance was of no use to the nocturnal nobility. It lacked the magical potency of true blood and didn¡¯t even taste good. So the prospect of creating an alternative source of blood capable of feeding large numbers of vampires easily was interesting. Already the great mechanisms of Isabelle¡¯s mind were at work on possible answers to the conundrum. She could flesh-craft a creature capable of producing large quantities of blood; that wouldn¡¯t be too difficult. But for the ichor to be potent, the being would need a soul and a strong one at that. Which requires complex and varied emotional stimulation, especially if the soul was to repair quickly from repeated feedings or extractions. There were so many moving parts to this but already Isabelle could feel the outline of a plan coming into place. Yuli suddenly slammed her hands on the desk across from Isabelle with such unexpected intensity it actually startled the countess. Glaring up at her impudent scion, Isabelle started to rebuke Yuli when she realized a stranger stood in the red-heads place. It was another woman, this one with dark hair, a heart-shaped face and panicked expression. Speaking with a Dragontail accent, the stranger shouted. ¡°ISABELLE, WAKE UP!¡± The library faded away as Isabelle was pulled from the illusion of memory. Free from the delusion of her past, Isabelle knew who the stranger was and what her presence meant. For Natalie to call her like this was not a good sign, especially considering what memories Isabelle had been mired in. Feeling a flush of guilt and trepidation flow through her, the former countess prepared for what was coming.
Yara and Natalie chased after Wolfgang, trying to find the accursed strix before he could join his allies. Unable to keep up with the literally slimy bastard, they¡¯d lost him in the cracked rock much to Natalie¡¯s frustration. She should have just killed Wolfgang when she had the chance. Whatever secrets her uncle held were better lost than used against Cole and everyone else. While chasing Wolfgang, Natalie and Yara ran past the various remnants of the battle being waged. Yara had some explanation as to what happened with Mina and Alia, but she did not know what shape the two were in now that Kit was taken. As much as Natalie wanted to help the pair, and possibly extract answers from Mina, there wasn¡¯t time. The grim site of Masga¡¯s last stand hammered that truth home. When the bonekeeper was killed, his barrier failed, and the aardigs panicked. Some broke formation while others stayed still, paralyzed by fear. Now all nine were dead, their bellies ruptured and¡­ empty with no traces of organs or ichor. Natalie did not know what could have possibly caused this, but got the terrible sense she¡¯d find out soon enough. But among the ruined aardigs was something important enough to make Natalie pause her pursuit. Next to Masga¡¯s cooling corpse was the dwarf ranger Nokin, still unconscious but alive. Gesturing at the dwarf, Natalie made a quick decision. ¡°Yara, can you take her to the tower and check on the others?¡± The thrall frowned and looked in the direction Wolfgang fled. Natalie guessed what Yara was thinking and spoke rapidly. ¡°If we survive this, then we can¡¯t arrive at Azyge without a living dwarf to vouch for us. Besides, without Kit¡¯s enchantment, the enemy can see you. Better for you to keep our friends safe than dying pointlessly.¡± After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Yara nodded and said. ¡°What about the priestess? What if she attacks me?¡± Grimacing at that uncomfortable possibility, Natalie said. ¡°I know Cole always carries some rope and-¡± Before Yara could explain Mina was already bound and gagged, Natalie¡¯s attention was elsewhere. Frantically, she searched among the fallen aardigs and cracks in the rock. Natalie let out a breath of relief upon finding a certain backpack leaning against a small boulder. In the chaos of all that happened Natalie had completely forgotten about Cole¡¯s request. But in what could very much be a literal miracle, Cole¡¯s pack remained where Grist left it. Pulling the bag open, Natalie rifled through it, hoping the insane idea she¡¯d just had would work. Cold ivory touched Natalie¡¯s fingers, and she pulled Isabelle¡¯s cracked skull free from the bag. Staring down at the hollow sockets of her new partner, Natalie started pulling on the link to Isabelle. If the former Countess could use her magic and Natalie¡¯s power to cure the plague, then what else could Isabelle do? Considering what Natalie witnessed at the Redcap¡¯s hillock, she guessed her mentor could do a lot even without physically touching the attacking vampires. Now the only question was Isabelle recovered enough from stopping the plague and how much of her might could she use while possessing Natalie. Quickly handing Cole¡¯s pack to Yara, Natalie looked up from the skull and said. ¡°Keep them safe the best you can. I¡¯m trusting you.¡± Without a word, Yara hoisted Cole¡¯s bag onto one shoulder and the unconscious dwarf onto the other. Blinking in surprise, Natalie decided she really needed to learn more about what an Ancilla could do. But before that, rousing Isabelle was the absolute priority. Holding up the skull, Natalie spoke with her mind and mouth. ¡°Isabelle, wake up!¡± Slowly, like some great sea creature surfacing, the countess awoke. Natalie could feel the familiar and surprisingly comforting presence of Isabelle touch her mind. + Natalie? What¡¯s wrong? What¡¯s happened? + Sorting through her thoughts, Natalie fed the information to Isabelle, hoping she¡¯d provided a clear image. It wasn¡¯t easy moving memories and their context through the link in a coherent fashion, but Natalie thought she was getting pretty good at the practice. As the final fragment settled in Isabelle¡¯s mind, Natalie¡¯s body did something she¡¯d not thought possible. A nervous shiver flowed up her spine as dead flesh reacted to the emotions pouring off Isabelle. Natalie knew rage, she even knew Isabelle¡¯s anger well. But what came through the psychic link wasn¡¯t mere wrath, it was something purer and more horrible. Hate was perhaps the closest word Natalie had for it, but that wasn¡¯t sufficient. Hate, even the most potent forms, lacked the clarity and focus of what Isabelle felt. If rage and hatred were blinding, then Isabelle¡¯s emotion transcended those cruder, uncultivated feelings. This malice could not just see, it could imagine. Oh, and what it imagined was terrible. Natalie caught only glimpses of what the great mechanisms of Isabelle¡¯s mind were working on, and they terrified her on an instinctual level. In a voice colder and clearer than mountain air, Isabelle spoke in Natalie¡¯s mind. + Igori has taken too much from me. He will not hurt those I love, not again, never again. Let me use your body, Natalie, let me end this! + Uncertainty wormed itself into Natalie¡¯s mind, and she hesitated. Isabelle was teetering on the edge; some of the old madness Natalie once faced in her mentor was back. Then a scream echoed through the cave. Natalie couldn¡¯t remember Cole ever making such a wretched sound before and that was enough to banish all doubts. + Alright, let¡¯s see how bad things are, then you¡¯ll take control. +
Things were bad. Isabelle didn¡¯t even need to borrow Natalie¡¯s flesh to tell that. Even relying on the purely magical senses available in her bone prison, Isabelle could feel the power of their foes. Two mature strigoi from potent bloodlines, a newly made but paragon-born Dullahan, and of course one of Igori¡¯s spawn. Each was a dangerous opponent representing a unique threat. Of course, that wouldn¡¯t stop Isabelle from killing them all. But before the slaughter could start, Isabelle needed a body. The owner of said body was currently standing atop a boulder, finishing a little speech. ¡°You¡¯re bluffing. I¡¯ll pull the stargent out of him and he¡¯ll be fine. Now, I¡¯ve got someone who''s very interested in meeting you, uncle.¡± Normally Isabelle might roll her eyes at the melodrama of Natalie¡¯s words but right now she found it fitting. After so many years of hiding and sleeping, Isabelle was ready to start her revenge. Igori would pay for what he did; Isabelle would strip him of everything he had, starting with the cadre arrayed before her. The hate inside Isabelle grew colder and more focused as memories of Igori¡¯s crimes came unbidden. Forcing away the phantom sensations of piercing wood and licking flames, Isabelle prepared to strike. A flicker of concern passed through the psychic link as Natalie reacted to Isabelle¡¯s emotions. The former countess bit down on the surge of annoyance she felt. Despite Isabelle¡¯s attempts to untangle the magical bond between them, Natalie still gleaned more through it than the older vampire wished. But Natalie didn¡¯t make an issue of whatever she sensed, merely letting Isabelle taste her worry and nothing more. Isabelle didn¡¯t know if this was a sign of trust from her student or a sign of how desperate matters were. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Bracing herself, Natalie opened her mind and body to Isabelle. + I¡¯ll let you take control now. Be careful + Flowing into the borrowed flesh, Isabelle let out a long held sigh. Staring through Natalie¡¯s eyes, she looked down at her foes and smiled. Or at least her expression started as a smile; but upon seeing Cole and smelling his unique blood, Isabelle¡¯s loaned face contorted into a cruel rictus. ¡°I¡¯m coming, darling.¡± Her words were quiet, but Cole still heard them, his eyes widening in shock. Winking at him, she leapt down from the boulder, still holding her own skull. Gently rubbing the crack Natalie¡¯s parasite was responsible for, Isabelle called upon her power. Tallclaw reacted quickly, rushing towards Isabelle, his cleaver at the ready. The strigoi clearly sensed the danger she represented and reacted accordingly, but insufficiently. Two wolves the size of draft horses materialized and lunged at Tallclaw. Born of twisting vapor and red light, the lupines barreled into Tallclaw, knocking him from Isabelle¡¯s path. Growling in fury the strigoi lashed out at his attackers but it was like fighting the fog. The wolves shifted and split, becoming a mass of snarling maws that ripped and bit. + How are you doing that? + Asked Natalie, stunned as her familiars took on larger and more ferocious shapes. + The Lupus Pack is bound together, sharing the same locus. I¡¯m exploiting that and fusing some of them together, turning four wolves into a single greater beast that can subdivide again as needed. Now please let me focus + Tallclaw continued to wrestle with the vicious lupines, growing extra limbs and scaled skin. As he struggled, Isabelle held out one hand and cut its palm with her taloned thumb. A few drops of black vampire blood splattered onto the ground and Isabelle started her next spell. Words of power hissed from her lips and the droplets started to fizz and bubble. What was once a mere stain on the stone grew into a roiling mass of smoking ink. Acrid spouts of caustic oil erupted from the bloodstain, spreading out along the cave floor in a rapidly growing pool of hungry corrosion. In the span of heartbeats, Isabelle was surrounded by a bubbling moat of naphtha. At a twitch of Isabelle¡¯s finger, a geyser of the summoned substance spouted out and into a mass of rats. The vermin scattered but not fast enough, many becoming caught in the seething pitch. Questing amoebic tendrils of the oil stretched out from Isabelle and other geyser points, dissolving any rodent unlucky enough to touch it. Prowling forward, Isabelle was flanked by six more wolves of normal size, their spectral forms moving over the tar without issue. Where Isabelle walked the oil parted, leaving stretches of pitted stone for her stride over. Rats flung themselves at her, trying to leap over the moat. Any who might have managed the jump were swallowed up by fonts of acidic darkness, catching them like a cat might a bird in flight. One of Shorttooth¡¯s constructs tried as well, but Isabelle knocked it away with a telekinetic slap, sending it screeching into a hungry puddle. Sneering at the two strigoi, Isabelle said. ¡°Pitiful, so incredibly pitiful. The pair of you have been hunting together for what? Two centuries? And yet you don¡¯t change, you don¡¯t innovate, you merely use your inherited powers to be another¡¯s tool. To think Igori would dare send such limited hunting hounds after me and mine. A price must be paid for such arrogance and idiocy¡± Isabelle¡¯s gaze then fell upon the third vampire, a frightened little stripling now paralyzed by shock. ¡°Natalie shared much with me about your crimes, Wolfgang and I¡¯m¡­ displeased. Tell me, what is it like to be a gnawing little carrion feeder? Is it difficult to gorge yourself on scraps of my genius just to excrete inferior acts of plagiarism? Was worming your way through the ashes of my library insufficient? Did you need to come scuttling after my lovers to see what true power is?¡± Wolfgang¡¯s eyes were impossibly wide, his jaw hanging open, all noble poise or stoic focus ripped from him. ¡°This¡­ this can¡¯t be. You¡¯re dead?¡± Reaching out Isabelle gripped Wolfgang with her mind and yanked him into the air. She could feel him struggling against her telekinetic potency, his own mind trying vainly to pry himself free. Smiling with the sweetness of spoiled berries, Isabelle said. ¡°Here you are, smart enough to realize the truth, but still so pitifully stupid you deny what''s right before your eyes.¡± Isabelle noticed then one of Wolfgang¡¯s arms was pinned to his chest by her grip, and the hand of said arm was frantically trying to grip something hidden in his clothes. With a thought Isabelle squeezed her prisoner tighter. Then, to her surprise, Wolfgang dissolved, squirting through her telekinetic grip like puddy. As the red-brown sludge that was her ¡®rival¡¯ splattered onto the ground, Isabelle swatted it with another invisible strike. A piercing pain stabbed into Isabelle¡¯s mind and she dropped the telekinetic pressure. Sticking out from the puddle of Wolfgang was a blade, its bronze length pulsing with a sickly green glow. It was Isabelle¡¯s turn to be shocked; she recognized the dagger and understood its implications. Aisan thread-cutter knives were rare and dangerous; that Wolfgang possessed one at such a young age spoke to his high place in Igori¡¯s court. It was a good thing she caught this little parasite so early. If he¡¯d been given more time to mature, then he might become a genuine threat. Wolfgang reformed from the sludge puddle and held the knife out to ward Isabelle off. The situation was changing, and not just with her usurper, the other two strigoi were adapting to Isabelle¡¯s magic. Tallclaw had turned into his warform and was quickly overwhelming the wolves harrying him. Shorttooths swarm was spreading out and constantly looking for openings in the acidic oil Isabelle summoned. But the Dullahan at least remained inactive, guarding Cole and keeping Isabelle from simply rescuing him. But judging by the holes in the rattler¡¯s armor dealing with it wouldn¡¯t be difficult once the others were dead. Perhaps Isabelle could even take control of the Headless Hunter once matters were settled. Having a Dullahan to protect her skull would be useful and deliciously ironic. + Why can¡¯t you take control of him right now? + Isabelle appreciated that Natalie kept quiet till now, and kept her annoyance contained. + I need time and an appropriate skull + Pushing Natalie¡¯s curiosity and questions to the side, Isabelle refocused on the fight and its next phase. Her summoned acid and enhanced wolves would not hold for much longer, even with additional help from her. She needed both strigoi dead quickly and limited as she was; that wouldn¡¯t be easy. Isabelle¡¯s borrowed fingers twitched absently, missing the feeling of her staff and other tools. But lacking the arsenal of arcane implements she once enjoyed, Isabelle would make do. Unfortunately, some of the resources available weren¡¯t ones her lovers would approve of. ¡°Cole, Natalie, I need to apologize in advance for this¡± Before either could ask questions or object, Isabelle let two of the smaller wolves bite her hands, sinking spectral teeth into borrowed skin and absorbing the blood. Using the metaphysical connection between every member of the Grist Pack, Isabelle let the blood flow into another pair of the wolves, the last two which she¡¯d kept hidden elsewhere in the cave for this very reason. Both phantom wolves stood above corpses, their mouths open, dripping borrowed blood onto the cooling bodies. The bodies were once dwarves, a ranger and bonekeeper, perfect for what Isabelle planned. Natalie¡¯s mind quailed. + What are you doing! You can¡¯t turn them into vampires?! + Focusing on the black droplets and the dead bodies they lay upon, Isabelle responded. + They are already dead, of course I¡¯m not turning them into vampires. + Then in a not so private admission, she added. + I¡¯m doing something arguably worse. + As she guided the caustic oil and ghost wolves to defend herself, Isabelle worked other magic. Remembering the mystery that first brought Cole and Natalie together, Isabelle scoffed at the simple-mindedness of Petar of Glockmire. Vampire blood was a potent magical medium, capable of anchoring and aiding all types of spells. Using it to bind the restless dead was a droll and unimaginative use; or at least the way Petar did was. Calling upon old pacts and dark magic, Isabelle whispered words of dread purpose. ¡°Telar Horko! Hernev-hut-Orn! Wodwo-ge-Nomos!¡± As the call rolled from Isabelle¡¯s borrowed tongue it echoed through the cavern and far, far Beyond. In that distant realm of metaphor and myth, two entities heard their names. This alone wasn¡¯t enough to dredge them from their deep abodes but the offering attached was. A vague sense of oily malevolence pressed at the back of Isabelle¡¯s mind and, by extension, Natalie¡¯s. Whispers of hunger and cruelty dripped through the Aether signs of the emerging predators. + What are you doing! + Natalie psychically shouted, her mind trembling on the edge of terrible realization. Deciding evasion or deflection was pointless and honestly insulting to everyone involved, Isabelle spoke plainly. + Summoning Demons. + Before Natalie¡¯s shock could turn to outrage Isabelle snapped. + If I had another option, I¡¯d take it. Now please let me work! + Lured into the Aether by the smell of blood rich with darkness and sin, the demons sniffed the corpses prepared for them. Isabelle could feel the two Hellkyn sizing up the dwarves, licking at their trapped souls, preparing to strike. This was going to be the tricky part. Normally Isabelle would simply let her conjured horrors feed but that would cause¡­ complications with Cole and Natalie. So in deference to her partners¡¯ squeamishness, Isabelle used the one arcane advantage available to her. Robbed of her tools and subjects, Isabelle instead relied on Natalie¡¯s obscenely potent blood. Young and untempered as Natalie was, her ichor contained traces of the ancient evil she hosted. Vampire blood was already a tempting prospect to any demon, but the Alukah¡¯s essence would inspire greed and idiocy in these Hellkyn. The temptation proved too much and the demonic pair pounced at nearly the same time, eager to devour the trapped souls and shed blood. Isabelle sprung her trap then, using the ichor and her connection to it as loci of power. Diving into the corpses, the demons found themselves trapped and chained, bound by Isabelle¡¯s magic and the power of Natalie¡¯s blood. Hernev reacted with snarling fury, while Wodwo stewed in simmering malice, both recognizing their captor and captivity. Before either demon could truly test the binds upon them, Isabelle made a peace offering in the form of memories. Flickers of Tallclaw and Shorttooth greeted the Demons, accompanied by the pure hatred Isabelle felt for the vampire pair¡¯s master. + Serve me and spare the dwarves. In exchange, I offer you each a vampire¡¯s soul soaked in evil. Disobey me and I will rip the tasted blood from your essence and cast you both back into the Hells. + Both demons submitted without hesitation; they knew how the game was played and how to benefit from it. Smiling cruelly, Isabelle let some of Natalie¡¯s power flow through the new links with the Hellkyn, offering them more strength and stronger bindings. As this happened, the part of Isabelle¡¯s mind occupied with the battle changed tactics, becoming more aggressive, lashing out with gouts of entropic flames, psychic force and telekinetic projectiles. Isabelle needed to keep her foes'' attention solidly upon her while the summoning finished. Tallclaw¡¯s warform had become even larger, his muscle mass and hide so dense the spectral wolves could barely harass him. The behemoth strigoi was now lumbering towards Isabelle, casual swipes from his six chimeric limbs reducing the familiars into puffs of vapor. Even with Natalie¡¯s obscene blood efficiency and Isabelle¡¯s skill, reforming the wolves over and over was becoming untenable. Similarly, the pool of hungering oil she¡¯d created was struggling to keep the ever shifting rat swarm away. A dozen attacks and twice that many feints came from every direction, as vermin of many sizes sought a path over the caustic fluid. More than once Isabelle¡¯s wolf escort was needed to stop a clever rodent that leapt her moat. But most of Isabelle¡¯s skill was focused not on the two strigoi, but the plagiarist. While she¡¯d never admit it to anyone not sharing a skull with her, Isabelle was mildly impressed with Wolfgang''s magical acumen. Even limited as she was by Natalie¡¯s body, Isabelle was much more potent than her rival, but his ability to counter spells was uncanny. Despite being inferior to her in both arcane strength and dexterity, Wolfgang survived a brutal magical onslaught that should have rendered him soot and sorrow. Every strike from Isabelle was negated with an impeccable economy of force. Wolfgang would use just the right amount of telekinesis to deflect a projectile, or he¡¯d conjure the perfect element or metaphor to negate an attack. It reminded Isabelle of fighting a talented precognitive peeking into the future or a powerful Seer capable of stealing her thoughts. Only the fact Isabelle¡¯s more complicated and nuanced spells found more success told her the truth was something else. Wolfgang could see into the Aether and was a master of using the miniscule forewarning that offered him. Whenever Isabelle prepared a working Wolfgang sensed the magic and its rough purpose. It was like a warrior being able to see a rival¡¯s nervous system lighting up the micro-moment before a strike. Natalie¡¯s gifted memories implied her uncle¡¯s glasses were the source of this advantage, that combined with a natural arcane sensitivity, cultivated by Igori¡¯s training. Isabelle decided she¡¯d take those lenses for herself when this was done, she needed to regrow her own collection of arcane trinkets and they¡¯d be an excellent start. Despite his excellent magical defense, which was clearly designed to withstand older and more puissant Magi; Wolfgang merely delayed the inevitable. Isabelle¡¯s magical wrath was focused and vicious, Wolfgang might parry her blows or catch them on his metaphorical shield but that could only continue for so long. Already streaks of ash decorated the Voivode¡¯s scion and his clothes bore marks of magical battle. The wards he¡¯d woven into his very garments were cracked and more than once the only thing that saved Wolfgang was that accursed knife of his. It could cut magic, and had torn through some of Isabelle¡¯s more subtle spells. But as the summoning finished, Isabelle smiled, she¡¯d be able to turn her full attention to breaking Wolfgang any moment now. Hernev-hut-Orn struck first; his great boar-spear sailed through the air sinking into Tallclaw¡¯s side. Formed from carved bone, the spear was easily three meters long with the top half meter a twisted mass of sharpened antlers. Tallclaw reared up on his back four legs and tried to pull the shaft free. Twisting horns of a dozen different species burrowed into the strigoi¡¯s flank, growing like some obscene ivory bramble. With a high-pitched cackle Hernev: Horn Spear of the Red Hunt, galloped into view. The dwarf ranger¡¯s body had been grotesquely distended, the bones stretched into a new configuration by the demon. Tattered flesh hung from spindly limbs, a whipcord tail and the reshaped remnants of Ranger Olkar¡¯s skull. In place of a dwarf¡¯s thick-browed head, Hernev¡¯s skull was that of a hunting hound with antlers and tusks. Chattering and laughing like a deranged monkey Hernev, jumped onto Tallclaw¡¯s flank, ripping his spear free with a vicious crack. The demon had broken most of the antlers off inside the strigoi and his spear¡¯s head was already reforming as the Hellkyn danced about. Roaring like some child¡¯s nightmare, the strigoi swatted at the capering demon, missing its spindly form and earning a few more cruel jabs from the Beyonder¡¯s spear. Isabelle was certain she¡¯d be able to feel the demon¡¯s mad joy through the Aether even without her link to it. Hernev was delirious with glee at the prospect of hunting such a formidable foe. Wodwo-ge-Nomos joined the battle as well, attacking with a predictably more subtle method than the Horn Spear. Musty damp soil bubbled up from a small crack in the rock near the rat swarm¡¯s heart. The vermin only reacted to the subtle intrusion once three of their own had been consumed by the hungry dirt. Churning and growing the rich soil swallowed any rodent who touched it, the squealing creature sinking into unnatural quicksand. Soon the pile of dirt took a shape, growing into a stooped old man made from mud, clay and rotting vegetation. Wodwo¡¯s face was wrinkled and ill-shaded as spoiled fruit while a constant stream of dirt poured from the corners of his mouth like black vomit. Moving his head back and forth with a sound like creaking wood, the demon gurgled a low litany of deprivation while shuffling forward, leaving a trail of dark soil in his wake. The empty holes where eyes should be in Wodwo¡¯s face suddenly locked onto the largest rodent construct. The demon¡¯s mouth opened impossibly wide, distending down to its lower torso before a mass of pale worm-like roots shot out towards the rat construct. The giant rat leapt backwards, but the roots followed, catching it mid-air and sinking beneath the rodent¡¯s fur. In less than a second the rat was reduced to a desiccated husk that crumbled apart into more dark earth. The roots stretched out piercing individual rodents and drinking their nutrients, leaving more splatters of soil in their wake. With each consumed victim Wodwo-ge-Nomos: Loam Miser of the Starving Garden grew larger and larger, its mouth disgorging more of the roots as the scattered clumps of soil wriggled towards the demon¡¯s body. A long sigh escaped Isabelle as her summoned horrors did their grisly work. She preferred other forms of magic, but keeping a few hooks in some of the more amenable Hellkyn was always worthwhile. Allowing her focus to drift from the two embattled strigoi, Isabelle turned her full attention to Wolfgang. Utter terror covered the strix¡¯s face and he held out the Aisan knife like a scared child trying to ward off a direwolf. Drinking in the lovely sight before her, Isabelle licked her lips. ¡°Now, where were we?¡± Book III: Chapter 48: Bargaining

Chapter 48: Bargaining

¡°Think of it as less like a religion and more like an infection. Fell Worship is rarely a thing of temples and public rites. It''s usually a festering undercurrent, small collections of cultists, or even a singular believer hiding in the wilds or among our livestock. They are subtle, perverse things that spread their diseased beliefs in places beneath our notice. If untreated, the infection can grow and grow until the symptoms become noticeable, but by then it''s usually too late to avoid a calamity.¡±- Voivode of Souls, Tomaz Gens Lotario.
A noted scholar once claimed that ignorance is the bedrock of fear. According to this wise man, the mind can accept terrible knowledge and grim certainty far easier than it might the mere unknown. That imagination, when left with nothing but time and ignorance, can summon forth more terror than any truth could ever hope to. When Wolfgang learned of this argument, he¡¯d found it quite logical and applicable to his worldview. Now, as the nightmare facing him prepared its next strike, Wolfgang found a major flaw in the scholar¡¯s thesis. Aloysius Wolfgang knew exactly what Isabelle Gens Silva was capable of. He¡¯d studied the former countess intensely, pouring over the scraps of her ruined library and any other resource he might glean some understanding of the woman from. That intimate, well-researched analysis of Gens Silva¡¯s genius and madness pushed Wolfgang into a state of terror beyond anything he¡¯d ever known. The story of Isabelle¡¯s sudden meteoric rise into the heights of Duchy politics and her equally dramatic fall were well known across the vampire nation. Her story was told wide and far; quickly becoming a parable against arrogance among the nocturnal nobility. It was also not completely accurate, with some of the official details being edited to fit a more useful narrative. But as one of Igori¡¯s direct scions, Wolfgang knew something closer to the truth than most, even though he¡¯d been too young to play a part in events. That truth, more than anything else, is what frightened Wolfgang to his dead marrow. Isabelle Gens Silva hadn¡¯t just challenged Igori and lost. She¡¯d challenged the Archduke, his entire court and even the very rules of reality and¡­ she¡¯d almost won. Now that same creature, who nearly triumphed against gods, mortals and monsters, was now in possession of the Alukah¡¯s power and trying to kill Wolfgang. At first, he¡¯d fallen into the same idiotic trap that kept snaring him this entire disaster and tried to deny the conclusion his mind reached. Only by luck and his thread-cutter knife did Wolfgang survive long enough to force through the disbelief. But by then the battle had started anew and the three servants of Voivode Igori found themselves matched at every turn. Isabelle unleashed magic potent enough to stymie two fearsome strigoi and still had enough power leftover to push Wolfgang to the edge of his skill. A constant bombardment of spells of a dozen different varieties smashed into Wolfgang¡¯s defenses, each a fickle act of inspired mage-craft. It was only Wolfgang¡¯s honed talent for counter-magic that kept him alive. The art of negating or disrupting a foe¡¯s spell required extraordinary arcane sensitivity and skill. Wolfgang had the skill, and his glasses helped him compensate for the sensitivity. The dozens of magical duels he¡¯d fought with more puissant vampires of Igori¡¯s court offered him enough practical experience to barely survive Isabelle¡¯s wrath. Then, just as the feeling of ash against his wounded flesh became too common to ignore, Wolfgang realized the terrible truth. Isabelle wasn¡¯t fighting the three vampires to a standstill, she was merely delaying them while other spells finished. Two demons entered the fray in a surge of hungry malevolence. Wolfgang¡¯s attention had been so focused on Isabelle¡¯s magical attacks he¡¯d not even noticed the slight flow of power leading from her to the newly incarnated Hellkyn until they¡¯d burst into the Mundane. Vainly, Wolfgang wondered if he might cut that link with his Aisan knife, but such possibilities fell away as Isabelle¡¯s cruel focus smashed into him. A voice thick with malice stroked against Wolfgang¡¯s mind like a scalpel along exposed nerves. ¡°Now, where were we?¡± As those words echoed in Wolfgang¡¯s ears, his magical defenses shattered. Overlapping spells conjured up by a mad genius and powered by an ancient monster tore Wolfgang¡¯s wards apart. Umbric magic struck physically, mentally and spiritually, seeking to rend all three facets of Wolfgang¡¯s being. Once again, the only thing that saved him was the knife, its cursed edge severing Isabelle¡¯s spell before it destroyed him utterly. The force of the attack knocked Wolfgang along the ground, sending him skipping like a thrown stone. But instead of a placid pond, Wolfgang danced over broken rock, his skin and muscle shredded by each impact. Landing with bone cracking force, Wolfgang screamed in pain as the full extent of his wounds became clear; he¡¯d been peeled. Great strips of tattered flesh hung from his back, arms and chest like scraps of soot-stained cloth. Trying to sit up, Wolfgang bit down another howl of agony as broken bone ground against torn cartilage. Most of his skeleton was fractured, and Wolfgang guessed a kilo or two of his flesh was scattered upon the stones he¡¯d skipped over. Yet despite all this, Wolfgang kept his two most precious objects intact. The neurotic level of protection he¡¯d enchanted his glasses with paid off yet again, the lenses still clinging to his haggard face. And in his barely regrown hand Wolfgang also clutched the thread-cutter knife, its blade still humming with occult power. Staring at the baleful obsidian and bronze dagger, Wolfgang willed blood to his most important body parts and dulled his sense of pain. He¡¯d lost all his defensive enchantments and was using blood at a worrying rate. With terrible effort, he managed to stand up, ignoring the horrible grinding and ripping sounds his body made. Staring out across the battlefield, Wolfgang watched his doom unfold. Even in his exaggerated warform, Tallclaw was wickedly fast. Moving with such celerity, Wolfgang¡¯s untempered eyes couldn¡¯t track him. But the spear-carrying demon was even faster, moving between lightning blows with mad ease and frantic excitement. Strikes from the Hellkyn¡¯s cursed weapon planted seeds of bone in Tallclaw that grew into brambles of ivory and horn. The strigoi discarded and disgorged entire sections of his shifting flesh, trying to excise the occult venom. But despite his rapid transformations and adaptations, Tallclaw was losing. Wolfgang could see the vicious strigoi¡¯s growing exhaustion in his body¡¯s increasing simplicity. Tallclaw replaced damaged limbs and organs with new growths that lacked the chimeric nature of his usual creations. Elsewhere from the battle between undead beast and infernal hunter was another contest, this one even more bizarre. A small knoll of damp, stinking dirt had grown out of the cavern floor. Dozens of elderly faces formed from mud and rotting vegetation decorated the mound, each with their mouth open and expelling worm-like tendrils that hunted Shortooth¡¯s rats. The vermin were scattering, fleeing the root-worms and their voracious hunger. But with every consumed rat the knoll grew imperceptibly large and its roots quested farther. Great swaths of Shortooth¡¯s swarm were skittering along the cavern floor, trying to reach Tallclaw and join forces with him. The rats found phantom wolves and hungry oil waiting to intercept them, and many were torn apart by the now reduced spells once used to restrain both strigoi. But all these sights of battle and impending doom merely tickled at the edge of Wolfgang¡¯s awareness. His mind was now focused on the nightmare fast approaching; Isabelle was coming for him. Looking into the Aether, Wolfgang tried to find a frame of reference for what he was witnessing. He¡¯d seen madness before, how psychotic rage and unrestrained sadism polluted the Aether. But what leaked from the former countess was something else, something infinitely more frightening. It was hate married to genius; it was brilliance directed by malice; it was a force of ruin, and it wanted nothing more than to end him. When Natalie had come close to losing control, the Aether reacted, reflecting her emotions and power in a form Wolfgang could interpret with his glasses. That hurricane of blood and darkness filled with screaming faces had been harrowing enough; but paled compared to the metaphor Isabelle¡¯s hate offered him. Wolfgang stared upon the innards of a monolithic machine created from flesh and bone. Skeletal waterwheels sat in canals of black blood, turning endlessly to power cogs, screws and pulleys formed from white bone and red sinew. Springs of woven cartilage were wound tight by interlocking mechanisms, their energy released as hooked tendrils of darkness shot forth, seeking Wolfgang¡¯s flesh. Blinking away his momentary entrapment in the fractal factory of Isabelle¡¯s mental state, Wolfgang held up his thread-cutter knife and thought desperately for some way to survive what was coming. Isabelle floated over the cavern floor, avoiding the smears of gore Wolfgang left in his wake. Clutched in her hands was a cracked vampire skull of unknown origin, and she wore a cruel smile upon her borrowed face. Landing softly perhaps four meters away, Isabelle stared at Wolfgang with cold unblinking eyes. ¡°That knife and your glasses are both acceptable tools. I¡¯ll put them to better use once I¡¯m finished with you.¡± A telekinetic strike slammed into Wolfgang¡¯s gut, knocking him to his knees and positioning him for another blow, this one to the back of his head. A gurgle escaped Wolfgang as his forehead smashed into the rock. Over the sound of his fractured skull settling, Wolfgang heard Isabelle continue speaking. ¡°My sire would bring his beaten enemies before him just as you are now; flayed, broken, and kneeling. I always found it overly dramatic, but now¡­ well, I can understand the potent symbolism. I¡¯ve stripped you of your power, your freedom, your very skin! Next I¡¯ll take what little remains of you, and I¡¯ll do it slowly.¡± Daring to raise his head against the reborn countess, Wolfgang noticed an odd tic in her face. Every second or so Isabelle would twitch or grimace, as if something was agitating her from within. With his glasses on, Wolfgang saw deeper than the tic, and how bloody storm clouds were leaking through gaps in the bone mechanism. Wolfgang also noticed something else, something that brought the tiniest measure of understanding. The currents of magical power linking Isabelle to her summoned demons were not the only ones present. A subtle but unmistakable potent arcane bond connected Isabelle to the skull she held. Looking past all of Isabelle¡¯s magical power and gathered spells, Wolfgang focused on the link between the skull and¡­ not Isabelle, but Natalie¡¯s body. Daring to take a rattling breath, Wolfgang spoke raggedly. ¡°I understand now. That skull, it¡¯s yours, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯ve become something like a lych, and are possessing my grandniece. This is how the plague was cured; the homunculus doesn¡¯t have your secrets, he¡¯s had you this entire time.¡± Staring up into Isabelle Gen Silva¡¯s borrowed face, Wolfgang continued. ¡°I must admit I don¡¯t know how all the pieces fit together, but the result is most impressive. Claiming the new Alukah as a host and subverting the Tenth Temple to protect you is remarkable. And it seems the delusion the priestess suffered was not without reason. How long until you extinguish my grandniece and steal her flesh?¡± Isabelle scoffed. ¡°I will not kill Natalie; she and I have come to a mutually beneficial agreement. Also, your pretense at familial loyalty is anything but convincing; both of us can see your vain attempt to create discord between us.¡± Telekinetic force yanked on Wolfgang¡¯s left arm, pulling the limb out from his body. Frantically calling up his defensive magic, Wolfgang tried to stop what he knew was coming. The half-finished ward splintered under Isabelle¡¯s magical fury; and so did his elbow. The attack wasn¡¯t much more than focused kinetic energy, the arcane equivalent of a haymaker. But it was more than enough to pulp flesh, and Wolfgang bit down a scream as his shredded forearm along with the thread-cutter knife rolled away from him. Forcing his pained moans to end, Wolfgang noticed the spasms upon Isabelle¡¯s borrowed face were worse, and one hand was twitching absently. The signs of a possessed host fighting for control were rarely this subtle, and Wolfgang guessed there was some element of truth to Isabelle¡¯s claim of an agreement with Natalie. Still, some manner of internal conflict was happening and Wolfgang saw little option other than trying to escalate it. While his grandniece was dangerous, Wolfgang doubted she could keep the summoned demons under control. It was better for Natalie to seize control than allow Isabelle to continue her madness. ¡°Why are you stopping Natalie from taking back her body? Are you breaking your word? My research says that is something of a pattern with you.¡± A cruel snarl split Isabelle¡¯s face, and she approached him but stopped at two meters'' distance. The great machine of hate Wolfgang saw in the Aether stuttered slightly but kept working. Speaking slowly, Isabelle hissed. ¡°She¡¯s not trying to fight for control over her body; she¡¯s arguing for me to give you mercy.¡± Wolfgang¡¯s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Isabelle clarified. ¡°On the topic of familial loyalty, Natalie is displaying more than you deserve. She wants me to simply kill you and be done with it. But, I disagree for reasons both personal and pragmatic. Igori is beyond my reach for now, but as his spawn, you offer opportunities for¡­ recompense. Which, considering how much pain you¡¯ve caused with that disgraceful derivative of my work, seems appropriate. So I¡¯m going to kill you slowly, methodically. Peeling your body and mind open so I can savor all those secrets I felt during my earlier mental attack.¡± A brick of lead formed in Wolfgang¡¯s gut and he was surprised the metaphorical weight hadn¡¯t ripped intestines free from his ruined flesh. One of the key attributes of Countess Gens Silva, he¡¯d noted in his research, was her obsessive drive. Very little would stop her from gnawing away at a problem until she was satisfied with the outcome. Wolfgang was now that problem, and his very mind would be what Isabelle pulled apart. The dramatic brutality of her attacks and grandiose displays of magical power suddenly took on a new light as well. Isabelle wasn¡¯t simply torturing him for the vindictive joy of it, but to put cracks in his psychic defenses she could exploit using the Alukah¡¯s power. Madly, Wolfgang took his eyes off Isabelle and found Marcus in the distance, holding a weakly struggling Cole in a grapple. There wasn¡¯t enough good left in Wolfgang to feel proper sympathy or regret for what the Dullahan had experienced; just a vague, bitter ache of understanding. Wolfgang¡¯s mental defenses were potent, but he would not delude himself into thinking he could resist for long. He wasn¡¯t like Marcus or any of the duchies¡¯ knights, with a mind sturdy enough to utterly fracture before it submitted. Isabelle was going to break him; she was going to crack open his mind and devour its contents before leaving him ash and bones. Frantically searching around the cave for any way to change his fate, Wolfgang saw the battle between Strigoi and Hellkyn reach a new stage. Shorteeth¡¯s swarm had congregated around Tallclaw and was even climbing over and into the embattled monster. Teeming vermin gnawed on the cursed horns growing within Tallclaw, while larger rat constructs harried the spear demon. Fast as the Hellkyn was, it seemed fragile judging by its unwillingness to get caught between the giant rodents and Tallclaw¡¯s numerous limbs. But the spear demon did not fight alone; the knoll of dirt had spread itself out into a wide arc of black soil that was slowly enclosing the two strigoi. Wrinkled faces sat among the shifting dirt, hungry tendrils reaching from them for any rat that got too close. The lead weight in Wolfgang¡¯s belly grew heavier, the demons were slowly winning. Bitterly, he wondered how much fighting the Paladin to a standstill cost the strigoi. Glancing at his severed forearm and knife lying perhaps a meter away, Wolfgang tried to calculate his odds of reaching it before Isabelle could react. A quartet of snarling wolves materialized around him then, sinking their fangs into his flesh and murdering any newborn plans in their crib. Wolfgang didn¡¯t even try to struggle with the growling lupines as they held him in place. It would be pointless; anything would be pointless in the face of his coming doom. Forcing himself to stare at Isabelle, Wolfgang took short hyper-ventilating breaths as the reality of his situation came crashing down. He was going to die; his mind would be ripped apart, his flesh reduced to ash and his soul¡­ his soul would settle a terrible debt. A lifetime and unlifetime of detached stoicism shattered like fine glass as the dozens of mocking warnings he¡¯d received from his betters came to haunt him. Wolfgang had thought himself clever enough to dance between the different webs of intrigue and arise as his own master. Now the monstrous arrogance of that supposition cut into him with the cold clarity of truth. Cleanor once rebuked him by saying few were lucky to learn from their mistakes, and Wolfgang knew after this series of calamitous failures that he was anything but lucky. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Bowing his head, Wolfgang tried to grasp for the final lifeline available to him. ¡°I-I surrender! I surrender to you and throw myself upon your mercies. I offer my knowledge and services as a willing vassal! Let me submit and serve you until the red dusk! Please! Please, I beg you!¡± The sting of humiliation and debasement filled Wolfgang¡¯s heart like poison. Shuddering gasps escaped him as ossified emotions slowly returned. Long desiccated reactions, he thought discarded by decades of cold undeath, slowly bloomed like desert greens beneath bitter rain. Wolfgang sobbed as he begged for his life. ¡°Mercy! Please! Mercy!¡± Telekinetic force wrapped around his throat and hoisted him up. Dangling like the hanged man he was, Wolfgang met Isabelle¡¯s disgusted gaze. Barely an arm span away from him, she stood there dripping with the regal disdain of any true nocturnal noble. ¡°Predictably pathetic. We both know this has gone far past the point of negotiation.¡± Desperately, Wolfgang surrendered his last shreds of dignity and pleaded with the only person who might spare him. ¡°Natalie! Listen to me! My sister¡¯s name was Berenice! Spare me and I¡¯ll share my memories of-¡± The grip on his throat tightened, and Isabelle hissed. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare plead with her! We both know you¡¯d have offered her and Cole up to the Voivode without batting an eye. Besides, she''ll have those memories when I¡¯m done with you.¡± Isabelle¡¯s bloody gaze met Wolfgang¡¯s and terrible vertigo filled him as he was pulled into their crimson depths. Everything became crushing, suffocating darkness as Wolfgang drowned in an elder vampire¡¯s will. For the first time in decades, Wolfgang¡¯s lungs burned with the desperate need to breathe. Frantically struggling against the smothering power, Wolfgang tried to suck in air but couldn¡¯t. His mouth wouldn¡¯t open, his body wouldn¡¯t move, he¡¯d been entombed in pure darkness. A voice rang out through the void, its clarion call painfully loud to Wolfgang. Isabelle¡¯s words were cold as arctic winter and slipped into his mind like sharpened scalpels. ¡°Shall we begin?¡±
Mina desperately rubbed the strong rope binding her wrists along the stone table¡¯s sharp lip. She was making some progress but not enough for her liking, especially considering what she heard from elsewhere in the tower. Alia and Mina had been stashed on the second floor of the guard tower, in what had once been a refectory. Kit and Yara tied them both up and kept Mina trapped with gravity magic. The Magi apologized the entire time and kept insisting it was for Mina¡¯s own good. In comparison, the Thrall kept suggesting killing Mina as punishment for ¡®betrayal.¡¯ The pair had both claimed Natalie hadn¡¯t been subverted by Isabelle and that it was Mina herself that was under some kind of geas. It was a ridiculous lie, and Mina couldn¡¯t understand why they expected her to believe them. How could she, someone raised by priests in a grand temple, be controlled by fell magic? But the absurdity of the claim wasn¡¯t nearly as distressing as the implications. That Kit spoke such a strange lie spoke to his altered mental state. Whatever magic Isabelle used to twist his mind was surely potent and insidious. So trapped as she was, Mina was left with nothing but desperate panic and feeble attempts to work miracles. That changed when something above her in the tower exploded and the gravity magic faded away. Wasting little time Mina had got to work trying to free herself. She¡¯d exhausted most of her magical reserves healing Alia and feared another spell might push her into unconsciousness. Leading to her current predicament desperately scrabbling against the stone table. Unfortunately, the rope was good quality and Mina feared she¡¯d wear through her wrists instead of the sturdy hemp. Glancing over at the sleeping Alia, Mina bit her lip and worked harder, ignoring the growing pain of friction burns. Within the stone tower, noises were muffled but Mina could still hear hints of the battle raging outside. She didn¡¯t know what happened above her, but guessed it wasn''t good and involved Kit. Staring down at the rope, Mina pondered, trying to freeze it. Her skill in cryomancy was relatively lacking, and in her worn state it was very possible for Mina to not just freeze the rope but her hands. The door to the makeshift jail cell slammed open then and Mina spun her head to see Yara enter. Thrall and Priestess just stared at each other for a moment before Mina frantically worked her wrists against the stone faster. With an annoyed grunt, Yara dropped her two burdens onto the floor. Cole¡¯s pack landed with a thunk, and Ranger Nokin fell limply to the cold stone. Unsheathing her dagger, Yara approached Mina cautiously. Eyes darting about like a trapped rodent, Mina lunged for the formerly enchanted hairpin now sitting on the floor. Yara moved with shocking speed and kicked the pin away, arriving with her boots centimeters away from Mina¡¯s head. An exhausted sigh escaped the thrall as she looked at her knife, then back at Mina. ¡°My mistress doesn¡¯t want me to kill you; but said nothing about not hurting you. Please don¡¯t make me do that.¡± Glaring up at Yara, Mina gnawed on her gag. Going to the ranger, Yara dragged the dwarf over to Mina and said. ¡°She needs to stay alive. Can you help with that?¡± Frowning, Mina looked at the ranger, nodded, then gestured to her mouth. Without expression, Yara knelt down and cut the gag free and moved the knife to Mina¡¯s throat. ¡°I¡¯ve been commanded to keep the three of you alive.¡± Yara¡¯s voice grew tense, and the knife pressed in a little bit, just enough to remind Mina of its sharpness. ¡°My mistresses are fighting to save us all, and I won¡¯t let you harm them. So I¡¯ll say this again, don¡¯t make me hurt you.¡± Frowning, Mina spoke, her voice raw. ¡°Mistresses?¡± Not moving the knife, Yara seemed to debate her words before saying. ¡°Natalie and Isabelle fight together.¡± A shiver ran up Mina¡¯s spine, but not from Yara¡¯s strange words. Something was happening in the local Aether, something terrible. Mina¡¯s trained Aetheric senses screamed for her to run, to fight, to do anything but lie here helpless as evil slithered into reality. Sudden nausea and panic filled the priestess as her mind processed the unmistakable aura of Hellkyn. Forcing herself not to vomit, Mina whispered. ¡°Oh fixed-stars no¡­¡± Staring up at Yara, her eyes wild and panicked, Mina spoke quickly. ¡°You can¡¯t do this! Isabelle is conjuring demons! DEMONS! We need to stop her! Please! Please, don¡¯t let her destroy us all!¡± Yara pulled the knife away from Mina, a strange, queasy look on her face. Even a non-mage like the thrall could sense the corruption festering in the Aether. A surge of hope filled Mina. ¡°Do you see now? Isabelle has taken over Natalie¡¯s body and is warping your minds! Those Hellkyn are hungry, she¡¯ll feed us to them!¡± Shaking her head as if dispelling a fly or treasonous thought, Yara walked over from Mina and towards Alia. A surge of utter terror welled up in the priestess. ¡°Wait! Stop! Please, please don¡¯t hurt her!¡± Glancing back at Mina, Yara gripped Alia¡¯s bound wrists and dragged her to where the priestess lay. Rolling Alia so her poorly healed scalp was facing Mina, Yara pointed her knife at the ugly tatters of skin and hair still dangling in horrible flaps. Mina¡¯s efforts had grown swaths of fresh tissue over the worst damage, but the sight was still wretched. Staring at the grisly wound, Mina asked. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Yara spoke slowly, as if to a simpleton. ¡°Isabelle fights with magic. This isn¡¯t a magical injury.¡± Confused, Mina¡¯s eyes flicked between Alia¡¯s mutilated scalp and Yara¡¯s cool expression. ¡°What? No, she-¡± Mina paused mid-sentence as part of her mind locked onto Alia¡¯s wound. Before in the desperate fight to survive and then save her girlfriend, Mina had viewed the injury through a healer¡¯s lense. Now, another set of Mina¡¯s skills were speaking to her, the set she¡¯d been assigned to the city watch to help refine. Many times Captain Ironteeth had asked her to look at a corpse or badly injured person to determine what hurt them. While her mistakes with the Heart-stealer had shaken Mina¡¯s confidence some, there was no mistaking the source of Alia¡¯s injury. Someone had struck her girlfriend with a bludgeon, probably a club or mace. Pure fortune and Alia¡¯s werefolk bones were all that kept her alive. But the near-miracle of Alia¡¯s survival wasn¡¯t what choked off Mina¡¯s words, or filled her chest with ice. Only one person among the caravan used a mace, only one was strong enough to badly wound Alia and not kill her outright. Evidence warred against memory and as Mina focused on her terrible recollection of Isabelle¡¯s betrayal, she realized the memory wasn¡¯t complete. One moment she¡¯d been challenging the vampire with glasses, the next she was kneeling over Alia and trying to keep Isabelle contained. Everything in between those two instances was a terrible blur that just wouldn¡¯t come into focus. Mina knew what happened, but couldn¡¯t remember exactly how. ¡°Gods¡­¡± Mina whispered as truth slipped its blade into her heart. Alia¡¯s stony expression flashed through Mina¡¯s mind; as did Kit¡¯s words and Yara¡¯s claim of treachery. While her mind rebelled at the conclusion all the evidence pointed at, Mina couldn¡¯t discard it. Staring over at her brutalized partner and listening to the battle outside, Mina rasped. ¡°What have I done?¡±
Different emotions warred inside Natalie as she stood in her mindscape. Never had she encountered something like Isabelle¡¯s malice. Even the Alukah¡¯s mindless hunger was in some ways easier to handle than what she¡¯d just experienced. The entire battle between Wolfgang and Isabelle, if one could even call it that, had been profoundly distressing. Even now flickers of what Isabelle intended for her enemies danced in Natalie¡¯s mind. * Wolfgang suspended by a thousand fishhooks piercing his flesh. Caustic fluid drips from above, landing on his chest in a steady patter and sizzle. * * Voivode Igori screaming as a sharpened beam is slowly forced into him. His disturbingly youthful wails cut off as the wooden post reaches his lungs. * * A vampire with strange tattoos is locked in a box with a dozen thumb-sized holes in it. Sunlight flows through the holes and forces the vampire to contort herself to avoid the burning rays. * * Three portly men run through a midnight forest, chased by a pack of snarling wolves. One of the men trips and the others leave him to the hungry pack. * Trying to push the cruel visions away, Natalie refocused on events within her mindscape. Isabelle hadn¡¯t dived into Wolfgang¡¯s mind like Natalie expected, but somehow dragged her uncle into the red lily field. A stone slab now sat among the flowers, Wolfgang atop it like a sacrificial goat. Bitterly Natalie thought a ritual offering wouldn¡¯t be in as much pain as her kin currently was. Isabelle¡¯s magic took the form of a shroud of liquid darkness that wrapped about Wolfgang and squeezed. It reminded Natalie of the experiment Isabelle conducted upon the Screamers back in Vindabon, and she wondered if the similarity was her mind¡¯s way of trying to process what was actually happening. Wrapped up in hungry shadows, Wolfgang tried to thrash and scream, but could do neither. He was a fly trapped in a spider¡¯s web, doomed to slow suffocation, before his very essence was putrefied and drained from him. The sight sickened Natalie and glancing at Isabelle looming over the altar; she asked. ¡°Is this really necessary?¡± Isabelle offered one of her typical dismissive glares. ¡°If we want to survive? Then yes, we need to extract every last drop of useful information from him.¡± The fierce look on Isabelle¡¯s face softened imperceptibly, and she added. ¡°You understand what I¡¯m doing to him is merciful compared to what his superiors would do to all of us if he succeeded? I¡¯m merely trying to gain an advantage; they¡¯d do worse and enjoy it.¡± Before Natalie could stop herself, she snorted in derision. Isabelle whirled about, annoyance dripping from her. Crossing her arms in defiance, Natalie snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t delude yourself and don¡¯t lie to me. This is vengeance, you¡¯re torturing him for what Igori did to you. Our souls are linked; remember, I can sense all the jagged up things you are imagining.¡± Lips parted in a snarl Isabelle said. ¡°And? Don¡¯t dare and say you didn¡¯t enjoy watching Cole burn the creature who killed your father.¡± Memories of the Alukah¡¯s tomb and her father¡¯s horrible fate flashed through Natalie¡¯s mind. ¡°We both know that was different! That was destroying a monster before it could hurt more people, this is-¡± Isabelle cut her off. ¡°Exactly that, except I¡¯m being more efficient. Why is it better to kill someone and let all their knowledge wash away rather than getting everything of value from them before doing the deed? Wolfgang is a disgusting little parasite responsible for the deaths of thousands. He unleashed a bastardized version of my research for probably no reason other than his own advancement or curiosity! If anyone is undeserving of mercy, it''s such a craven waste of tissue such as him!¡± Natalie could almost taste it now; the sickness within Isabelle she¡¯d hoped was in remission. The erratic rage and blistering arrogance tainted by self-loathing flowed from Isabelle in noxious waves. No longer focused and forced into structure by an obsessive goal, Isabelle¡¯s mental state was cracking. Natalie thought of some alchemical apparatus designed to manipulate caustic substances. When the device was working and moving, the acids were kept from burning through the machine. But now that Isabelle had achieved her goal of beating Wolfgang and was distracted from her next objective, the apparatus was malfunctioning. Excess bile and poison settling in fragile components, making them crack and seethe. Normally Natalie would try her best to drain the machine, to finish shutting it down before things got worse. But the battle wasn¡¯t over; the two strigoi still lived, as did Wolfgang. The full terrible workings of Isabelle¡¯s mind were still needed; now wasn¡¯t the time to challenge her, even if it was for her own good. Letting out a sigh and knowing this was a mistake, Natalie nodded. ¡°Fine, just¡­ just be efficient, we still need to rescue Cole.¡± Jutting her chin out in a display of haughty dominance, Isabelle nodded then grabbed Natalie¡¯s hand. She pulled her to the altar and made Natalie touch the oily darkness. ¡°Let us continue your education. Besides, your help might make this easier on both you and hi-¡± A noise echoed through the mindscape, a creaking groan known to any who¡¯ve walked in a forest. Somewhere nearby an old tree was moaning as its trunk bent with the wind. Except there wasn¡¯t any wind, and within the mindscape there was only one old tree¡­ Natalie and Isabelle whirled about to see the ice willow shifting, its snow-flake leaves dancing in some unfelt storm. Nearby, the fanged yew sapling also moved, its ivory needles clattering against each other like a morbid rattle. Sucking in a breath, Isabelle hissed. ¡°No, that¡¯s not possible. That-¡± She turned to Wolfgang¡¯s bound form and shrieked. ¡°You fool! What have you done?!¡± With a sound like ripping flesh, the shroud wrapping Wolfgang split open. Fine gray dust dribbled out from the tear, reminded Natalie of a slit grain sack. Isabelle gripped onto Natalie¡¯s wrist and pulled her close. Eye to eye, the older vampire said. ¡°Listen to me, your parasite is-¡± The shroud exploded with a keening wail and an eruption of the dust surged out in a rapidly growing dune. Staring at the powder, Natalie realized what it was. Ash, vampire ash. A God¡¯s warning spoke in Natalie¡¯s ear and her blood turned to ice. ¡°No-No, that wouldn¡¯t work, we¡¯re in a mindscape?¡± Isabelle cut Natalie¡¯s confused babbling off by shoving her with inhuman strength. Landing among the lilies, Natalie rolled to her feet and saw Isabelle facing the growing ash heap. Magic swirled about the former countess as she prepared a spell. A wave of cursed soot smashed into Isabelle and bloody runes surrounding her glowed and cracked. Elsewhere the willow groaned and bits of ice fell from it. The darkness trapped inside the tree grew larger, small cracks formed on the trunk and slivers of deep red shone in them. Snarling with fury, Isabelle roared. ¡°Parasites! One and all!¡± The ash reared up and smashed down on Isabelle, burying her in its shifting bulk. Natalie ran forward, seeing Isabelle¡¯s thrashing shape fighting against the hungry soot. Reaching the edge of the ash heap, Natalie hesitated, flashes of the Rabisu and of all the horror that came with it filled her mind. Paralyzed by indecision, Natalie watched as Isabelle¡¯s unburied hand desperately groped for help. Sickening fear filled Natalie as she was torn between choices. Could she try to help? Or would that merely doom them both as the Rabisu awakened? As Isabelle slipped beneath the ash, Natalie jolted with surprise as a third option came into light. This was her mind; both Isabelle and Wolfgang were guests in it. Shutting her eyes, Natalie focused on the psychic link between her and Isabelle. Using one of the first lessons her mentor imparted, Natalie pushed on the link and tried to banish both friend and enemy from her mind. But as she did, something foul sunk its claws into her psyche, a hungry malevolence that would not go without a fight. Gritting her teeth, Natalie focused on the presence, on the ashen horror Wolfgang unleashed in her mind. She could feel it, its cruelty and inscrutable malice. The ash spread itself out, growing larger as it swallowed up flowers by the dozen and buried Isabelle deeper in its depths. It resisted Natalie¡¯s efforts, denying her will and dismissing her intent. Slowly the ash heap slithered towards the ice willow, hints of Isabelle¡¯s struggling body appearing as it moved. Pushing her mind against the monster, Natalie fought to expel it from her mind. All her lessons from Isabelle and Pryia came streaming back but to no avail. Whatever this was, it resisted Natalie¡¯s control. Terror flared in Natalie, but something deeper soon replaced it. Rage, cold and domineering, grew within Natalie, the wrath of a ruler denied. How dare this thing attack her and Isabelle! How dare it try to infect her mind! She was the mistress here, this was her domain and anything within it was subject to her will! With those emotions came a power, something ancient and terrible called up by her panic. A low growl escaped Natalie¡¯s throat as fury and force built within her. How dare this parasite! How dare it defy her! Thrusting out one hand, Natalie snarled as her mindscape shifted. Droplets of blood dripped up into the sky from the lilies, a reverse rain of crimson that filled the air with red mist. Soon, the scarlet fog congealed, into a massive clawed hand that crashed down on the ash heap. Something screeched in a voice not meant for mortal ears and Natalie wavered for a moment and then answered the shriek with a scream of her own. Talons of black and red gripped the ash and chains of blood flowed from the hand into the heap. Natalie felt the malice animating the ash recoil in shock. As a cruel laugh bubbled up from the young Alukah, she snarled. ¡°Leave! Or be bound to my will!¡± Like any predator realizing it was outmatched, the ash retreated, letting go of Natalie¡¯s mind and letting her finally shut the link. With a surge of vertigo, Isabelle, and the horror Wolfgang unleashed were gone. Eyes wide, Natalie watched as the clawed hand melted away and the power within her faded. Staring down at her own hands, Natalie tried to process everything that had just happened. Tasting the last hints of what had been dredged up in her moment of desperation, Natalie muttered to herself. ¡°Annoch¡­ the Binder¡­¡± About the HK World (Part 3)

About the Strix

The Strix are among the oldest of post-Alukah Vampire breeds. While the Strigoi and a few of the eastern species might predate them by a few centuries, none of those Vampires have a recorded history as detailed as the Strix. The first three Strix were a coven of Witches (The term for people with Magi and Shaman abilities) who lived during some of the darkest days of the Sidhe invasion. Powerful human Mages were a desired commodity among the Sidhe then, and only secrecy and numbers provided any form of safety. Many covens, cabals, circles and similar existed in hiding. Isolated and ever in danger of discovery, some of these collections of Mages were... unpleasant. The use of twisted magic became more than a method of survival; it became a way of life. Many of the truly evil spells and rituals penned solely by mortal hands traces to this era. As products of this blighted time, the original three Strix believed only monsters could thrive in a monstrous age. A theory they put to the test in their quest for power and ''ascension'' past the weaknesses of mortal kind. Wandering the world, seeking knowledge, and caring little for those caught in their wake, the Strix carved a bloody imprint into the folklore of countless regions. The legends of three evil Witches are shockingly ubiquitous across Erebu and parts of Qabsu. Many simply say these stories are about the Three Queens of Goblin religion, something any faithful Goblin will fiercely deny. The Three Queens, for all their viciousness, do have noble aspects; the Strix did not, or at least nothing recorded in the stories about them. The three original Strix were often referred to as sisters, but it''s unknown if they were actually related or merely symbolic siblings. In fact, very little is recorded about them aside from their names and what can be inferred from their bloodlines. Eventually, the sisters found what they were looking for: a path to becoming monstrously powerful. After a great ritual soaked in blood and tears, the three Witches were reborn as the first Strix Vampires. The Witche''s magical powers grew from formidable to staggering, and soon, ambitious Mages sought the sisters out, seeking to partake in their cursed blood. Like an infection, the Strix Curse spread through the isolated magical communities, shifting the balance of power among these invisible colleges. Soon, a silent war raged among Mages as the Strix faced an increasingly united opposition. This conflict reached its inevitable conclusion when it caught the Sidhe''s attention. Both sides were decimated and decapitated, with the three sisters missing or dead. Without the original Strix to lead them, the Vampire''s descended into infighting and eventually scattered. The survivors on the mortal side learned much from these events, and the connections formed between these communities became the bedrock of the later Ivory Towers of Erebu. Ever since the final battle of the ''War of Owls,'' as the conflict between magical communities ended, there have been rumors about the Strix Sisters. Of how at least one of them survived and still haunts the world. More than a few powerful Strix are rumored to be direct scions or students of a surviving sister, but there is little evidence of this. Still, the Ivory Towers have shown a remarkable interest in some of the more bombastic rumors about a surviving sister. With their being whispers the War of Owls never truly ended, only became more subtle. All Strix are known for their obsessive tendencies and ravenous curiosity, a trait that defines them as much as the Strigoi''s viciousness or a Moroi''s scheming. Part nature of the curse, part nurture of selected scions, this behavior presents differently in the three true Strix bloodlines. Nontho''s Bloodline - The eldest sister and her Scions chase after an ever-growing goal with maniacal zeal. With every success or failure, the blood of Nontho will set their sights ever higher. Strangely charismatic and violently self-assured, these Vampires are known for incredible feats and discoveries, usually followed by spectacular downfalls. Isabelle is a prime example of this bloodline and demonstrates their strengths and weaknesses to an extreme degree Lakhes''s Bloodline - The middle sister and her Scions are collectors and observers. Often cautious and neurotic, these Vampires hoard knowledge and power as a way of survival. They rarely engage in great tasks or risky gambits, preferring a more subtle and secure method of existing. Wolfgang is an unusually proactive member of this bloodline, being an ''observer'' to his sire, Igori''s ''collector.'' Aisa''s Bloodline - The youngest sister and her Scions care more for the pursuit than the victory. Fickle by Strix standards, they will chase a goal until they are satisfied and then move on. But until they achieve said satisfaction, Aisa''s bloodline will show a level of grit and commitment that defies reason. Lord Johan Glockmire showed many of the traits of Aisa''s blood, and so did his scion Petar.

About Titans and Demurges

The Aether has existed far longer than humanoids have on Vardis. Its cycles of waxing and waning have influenced the planet for geologic ages, mutating lifeforms into new magical species. Without higher thoughts to influence the Aether, it was a simpler, more primordial force, untouched by Gods or Sidhe, only home to primitive but powerful Spirits. In those ages of high Aetheric concentration, life evolved into configurations completely reliant on magic to survive. Their biology requiring reality to be more ''suggestible'' to function. At the apex of these magical species were entities called Titans, singular organisms of incredible size and magical power. Each Titan was born from a powerful Monster, achieving a form of symbiosis with one of the primordial Spirits inhabiting the Aether. These two entities fuse and become something more, a god-beast comparable to a living force of nature. Living off of the Aether''s magical currents and capable of creating or destroying geologic features and ecosystems by their mere presence, Titans were the true masters of Vardis. Even when more intelligent species evolved or arrived upon the planet, they knew to pay homage to these entities. But like all reigns, that of the Titans came to an end. The Aether waned, and with it, Vardis''s ability to support such impossible creatures. Some of the more wily or well-adapted Titans left the planet, using their own simple but formidable magic to find other worlds to inhabit. But the majority of Titans and their less impressive but still magically dependent kindred went extinct, their biology crushed beneath reality''s rules being enforced once again. A third category of Titan, unable or unwilling to flee, adapted, doing what many species do in times of scarcity: hibernate. To survive these lean millennia, where magic became scarce, these hibernating Titans turned to an unusual food source. Magical energy reacts to crystalline matter in an odd way, becoming ''trapped'' in the material, so gemstones, quartz, and similar can act like batteries of magic. Deep beneath the earth, huge deposits of crystals could hold titanic (pun intended) amounts of magic even as the Aether faded to an echo of what it once was. Some Titans burrowed deep into the earth, leaving huge cavern systems in their wake, as they sought nests capable of sustaining them during their hibernation. Sleeping away ages while passively feeding on this magical source, these Titans have managed to survive multiple cycles of Aetheric waxing and waning. In this most recent cycle, where humanoids evolved on Vardis and started stirring up the Aether into a more complicated state, one of these ancient Titans discovered something rather curious. Cut and polished gemstones can retain more magic more efficiently than their raw counterparts. It discovered this when a tribe of Neanderthals started using a cave connected to its lair as their home. This tribe would cut/crack a local quartz deposit into shiny shapes as decorations. As the centuries went by and this tribe found itself out-competed by Homo Sapian neighbors, the Titan called to them. Its huge but simple mind offering them sanctuary and implanting a deep-set desire in these Neanderthals to find more shiny things in the depths below. The tribe survived in the cavern system sprawling out around the Titan''s nest and was soon joined by other clans called by the Titan''s will. Protected and guided by their unknown patron, these Neanderthals thrived, growing into a subterranean subspecies with a universal love for gems and gold: the Dwarves. Spreading out through the subterranean world connecting the different Titans, the Dwarves expanded these caverns and entered the territory of other sleeping Titans. Now centuries later, great vaults of masterfully cut gems sit at the heart of every Dwarven hold, a point of cultural pride for the Dwergaz, a buried food cache for the sleeping Titans. Few Dwarves are aware of the Titans; the slumbering minds of their ancient benefactor protect themselves by muddying memories and confusing explorers. Casting massive subtlety spells that act like camouflage against anything that might disturb their sleep until the Aether waxes enough for them to rise. But the Dwarven legends contain references to songs in the deep, to ancient guardians who called them below and helped their initial holds. These mysterious benefactors are given the title ''Demiurge,'' but the Dwarves aren''t the only ones to use this term. Scholars have adopted the word and its meaning of ''creator deity'' to refer to any being who has created or ''sculpted'' a species magically.

About Dullahans

Dullahans blur the line between undead and curse, being a fusion of tortured soul and witchfire. Witchfire is magically conjured flame ''tainted'' by Aetheric power. While calling up flames is a very simple magical practice, infusing them with additional arcane energies is more difficult. But those capable of the feat can find many uses for altered fire, particularly because the properties of witchfire can be more easily altered. Creating ''impossible'' fire that doesn''t burn organic matter or is hyper-efficent to the point of candles lasting weeks or months are just some examples of witchfire''s use. Magically altered or influenced flames almost always show signs of what is affecting them, like Cole''s blood-powered pyromancy is unusually red, and corpses affected by necromancy often produce odd smoke. Most commonly witchfire appears a vivid green, as it''s influenced by the local Aether. Other colors and ''textures'' can hint at the source of magic powering the flame. Black fire usually means the Dark; silver-white means the Light, etc. Now normally, fire merely breaks the bonds between a soul and its body, providing a quick and ugly form of consecration when a Priest or similar is not around. But when certain rituals and a particularly nasty form of witchfire is involved, the rules change. A Dullahan and some of their kindred undead are created when a soul is burned/consumed in a literally cursed act of necromancy. By separating the head from the Dullahan and casting certain spells upon it, the soul of the Dullahan-to-be is protected and prepped for the transformation ahead. Souls are collections of magical energy stretched between the Mundane, Aether, and Beyond, touching all three parts of reality, but the witchfire ritual changes this. It snaps a soul''s connection to the Beyond and even transforms the soul into something akin to a spell or, in this case, a curse. Because their connection to the Beyond is severed, Dullahans can''t easily receive aid or harm from that domain. So they are unusually resistant to the usual powers channeled against the undead. This separation is extremely traumatic, and it takes a very tough/developed soul to survive it. Existing in both the Mundane and Aether, the burning soul becomes a mass of sentient witchfire directed by the Dullahan. At the most basic level, this makes a Dullahan an extremely durable pyromantic entity. As long as the Dullahan''s head is intact or separated from them, very little can truly destroy them. Existing as a curse in the Aether, a Dullahan can survive and ''rekindle'' as long as some of their flame survives. But fire likes to spread, and the type of witchfire that composes a Dullahan is no exception. Every being touched by the Dullahan''s flames is marked by them, burned on a metaphysical level, allowing the headless hunter to track them. When the Dullahn finds its quarry and kills them, its flames will burn the victim''s soul. Not usually destroying it unless the Dullahan really tries to, but ripping off pieces of it to join the fire. Each mauled soul fuels the flame and strengthens the Dullahan. Not to an infinite degree, a Dullahn reaches a point where its sense of self will start to be ''diluted'' by excess soul stuff, leading to a type of dissociative madness. Many of these headless hunters become little more than psychotic automatons roving over a stretch of land, killing any they encounter until someone finally breaks the curse. Other Dullahans learn the true power they possess, being able to inject their flame into a corpse to animate it as a subservient lesser undead. The cursed horses of Dullahans are the most famous example of this, but old and powerful Dullahans have been known to lead ''hunts'' of undead horsemen and knights. Additionally, some of the flame is used whenever a Dullahan creates/controls fire or calls upon similar abilities. One crucial weakness keeps Dullahans from matching other undead of similar power and intelligence. They are bound to their skull, and any being that possesses the skull can easily place powerful magical chains upon them. Similarly, most Dullahans cannot travel too far from their skull; forcing them to keep to a territory. Some very lucky people have managed to escape hunting Dullahans, escaping the lands they can inhabit by the skin of their teeth. Powerful necromancers can do lots with this link, like binding a Dullahan to someone, their skull (still in use) acting as the focal point of the hunter''s territory. These curious properties mean Dullahans often find themselves as bodyguards to monsters even worse than they are or as insane local legends bound to cursed land. Only a headless undead inhabited by witchfire is technically a Dullahan, but the term is used more broadly for any decapitated undead. Those in circles with necromantic knowledge refer to true Dullahans as Cephalpyre Dullahans. A number of variants exist, with unique abilities and predilections decided by the original soul used in the ritual and said ritual details. They all share the weakness of their skull, though, being bound to it and easily destroyed by whoever possesses the skull.

About Nous and Archons

When a Mundane being reaches a level of magical saturation that its local Aether cannot support them, it is faced with a number of options. Leaving their native world and searching for another with a closer connection to the Beyond works for a time, but eventually, a truly powerful magical entity will reach the point where Mundane reality simply isn''t enough. At this point, unless the being willingly cripples itself, the best option remaining is to ascend into the Beyond, becoming what mortals call an ascended and what Beyonders call a Nous. Nous are by their very nature potent beings and can easily find places among the different hierarchies of the Beyond or exist as independent intelligences, sometimes even congregating into metaphysical tribes or nations. Limited in how they can interact with the Mundane, Nous often become increasingly distant from their plane of origin, their growing understanding alienating them from what was. Still, some maintain an interest and investment in their home, acting as patrons or problems for the Mundane. As Beyonders, Nous are limited in how their power can grow as the main source of increased potency, the thoughts, emotions and souls of the Mundane is jealously guarded by the Gods. Instead, most content themselves with exploring the cosmos and working on whatever project currently interests them. But some Nous seek more than being a fish in the ocean; they remember what it was like to be a leviathan and want a return to that. This is a tricky prospect but not impossible. A God is an anthropomorphic personification/cosmic embodiment of certain related concepts sculpted by the collective belief, emotions, and perspective of sapient life. But, these Gods are not the only beings in the Beyond with unimaginable power, below them are entities called Archons. Archons are independent intelligences that have achieved a state close to godhood but are not truly deities. At the most basic level this difference is defined by an Archon lacking a divine domain, as in a facet of reality they personify and rule. This lack of true divinity offers a number of advantages and disadvantages, most key is how Archons are more static than a true deity. A God''s nature is sculpted by worship, and its power is fed by thoughts and emotions. Archons by contrast are their own master and cannot tap into the infinite wellspring of metaphysical potential that is mortal minds. Still, an Archon has the magical power and skill to do ''god-like'' feats (creating or destroying a world, uplifting a species, warping reality, etc.), Unlike a true God, there is no set qualification for being an Archon; it is simply a designation given to beings of godly power but not Godly nature. As such, the origin, abilities, and goals of Archons are incredibly varied. Some are Nous, who managed to claim unfathomable power and keep it. Others are Sidhe, Seraphs, Demons, or similar, now strong enough to exist independently from their court or God. Truly ancient Dragons and other more alien enitites can also reach this state as well. The process for becoming an Archon is equally varied, with few consistent paths to this state. Knowledge and information is power in the Beyond, just as much as thought and emotion are. But they are considerably less contested by divinities, so many prospective Archons collect as much data as they can, becoming hoarders of secrets and mysteries. More aggressive methods do exist, like stealing power from other Beyonders, and even consuming them; but that opens one up to predation. Rarely an entity can ascend into the Beyond as a true Archon instead of Nous, but this requires extraordinary circumstances. For example, a very canny Dragon might find a way to let their ''magical exhaust'' accumulate in great hordes of gemstones scattered across different worlds. So when said Dragon finally ascends, they do so in a ritual that sucks in all the stored power, turning them into a lesser Archon. Or, more horribly, a being might devour the souls of its native world or even the planet''s Aether in a ritual of twisted sacrifice. A few miscellaneous facts about all this.

About Trolls

I''d intended to send Cole and company troll-hunting in the Deeps at one point but the plot went elsewhere. Still, I figured I''d share a little about them. Trolls in HK are a species of great ape that adapted to the Deeps. Physically they resemble bald, fat chimpanzees with thick hide-like skin and and an usually large nose. This nose helps amplify their calls and allows for trolls to be heard across kilometers of tunnel. While not particularly smart by primate standards, trolls are adaptive and durable. They possess a supernatural regenerative factor and can survive all but the most traumatic injuries if given time and calories. This regeneration, when combined with their dense bones, muscles, and skin, means trolls are exceptionally durable creatures. While mostly hairless, trolls often have colonies of most and fungus growing upon their skin, acting as camouflage and in a pinch food. Aggressively omnivorous, trolls will eat anything they can, displaying a intense gluttony that ensures their body has large fat reserves to power their regeneration. As a side effect of this hunger, trolls are usually migratory, wandering the Deeps and surface constantly searching for food. Short lived, as a side effect of their regeneration, trolls rarely reach twenty-five years before senescence and cancer leads to their deaths. Trolls are also naturally hermaphroditic and aggressive, so mating and territory clashes are often one and the same. Adolescent trolls start at roughly a meter in size and grow quickly. A well-fed adult troll can easily reach two or three meters depending on environmental factors. But a number of sub-species both larger and smaller than the typical troll do exist. The short lifespans and adaptive nature of trolls mean that most regions of the Deeps and surface have some variant of troll inhabiting it. Surface-dwelling trolls have almost armor-like skin, as their pigment-less skin hardens into thick calloused plates of sun-burned leather. Trolls native to tighter cave systems will have thinner builds, and hyper-flexibility of their joints. Northern fjords where key tunnels meet the ocean often have algae-covered sea trolls nesting among their spray-soaked crags. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. No one has ever successfully domesticated a troll. They''ve occasionally been trained as beasts of battle or controlled by magic, but little else. Generally, trolls are viewed as a dangerous pest, requiring immediate action before they cause serious damage to whatever humanoid settlement they''ve wandered near. The surface of Vardis is riddled with far more caverns and tunnels than its people would like to imagine, and hungry trolls often wander to the surface, taking routes unknown to even the most knowledgeable dwarven prospector. Because of this, some mercenaries make a good living off hunting trolls, patrolling regions with high numbers of caves, waiting for some unfortunate village to need their help. Dwarves, as a rule, detest trolls, viewing their existence with an almost instinctual disgust. Old dwarf legends speak of trolls as primordial rivals for control of the Deeps and attest to worryingly intelligent subspecies that stalk the deepest caves of Vardis. While trolls are not clever enough to properly use magic, they often experience mutations because of being exposed to large amounts of magical energy within the Deeps. Like with most creatures, the more stable mutations result in sub-species, but trolls unusually hardy physique can allow them to survive with more drastic alterations. Trolls with extra limbs, eyes, and even chimeric body parts haunt the campfire tales of many dwarven miners. Some of these stories even speak of other more harrowing mutants, like Dire Trolls so large and durable they can live for decades as piles of angry tumors. Or the infamous Boneless Troll that can slip through fist sized cracks in the rock. Other tales speak of ancient trolls with Jotunn blood who grow into hill-sized masses of calcified flesh.

About Eclipse Dancers

(To celebrate the Eclipse that went across the USA, I''m going to tap-dance on a mine field!) So I need to preface this with some context and ass-covering. I''m a straight cisgendered dude but I have friends who are gay and trans. So, as with polyamory, I''m probably not the best or worst person to write about this sort of thing. I''m also a student of history, anthropology and psychology who tries not to shy away from the myriad aspects of life in my writing. Homosexuality, transexuality/gender and non gender conforming people have been a historical fact and constant element of human civilization in its myriad forms. A fair number of historical and scientific estimates seem to show something like 10% of people across cultures belong to one of these demographics. Yet for reasons I''d rather not get into outside a political forum, the existence and identity of these populations is controversial in some people''s minds. I''m not a fan of that type of thinking and am trying to avoid erasing/ignoring queer people in my story. Bluntly fantasy and lots of other fiction types seem to either pretend these demographics don''t exist or hyper-focus on them. I''m trying to do neither, and hope to succeed. Alright onto the topic at hand. In places where the Pantheon is the dominant religious element, the Sun and Moon are associated with feminity and masculinity respectfully. As such, the conjunction of these two celestial bodies provides a unique metaphysical opportunity. Certain rituals and spells are only possible or feasible during an eclipse. The Eclipse Dancers are a religious order who follow both Sister Sun and Brother Moon that specialize in these spells. Of the eclipse rituals, the most common and well known is a form of sanctified flesh-crafting that allows a person''s body to be ''re-aligned'' with their soul and mind. This rite can be performed during a solar or lunar eclipse, and is unique among all forms of flesh-crafting. The scope of magic is extremely precise and stable, which is uncommon for flesh-crafting. Those who undergo the eclipse rite become who they ''should'' be, not what they ''want'' to be. Their basic biological make-up and genetic structure is mostly unchanged, simply replaced with a version of themselves that ''should'' be. So a person born male who undergoes this ritual will gain a body akin to what their body would be like if they''d been born female. Same eyes, same hair, same basic everything, almost like an opposite gender twin. Once the ritual finishes, its subject will be biologically stable and not experience the usual side-effects of such extensive flesh-crafting. This leads some Magi to think the ritual is less about resculpting an existing body but replacing it with an alternative version taken from another universe. While not common, people who have ''done the dance'' aren''t unheard of in most places, with most communities accepting their lost son/daughter back as a new daughter/son. Eclipse Dancers themselves are selected from two distinct categories of people, neither of which conform to gender norms. The first are those who experience a mixing of sexual characteristic when undergoing the eclipse rite. These dancers are the more common type and some will undergo the ritual every eclipse they can, their bodies shifting to match their fluid minds; while others take on a singular genderless form. The second category of prospective dancer are children born during an eclipse. These are the true dancers, and their legendary forbearers were the first to discover and record these rituals. True dancers are mild shapeshifters, able to change their sexual presentation in any way they wish and have a unique ability to detect those who might benefit from the ritual. Most true dancers who aren''t members of the order keep their nature somewhat private. As flesh-crafting and humanoid shapeshifting are both taboo magics and for good reason. Aside from the dance of genders, there is another well-known ritual the Eclipse order practices. This one is more difficult and requires a solar eclipse or the captured light of such an event. When undertaken by a same-sex couple who are in love, the ritual allows them to conceive a child. The rarity of solar eclipses and the potential complications of such a intense ritual mean it is not common. Only noble families or members of magical bloodlines will usually undertake the rite for reasons that are often more political than romantic. Lesbian couples have an easier time with the ritual, while gay couples need to rely on alchemical or flesh-crafted aids. (Artificial wombs are an experimental but promising side-effect of homunculus research) The offspring of these unions often suffer mild to major health issues, but otherwise are normal and often display mild savantism of magic related to Sister Sun and Brother Moon. Outside of their ritual importance, Eclipse Dancers are also potent priests who can combine the magic of their two gods in unique ways. These abilities come in useful for the lesser known duties of the Eclipse Dancer. The metaphysical implications of an eclipse are more than just the intermingling of masculine and feminine. Rituals and magics related to shadows, darkness, and corrupted light are possible beneath an eclipse. Keeping these rites hidden and stopping those who''d use them also falls under the Dancer''s purview. (Dear readers, please don''t make me regret this bit of world-building and universe expanding. Also, some of its not just fluff, I intend to do something with dark eclipse magic eventually and the Dancers working with Cole and Natalie to stop it)

About Wereblood Transformations

Long centuries of experimentation and practice have helped the Wereblooded peoples, be they beast or kin, master their animalistic power and use it successfully. Full Werebeasts have the innate ability to turn into their curse beast, and a hybrid form. But this formidable power comes at a cost with Werebeasts constantly struggling to balance their two facets and keep their predatory aggression under control. Those Werefolk who''ve been bitten by a Werebeast but not fully transformed can only channel the curse beast''s power into some parts of their body, but are much less influenced by the beast''s instincts and desires. This has the unusual effect of allowing Werefolk to gain a level of control and understanding over their curse-mutated flesh. Werekin can often tap into their powers with finesse that even the most attuned Werebeast would struggle with. For example, a skilled Werekin might be able to enhance their senses to animal heights and combine that with humanoid logic and reasoning to gather more information and better conclusions than a Werebeast whose mind would be more occupied keeping their bestial nature contained. Similarly, a Werekin could strengthen a single limb, gaining denser muscles and bones (and possibly arm hair) without needing to fully transform into a hybrid like a Werebeast. Of course mature and balanced Werebeasts can use these techniques of partial transformation, but will inevitably lack the experience and specialization a Werekin who''s been doing this since they were a teenager would. Werekin can have some level of control over what type of partial transformations they develop, by selecting where they are bitten upon coming of age. Many clans of Werefolk have preferred locations, as dictated by tradition and practicality. Techniques to ''draw'' the curse to a specific body part do exist, but are tricky and require Magi and Shamans trained in this art. These rites allow for sensory organs and other sensitive tissue to be enhanced without it actually getting bitten. But most times, the bite is typically deep enough to reach a major artery or vein, allowing the curse/virus easy access. As such, only the most controlled Werebeasts are chosen to inflict the bite. With training and experience, Werekin can tap into two basic types of transformation. Both are physically and mentally draining, requiring robust bodies and focused minds to work properly. By transforming, Werekin can mildly increase their own healing, as the magic bleeds over into their body, helping cell growth and tissue repair. Internal- The curse''s power enhances muscle tissue, bone density, and organ functionality. When done properly, an internal transformation is virtually undetectable without medical or magical examination. But often an internal transformation will have an external bleed over, the extent of which depends on the Werekin''s state. Extra body hair, changed skin pigmentation, and even slight shifts to muscular and bone structure are the most common. (Cat-Eyes gets leopard spots along her back and even some fur) External- New physical structures are grown or existing ones extremely mutated by the curse. External transformations are anything but subtle and are also usually somewhat painful. The growth of claws, snouts, tails, or even wings are common examples of this type of transformation. External transformations are almost always accompanied by a request internal transformation, and they can be considered a ''second stage'' transformation. But some Werefolk lack useful external transformations and don''t use them. (Cat-Eyes doesn''t have much desire to grow a slightly stumpy tail in an experience she lovingly compares to ''shitting out your spine'') Werebeasts at their most basic level can turn into their curse beast and a hybrid form. But the exact details of the beast and hybrid form can vary. Even being modified and exaggerated by potent Werebeasts. This is how Gruopa Honey-Drinker could turn into a gigantic dire bear during the riot. His curse is so potent and his control of it so effective he can transform into an enhanced form. Other more specialized hybrid forms or magical abilities can be gained by Werebeasts willing to strengthen the curse affecting them. Devouring the heart of a magical being is the easiest way to increase the curse''s potency, and many Werebloods take to hunting Direbeasts and other monsters for this reason. Of course, humanoid hearts and those of other Werebloods also work... In fact a Werekin can devour a Werebeasts heart to become one, in an act that is taboo among some clans and required among others. With elder Werebeasts dying by ritual combat, there heart consumed by a victorious relative. In general, duels like this are common among Werebeasts, with rivals claiming the power of their fallen foe and receiving tattoos marking their victories. But this practice of increasing the curses potency is very much double-edged, granting new abilities and strength while also intensifying the bestial instincts. It''s not unheard of for greedy Werebeasts to glut themselves and lose control, becoming a feral monster whose kin are honor-bound to slay.

About Vampire Bloodlines and Houses

The curse of vampirism mutates those inflicted with it physically, mentally and spiritually. Each species of vampire displays distinct changes to these categories, reflecting its primogenitors nature and origin. But the primogenitors are not the only ones who leave ''echos'' of themselves in the curse. Magic is rarely a one-way road, especially in the matter of curses like vampirism. Old and powerful vampires pass something of their talents and predilections to their scions, creating a bloodline within the bloodbreed (species.) This factor, combined with more mundane transmission of knowledge between sire and scion, leads to unique abilities and practices within a bloodline. Some bloodlines possess bizarre mutated versions of typical vampire powers, while others merely inherent quirks and aptitudes from their sires. Since vampires usually choose to sire people who are compatible with them and their goals, bloodline features are self-reinforcing as nature and nurture are united. Members of potent bloodlines are often sought after by various vampire courts and other organizations; since the power and pedigree of these elite scions is valuable. Because of this, many vampire bloodlines are scattered across the duchies, its members seeking opportunities beyond their kin''s shadow. Vampire bloodlines that stay unified and cooperative (by leech standards) are known as houses. While once rare as large scale ''infestations'' of vampires were reason enough for mortal enemies to unite against them, houses are becoming more common as the Duchies provide a perfect environment for them to flourish. Usually, a house is ruled by a singular ancient leech, often the founder or their successor/usurper. But situations where councils of elders share rulership aren''t unheard of; usually during periods when the founder is hibernating. United out of fear, respect, loyalty and pragmatism, large houses form some of the most dangerous power blocs in the duchies. Vampire houses are extremely hierarchical, even by duchy standards, with age and generational proximity to the founder deciding status. Because of this, many mature vampires who lack opportunities will leave the house to seek their fortune elsewhere. This is accepted by all but the most insular and domineering houses, with the stipulation that the wayward scion be willing to aid their kin if they are called upon. So its not unheard of for the eldest houses to have branches across the duchies who exist in a mix of alliance and rivalry. On top of these internal bloodline structures, vampires are also organized into courts. While most courts are built around a singular noble and their scions, few are solely composed of that bloodline. Even the courts of a house founder will be more than their kin. Possessing a diverse collection of vassal vampires is considered a sign of status and sanity among the leeches. As such, vampire courts are usually composed of a few different linages, all vassals of the court''s ruler. Houses are usually named after its founder, with it acting as a family name for its more senior members. Some houses only allow direct scions of the founder to hold the name, while others have elaborate requirements for who can use the family name. The surname prefix Gens is common among the oldest houses of the Duchies, being a relic from the Iskan Imperium. Houses that use Gens were either founded by an imperial noble who simply kept the old name, or were awarded it by Dracon in his role as Archduke. Vampires able to use Gens in their name are members of a respected bloodline and considered the elite of the Duchies. - Isabelle was the third head of House Gens Silva when it was destroyed. Her bloodline specialized in enhancing the brain and memory palace. Developing techniques to learn more efficiently and even have multiple simultaneous thought processes. - Direct scions of primogenitors have a harder time creating a bloodline but are known to grow in strength faster than most vampires. - Wolfgang is too young to use his bloodline abilities. - The initial strength of a newly sired vampire can be effected by their sire investing more potent blood into them. Because of this some vampires rarely sire, only producing strong and well-groomed vassals. While others prefer large numbers of easily controled spawn. - Johan Glockmire was too young when he sired Petar to form a bloodline, and Natalie''s accidental siring meant she had very little power invested in her. This is part of why the Alukah so easily replaced her strix heritage. - The oldest and most powerful vampires have been known to devour members of other bloodlines to gain their abilities, but this practice is not only risky and unpredictable, it is also one of the few true taboos in the duchies.

About Demons

Demons are non-physical organisms that exist within the myriad Hells within the overarching metaphysical domain known to mortals as the Dark. While demons have myriad origins and natures, they are defined by their alignment to the Dark and feeding habits. The thoughts, emotions, and memories of mortal kind constantly flow into the Beyond, gravitating towards the Light, Dark or Grey becoming part of them. This is especially true when a mortal dies, and their soul is cleansed for reincarnation, all that they were spills out into sympathetic parts of the Beyond. Nasty spiritual effluvium flows into the Dark, joining a Hell. Each Hell was originally a physical world that drowned in the Dark and became a nexus for a certain type of sin or pain. Some are broader, existing as reflections of cultural ideas of evil and suffering; where others are more focused domains revolving around a particular concept. In these Hells, are demons, who feed upon the constant flow of metaphysical darkness and the occasionally intact soul that arrives. While the exact details change between Hells, each is home to a complicated ecosystem where different parts of the effluvium/sins are consumed by different types of demons. Since they are Spirits of a sort and, in essence, living myths/stories, demons can more easily feed upon emotions/thoughts connected to their nature. Existing in constant competition, demons fight each other to claim sins they can consume or to grow their ''story'' by devouring weaker but related demons. So a demon born from jealous romantic rage might devour a demon of angry romantic betrayal to strengthen themselves and get better access to sins. This comes at a cost though, and the more stretched out a demon is the easier a rival might tear a piece off of them. This never-ending struggle and balancing act defines the existence of most demons and is in part why the Mundane appeals to them so. For interaction with mortals offers demons all manner of opportunities. The most basic of these opportunities is raw souls; mortals in their entirety. A seized soul can be torn apart, the incompatible portions traded while the demon gluts itself on their chosen sins. Or with a little time, a demon can break a soul, torturing/mutilating it into a much more palatable configuration. Souls more aligned towards the Light are said to give better results when broken this way, so many more intelligent and devious demons seek to claim innocent or righteous souls for this purpose. Aside from the glut of sins a demon might claim from the Mundane, there is another benefit to leaving the Hells. A demon''s story/nature becomes more solid as it acts in the Mundane. By following their nature, and inflicting their evil upon mortal minds, a demon gains stability and durability. The sins and horrors of that demon become more ''stuck'' to it by the glue of perception, letting the Hellkyn more easily grow its diet and be more protected from rival''s predations. But entering the Mundane isn''t without issues, it requires focused magical power, Aetheric resonance, a prepared body, and on Vardis, mortal consent. Pulling a Beyonder into the Mundane takes magical energy, with stronger Beyonders requiring more energy. Tuning the Aether to the Beyonder''s nature can help lessen the magical threshold; so rituals and places of power are often used during summoning. Being spirits, Beyonders like Hellkyn need a body to inhabit, usually possessing a mortal or their corpse. More powerful demons require durable bodies or risk burning through their host. So the various Archdemons of the Hells covet forms capable of containing their power. Unscrupulous alchemists and other artificers have been known to gain great boons in exchange for building a Archdemon a durable body. While the exact details of a demon''s host body can vary radically, they must have a magical medium as a major component, be it precious metals or living tissue. The Gates Beyond also require a mortal''s direct agreement, with them initiating the summoning and setting forth terms. While a clever demon can negotiate and only agree to the summons after getting a better deal, it falls to the mortal to start the summoning. Being pulled into the Mundane compresses a Beyonder''s being and magical bindings can be placed upon them during the summoning, which is how a demon can be controlled. But these bindings are never perfect, and Hellkyn can escape their leash via strength or cunning. Once summoned, a Demon exists in the Mundane until it is banished, which is the most important part of any binding put upon them. In ages past, before the Gates, a demon could pull itself into existence using magical sympathy. So places of great pain and evil could bleed demons into reality, or even possess unstable mages who worked great spells while in the grip of negative emotions. Overwhelming force can damage a demon''s body enough that their connection to it is severed, and a variety of magics exist to forcefully drive them out of a host. Priests in particular can tap into their God''s power to weaken a demon''s hold on the Mundane. With the Priests faith and ability to win the contest of wills/metaphors being key. But driving out a Hellkyn from its host is not the only option. While they are in the Mundane, demons are also uniquely vulnerable. Outside of the Hells they can more easily encounter banes, which are usually emotions and memories anathema to their nature. Exposed to its bane, a demon''s existence becomes fragile, and damage that might normally wound or banish them will destroy the Hellkyn. Still, this is much easier said than done, as demons cultivate and collect their favored sins. Surrounding themselves with environments, mortals and magics that make producing the bane emotions difficult. Fell Gods exist in an interesting place in the hellish ecosystems. Where demons are narrow in their scope and only able to feed from the sins washed away in reincarnation (without entering the Mundane); the Fell Gods encompass a broad theme of evil and drink from every mind and soul experiencing that theme. This even includes demons, who in essence pay a tax to the Fell god they exist under. This odd relationship means most demons exist as servants of a Fell God. Some deities merely tolerate the Hellkyn as disposable servants and potential food; absorbing the most potent and attuned demons into themselves. Others rule over legions of Hellkyn, using them to grow their power and influence. The strongest of the Fell Gods claim entire Hells for themselves, taking the metaphysical territory as their own to use as they see fit. A basic infernal hierarchy. Fell Gods- Gods of the Dark, cosmic embodiments of evil filtered through mortal perspective. Hellish Archons- Singularities of magical power existing in the Dark, often existing as a semi-independent Hell or piece of one. Arch Demons - Ancient, stable, and phenomenally dangerous. Their myth is carved into cultures as an archetype of evil. These are the apex predators of the Hells, often ruling over an entire breed of demon. High Demons - Potent horrors that have amassed enough strength and wiles to not just survive but thrive. Gaol-gru-Mapa was one of these, but much reduced by his hibernation beneath Vindabon. Middle Demons - Capable enough to survive the hungry hells reasonably intact but not much else. These Hellkyn viciously defend their sins of choice and eagerly seek chances to grow. Hernev-hut-Orn and Wodwo-ge-Nomos are both stronger than average examples of these demons. Low Demons - Weak and starving, often barely more than a confluence of similar sins. Often subject to predation by their superiors or fellows, they are tattered scraps of malice. The demons Scapino summoned at the Ball were these; and they are often what are called forth by mages seeking simple but vicious monsters. Book III: Chapter 49: Denial

Chapter 49: Denial

¡°The followers of my creed can be divided into two broad groups. First are the outer circle, the craven and self-serving who follow this path only to save themselves from sorrow. These worshippers fear grief and seek the Reaper¡¯s gifts, either to cut away their pain or protect themselves from ever experiencing it. Those of the inner circle are not so weak. We embrace grief for the truth it is and seek to help others touch that great thread that connects us all.¡± - Mater Rion of the Sickle Sisters.
Wolfgang sat in the center of a cold stone room, covering his ears with both hands and rocking back and forth. Circular, with staircases leading above and below, the room was just one floor in a castle tower. Myriad shelves and cases filled the chamber, each holding dozens of books or arcane trinkets. But Wolfgang paid no attention to these abstractions of his key memories and spells, instead he stared at the rough walls of the tower. A constant noise filled the room, filtering in from what lay beyond its confines. It was a terrible high grinding sound, like rock being cut or a fork being dragged across a dinner plate. With every passing second, the noise grew louder and with it cracks swam through the stone walls. Wolfgang was in the heart of his mindscape and helplessly watching as Countess Isabelle Gens Silva forced her way into his psyche. Trying pointlessly to block out the eternal grinding of metaphorical masonry, Wolfgang bared his teeth in a horrible rictus, a low animal moan escaping him. He¡¯s been pushed back into this final sanctum by Isabelle and was now awaiting the inevitable. Swallowed up by her darkness and slowly being squished like juiced fruit, Wolfgang was helpless. Soon the crack in the wall would grow wide enough and feelers would slip into his mind and ransack its contents. Drinking down his most precious secrets and discarding anything without value; leaving him a ruined husk worse than dead. When his body was finally destroyed, Wolfgang¡¯s very being would be so damaged and drained, there would be little of him to face the afterlife. Demons and dark gods would tear apart the scraps of him, devouring all that Isabelle passed over. Wolfgang was facing something beyond damnation; he faced true ruination. Shutting his eyes, unwilling to watch the widening cracks, Wolfgang thought about all the events that lead him here. Of his short desperate life, and only mildly longer and even more desperate undeath. Schemes and dreams turned to bitter ash in Wolfgang¡¯s mouth as the monolithic truth of his failures crashed down like a falling mountain. Wolfgang sobbed: ¡°I¡­I just wanted to be safe. I just want to be free!¡± Curling his body closer, Wolfgang rocked harder, his voice a pleading moan. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die!¡± As death and dissolution approached, Wolfgang found himself mired in an ossified emotion. Like so many others faced with their end and unwilling to meet it, Wolfgang experienced grief. He grieved for what would never be, for the loss of life and possibility. Wolfgang grieved for himself and knew no one else would. Drowning in those deep waters, Wolfgang¡¯s essence splashed and flailed; attracting the attention of what swam beneath. Somehow over the sound of Isabelle¡¯s attack and his own blubbering, Wolfgang heard the creak of wood. Eyes snapping open, expecting his end to come, Wolfgang whirled about to the tower¡¯s staircase and the noise¡¯s source. Someone was descending the stairs, their footfalls making the old wood groan. Staring in disbelief, Wolfgang watched as a horribly familiar person came into view. Of average height for a woman with pale skin and dark hair; the intruder wore a black dress of conservative cut and ornate design. A veil of dark silk covered the top half of her face and she dripped with heavy jewelry made from jet and ivory. But despite the thin black veil and mourners'' dress, Wolfgang recognized the woman. There was no mistaking the heart-shaped face and large eyes shared between her, her mother, and her daughter. Finding his voice Wolfgang asked a question that he already knew the answer to. ¡°Who are you? Why do you take my niece¡¯s form?¡± Reaching the bottom of the staircase, the mourner stepped towards Wolfgang and slowly lifted her veil. Despite himself Wolfgang sucked in a breath of horror at what had been merely hinted at before. Long ash stains traced the Iona-things'' cheeks, marking the path tears must take; while her eye-sockets were empty, empty scarred pits that slowly wept ash. Smiling at him and revealing pale gums and fanged teeth, the false-Iona spoke with a voice raw from crying. ¡°Long, long ago, a woman buried her children and husband on the same day. As she filled shallow graves with cold dirt, she made a simple plea that no one should ever have to grieve alone as she did. That was the first prayer offered to me, and one I¡¯m here to honor.¡± Every muscle in Wolfgang''s body was tense with terror, both instinctual and learned. ¡°What do you want?¡± Slowly walking towards him, her gown rasping along the floor, the false-Iona reached out with a pale hand as if to cup Wolfgang¡¯s cheek. A sickle materialized in the entity¡¯s hand, flowing into existence like a curling snake. The sharp edge of the dirty rust-spotted tool lay upon Wolfgang¡¯s throat but did not cut him. Staring at the hand holding the sickle and then the face it borrowed, Wolfgang made a small, fearful noise. Pressing the sickle¡¯s sharpness to Wolfgang¡¯s neck, letting its slightly warm and sticky edge push upon his skin, the being whispered. ¡°Collecting a debt.¡± Despite his inevitable death at Isabelle¡¯s hands, Wolfgang still pleaded with the horror before him. ¡°I created the plague and unleashed it perfectly! Countess Gen Silva¡¯s survival was not something that could have been predicted! Even with her cure, it will still end many lives and bring about much loss! Surely I¡¯ve paid back your help many times over?!¡± The sickle¡¯s edge started to bite, and Wolfgang barely avoided flinching. Still whispering, the entity spoke. ¡°Grief is the final and truest expression of love. It is loss in the most profound form and those faced with it must drown in it or deny the truth. Which will you choose, Wolfgang?¡± Trying not to agitate the sharp edge kissing his neck, Wolfgang said. ¡°Neither, I paid my debt to you!¡± Smiling like a starving shark, the Iona-being replied. ¡°Denial it is then. You deny your doom and the loss of self, even though you¡¯d started to grieve it not a moment ago. Now tell me, what would you give to escape this grief, to deny it and its cause totally?¡± Staring into those empty sockets, Wolfgang understood what this was, what choice was being offered him. Shutting his eyes, Wolfgang spoke the terrible truth. ¡°Anything.¡± Voice suddenly heavy with hunger, the entity purred. ¡°Good, now who am I?¡± Forcing himself to look at the Goddess before him, Wolfgang whispered. ¡°The First Widow, the Edge of Eternity, the Heart¡¯s Hollow, the Reaper of Sorrows.¡± The Goddess of Grief slowly pulled her sickle away from Wolfgang¡¯s throat. A few drops of thick black blood stained the blade. Looking at the onyx ichor, the Reaper spoke. ¡°I took a piece of your soul when we made our deal. If your plague achieved its full potential or you delivered the homunculus to me I would have given it back. You did neither, and instead face destruction from an insurmountable foe. But I can offer you victory for the price of servitude. Surrender to me, Wolfgang, and I will save you. Serve me Wolfgang, and I will reward you. Become mine or I will destroy you.¡± Unable to find his words, Wolfgang felt despair build within him. All his struggles to be free were coming to naught. Perhaps oblivion might be better than eternal slavery to a master far more dangerous than Voivode Igori. Reading his thoughts, the Reaper said. ¡°Freedom and safety are delusions. No matter how hard you try, you¡¯d never ever achieve them. But serve me well and I will let you bask in those delusions. Choose me, Wolfgang; deny the inevitability of your end, deny the grief you feel, and deny the truth of freedom.¡± The shadows in Wolfgang¡¯s mind grew darker, and he tasted ash in his mouth. He could feel something pressing on the edge of awareness; the mask of Iona was tearing, revealing what lay behind it. A sense of unfathomable emptiness itched at Wolfgang, of dead stars and dying worlds, where nothing grew and what existed awaited an inevitable end. He heard keening wails from a billion mouths and tasted an ocean of tears. Wolfgang felt the sharp pain of sudden death, and the deep ache it left in its wake. In that horrible moment he knew grief, how it stretched across time and space, uniting all in a single terrible truth of loss. Wolfgang witnessed this inescapable fact and did what he always did when faced with such things, he denied it in a fool''s effort to change reality. But just as all who live in such a state, Wolfgang knew in his deepest self the truth he sought to escape. ¡°I¡­I won¡¯t be your slave, but I will serve if you help me¡± Wolfgang whispered The Reaper laughed, a noise like glass bells breaking. ¡°You¡¯ve skipped anger and moved directly to bargaining; how perfect. No, Wolfgang you won¡¯t be my slave, you will be my tool. Take my hand, take my offer and know you will never have to grieve yourself as you did tonight.¡± Staring at the pale hand offered to him, Wolfgang asked. ¡°What are the terms?¡± The entire tower shook then and something cracked as Isabelle¡¯s attack found a breach. Wolfgang recoiled as his mind creaked under the force assailing him. Watching him with those empty eyes the Reaper said. ¡°You aren¡¯t in a position to bargain, dear fly. But know this, I see your potential, and would not waste it. Become my scythe, my harvestmen, and I offer you the chance to rise above Igori, above Isabelle, to no longer fear anyone or anything except for me.¡± Slowly, Wolfgang kneeled before the goddess and took her ringed hand. Shakily, he kissed the signet ring she wore and said. ¡°I will serve.¡± Letting Wolfgang rise to his feet, the Reaper smiled. ¡°Good, now it is time for your first task. The one I¡¯ve meant for you from the moment Epulo and Scapino put this piece of me within your mind.¡± Eye¡¯s widening, Wolfgang tried to speak but found he couldn¡¯t. The Reaper held up her sickle and kept speaking. ¡°My dear fly, I hope to sculpt you into a destroyer, a true master of ruination in my name. But before that can come, another role must be fulfilled, one you¡¯ve played admirably. The role of poisoned bait, the type used to catch dangerous prey.¡± Wolfgang suddenly understood why his memory had been twisted. He¡¯d been groomed for this, wound up like a clockwork toy and set upon a path the Reaper wished for him. The Goddess arranged matters, so she¡¯d win no matter how the game proceeded. It had been a tiny nudge, just enough to send him scurrying forward towards this confrontation unprepared. The board was set to ensure Wolfgang barely won or barely lost, both of which outcomes benefited the Reaper. If he was victorious, then she¡¯d claim the Homunculus and Alukah for her own, but if Wolfgang were to lose even with so many advantages, it meant his foes unleashed their hidden knife in the form of Isabelle. Who, despite all her genius, was in some ways incredibly predictable, and would never squander the opportunity Wolfgang¡¯s defeat presented. As all of this crashed into Wolfgang, the Reaper slashed him with her sickle. Parting his clothes and revealing his chest scarred with the mark of House Tyto. His body didn¡¯t respond and, Wolfgang could only watch as the goddess slowly carved another mark into him. Unable to scream, Wolfgang felt the fever-hot sickle cut a likeness of itself upon his very soul. As the horrible edge pulled free from his essence, Wolfgang knew what had been done. The chains Igori put upon him were shattered and replaced with stronger bonds of divine make. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Admiring her handiwork, the Reaper nodded and said. ¡°Now, it''s time for the finale of your old role. You¡¯ve played the bait, now play the poison and when it is done, arise as my champion.¡± Before Wolfgang could ask what she meant, that horrible sickle lashed out again and slit his throat ear to ear. Clutching at his neck, Wolfgang watched as ash poured free in a great flood. Spraying out in impossible volumes the horrible gray dust covered the floor and soon buried Wolfgang¡¯s feet. Frozen, unable to do anything but watch the mad discharge, Wolfgang tried to understand what metaphor or meaning the ash had. Then, as if in recompense for its myriad failures, his overtaxed brain provided him the answer. He¡¯d not understood why Natalie kept her distance before. Multiple times she¡¯d been in a position to literally tear him apart with her bare hands, but never did. Even when Isabelle took control she¡¯d fought from a distance, not coming close enough to touch and floating over the ash stains he¡¯d left in his path. Something about vampire ash hurt the Alukah, and the Reaper was using him as a source of it. The goddess¡¯s empty eyes met Wolfgang, and she shushed his dry gurgles. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you won¡¯t die. I just need a little of you to water the other seed I¡¯ve planted. Now just relax, let me work and when you leave your mindscape you¡¯ll know what to do next.¡± In seconds, the room was filling with ash and Wolfgang was coming close to being buried in it. But even as the gray waste threatened to swallow him whole, he realized the tower wasn¡¯t shaking anymore.
Natalie swallowed down a dry lump and felt suddenly exhausted. It was the type of deep hollow exhaustion she normally felt in the wake of crying or other emotional storms. Shoulders slumped, Natalie stared at where the ash monster and Isabelle had been. The power she¡¯d just used had been an utter surprise, but the emotions accompanying it were worryingly familiar. That type of murderous, domineering arrogance usually whispered to Natalie when she was hungry. A little bit ago it hadn¡¯t whispered, but screamed with her voice. But this time, the darkness hadn¡¯t been howling for blood. It wanted something else which aligned with Natalie¡¯s own desires. To make the ash monster submit or die. Bawling her hands into fists, Natalie shut her eyes and started to leave her mindscape. She didn¡¯t know what happened with Wolfgang or Isabelle and had no more time to waste, even in her internal world. But before she could, a terrible sense of wrongness accompanied by a deep cracking sound met Natalie and she gasped as another familiar horror touched her soul. Spinning about, she saw the willow tree and how part of it was split open. Cursing wildly, Natalie ran to the enchanted ice and paused mid-stride as the damage became clear. She¡¯d banished the ash monster before it could reach the frost willow, but that hadn¡¯t been enough. The willow¡¯s trunk was partially fractured, as if a lightning bolt grazed it. Within the crack, something dark and hungry waited. The taste of old blood suddenly filled Natalie¡¯s mouth, the coppery tang evoking painful memories and inhuman pleasures. Licking her lips, trying to banish the phantom sensation, Natalie forced herself to examine the congealed shadow still thankfully trapped within the tree. The umbric form of the Rabisu reminded Natalie of marrow visible in a poorly split bone. Lacking shape, it was merely a dark stain within the tree, now partially uncovered by whatever Wolfgang did. Uncertain how active the first vampire was, Natalie crept closer, watching the shifting darkness now exposed to her open mindscape. A very large part of Natalie wanted to simply leave her mindscape and try to help her friends, but a mixture of growing wisdom, deep-set fear, and learned paranoia stopped her. If she rejoined the battle just for the Rabisu to attack, then all would be lost. Time flowed faster inside a mindscape, and Natalie hoped the relative minutes she could pull from factual seconds would be enough to determine how bad things were. A pulse of nameless dread flowed through Natalie as the Rabisu stirred. Echos of emotion reverberated from the tree, the psychic discharge of a mind coming awake. Baring her fangs, Natalie pushed against the sulfuric rage, bone-gnawing hunger, and worst of all, ash-bitter grief that flowed from her ¡®parasite.¡¯ The hibernation Master Time forced upon the first vampire was over. Shaking her head, trying to discard the cloying flickers of the Rabisu¡¯s mind pressing into hers; Natalie glanced behind her at where the ash monster had been. An idea started to take shape but before it could become recognisable, the willow groaned. Natalie watched in horror as a long pale arm stuck out of the crack in the tree, its spider-web of black veins visible beneath papery-skin. Claws of sharpened obsidian dripped from the arm¡¯s fingers, and Natalie recoiled, remembering how those killing edges felt. Laboriously, the arm groped along the edge of the cracked ice tree; reminding Natalie of a heavy sleeper¡¯s questing gestures upon first awakening. With a sound like cracking glass the claws sunk into the willow¡¯s trunk and started to cut. The movement was slow and ungainly, more akin to a sick animal''s scrabbling than a person¡¯s focused efforts. A voice bubbled up from within the tree, its tone both sensual and sickening. ¡°My son, you killed my son!¡± Desperately, Natalie reached for her throat, hoping the stigma there would offer some kind of protection. As her fingers brushed the holy mark a surprised shriek escaped Natalie. The Maze of Moments was impossibly cold, its ornate lines burning like arctic winds. But that wasn¡¯t what frightened Natalie, it was what she felt moving beneath the stigma. A fast panicked pulse raced beneath her fingers, and with it, the very veins of her neck writhed like serpents. Breathing so rapidly she¡¯d have passed out if still human, Natalie yanked on the top of her dress, pulling the imagined fabric away and revealing her shoulder and chest. Black lines snaked through her flesh, following the paths of blood vessels in a steady march of corruption. Eyes wide, unable to take them off the sight, Natalie watched lines of ink cover one breast and work their way along her arm. Finally, looking back at the tree, Natalie felt sick seeing how her own disfigured limb matched the one scratching at the ice willow. Thrusting out her yet untainted arm at the Rabisu, Natalie screamed. ¡°NO!¡± That horrible voice, so beautiful and utterly disgusting, spoke again. ¡°You took my son; I will take you. Deny this truth no longer, usurper. Surrender to me and grieve for all you¡¯ve lost. For my story is eternal and your flesh will be how I write the next chapter.¡± A second hand formed out of the clotted darkness and joined the first, scratching at the ice, while a third found purchase on one of the tree¡¯s branches and pulled. Now Natalie could see more of the Rabisu, of the form it wore for her now. No longer did it look like a queen of the damned or Isabelle¡¯s doppelg?nger, instead it was a spider, one crafted from human features. Eight hungry faces in the place of eyes glared out at Natalie above oversized fangs dripping with liquid death. Multi-jointed limbs capped by clawed hands scrabbled at the ice while an abdomen formed from a heavily pregnant woman¡¯s torso was barely visible within the ice. Staring at this horror, trying to fight down a scream, Natalie¡¯s cracking mind latched onto a childhood memory. Of Barnabas brutally swatting a spider, much to Wilhelm¡¯s complaint. Her dad didn¡¯t mind spiders, since they hunted the various six-legged banes of a chef. Barnabas held a different view, claiming anything that ate its parents or its young was jagged. Somehow that half-forgotten moment came to Natalie then, and with it came inspiration. Forcing herself to meet the vampire-spider¡¯s gaze, Natalie said. ¡°I know you regret what you did. I know how you became the first vampire and why the sun doesn¡¯t burn me. Queen Eresh, you murdered your children and were then murdered by your scions. But not before feeling remorse for what was done, and earning mercy from the very Gods who cursed you! Please, I didn¡¯t want to consume Annoch, but there was no other way! His mind was gone, but his power needed a host! I¡¯m not a usurper of your scion, but his heir; I¡¯m your grandscion! Don¡¯t continue this cycle of kin-slaying, don¡¯t squander this chance!¡± The spider stopped its movements, and then a noise came from it, a melody that cut at Natalie¡¯s nerves and made her flinch away. It was laughter; the Rabisu was laughing. ¡°You actually believed the Gods? They lied to you, usurper. I felt no such remorse, nor was I betrayed by my children! I let them consume me so I might protect them eternally! My blood, my power, is why you can face the sun! You are unworthy of my sacrifice, of my love! Die vermin! Be extinguished and surrender your flesh so I might avenge my brood!¡± So much malice was packed into the words, Natalie actually stumbled backward as if a gale had struck her. Stunned, Natalie watched the spider claw at the ice, its fat bulbous body wriggling against the breaking tree. ¡°No¡­ that¡¯s-¡± Cutting her off, the Rabisu proclaimed. ¡°You think they wouldn¡¯t lie to you? That death himself would speak to you as an equal? Foolish girl! You are but a piece in a great game, existing to be prodded forward as your Master demands! But he¡¯s been outplayed, and now you are to be sacrificed as other pieces take the initiative!¡± Hesitation, doubt and the deep terror of the betrayed filled Natalie as the spider squeezed free from the frozen willow. Finishing her interrupted thought, Natalie whispered. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense¡­¡± Finally pulling itself from the tree, the Rabisu shrieked. ¡°Denial at the very end! You pathetic little parasite, fade away and know your legacy will be one of grief and sorrow!¡± As despair closed in upon Natalie and the spider approached, a stray thought itched at her mind. Parasite, an oddly specific word choice and one Isabelle seemed insistent upon. It was the only way the former countess referred to the Rabisu, and at the time Natalie assumed Isabelle was just being obtuse. But now, as an ur-vampire came for her, Natalie remembered Isabelle claimed to be mostly ignorant about the Rabisu. Natalie also knew Isabelle hated being wrong and would never commit to something unless she was certain; be it a magical ritual or a name. In fact, Isabelle wasn¡¯t the only one who refused to name the spider monster Rabisu, Master Time himself called what Natalie now faced a mere parasite. The Tenth God also said to not believe her lies¡­ Snapping out of her confused panic, Natalie spat a word. ¡°Goatshit!!!¡± To her surprise, the spider stopped, its jerky movements coming to an unnaturally fast halt. Eyeing the perfidious creature before her, Natalie said. ¡°You¡¯ve been tricking me this entire time! You¡­ you aren¡¯t the Rabisu, you¡¯re something else!¡± As the words left Natalie¡¯s lips she became more certain of them as her reasoning bubbled free in a half-formed tide. ¡°Master Time wouldn¡¯t need to lie about the Rabisu, nor would it make any sense for the original bearer of the curse to be resistant to the banes. Isabelle said she¡¯d tear you from your throne; an odd threat to a deposed queen. That, on top of all her vagaries, makes me think she knows what you are, but isn¡¯t willing to name you. Both a god and ancient vampire call you a parasite, what in the hells would make them agree on-¡± Eyes wide, Natalie looked at the spider and slowly said. ¡°What in the hells indeed... Wolfgang is trying to capture Cole and I¡­ just like Scapino. Who was an Ashborn connected to a god of grief, and I¡¯m not supposed to touch vampire ash, and¡­ and¡­ jag¡± A dozen disparate pieces fell together and Natalie squeezed her fists so hard she thought something might break. ¡°You¡¯re a demon, a jagging demon inside of me trying to do¡­ what?¡± Again the spider laughed, but this time it wasn¡¯t that horrible noise from before, instead it was achingly familiar to Natalie. In a voice she hadn¡¯t heard in years the demon said. ¡°For now? Distract you.¡± As those words sunk in, Natalie screamed as she felt a part of her very being tear free. Clutching at her chest, Natalie fell to her knees, a sensation of emptiness and isolation threatening to crush her. Staring up at the demon, trying to understand what happened, Natalie watched as the parasite¡¯s head split open and revealed a sight that made her moan in horror. It was her mother¡¯s face, colorless, fanged and missing its eyes. Smiling, the demon spoke in her mother¡¯s voice. ¡°Clever, but not clever enough; putting together all the pieces they left for you, but at the worst possible moment. Making Death pay his gate debt for the stigma by keeping you ignorant was worthwhile, but the time for subtlety has passed, Natalie.¡± Hearing this grotesque mockery of her mother speak was worse than anything Natalie could have imagined, and the meaning of its words was just another knife in her soul. Seeing the dawning horror in Natalie¡¯s eyes, the spider explained. ¡°You are right, I¡¯m not the Rabisu, she is truly dead, torn apart just as Annoch and Johan are. But she was a useful mask, just as your mother is for Wolfgang. I must thank you and Isabelle for pushing him into my open arms. He will prove so useful in the years to come.¡± Words escaped Natalie as she felt darkness press in around her. ¡°You¡­ you aren¡¯t a Demon. But¡­ but how?¡± A mottled limb reached down and cupped Natalie¡¯s cheek. ¡°I¡¯m so much more, dear child. I¡¯m grief, I am woe, I am sorrow, I am the Reaper and I¡¯ve come to harvest. As for how? Well, did you think devouring part of an Ashborn in service to me wouldn¡¯t have consequences? A piece of Scapino, a piece I own, entered you, a dormant seed beneath notice, only waiting to be watered. Which you obliged with ash and sorrow from other vampires. Of course my rival tried to stop me, but he¡¯s had debts to pay and other obligations. He couldn¡¯t remove the seed, but stunt its growth, which dear Wolfgang was kind enough to help me fix. Now the crop is ripe, and ready for my sickle. Somehow, Natalie found herself faced with a possibility even worse than the Rabisu unleashed; a Fell God taking her power and using it to spread grief and sorrow across the world. Feeling the hollowness grow in her chest, Natalie snarled. ¡°Cole and Isabelle will stop you from possessing me! Master Time won¡¯t let the Alukah¡¯s power be-¡± With a long clawed finger the Reaper of Sorrows silenced Natalie. ¡°How arrogant to think you are the crop. No, Natalie, you are but the chaff; and Wolfgang has already started the threshing.¡± And with those terrible words, Natalie descended into darkness. Book III: Chapter 50: Knives

Chapter 50: Knives

¡°For nine cycles of stars-unfixed did the Sister sing with her wayward self. So beautiful and pure was her song that the shard rejoined the whole and its separation had never been. Sister Sun drank down the people¡¯s prayers and birthed anew the self that hadn¡¯t been self. Reborn as all and none the Sun once again became one. In strange days and strange lights the not-self is self, a piece of the whole and a child of the soul.¡± Book of Miracles, Truths 4:18.
Cole sat slumped against a boulder, his blood dripping steadily onto the surrounding stone. Teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, he forced himself to stare at the dagger sticking out of his gut. The temptation to yank the cold metal from his innards was staggering, but the bit of Cole¡¯s mind still functioning behind the thick haze of pain knew he¡¯d bleed out the moment the dagger was disturbed. A little deeper or a little shallower, either way it would drain him like a ripped water skin. Forcing his lolling head to look up at the surrounding madness, Cole watched as his lovers raised hell (literally) to save him. Robbed of his magic by the accursed stargent, Cole couldn¡¯t do much more than stay awake while Natalie and Isabelle fought the monsters. Slowly, he got his more functional hand to his bandolier and belt. Numb, shaky fingers groped at pouches, finding crushed vials and damaged trinkets. There would be no second wind brought on by alchemical wonders, or crafty tricks picked up from years of travel to turn the tide. Cole glanced over at where he¡¯d lost the battle and could see Requiem shining faintly in the sputtering mage light. The frozen hand Tallclaw trapped the weapon in had melted to soot; distracted by Isabelle¡¯s infernal minions, the strigoi couldn¡¯t keep his severed parts intact as he¡¯d done with his hollowed out warform earlier. A surge of giddy annoyance flared through Cole as his blood-loss addled mind mused on how unfair it was for Tallclaw to use such an odd ability in such a creative way. Robbed of his halberd, Cole¡¯s questing hands found the hunting knife Alia gifted to him. Slowly wrapping shaky fingers around the leather grip, Cole went still as the scrape of bone against bone filled his ears. Pankrator, or well, Dullahan Marcus loomed over Cole, his broken sword hovering near the Paladin. The headless hunter had been assigned to guard Cole and was in moderately better condition than he was. Letting his hand drop from the hunting knife, Cole found the other gift he¡¯d received the night this whole mess started. The Dullahan didn¡¯t seem to mind Cole wrapping his hand and wrist in the prayer beads which brought the barest hint of a smile to his face. Cole might not be able to use his own magic, but that didn¡¯t mean all arcane power was lost to him. Elsewhere Isabelle and Natalie dueled Wolfgang, or more accurately, brutalized him. That display of dominance wasn¡¯t heartening to Cole. He needed to be free of Marcus and calm his lovers before mistakes were made. Licking his dry lips, Cole stared at the flickering flame that passed as Marcus¡¯s face. ¡°If I die, burn me with all your might.¡± Jerkily, Cole unsheathed the hunting knife and tried to push himself up at Marcus. The Dullahan moved quickly, bringing his shattered blade down towards Cole. To his own surprise, Cole parried the strike, or more accurately intercepted it. Driving the hunting knife into the gap between gauntlet and vambrace, Cole stopped Marcus¡¯s downward strike. The Dullahan should have been more than strong enough to ignore Cole¡¯s desperate jab and finish him, but the numbing power of the prayer beads weakened Marcus. Wrapped around the hand now thrusting the knife into the Dullahan, the enchanted pearls coursed with raw sanctity. Cole couldn¡¯t harness the magic of the beads to cast spells with the stargent in him, but simple contact between holy trinket and tested steel enchanted Alia¡¯s knife just enough. Unable to strike with his sword, Marcus lunged forward with his stump, bringing it towards Cole. Dodging was impossible, Cole had already gambled enough with his own earlier ¡®attack.¡¯ Moving enough to get Marcus to respond without upsetting the dagger in his gut had been risky, but worth it. Wrapping his arm around Marcus¡¯s stump, Cole directed his unwilling foe¡¯s blow. Bone burning with witchfire pressed into Cole¡¯s gut, forcing a quiet noise beyond a scream from him. New and terrible pain flared in Cole as he kept Marcus¡¯s stump around his belly wounds. Green flames seared Cole¡¯s flesh melting skin and fat like wax. Dancing in and out of unconsciousness, Cole yanked with the hunting knife, knocking Marcus to the ground. All thoughts were driven from Cole¡¯s skull as his body operated on something close to instinct. He was well past the point a mortal would pass out or simply die from shock; but a homunculus wasn¡¯t so limited. Teetering on the edge of madness, Cole was back in the mental state born in Igori¡¯s larder and last unleashed by Petar¡¯s crude psychic assault. Everything was stripped from his mind, everything but his duty and how to fulfill it. Grappling with Marcus, the Homunculus Knight finally let his foe¡¯s stump fall away, the stargent dagger ¡®safely¡¯ stuck in place by a seal of burnt tissue. Wrapping his arm around Marcus¡¯s intact limb, Cole twisted and pulled with his hunting knife. Ignoring the witchfire cooking his flesh, the homunculus got to work finally finishing the fight. It was then when out of the corner of his eye he saw Wolfgang and Natalie topple over, Isabelle¡¯s skull clattering onto the stone.
Wolfgang opened his eyes and let out a low bubbling whimper. He was on his back staring up at the cave ceiling and the sputtering sphere of mage light. Shadows danced across the cavern as the brightness dimmed and darkness reclaimed its territory. Missing an arm, and probably a third of his skin, the Black Fly tried to roll over and get to his feet. Moving slowly, Wolfgang groaned as the chamber spun; his head felt heavy, like a crown of lead lay upon it. Finally, coming up to his knees, Wolfgang looked around the cavern. The battle between Strigoi and Demons raged; victory for the Hellkyn becoming more certain with every second. The Homunculus grappled with the Dullahan, fighting the armored skeleton even as witchfire burned the abomination''s ruined flesh. Then, as if drawn by a magnet, Wolfgang¡¯s eyes fell upon the twitching body laying next to him. Natalie, or possibly Isabelle, spasmed silently as the Reaper¡¯s poison did its work. Seeing his niece and new nemesis opened a floodgate in Wolfgang¡¯s psyche. Memories of a terrible meeting within his mindscape smashed into him, and so did new orders. Flinching away from his encounter with the Reaper, Wolfgang frantically looked along the cave floor for his salvation. He found the Aisan Knife coated in ash, still clutched in his severed hand¡¯s boney grip. Forcing his abused flesh to work, Wolfgang crawled over to the knife and wrapped his remaining fingers around its slightly warm grip. As he did, the terrible pain racking his body eased slightly, a sure sign this was the right course. With effort Wolfgang stood up and approached the Alukah. Still trapped in her internal world, Natalie spasmed violently as lines of black crept across her skin while a silver mark on her neck glowed. Ignoring the discomfort the holy light caused him, Wolfgang peered into the Aether searching for his goal. Isabelle¡¯s mania was gone, so was the Alukah¡¯s blood fury; in their place Natalie¡¯s soul surged with wild emotions. Fear, panic, and confusion boiled off her like red-tinged steam as a worm of ash burrowed through Natalie¡¯s essence. The poison Wolfgang had been manipulated into delivering was working, digging into Natalie and destabilizing her soul. A wave of vertigo struck Wolfgang as alien knowledge poured into him. More of the scheme he¡¯d played an unwilling part of became known to him as the Reaper offered insights. Natalie was already hosting a piece of the Reaper¡¯s power. A metaphysical parasite latched onto the Alukah and planted by another ignorant servant. This parasite fed when the Alukah consumed souls, eventually growing strong enough to make itself known and trying to make Natalie lose control. The Tenth God stopped this with some effort, leaving the sealed but still intact parasite waiting for something to break its bindings. This was why Natalie and Isabelle avoided vampire ash; Master Time anticipated the poison within Wolfgang, but misinterpreted its nature. It hadn¡¯t come as literal ash and blood, but a fragment of the Reaper tucked within Wolfgang¡¯s soul. Now that piece of a Fell God was busy burrowing into Natalie and keeping Isabelle trapped. Soon it would free its fellow shard and the pair would shred Natalie¡¯s psyche, leaving nothing but the Alukah¡¯s hunger aimed by the Reaper¡¯s intent. But before that could happen, Wolfgang needed to collect his prize, a relic the God of Grief sought above all else: Countess Isabelle Gen Silva. Knife in hand, Wolfgang found the trail of magical power linking Natalie to the cracked skull laying next to her. Shuffling forward, Wolfgang raised the blade, ready to cut the link and take the skull. But before he could, Natalie stopped twitching and the surrounding Aether changed. Wolfgang watched, stunned, as chains of blood and shadow flowed out into the Aether and wrapped around the ash worm burrowing through Natalie. Other chains latched onto the skull while some quested for Wolfgang, their metaphysical links slithering through the Aether like hungry snakes. Stepping back, Wolfgang prepared to cut the approaching chain with his knife when it and its fellows spasmed. The ash worm was violently ejected from Natalie, spewed out from her soul, blood-forged links wrapping its writhing length. As the poison Wolfgang almost died to deliver faded from the Aether into the Beyond, the other chains melted away and Natalie¡¯s soul calmed slightly. Panicked by this sudden change of events, Wolfgang felt increased pressure on his mind, the Reaper was driving him forward more urgently. Whatever just happened had disrupted the deity¡¯s plans, and he needed to act quickly. Scrambling forward, knife outstretched, Wolfgang ignored the roars, howls and other noises filling the cavern. His vision narrowed upon Natalie and he knew what must be done. Lunging forward, gripping the Aisan knife so tight it hurt, Wolfgang drove the blade into the link between vampire and skull. Colors of impossible hue bloomed in the Aether, and screams reverberated off Wolfgang¡¯s soul. Gouts of twisting delusion and ruptured memory spilled from the severed linkage, stabbing into Wolfgang¡¯s mind with phantom sensations. Shutting his eyes, trying to block out the storm beating on his soul, Wolfgang fell to his knees and frantically groped for the skull. His fingers found cracked bone pungent with magic. Pulling the relic to him, Wolfgang ignored the biting needle pain of so much arcane discharge grounding itself in his flesh. Getting to his feet, skull under one arm, knife still clutched in numb fingers, Wolfgang fought down a scream as the broken psychic link snapped through the Aether like broken rigging in a storm. Flashes of emotions, memories, and more alien things smeared across his consciousness as the breaking spell spilled its innards. Stumbling away from Natalie, trying to hold on to the skull, Wolfgang heard a loud crack followed by a voice cold and hard as glacial winter. ¡°NO!¡± Whirling about, Wolfgang watched something skid along the cave floor and land near him. It was the Dullahan¡¯s remaining arm. Paladin Cole: the Homunculus Knight, stood atop the broken husk of Marcus, the dying embers of witchfire casting baleful shadows upon the warrior. Eyes widening in horror, Wolfgang watched as death approached. Clad in scorched steel and burned scraps, the Paladin lumbered forward; his flesh a mass of burns, cuts and worse. In the Aether, Cole¡¯s soul glowed white-hot with pain, the agony of all his injuries having stripped away everything but an adamantine core of clear purpose. There were no thoughts, no emotions to the Paladin, nothing but pain and a goal; to protect. Blood dripped from innumerable wounds, Cole pointed a faintly glowing knife in Wolfgang¡¯s direction. ¡°NO!¡± Recoiling from the ruined husk facing him, Wolfgang was horrified to see the stargent dagger still sticking from Cole¡¯s belly as he approached. Vampire and Homunculus locked eyes, both of them tattered parodies of themselves. Letting Isabelle¡¯s skull drop, Wolfgang held out the thread cutter knife and hissed. ¡°Stay back!¡± The Homunculus growled and charged. Movements jerky and unsteady, Cole pushed towards Wolfgang, crossing the uneven stone and lashing out with his knife. This close to the dagger, Wolfgang could feel the power leaking from it, a crude imbuement of holy wrath, but enough to truly kill him. Dodging the clumsy strike, Wolfgang tried to call up a spell or other technique but his ragged body and mind wouldn¡¯t respond. Snarling, Wolfgang tried to cut the homunculus, uncertain what his own ensorcelled knife would do to the immortal monster attacking him. While Wolfgang was in moderately better condition than Cole, he was also the far inferior fighter. Avoiding the crude thrust, Cole lashed out with a brutal kick to Wolfgang¡¯s gut. The strike sent the vampire stumbling back and next to Natalie. Scrambling towards the thankfully still unconscious Alukah, Wolfgang held the thread cutter above her neck. ¡°Stay back! I¡¯ll kill her!¡± Cole hesitated, and two things happened. The sphere of magelight illuminating the cavern finally died, and so did Tallclaw. A high pitched maniacal cackle filled the cave as the Aether pulsed with a vampire¡¯s death throes. Still able to see by the faint flickers of Marcus¡¯s embers, Wolfgang watched as the spear-wielding demon crouched atop the rapidly disintegrating hulk of Tallclaw¡¯s warform. A surge of horror filled Wolfgang as a stream of curdled soul-stuff flowed from the ashes of Tallclaw into the feasting demons. The Spear Hellkyn swelled with power, its wild eyes settled on Wolfgang and a pale tongue licked its teeth. The squeals and chitters of dying rats filled the chamber as the hungry loam consumed more and more of Shortooth. Soon both strigoi would be dead and the demons would seek their next meal; Wolfgang. A stroke of mad inspiration struck the Black Fly then, and he turned his attention back to Natalie. The link between Isabelle and her borrowed body was severed, but not the magic controlling the demons. Bringing his knife down in a cruel slice, Wolfgang tore through the bindings and let the Hellkyn snap their leashes. There was an instant shift in the Aether, the demon¡¯s unchained hunger flowed out in a rancid wave. For a moment, nothing in the cave moved except for the final fleeing rats of Shortooth¡¯s swarm. Demons hungered for souls, gaining power from the cruel, and pleasure from the kind. Glutted upon Tallclaw, the Hellkyn were now interested in different prey; one more akin to the Homunculus and his companions than Wolfgang. Slowly the spear demon climbed off the remains of Tallclaw, its horned head pointed at the central tower. It sensed something within, probably whoever changed Wolfgang¡¯s detector wards. A nervous noise related to laughter, but from a diseased branch of the family escaped Wolfgang. Cole stood alone in the dark, holding out his dagger, trying to find his foe. Reclaiming Isabelle¡¯s skull, Wolfgang started to slowly walk away from Natalie. The leaden weight in him said she wasn¡¯t his goal, and would only further distract the paladin. Moving silently, the Black Fly scurried towards one of the cave exits. He¡¯d take the path toward Azyge, there would be prey to find- If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. A pulse in Wolfgang¡¯s skull made him hesitate, one of his wards had just been tripped. Pausing, Wolfgang stared at the tunnel to Azyge, groping at the simple magic he¡¯d cast to alert for patrols. Two humanoids were coming, moving fast but not unnaturally so. Shutting his eyes for the barest moment of relief, Wolfgang had to admit the Reaper was skilled. She¡¯d arranged everything for him, even a meal, to power his escape. Skulking forward, ignoring the paladin running after the Demon approaching the tower, Wolfgang went to the tunnel mouth, preparing himself for whatever foolish dwarven patrol would feed his now ravenous hunger. Even now he could see the dim glow of the newcomers in the distance, they¡¯d be easy to pounce on when the time came. Tucking Isabelle¡¯s skull in the regrowing elbow of the arm she¡¯d destroyed, Wolfgang gave one final glance back at his disastrous ambush. Cole stood alone in the cave, brandishing his dagger at the two demons now approaching him. Wolfgang knew Igori had never dared feed the homunculus to Hellkyn for fear of empowering them somehow, but right now the Voivode¡¯s concerns were less than worthless to the Black Fly. While it hadn¡¯t been in the way he¡¯d wished, Wolfgang was free of his sire, having been recruited by a much more powerful patron. Loping down the tunnel, Wolfgang eyed the distant but growing glow of his new victims. Yes, he¡¯d get some more blood and escape this calamity before the rampaging Demons came to someone¡¯s attention. Then, once he was safe¡­ well, he had the trapped soul of one of the most brilliant minds in vampire history and the support of a powerful deity; Wolfgang could do a lot with that. New plans and new possibilities spread out in a growing web in front of Wolfgang. He¡¯d lost much in this ill-fated expedition, but gained so many new opportunities. Perhaps he would return to Duchies, using Isabelle¡¯s knowledge and the Reaper¡¯s patronage to establish himself a true lord. Or maybe he¡¯d stay hidden in the plague-ridden lands of Alidonar, taking advantage of his plague and the fog of war to grow stronger in secrecy. Wolfgang knew the Reaper would have demands, but those could come later and if they proved too much¡­ well he¡¯d already slipped one leash, what was another? A faint itch played upon Wolfgang¡¯s face, and he paused his scheming. The distant light was brighter now, and something about it felt wrong. Narrowing his eyes, ignoring how the magical illumination hurt his retina, Wolfgang looked into the Aether. The light wasn¡¯t coming from a glowstone as he¡¯d expected; it was a spell of unknown make. A vague sense of discomfort rolled up Wolfgang¡¯s spine, and he got the sense of being watched. The itch was growing worse and Wolfgang rubbed his nose absently, wondering if some noxious fungi was blooming in the tunnel. Wolfgang¡¯s hand came away gray and flakes of disintegrating skin were smeared across his palm. Icy fear flowed through Wolfgang as old buried memories resurfaced. He knew that itch, its ugly burning pain eternally linked to Wolfgang¡¯s childhood. The training yard of House Tyto was Wolfgang¡¯s youthful hell. A place where he¡¯d been bullied and brutalized by mentors and cousins alike. It was where his intellect had no value and all that mattered was strength of body and the ability to ignore pain. Wolfgang lacked both, and spent many long hours baking in the hot summer afternoon doing pointless punishment exercises until his skin was itchy and red with¡­ with¡­ sunburn. Eyes wide, Wolfgang spun about and ran as the distant light grew brighter and brighter. Instinctual terror filled Wolfgang, and he raced down the tunnel back into the cave with an impossible dawn at his heels. The itch grew into pain and Wolfgang felt the skin on the back of his neck slough off, crumbling away as tongues of sunlight devoured him piece by piece. Wolfgang became acutely aware of every tear, every hole in his clothes as the dreadful burning slipped into his already wounded flesh. Trying not to scream, Wolfgang erupted into the cave, uncaring of anything but escaping his imminent incineration. Moving towards the other tunnel, the one leading towards Delve Njolk, Wolfgang pushed himself onward, fueled by animal panic and the Reaper¡¯s prodding. The leaden feeling in his head suddenly surged and Wolfgang stumbled. Barely catching himself, Wolfgang noticed something on the ground shining in the tortuous sunlight. It was the chisel knife of the Gashadokuro. Snatching up the arcane trinket, Wolfgang kept moving, his mind latching onto the knife and its implications. Asian blade back in its sheath, Isabelle¡¯s skull under one arm, Wolfgang held out his recovered tool and called upon its magic. Vertigo surged through Wolfgang as he desperately coaxed the nightmare bound to the knife awake. A massive invisible hand smashed into Wolfgang¡¯s back, sending him flying forward with bone-snapping force. Sailing through the air, leaving a trail of ash behind him, Wolfgang landed badly at the Njolk tunnel¡¯s entrance. Hobbling forward, unwilling to look back and see the rising sun, Wolfgang screamed as something in one of his legs gave out. Crashing to the ground, he crawled forward, desperately trying to evade the light as it burned him. Already most of his skin was gone and streams of smoke were wafting off Wolfgang¡¯s ruined body. Any moment now, the summoned sunlight would grow strong enough and Wolfgang would burst into flames. Staring up at the tunnel overhead, Wolfgang let out a defiant wail and stabbed the Gashadokuro dagger into the stone floor. Phantom bones slammed against the rock sending small showers of debris cascading down. Still crawling, Wolfgang used the knife like a climber¡¯s spiked, hauling himself forward with its chisel tip. Every time it struck the stone, the Gasha raged and more pieces of the cave ceiling rained. As the first sparks wafted off his flesh, Wolfgang brought the dagger down one last time. The enchanted steel shattered and the dark power contained within exploded out. Stone shook as the Aether reverberated with unleashed magic. With a groan and great crack the tunnel roof started to collapse. Falling rocks slammed into the stone around Wolfgang and he found salvation in their growing shadows. Still clutching Isabelle¡¯s skull, Wolfgang pulled himself along the floor as the shaking increased. Somewhere behind him, the light grew as well and the parts of Wolfgang not shielded by the rockfall burned in earnest. A scream erupted from the Black Fly, one answered by the Demons he¡¯d unshackled. Hungry fire danced along Wolfgang¡¯s flesh, burning away dead flesh and leaving scorched bones. Then, in the blackest of mercies, the tunnel finally collapsed, with Wolfgang in it.
It''s a terrible thing to be alone in the dark. The mind conjures forth all manner of monsters to fill the deep shadows; and in Cole¡¯s situation, those imagined nightmares weren¡¯t alone. Two Hellkyn, dredged up from the Beyond¡¯s pits, stalked the black, eager to sup upon the souls of Cole¡¯s charges. Faint green sparks and the near-illusionary glow of Alia¡¯s knife were the only sources of light in the damned cave. They were just enough to give impressions of movement, conjuring flickers that might be tricks of the eye or skulking death. Stumbling forward through the darkness, the Homunculus found Natalie¡¯s prone body. Hoisting her frame onto one shoulder, Cole ran towards the tower, his frayed mind seeking any shelter it might provide. Things whispered in the surrounding shadows, hungry half-voices that murmured words not meant for mortal lips. Cole was being stalked, followed by a pair of predators awaiting the moment to strike. Another time he might have wondered why the demons hadn¡¯t attacked yet, but there wasn¡¯t enough left of the Homunculus to care. All that mattered was protecting Natalie and protecting his comrades. Something lashed out from the dark and Cole slashed towards it with his enchanted knife. Steel parted a wormy tendril sending its spasming to the ground where it shot forward and wrapped around Cole¡¯s legs, tripping him. Barely avoiding landing face-first, Cole struck hard, Natalie flopping limply to the ground beneath him. Snapping the wriggling tentacle with a kick, Cole pulled himself upright and turned to face the hungering dark. He was maybe two meters away from the tower entrance but that might as well have been two hundred. Even robbed of his magical senses and much of his wits, Cole knew what waited in the blackness. A high-pitched drawling voice floated through the cave. ¡°What aaaare you?¡± Another voice, this one low and gurgling answered. ¡°He zis Paladin, chozen of Death.¡± The first voice scoffed, making a noise like a cracked flute. ¡°Yes, yes, but beeneeaath thaaaat! I taaaste¡­ I taaaste a cuuuurse.¡± With a phlegmy dismissal the second voice remarked. ¡°Zat zis Alukah. Poor hunter you muzt be, to mix two preyz.¡± The hunter snarled, producing a whistling sound. ¡°Noooo! Yoooou taaasted him! Loook beeeneath!¡± Both demons were silent for a moment before the gurgler exclaimed. ¡°ABOMINATION! What did zhe make? How could zhe do zis? Not juzt Paladin! Not juzt curze! Not mortal!¡± The small part of Cole¡¯s brain still functioning latched onto these words, their implications swirling into a half-formed mix of dread and confusion. Lips parting, he croaked out a question. ¡°What am I?¡± Neither demon answered, both seeming to hesitate, almost as if they were uncertain. It was then that something in the cave shifted. A subtle but unmistakable change that Cole knew all too well. The thick darkness thinned into a gray haze, hints of the skulking demons becoming visible. Years upon the open road and years of hunting what stalked the night told Cole what was happening, even if it was impossible. Dawn. Deep deep beneath the rock and stone of the Alidonian Mountains, in a cave where blood was shed and monsters unleashed, the sun slowly rose. The two demons stood nearby; their terrible features coming into view. One was a mass of gangly bones, ruined flesh and twisted antlers; the other a mound of loam with wizened faces. Both Hellkyn turned their focus onto one of the tunnel mouths, where pale pre-dawn light shone brighter and brighter with every second. Cole watched as the monsters recoiled, drawing in upon themselves, becoming less malignant, more ephemeral. Standing there, burned and half-broken Cole felt the kiss of early sunlight upon his face. The warm, inviting feeling made him nostalgic for things he¡¯d never experienced. Cole imagined lying in a wheat field in high summer, his hands interlaced with another¡¯s. He heard the laughter of young women as they ran along a beach of pearls. A cooling breeze swept down off rolling hills as Cole walked beside an old friend whose face he couldn¡¯t see in the bright noonday sun. Another shift came in the light and Cole tasted other memories, these ones not imagined or imparted. Of himself standing at the city gates, holding an ancient piece of wood up in recrimination of reckless hate. Cole barely noticed the crack and rumble of rock in the distance as the rising sun grew to its true blinding magnitude. Forcing himself to stare into its light, Cole caught hints of its origin. A figure stood in the tunnel mouth, dawn flowing from them in golden waves. From behind the small sun, another shape appeared, this one fast and agile, loping along the cave floor and growing with every step. Soon a behemoth of fur and fang fell upon the hunter demon, an axe scored with runes carried in a clawed hand striking the cowering Hellkyn in two. As a horned skull clattered to the ground and dissolved into boiling shadows, the sun-kissed beast struck the hungry loam, tearing through old wormy roots and letting dawn burn the fetid mass. A thought pulled Cole from his transfixion and he spun about, finding Natalie, the parts of her not cloaked in his shadow, smoking in the brightness. Practically collapsing on top of her, the Homunculus did as he always had, and shielded those he loved. Slowly the light dimmed, decreasing from blinding to merely illuminating. Still cradling Natalie to his chest, Cole turned his head to see what was happening. Standing atop a mound of sun-baked dirt was a hulking werewolf with gray-brown fur and a massive war-axe. A plain but sturdy hauberk covered the beast¡¯s body, which jingled as it moved. Lupine snout tracking back and forth the werewolf growled. ¡°I think one of them fled and collapsed the tunnel behind him.¡± Walking swiftly towards Cole was the werewolf¡¯s companion who was perhaps one of the most beautiful and disturbing women Cole had ever seen. Short and slender, she seemed made of porcelain, with long flaxen hair flowing about her head, its strands gleaming gold in the fiery gloriole radiating from the woman. Clad in simple sun-bleached robes, she held a long gnarled staff in one hand. Her face was painful to look upon, not just because of the corona surrounding her, but the features themselves seemed wrong. They were doll-like in their perfection, reminding Cole of a master sculpture''s most fever-mad creations. She should have been inhumanly beautiful, but something about that face rendered her unnerving. It took Cole¡¯s over-taxed mind a moment to realize what he saw that bothered him; the woman¡¯s features were perfectly symmetrical. Trying his best to shield Natalie without driving the stargent dagger deeper into him, Cole could only stare as the two strangers approached. A mournful look spread across the golden woman¡¯s face, it too rendered unsettling by her perfection. In a soft warm voice she said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we didn¡¯t arrive earlier, sir Paladin.¡± Throat dry, lips burnt, Cole rasped out the simplest of questions. ¡°What?¡± Now close enough that Cole could see into her eyes and the deep amber he found there, the woman said. ¡°We¡¯ve been sent to aid you, Paladin Cole. My grandmother and her kin sent Grettir and I to help with your task. Now please, let me see to your injuries.¡± Mouthing the word ¡®grandmother¡¯ Cole pulled back from the approaching woman. ¡°Your light, it burns, Natalie.¡± The woman paused and seemed to notice the unconscious vampire in Cole¡¯s arms. Softly she whispered. ¡°So much suffering¡­ all for what she holds inside of her.¡± A ball of paler, more sterile light bubbled off the woman¡¯s staff and her halo dimmed to near non-existence. Nearby the werewolf changed, his body shrinking down into his humanoid form. The ringmail he wore soon draped down over a wiry man with a long sharp face and hair the color of his wolf form¡¯s fur. Adjusting his now ridiculously baggy armor and clothing, the werewolf scratched at his graying stubble before saying. ¡°Can you stand? I¡¯d rather not stay out in the open like this, besides your friends in the tower will react better with you introducing us.¡± Forcing himself to his feet, Cole tried to ignore how literally every part of him hurt. The room swam, and the woman rushed forward catching him with surprising strength. Helping him towards the tower entrance, the Woman placed a hand on Cole¡¯s forehead and the pain lessened moderately. For his part the Werewolf found Kit¡¯s unconscious body and hoisted him up on one shoulder, his huge axe on the other. Trying to carry Natalie while the golden woman supported him, Cole finally asked the question his mind had been struggling to form. ¡°Who are you?¡± Grunting, the Werewolf said. ¡°I¡¯m Grettir, Grettir of Jokulstead but I¡¯m just the hired muscle.¡± Finally inside the tower, Cole slumped against its cold stone, laying Natalie beside him. Movement from the corner of his eye pulled his flagging attention to the tower¡¯s staircase where a nervous-looking Yara stood dagger at the ready. Seeing her, he nodded slightly, an action that nearly pushed him into unconsciousness. The golden woman kneeled down in front of Cole placing warm soft hands on either side of his face. Forced to look into her eyes, Cole felt a wave of vertigo crash into him. He knew something was looking at him out of those eyes, something far greater than the petite woman before him. Where the woman¡¯s hands touched the burns on Cole¡¯s skin slowly faded, pain returning with regrown nerves but then melting away as flesh healed. Smiling at him, the woman said. ¡°My grandmother is right; you are a strange but righteous one. Let me fix some of the damage, get you to a point where we can discuss matters.¡± Gripping her hand, summoning up what little of his strength remained, Cole repeated his question, this time more firmly. ¡°Who are you?¡± The slightly sad smile the woman wore became bemused. ¡°I am Deborah; a watcher and warder of mortals. I am soul-child of Anthelioi Nanal, who is soul-child of Sister Sun. I am Seraph-blooded and Saint-marked. Now sent here to help you save this world.¡± Book III: Chapter 51: Souls and Shadows

Chapter 51: Souls and Shadows

¡°Your orders are simple. Leave one child alive and force them to look upon this scroll. Make sure they and no one else see the ophidian rune. Once that is done, record the date, time and location upon the scroll to the best of your ability. If the child was pulled from a hiding spot, return them; muddle their memories with a trauma spike and then depart.¡± - note from Lord Yezhov Arici.
Mina felt sick, worse than that, she felt violated. No¡­ even that wasn¡¯t sufficient, there weren¡¯t words for what she¡¯d done¡­ what had been done to her. Lying on the floor staring at Alia¡¯s unconscious form, the disgraced priestess tried to pray but the words wouldn¡¯t come. She felt both unworthy of the sacred oaths and that their recipient didn¡¯t deserve them. How could this have happened? How could she have been subverted so easily, so perfectly? Mina was trained to resist psychic attacks and mentally warded against a vampire¡¯s influence. Even if she faced an elder Moroi, she shouldn¡¯t have crumbled like that, there should have been at least a few moments of resistance¡­ right? Drowning in these thoughts, Mina turned her head to the refectory door as it creaked open. Yara had left when the sounds of battle stopped; seeking to know what fate had befallen both friend and foe. Staring up at the door, Mina didn¡¯t know what to expect. Perhaps Cole bearing his halberd, prepared to strike a traitor''s head off? Maybe a furious Natalie demanding to be let into Mina¡¯s mind? Or would it be the leeches come to finish up loose ends? Mina almost wanted it to be a grinning monster ready to end her life and disgrace. Maybe then she could get answers from her God and then fade away into the cycle of souls. Instead, a stranger stepped through the doorway, Yara at his side. Of average height and with a lanky build the newcomer wore what seemed to be a cloak of chainmail. Squinting down with amber wolf eyes he asked Yara. ¡°These them?¡± The thrall nodded and the wolf blooded stranger grunted. ¡°Let''s get you all downstairs so Sunbeam can do her work.¡± Confused and concerned, Mina tried to speak but the wolfblood interrupted while gesturing at Yara. ¡°The redhead told me what you did. I don¡¯t know what magic got into your skull, and bluntly that¡¯s not my hunting ground. But I do know enough to be cautious around subverts like you. So keep your mouth shut and no sudden movements.¡± Knife in hand, Yara spoke. ¡°He¡¯s come to help us, he and his¡­. his companion.¡± Yara was even more jittery than normal, her body and mind wound tight by some unknown terror. Something about this companion of the wolfblood had the thrall unnerved. Swallowing down her own growing fear, Mina let herself be half-carried, half-helped down the stairs and into the tower¡¯s bottom floor. The first thing Mina noticed was the smell, or lack of one. Gone was the stink of dead and dying troll, replaced by a crisp cleanness she associated with high summer. But all thoughts about the strange smell fell away as her eyes followed the warm light filling the once dark tower. A petite woman with long golden hair knelt over a ruined corpse, her head and hands radiating sunlight. The horribly burned body leaned against a wall, bits of burnt skin sloughing off wherever the golden woman touched. As gilded fingers traced a horrible patch of melted skin, the corpse twitched and groaned. Only then did Mina recognize the faint blue-black of the body¡¯s armor. Sucking in a breath of shock, Mina couldn¡¯t believe Cole was still alive in that condition. She¡¯d literally seen bodies pulled out of house fires that looked in better shape. Mina¡¯s surprise was knocked from her as she was not so gently placed on the ground. Her damaged legs forced a weak groan from her. Still bound, she could only watch as Cole¡¯s healing progressed. Staring at horrible burns and oozing cuts was somehow a better option than letting herself look too much upon the golden healer. Mina knew what the woman was, and in place of the normal rapture she¡¯d experience when faced with such a holy being, she felt nothing but shame and fear. For what could be worse than to a priestess then being found wanting by a living angel? Pausing her work the golden woman let out a low sigh. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, the damage is¡­ extreme. I¡¯ll do what I can but even my power has limits.¡± Somehow Cole was still conscious, and he grunted. ¡°You¡¯ve done plenty, see to the others.¡± A single visible blue eye locked onto Mina and she shivered at the intensity of the Paladin¡¯s gaze. Reluctantly turning from her patient, the golden woman looked upon Mina. Frowning at Mina¡¯s bound legs, the healer approached the priestess. Recoiling slightly, Mina started to hyperventilate. Forcing herself not to meet the Seraphtouched¡¯s eyes she muttered. ¡°Please, I¡¯m not worthy, I don¡¯t deserve your help.¡± Flinching as a gentle hand touched her head, Mina gasped slightly as the deep pain in her legs faded. Voice soft and warm, the Seraphtouched spoke. ¡°You were very lucky. The bone itself is cracked, but the muscle is merely bruised, not crushed.¡± Hand reaching for Mina¡¯s damaged legs, the woman kept speaking as the pain receded, replaced by soothing heat. ¡°I¡¯m Deborah, and I¡¯m here to help.¡± Finally, forcing herself to look at the inhumanly perfect face of her healer, Mina asked. ¡°Why?¡± Smiling, showing flawlessly even teeth, Deborah said. ¡°Because it is what I do. But more specifically, this cadre you are part of carries three things of incalculable value. Necessity forced the powers of Vindabon to send you forth cloaked in secrecy and misdirection; but those are not perfect defenses; so other protections were arranged. Why let you travel all this way by yourself, when others might meet you halfway?¡± Glancing around the cavern, her smile fading into a somber expression Deborah added. ¡°We¡¯d hoped to catch you in Albareg or the mountain pass and escort you the rest of the way, but as always, plans change.¡± An unconscious Alia and the dwarf scout Nokin were set down next to Mina by the wolfblood. Hand leaving her healing legs, Deborah turned her attention to the more grievously wounded. Fearing to look upon her girlfriend, Mina glanced around the tower and tried to discern more of what had happened. Of the crippled trolls only sun-bleached bones remained, their misery ended and remains cleansed by the Seraphblood. Kit was laid out on what had probably been a table once, his arms splayed and covered in golden marks. Even from here, Mina could see the terrible bruises and swelling where his hands had been crushed. Next to Cole was a cloak covering a vaguely humanoid shape that wasn¡¯t breathing; Mina hoped it was Natalie, hiding from a Seraphblood¡¯s light. Something between a groan and a whimper escaped Alia, the sound driving a dagger of ice into Mina¡¯s heart. Letting her head rest on the stone floor, she fought down tears. Facing Alia was beyond her, Mina couldn¡¯t do that, she wouldn¡¯t do that. Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and Mina realized Cole had shifted. Latching onto the distraction, she looked at the dying Paladin, wanting to say something, to offer some kind of support. She did not know what healing magics had been gifted him by Master Time and Isabelle, but she doubted it would be enough this time. Guilt rose in Mina like bile as she pulled herself towards Cole, her legs throbbing but no longer maimed. Shakily, Cole reached one of his hands, to his belly, and only then did Mina see the burned hilt of a dagger sticking out from a morass of melted flesh. Feeling nauseous at the sight, a rarity for someone of her profession, Mina tried to speak. ¡°I-I don¡¯t know if we can-¡± Cole interrupted her, his voice a wet growl. ¡°I¡¯d hoped to tell you and the others at a better time.¡± Fingers wrapping around the dagger, Cole met Mina¡¯s eyes. ¡°Help Natalie, find Isabelle, wait for me.¡± Then, before she could scramble forward enough to stop him, Paladin Cole ripped the knife clean of his belly. A shriek of horror escaped Mina as burned tissue parted and hints of intestines shone through the gaping wound. The knife clattered to the ground, and Mina desperately put her hands on Cole¡¯s torn open gut. Trying to force what few sparks of her magic she had left into the Paladin, Mina moaned. ¡°No! no! no! no! NO!¡± A strong hand grabbed the scruff of Mina¡¯s neck, and she was thrown against the wall. Breath knocked out from her, Mina blinked away stars as the wolfblood loomed above, hand wrapped around her neck. Nearby Deborah was trying to stop the flow of blood escaping Cole, her face set in a marble death mask. The fingers wrapping around Mina¡¯s throat started to swell, gray fur growing upon them and fingernails becoming longer and sharper. Eyes locked on the werewolf strangling her, Mina tried to explain what happened. Baring rapidly sharpening teeth, the werewolf swore. ¡°Fire-and-iron! Don¡¯t tell me we came all this way just to jag up at the end?¡± Deborah spoke firmly. ¡°Grettir, stop it, she¡¯s no use to us dead.¡± The pressure on Mina¡¯s throat relaxed, and she desperately said. ¡°He took the knife out himself! I tried to stop him!¡± Yara, who was standing nearby, looking over Kit, snapped. ¡°Just like how Isabelle possessed Natalie and betrayed us?¡± Flinching at the cold iron in those words, Mina hesitated before saying. ¡°No! I remember what happened. It''s different!¡± Coming to her feet, the hem of her dress stained red, Deborah looked down at Cole, the blood flowing from him had slowed to a trickle. A wave of icy terror filled Mina, as she desperately racked her mind, trying to find a way to prove she hadn¡¯t done this. Hyperventilating, Mina watched the pool of blood around Cole stagnate. Eyes flicking up, she realized his chest had stopped moving. Cole was dead; he¡¯d ripped the dagger free and bled to death. Now the blame for this new act of sabotage was being placed upon Mina¡¯s neck, where it joined her other crimes in a tightening noose. Grettir bound Mina¡¯s hands together, and then tied her wrists to her ankles, forcing her into a painful, awkward stretch. Still she could watch as Deborah put slender hands on either side of Cole¡¯s face, a whispering prayer escaping her lips. She was offering him the final rite, freeing his soul so it might join Master Time. Mina¡¯s ears popped, and she flinched, as did the Seraphblood. Pulling her hands away, Deborah¡¯s golden eyes were wide, a look of cautious uncertainty painted across perfect features. Slowly taking a step back from Cole¡¯s corpse as if it was some dangerous beast, she muttered. ¡°It¡¯s true, her visions were true. I¡¯d thought it was a metaphor, but¡­ his soul, what is it?¡± Stalking towards the Paladin¡¯s corpse, Grettir the Werewolf drew a long dagger from his belt. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. She¡¯s always talking in riddles and other bullshit. There''s no way Jude would be completely literal about something like-¡± Stopping mid stride, Grettir sucked in a deep breath. ¡°Jagged edges¡­ He¡¯s dead! I smelled him die!¡± A wet noise filled the tower, and Mina strained her neck trying to find the source. The sound was coming from Cole¡¯s belly, where his exposed intestines were moving. Like disturbed snakes the innards were shifting, settling back into a proper configuration as melted skin sloughed off in foul flakes. Speaking quickly, Mina said. ¡°His regeneration miracle, he wasn¡¯t dead!¡± Deborah glanced at Mina and then back at Cole. ¡°What miracle? Do you sense the work of any God in this?¡± Forcing her worn mind to peer into the Aether, Mina exhaled sharply. Cole was dead, she could see his soul and how it¡­ Blinking rapidly, trying to decipher what her eyes were telling her, Mina whispered. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± Trained in the Temple of Vindabon, Mina had studied scores of corpses in all the stages of death; she knew the slow processes of physical and metaphysical rot. Cole¡¯s body and soul were not following any of the rules. Fresh tissue bloomed from burned flesh, scabbing over mortal wounds and shrinking them with every second. The pool of blood surrounding Cole started to grow again, bits of blackened, ruined meat floating in the slowly spreading crimson. But these grotesque sights weren¡¯t what left Mina stunned; that was Cole¡¯s soul. His essence did not strain for release, leaking bits of stray soul-stuff as it frantically tried to escape this facet of existence. Instead, his soul swelled with occult power, magic seeping out and into ruined flesh. Focusing her senses, Mina caught the barest hints of something deep within Cole, a wellspring now tapped. Whatever flowed from that font was potent and profoundly wrong. Tasting of old death, smelling like lost memories and looking akin to a curse¡¯s curdled essence; it dripped from Cole¡¯s soul like dirty sponge water. The magic filled his body, settling in his guts and veins; where the spell, or curse, did its work. Sparks flickered in the Aether as new tissue and blood was¡­ formed. It wasn¡¯t simply healing magic; no, this was far more and far worse than any art Mina knew of. The body¡¯s natural processes weren¡¯t being coaxed or corrected; instead, bits of flesh and drops of ichor simply materialized. Conjured forth like a Magi¡¯s fire and then woven into place following some intricate process Mina could barely sense. Cole was being rebuilt, magical power converted into matter and used to fix what was broken. A curse, a run-away spell was twisting reality to fulfill its terrible purpose. The curse of vampirism turns blood into magic and then magic into matter; while the curse of Cole used another more potent and terrible substance in place of ichor. Mouth dry, Mina forced herself to say what fueled this regeneration. ¡°Soul-stuff, he¡¯s being rebuilt with soul-stuff.¡± Deborah slowly nodded, the Seraphblood unwilling to take her eyes off Cole. ¡°The Paladin¡­ he is¡­ filled with pieces of countless broken souls.¡± Cautiously, Deborah approached Cole, stepping past her lupine bodyguard and placed a hand on the healing corpse. Pulling back like she¡¯d been burned, the golden woman gasped and murmured. ¡°He¡¯s like a demon, bits of ruined souls cling to him, fill him.¡± Turning to Mina, her eyes wide auric pools, Deborah asked. ¡°What did your God bind to his will?¡± Shaking her head slowly, Mina replied. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I knew he wasn¡¯t normal but¡­ but not this.¡± Looking over at the pile of fabric that hid Natalie, Mina added. ¡°If anyone knows, she does.¡± Grettir pulled part of a stained cloak away exposing Natalie¡¯s face. ¡°Well, she¡¯s not talking, any ideas on how to wake her up?¡± Yara cleared her throat, pulling all attention to her. ¡°I can do it.¡± Deborah and Grettir looked at each other and then the wolf blood stepped aside. Approaching her mistress, Yara nicked one of her fingers and gently opened Natalie¡¯s mouth. Fresh blood dripped into the vampire and she twitched. Frowning, Yara got closer to Natalie, her eyes locked on something the others couldn¡¯t see. With a shocked gasp, the thrall pulled back, stumbling over the cracked ground, bloody hand clutched to her breast. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Animal panic radiated off Yara as she pointed at Natalie¡¯s spasming form. ¡°The black blood, it''s spreading! That¡¯s not her!¡± Grettir yanked the covering off Natalie and swore. Lines of obsidian wormed through ivory skin, spreading out across exposed flesh. Natalie¡¯s twitching grew more intense, her body practically vibrating with occult ataxia. Deborah took one look at Natalie and said. ¡°Grettir! Stake her, now!¡± Without hesitation, the werewolf drove his dagger into Natalie¡¯s chest, ending the shakes and stopping the dark blood¡¯s growth. But the lines of ink beneath Natalie¡¯s skin did not retreat; they stayed like poison in dead flesh, no longer pumped further by a panicked heartbeat but left to seep deeper into tissue. Kneeling down beside Natalie, Deborah tentatively reached for the vampire¡¯s neck, her delicate fingers hovering over a spot where something silver clashed with the black lines. ¡°The stigma is fragile and drained.¡± Touching the mark, Deborah sighed. ¡°My power is not the right resonance. Only one empowered by Master Time can reinforce the seals.¡± Joining her, Grettir asked. ¡°Is this why your granny sent us here? If anyone could burn the Alukah in its crib, it would be you.¡± Shaking her head, Deborah looked at the slowly reforming husk of Cole, and then Mina. ¡°I think that¡¯s the worst-case scenario, and not something any of us would survive. No, we are to be rescuers, not executioners.¡± A wet noise stopped the conversation, and all eyes returned to Natalie. The knife in her breast was moving, slowly being pushed upwards, its sharp edge making a slick sound against parted flesh. Grettir reacted quickly, putting both hands on the dagger and pushing it back down. ¡°Jagging hells! Do you have any ideas on what to do? Cause I¡¯m pretty certain this is supposed to be impossible!¡± Deborah moved towards Cole, doing her best to examine him without touching his ruined body. ¡°We need a conduit to Master Time; and I don¡¯t know if the¡­ paladin will work.¡± Approaching Mina, the Seraphblood placed a hand on the ropes binding her. Golden fire cut the sturdy hemp and Mina untensed sore muscles. Yara rushed forward. ¡°Don¡¯t! She¡¯s betrayed us twice!¡± Gripping Mina¡¯s face and forcing her to make eye contact, Deborah said. ¡°I¡¯m aware, but desperate times require creative solutions.¡± Mina felt herself being slowly pulled into the golden woman¡¯s eyes. Leaning forward, unable to break contact with those auric orbs, Mina barely heard Deborah say. ¡°Not long ago Master Time let Sister Sun see through one of his servants. Now she¡¯s going to repay the favor and perhaps help us get some answers to all this.¡± Vertigo filled Mina as she pitched forward, diving into the deep, deep darkness of Deborah¡¯s pupils.
¡°Mommy! Mommy!¡± wailed the little girl as she watched a red pool seep beneath the door. Her world, once so simple and sweet, had been upended, turned into a place of screams, smoke and loss. Strong hands wrapped around the girl¡¯s head, ending her cries. Struggling against the iron grip, she tried to scream as she was dragged away from the door. A voice hoarse with yelling spoke rapidly. ¡°Be quiet! It¡¯s me.¡± The girl¡¯s older brother held her close, pulling them both towards an open trapdoor. Instead of relaxing into her sibling¡¯s grip the girl fought harder, whimpering against his calloused hand. Not daring to speak in more than a ragged whisper, her brother hissed. ¡°We can¡¯t help her!¡± Nearby, the kitchen door shook as something slammed into it, a wet, gurgling groan coming through the aged wood. The puddle of blood flowing through the sill was growing larger and larger, as whatever was beyond it bled and bashed against the locked door. Rhythmic blows fell upon the kitchen door, the hinges creaking as more and more dead weight crashed into it. Part of the wood cracked and a bruised hand missing two of its fingers pushed through the gap, questing out for living flesh. The girl screamed, her brother¡¯s muffling arm turning the noise into a stifled wail. Another part of the door broke, and a face pressed through, its lips and cheeks bitten off, fresh blood dripping down from snapping jaws. The girl tried not to look at the face; she tried not to remember who it belonged to, she tried not to think about how those missing lips once kissed her goodnight. More palid hands stained red and brown pushed through the widening cracks, scrabbling at the wood, tearing fingernails loose as they sought purchase. The grip around the girl¡¯s head changed and her brother reached under her armpits and hoisted her up. For a moment the girl was weightless and then she started to fall, thrown down into the cellar, landing on a stack of grain bags. Wind knocked from her, she blinked up at the dim light coming through the trapdoor, and her brother¡¯s silhouette overhead. The sturdy wood of the cellar door creaked as the teenage boy pulled it down. Yelling to be heard over the growing banging and groans, Mina¡¯s brother said. ¡°The garlic! Use the garlic!¡± Then with a mighty boom the trapdoor shut, and a metal lock clinked into place. Finding her breath, Mina could only stare into the perfect dark, listening to her heavy breathing and trying to ignore the sounds filtering in from above. Rolling off the bag of grain, Mina vomited onto the packed dirt floor, covering her ears to escape the scream and wet ripping noises. Salty tears mixed with acrid sick as she rocked back and forth trying to drown out the world. Soon little red droplets rained down from above, falling through the tiniest imperfection in the cellar door, their steady drip drip filling Mina¡¯s mind. The screams and other visceral noises ended then, replaced with the shuffling thumps of clumsy footfalls overhead. A loud crunch pulled Mina from her all-encompassing terror as something in the kitchen above broke. Terror gave way to the desperate need to survive and Mina crawled along the cellar floor, hands questing in the dark, remembering her brother¡¯s last words. Sucking in deep breaths, praying her nose would adapt to the stink of her vomit in time to help her find the garlic, Mina ran shaking fingers along sealed jars, hemp sacks and clay pots. Where was the garlic? Where had her daddy put it last? Pushing away memories of her father, of the tight smile he gave her before leaving, spear in hand; Mina knocked over containers, uncaring of the rattle and clatter as she searched. Then she heard movement, a faint rasping sound that summoned gooseflesh and made her freeze in place. The heavy stink of garlic filled the cellar but Mina barely noticed; her senses were focused on what lay in the nearby shadows. She wasn¡¯t alone in the cellar, something else was in here with her. Eyes wide, Mina forgot to breathe. That slow hissing rasp of the intruder was growing louder. The sound came from the cellar¡¯s far corner but Mina couldn¡¯t tell anything else about its origin. In the thick darkness, the little girl was blind to her hands on the ground, let alone whatever she shared the cellar with. Forcing herself to take a slow breath, Mina¡¯s nose violently itched with the smell of garlic. A sneeze forced itself free, echoing through the cellar like thunder. Dread filled Mina¡¯s veins as the rasping noise stopped and then sped up. It was getting closer, and in the split-second Mina had before it reached her, she finally recognized the sound. Scales were slithering along the cellar floor, a mighty serpent was moving in for the kill. Flinching away from the snake¡¯s hiss, Mina heard another noise, the rustle of feathers. Something shot through the dark right over her head and struck the snake. Pots fell over, containers rattled and a morass of spitting furious sounds filled the cellar. Blind as she was, Mina only get second hand impressions of feral violence. A snap of breaking bones ended the tumult as one of the combatants died. Again, Mina felt the wind of wings and rustle of feathers. Taloned feet scratched on the cellar floor as a large bird moved through the darkness. Squinting her eyes, desperate to see the new impossibility, Mina realized the bird was glowing; becoming brighter with every second. Silver light edged its feathers like an eclipse¡¯s corona and soon the cellar was bathed in cool illumination. Sitting before Mina was a vulture, a dead snake clasped in between its talons. Speaking in a voice deep and strong as the mountain¡¯s roots, the vulture said. ¡°The definition of true evil is something of debate in the Heavens. Mother Earth and Aunt Seeress say true evil is when good ideas and good works are perverted to fell uses. While Brother Moon and Mistress Void consider the total absence of morality and compassion as true evil. Both make sense, but personally, I¡¯ve always felt Uncle Maker¡¯s theory has the most merit.¡± Eyes like ancient stars fixed on Mina as the vulture elaborated. ¡°True evil is not a corruption or absence of good; but when existing evil is improved upon. See, Uncle Maker argues such efforts speak not just to premeditation, but rumination and imagination. To take some act of depravity or unspeakable malice and find ways to do it more effectively? That speaks to an investment of the one true resource we all share, into not just hurting others, but doing so efficiently.¡± Shaking its feathered head, the vulture continued. ¡°To spend the only currency; my currency in such a way is¡­ abominable. Across countless worlds and countless paths I see such transgressions. I do what I can to stop them, but even I am limited, just like any resource is. So all I can do in those places and periods where something slips past my sight and strength is offer an apology and aid.¡± Stepping forward, adjusting large wings, the vulture cocked its head to the side. ¡°But before I present them to you, I must ask a question. Mina, do you know what the one true resource is? Do you know who I am?¡± The terror of childhood memories melted away like spring snow; freeing the broken woman trapped inside the frightened girl. Priestess Mina met her God¡¯s gaze and answered him. ¡°Time.¡± As that word and truth hung in the still cellar air, Mina looked at the dead snake in Master Time¡¯s talons. Neck broken by a raptor¡¯s thrashing, the serpent lay still, its white scales and red eyes glinting in the diminished gloom. Too exhausted and too wounded to observe proper decorum, Mina asked. ¡°What is it?¡± Pecking at the dead snake Master Time said. ¡°True evil. An act of malice, both subtle and complex. It¡¯s been down here in this memory ever since the night your village died. Your dreams of being pulled from the cellar by dead hands aren¡¯t just nightmares of what could have been, but blurred memories of what was. The vampire who attacked your home did capture you. He planted this serpent and twisted your memories ever so slightly before leaving you in this cellar. The snake is a wretched spell, a subtle and potent geas that hides where no one would look.¡± Understanding grew in Mina¡¯s shock-numbed mind. ¡°Why¡­ why didn¡¯t anyone notice? Why didn¡¯t you?¡± Master Time, the strongest of the Gods, bowed his head to Mina. ¡°The nature of our enemy and ourselves. I know that is a poor excuse, and I admit my failure readily. The Moroi who crafted this geas took advantage of great strength and weakness shared among the Pantheon. This spell, this hidden leash, was buried in the worst memory you have; one that already stunk of unliving malice. The geas was buried in your pain, hidden beneath layers of psychic scars. To even inspect that wound properly means pulling it open, forcing you to experience all those horrors anew. It is why we speak in this cellar; I¡¯ve removed the geas, but at the cost of hurting one of my faithful. And even then, the damage is much reduced since the spell has already been activated and I am using a Seraphblood¡¯s senses. If I were to dig it out from another unaware and unwarped by the spell, it might break their very mind.¡± Teasing apart the deity¡¯s words, Mina muttered. ¡°You should have done it earlier. How many years have I served? How many times have I prayed to you? There have been so many chances to cut this out of me, and yet¡­?¡± A somber silence filled the cellar for a moment, broken by a God¡¯s apology. ¡°I¡¯m sorry; but I could not, would not do that. What sort of being rips open the mind of someone entrusted to them on a mere suspicion? What god worthy of devotion would vivisect their followers out of paranoia? How could I ask you to relive all that pain and undo years of healing to search for an infection I¡¯d barely considered?¡± Standing up so fast her head swam, Mina shouted. ¡°It would be better than letting me betray my friends! I cracked my girlfriend¡¯s skull! The Alukah was almost lost! Fuck! We were all almost lost! What¡¯s a little suffering if it meant stopping that from happening?!¡± Breathing heavily, stunned by what she¡¯d done, Mina wilted as the focus of the divine pressed down upon her. ¡°Everything, a little suffering, is everything. I could do as you say and dig into all of my worshippers, rifling through their worst moments and deepest thoughts to root out any hint of corruption or subversion. But how long would people believe in such a God? How quickly would faith turn to fear if all humankind existed with that blade dangling above them? To know at any time, for even the smallest reasons, the powers sworn to protect would violate them in the name of a greater good. How quickly do you think the Pantheon would be warped by the prayers of such abused faithful?¡± Gesturing around wildly, Mina spat back. ¡°Then once the geas was revealed, why didn¡¯t you stop me? Natalie was only trapped because of me, because of the power you gifted!¡± The vulture paused and then its voice became warmer, softer. ¡°Because I had faith.¡± Mina blinked in surprise. ¡°What?¡± Master Time stepped forward; his beak nearly touching Mina. ¡°I had faith in who you are. I could have withdrawn my power, breaking my part of the vows sworn; but then you¡¯d have lost the magic I¡¯ve gifted. Natalie might have been freed a little earlier, but you would no longer be my priestess. Then what fate might have befallen Alia and everyone else? The lamia might have killed you right then and there. Even if Alia avenged your murder, she would have succumbed to her wounds. Two good lives would end and the strands of fate would settle into a crueler configuration. Instead of letting that possibility come to pass; I had faith in you, Mina. Faith that when the time came, you¡¯d do what was right.¡± Memories of holding Alia¡¯s bleeding head in her hands, flashed through Mina¡¯s mind. Of how she¡¯d failed her duty in the name of love. Seeing what she remembered, Master Time said. ¡°The irony is not lost on me. That in thinking you were betraying your faith, you were instead honoring my own. This is another thing I must apologize for; my warnings about Isabelle did more harm than good.¡± Pulled from her own pain by mention of Isabelle, Mina sucked in a shaky breath, remembering the healing corpse waiting outside this divine dream. ¡°Cole¡­ what is he?¡± The vulture looked up at the cellar ceiling, deep silver-rimmed eyes staring at something Mina couldn¡¯t see. ¡°Natalie is not the only monster I¡¯ve brought into my fold. Cole is a homunculus, created by a brilliant if profoundly amoral Magi. He is immortal, truly immortal; in ways the vampires who covet and curse him can never be.¡± Trying to process this information and how it fitted in with everything else, Mina hissed. ¡°His soul, I saw what it does. How can you let something like that exist? He consumes souls to regenerate!¡± Master Time nodded slowly. ¡°Death is messy, even a cleanly released soul leaves parts of itself behind. Bits and pieces that usually fade away, becoming part of the great Aetheric currents. The curse that is Cole¡¯s being collects those fragments, using them to grow and survive. I will not lie, it is a terrible power and could easily become something truly nightmarish if in the wrong hands. But fortunately for all of us, Isabelle created her numen a little too well. He is a cursed, unnatural creature unbeholden to my domain; who yet willingly serves me. I¡¯m proud of him, and honored by his devotion; just as I am with yours Mina.¡± The God of Death seemed to grow larger, his presence filling up the cellar more and more. ¡°Which is why I come to you with a request. Not an order, or commandment, but a request you are free to ignore. After my failures and what has been done to you, I would release you from any obligations.¡± Mina was still; thinking quietly about all that was said, and all that transpired. ¡°You removed the geas from me, but what about the others? Surely I¡¯m not alone in this¡­ violation; you must have learned the details of it from elsewhere.¡± More details fit together, and Mina said. ¡°Crowbend! People like me were at Crowbend Castle. That is how you know about this.¡± Nodding and staring down at the dead snake; Master Time explained. ¡°Two of the mind-twisted were ruined before the defenders of that fortress determined the truth. Even with divine aid it took talented priests and shamans much effort to cut away the geas. You have been extraordinarily lucky; realizing the truth on your own and then having Deborah¡¯s presence to help me has made this surgery as painless as it could be.¡± Thinking of the noises her brother made as he died; Mina flinched. Large feathered wing stretched out, cloaking Mina in its protection. ¡°Finding and fixing all of those subverted won¡¯t be easy, even if we now know what to look for. But thankfully the strands of possibility are coming together in a more hopeful configuration. One of my requests involves aiding a potent ally uniquely¡­ equipped to root out vampire corruption. Someone with the experience, talent, and understanding to bind these disparate serpents and cast them out.¡± Mina could guess what Master Time meant. ¡°Natalie, you want me to help Natalie.¡± The vulture pulled its wing back and a silver-tipped feather fell down into Mina¡¯s hand. ¡°She is suffering. A force of evil infests her mind, pushing Natalie towards a breaking point. So as ever when good people are troubled by unclean spirits, a Priestess is required. Go forth, Mina and save your friend.¡± Holding the feather, feeling the strength it conveyed to her; knowing she could now draw upon more of Master Time¡¯s power; Mina nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± The God before Mina bowed its head. ¡°Thank you; truly.¡± Squaring her shoulders, Mina asked. ¡°And what is the second request?¡± Around her the cellar faded, melting away into the Tenth Temple¡¯s arch sanctum. The vulture grew and shifted; becoming something greater. Silver and sable wings bloomed from a heart of ice like feathered petals while an eye of obsidian gazed down upon Mina. ¡°Help Cole rescue his creator, and stop her knowledge from spreading. The Homunculus Knight must stand alone; no others can be kin to him, or this world will fall.¡± Swallowing down her growing rapture at the mass of holy power before her, Mina said. ¡°I will do as you ask. Where do I begin?¡± Voice becoming louder and more ineffable, Master Time proclaimed. ¡°In Harmas! Where this war started and must end! Where powers both fell and unseelie gather among the restless dead!¡± Book III: Chapter 52: Battlefield Surgery

Chapter 52: Battlefield Surgery

¡°Ironically, using magic to step between worlds is easier than using it to step within a world. What I mean by that is forming a bridge to some other sphere also touched by the Beyond is a well-understood practice and requires relatively simple, if magically intense, rituals. But trying to say¡­ teleport between cities or nations is much tricker. It''s akin to a fish trying to skip themselves across rough water like a stone instead of just swimming. The force and precision required is more likely to break all the fish¡¯s bones than get them across a pond. In my experience, the easiest way to move within a world quickly is to fly via magic or magical steed. But if you are really insistent about teleporting, then I suggest you stop thinking about stepping between places and more about stepping sideways within places. Yes, I know that makes little sense to you. When it does, then you¡¯re ready for this kind of magic.¡± - First Preceptor Leonid Lupa dissuading a student from a questionable research topic.
As the vision faded and Mina returned to the physical world, the first thing she noticed was how tired she felt. Her mind and body ached with the grueling efforts of the past few hours and the hard days of travel before then. But grimly, Mina knew her labors weren¡¯t over; in fact, the hardest two tasks still lay ahead. The first was rescuing Natalie from the darkness threatening to consume the young Alukah. Harrowing as that would be, Mina practically looked forward to it over speaking with Alia once she¡¯d awoken. Blinking away the last hints of bad memories and holy portents, Mina looked up at Deborah who was still leaning over her. The Seraphblood¡¯s face was pale, and she was shivering slightly; the tiniest hint of mist escaping with her every breath. Shutting her eyes and letting out a long icy sigh Deborah stumbled backwards, catching herself with the pale wooden staff she favored. Slender fingers wrapped around the staff and golden motes flowed from it into Deborah. Recovering herself, the Seraphblood nodded slowly and said. ¡°The geas is gone.¡± It seemed only a few moments had passed while Mina met her God. Grettir was still desperately trying to keep his knife in Natalie¡¯s heart; while Cole lay dead but healing. Shying away from the terrible revelations Master Time shared about the scarred creature; Mina started removing the severed ropes she¡¯d been bound in. Ignoring how her head throbbed, the renewed priestess slowly stood up. Staring at her hands, pushing away the memories of all the blood they¡¯d been stained with; Mina whispered. ¡°I can help Natalie.¡± Yara moved from where Kit lay unconscious to between Mina and Natalie. Gripped in one of the thrall¡¯s hands was the strange dagger Cole ripped from his own guts. Gesturing with the stained blade, the thrall hissed. ¡°You¡¯ve betrayed us at the worst moment at every turn. First with the dwarf magi, then with Cole. I¡¯m not letting you hurt my mistress!¡± Nearby, Grettir was visibly struggling to keep the knife inside Natalie. He was putting all his weight upon the onyx-stained vampire like someone trying to resuscitate a drowned swimmer. Grunting at Yara¡¯s words, he said. ¡°The thrall has a point. If there was ever a chance for the geas to jag everything up, it would be now.¡± Gently, Deborah approached Yara, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Seeing how the skittish red-head flinched away Deborah stopped. ¡°I saw the magic hidden in Mina be pulled free by Master Time himself.¡± An expression half-between a sneer and abject fear worked its way across Yara¡¯s face. ¡°He didn¡¯t notice or remove it before; how can we know he got it all?¡± There was a desperation in Yara¡¯s body language. Every muscle was tense and her eyes never stopped moving. Mina was reminded of a cornered animal, specifically one trying to protect its brood or burrow. The deep twisted loyalty of a vampire thrall was on full display. Even when faced with a literal angel-incarnate, Yara wouldn¡¯t back down from protecting Natalie. Seeing how her knuckles paled around the dagger¡¯s hilt, Mina suddenly got the terrible notion it was well within Yara¡¯s capabilities to actually stab a divine emissary out of blind panic and blinder devotion. Before whatever magical protections Deborah wove around herself could be tested, Mina tried to break through to Yara. ¡°Natalie will be worse than dead if something isn¡¯t done. Staking her is only buying time, and not much of it. I can reinforce the stigma and help fight what¡¯s infesting Natalie. And even if I¡¯m still¡­ subverted, then anything I do will just be¡­ speeding up the inevitable.¡± That seemed to partially reach Yara, and her eyes settled on the slowly regenerating form of Cole. ¡°What about him? He¡¯s a Paladin, and her lover; Cole can help in your place.¡± Deborah moved towards Cole, a look of deep concern upon her inhuman features. ¡°Yes, what about him¡­?¡± Mina swallowed down a lump, uncertain of what to say. ¡°Master Time vouches for Cole. And¡­ and I don¡¯t know how long until he¡­ resurrects.¡± Poking Cole gently with the bottom of her staff, Deborah muttered. ¡°Of all the times for Jude to be completely literal¡­ I never would have imagined such a creature could exist. Death¡¯s disciple, apostle, and heretic, indeed.¡± Speaking hurriedly, seeing how Grettir was struggling more, Mina gestured frantically. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for whatever heals him to finish working. My god said something is attacking Natalie¡¯s mind, every moment we delay it might damage her more!¡± Yara looked between Natalie and Cole; her jaw tightening with barely contained panic. After a long second of uncertainty, the thrall nodded and stepped aside. Letting out a breath, Mina rushed forward and kneeled down before Natale, ignoring how Yara was hovering nearby, knife still held at the ready. Muttering ritual mantras beneath her breath, Mina called upon the power gifted to her. The magic came slowly, stutteringly at first, like an old spigot having the rust knocked free. Then, as images of a glowing feather danced in Mina¡¯s mind the trickling flow became a flood. Instantly the temperature in the tower dropped a few degrees and Mina let out an ice-kissed gasp. Before the surging magic could overwhelm Mina, training took over, and she put both hands on Natalie¡¯s stigma. Shutting her eyes, and opening her sixth sense, Mina drew on her god, while trying to ignore the faint wriggling sensation she felt beneath Natalie¡¯s icy skin. Before the priestess could even focus on Natalie, her attention was pulled to the burning pinon orbiting her own soul. The large black feather was cloaked in silver flames that slowly consumed it. Staring at this occult sight, Mina understood its meaning. Members of the priesthood had to be careful how much magic they channeled from their god. Death or stranger consequences awaited those who over-taxed their soul acting as a conduit for the divine. Master Time was helping Mina call up and use more magic than she should have been able to. But fittingly, her time with this power was limited; when the feather was gone, so would be the Tenth God¡¯s help. Staring at the gaping wound that was Natalie¡¯s soul, Mina wondered if even a god¡¯s help would be enough. Multiple grievous metaphysical injuries decorated Natalie¡¯s essence, each speaking to a vicious magical attack. The idea of healing such damage was harrowing. Mina knew of much older and more experienced priests who balked at attempting even minor spiritual surgeries. But the wounds weren¡¯t the main problem; what Mina could see inside them was. Only by shielding herself with a buffer of raw power did Mina avoid a panic attack upon sensing what dwelled within Natalie. A core of hungry darkness filled the deepest reaches of her friend¡¯s soul; and that mass of predatory evil was waking up. Racking her mind for every scrap of useful information, Mina started to understand what was happening. All vampires struggle with the monstrous instincts and desires their curse inflicts upon them. The constant presence of those cruel hungers often warped vampires into the twisted creatures rest-bringer¡¯s hunted. Of course, some vampires did not struggle against the curse, but surrendered to it; becoming feral monsters stripped of all personhood. Normally, Natalie was exceptionally good at denying or channeling her nature; but wounded as she was, nothing stood in the way of the Alukah¡¯s hunger. Grettir wasn¡¯t fighting to keep a knife in Natalie¡¯s heart, but stopping a feral Alukah from waking up. Swallowing down a lump of fear, Mina decided preventing that was her chief priority. Focusing on the stigma upon Natalie¡¯s neck, Mina let holy magic flow from the Beyond, through her and into the mark. The spells woven into the sigil were frayed to the point of near-dissolution; but enough remained of their basic structure for Mina to work with. Overuse and direct assault from Gods knew where had eroded the mark and its power. Feeding magic into the stigma, Mina worked to rebuild the damaged rune piece by piece. It was like re-engraving a worn inscription upon stone; restoring an eroded remnant to its former glory by tracing and emphasizing what survived. The process wasn¡¯t easy but Mina rose to the challenge, slowly rebuilding the Maze of Moments and the protections it offered. Already the effects of Mina¡¯s efforts were noticeable; the air around Natalie was becoming frigid and patches of frost grew upon damp stone. With the cold came a slowing of the Alukah. Like some monstrous snake tasting deep winter, the ancient curse became sluggish and soporific. Grettir¡¯s efforts to keep Natalie impaled became less frantic and patches of gray fur grew upon the werewolf¡¯s exposed skin; protecting him from the ever deepening cold. As the magic¡¯s heart, Mina wasn¡¯t bothered by the chill; she barely noticed it aside from the invigorating kiss its arrival provided. This was how Master Time¡¯s cold worked; it dulled and froze his enemies while shielding and shocking his servants. Riding that wave of icy intensity, mind flushed of all exhaustion as if she¡¯d taken an ice bath, Mina restored the stigma to its full power. As a layer of metaphysical ice congealed over Natalie¡¯s soul; Mina let out a frost-kissed noise of concern. The stigma was working; it froze Natalie¡¯s being; stopping the darkness inside of her from breaking free. But the holy mark was limited; and Mina could sense the weakened but still active Alukah inside her friend. In repairing the stigma, Mina had gotten a better understanding of its functioning and how it alone wouldn¡¯t solve this mess. The mark reacted if Natalie lost control; freezing her power and stifling the curse long enough to protect both vampire and potential victim. It was basically a bucket of cold water to be dumped over Natalie in times of crisis. For now the stigma would do its job and keep the darkness contained, but it relied on Natalie ¡®snapping out¡¯ of whatever made her lose control. Mina wagered that Master Time intended the mark to just stifle the Alukah long enough for Cole to intervene. But Cole was dead, and while that might be subject to change, it didn¡¯t alter the fact Natalie would not be coming to her senses and regaining control. The damage to the vampire¡¯s soul was too extensive; all the stigma could do was put a lid on the roiling cauldron of bloody hunger that was the Alukah. Soon enough the pressure would build and that lid would be knocked away; especially once Mina wasn¡¯t able to keep it bolted in place with the flood of magic Master Time provided. If Mina wanted to stop delaying the inevitable and actually save her friend and the entire continent, she needed to fix Natalie¡¯s soul. Looking past the layer of ice encrusting Natalie¡¯s essence, and examining the spiritual wounds; Mina bit down on a nervous curse. Part of Natalie¡¯s soul had been¡­ cut off; or at least that was the best Mina could interpret it. Metaphors and memories danced behind Mina¡¯s eyes as her mind struggled to find context for what she was seeing. The damage reminded Mina of a brutal battlefield amputation; where a body part was hacked away, leaving a gory stump. Uncertain of what to do; Mina touched the wound with her power; wondering if she could cauterize it with a healing cold. As the priestess¡¯s essence brushed the injury; strange flashes of alien sensations greeted her. * A bolt of lightning strikes a rune-touched vat; a surge of mad glee accompanies it * * Flesh pierced by sharp wood, unable to properly scream as tongues of flame kissed pale skin * * A handsome stranger, with familiar eyes, stood upon a balcony naked, staring out at the storm-tossed sea * * Sitting in a chair surrounded by books; feeling red blood being drained away and replaced with black. * Pulling back from the wound, Mina made a startling realization, the injury wasn¡¯t just Natalie¡¯s. Two souls had been entangled like chimeric twins; and then cut apart by a frantic butcher. Something Master Time said during their meeting crashed into Mina then, and with it greater understanding. The Tenth God wanted her to rescue Cole¡¯s creator¡­ Isabelle. Well, rescue her from what? Looking at where Natalie had been mutilated, Mina could guess he meant whoever cut the link between the young Alukah and Isabelle. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Bracing herself this time; Mina touched the injury again. Shielded from disparate memories by her magic, she started trying to at least shut the wound, which was easier said than done. Feeling the injury and the skeins of flayed soul that trailed from it; Mina had an idea. Carefully collecting the barely attached soul-stuff; Mina pressed it against the wound, letting icy power join it. Holy cold froze the damaged pieces to the spiritual amputation, using them as bandages and building blocks both. As she worked, Mina tried to separate Natalie from the fragments of Isabelle mixed in with the wound but that quickly became impossible. There was too much¡­ blending; perhaps a better priestess or someone who knew the two vampires as well as Cole did might have managed it but not Mina. Unwilling to potentially damage Natalie even more, Mina did her best and simply collected all she could to patch the injury. If Natalie and Isabelle were so closely linked to have such a spiritual bond, then hopefully mixing the bits of disparate essence into Natalie¡¯s soul wouldn¡¯t have too severe side-effects. Bitterly noting she was basically trying to sew a person''s organs back in without knowing if they belonged to them; Mina hoped her educated guess was correct. After an agonizingly long few minutes, Mina admired her handiwork. This most grievous injury was shut; perhaps not perfectly, but enough that with Master Time¡¯s healing cold wrapping around Natalie¡¯s soul, it shouldn¡¯t get any worse. Turning her attention from the largest wound; Mina now had to work on the smaller but more¡­ disturbing injuries. If where Isabelle and Natalie had been severed was akin to a bad amputation, then these other wounds reminded Mina of a parasitic infection. Little maggot hole wormed through Natalie, puncturing her essence and burrowing down deep into her core where the Alukah waited. Mina was morbidly reminded of a worm-eaten apple and wondered what could have caused this. Thinking of the damage to the stigma, she had few guesses. Master Time spoke of an ¡®unclean spirit¡¯ inside Natalie that needed to be driven out. Mina couldn¡¯t guess how the monster infected Natalie, but knew flushing it out was her best option. The feather and the boon it represented was nearly half-way gone; so Mina needed to work quickly. But as she spread the cold power of her God over Natalie seeking to excise the burrowing parasite, a strange sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu struck her. This felt oddly similar to cleansing a plague victim; it was, of course, more complex and required greater magic, but the basic mechanics were similar. Frowning at those implications, Mina let the holy cold wash over Natalie and into the worm-like wounds in the vampire¡¯s soul. Gritting her teeth, Mina tried to strike a balance between caution and speed. The darkness inside of Natalie was not reacting well to a God¡¯s power and stopping the two forces from clashing disastrously took all the finesse Mina had. Driving out the infestation was just part of Mina¡¯s goal, by filling the injuries with benevolent magic, she could help coax Natalie¡¯s soul into forming scabs while keeping the now torporific Alukah from disrupting the healing process. Steadily spreading out through all the burrows, Mina became confused. She¡¯d seen no sign of the parasite, and that was worrying. But even more so were the sections of injured soul resistant to the treatment. Elsewhere, the magic flowed freely, coating the soul¡¯s wounds in a protective balm; but in these few sections, the power was repulsed. Unwilling to put pressure on the abnormalities for fear of causing damage; Mina left them alone, isolating the oddities until the rest of the wounds were treated. As the magic progressed and the isolated pockets became more and more obvious; Mina realized a pattern of their location. Mina had caught hints of Natalie¡¯s memories and emotions while working. Tiny almost-imperceptible flickers that were muffled by the shroud of power Mina wore. But what did filter through was enough to provide a crude map of Natalie¡¯s soul. Of how certain clusters of soul-stuff related to connected concepts or overarching themes. It wasn¡¯t anywhere as logical or stable as physical anatomy; but Mina¡¯s training and talent offered some insight. The resistant sections were places of fear, loss, and the fear of loss. Something about that sent a shiver up Mina¡¯s spine. Instinct, perhaps her own or flowing from the magic she was channeling, spoke of danger. Mustering her courage and capabilities, Mina focused on one of the larger resistant sections, preparing to examine it. Eyes shut, delving deep into Natalie¡¯s slowly healing soul, Mina felt profoundly uncomfortable. It wasn¡¯t the slumbering horror of the Alukah awaiting below, or even the drips of painful memories that bothered the priestess. Something else was here and watching her, the parasite. Marshaling her power; Mina slowly but firmly pressed on the blockage, trying to dislodge whatever was stopping her from healing the section of soul. As she increased the pressure, Mina got a better idea of what she fought. It was a mass of darkness, not the red-tinged shadows of the Alukah or other vampires, but another, more bitter shade. Bizarrely, memories of the disastrous solstice ball and the attack on the Vindabon Temples itched at Mina. Whatever infested Natalie was of the Dark, kin to Hellkyn, Fell Gods and the manifest sins of mortal kind. Cautiously, Mina ¡®spoke¡¯ to the darkness, striking it with a spear of intent. ¡°You are not welcome here. Leave this soul and return to whatever Hell you hail from.¡± A tendril of malice coiled out from the parasite and with it came a dreadful invitation. ¡°The Hell I hail from? Come and see, ignorant child. Come and see the piece of it I¡¯ve crafted for your friend. Come and see the truth at the end.¡± Mina¡¯s consciousness was pulled by an ineffable current, dragged into the waiting horror within Natalie.
Wolfgang stared out at the tunnel before him, taunted by the safety and escape it offered him. He was trapped, the collapsed tunnel mouth burying his legs and lower torso under kilos of solid rock. Half a meter or more and he¡¯d have escaped the collapse, half a meter less, and he¡¯d be ash. Instead of finding a conclusion in either fate, he was stuck. Eventually his injuries or dawn would force Wolfgang into a torpor he would almost certainly never awake from. Baring his fangs, Wolfgang tried to let out a low hiss of despair, but his crushed diaphragm stopped even that little act of pathos. Bitterness bubbled within Wolfgang as he thought about the deal he¡¯d made. The Reaper promised to protect him; and she¡¯d failed almost instantly. Even though he¡¯d gone above and beyond what could be expected in creating his plague and capturing Isabelle; Wolfgang was still abandoned. These thoughts sent a lance of pain through Wolfgang, arcing up from the new mark upon his chest to the crown of his head. Spasming at his mistress''s lash; Wolfgang felt a complete fool. He¡¯d been used and abused time and time again; never learning the lesson that he himself espoused. Here he was trapped and broken, his suffering only worsened for daring to think against his new owner. Laying against the cold stone, Wolfgang¡¯s half-broken mind tried to understand his latest humiliation. Where had the false-dawn come from? Who or what could summon that sort of power? A Hierophant of Sister Sun was the obvious answer but why in the Hells would one be¡­. Shutting his eyes, Wolfgang remembered something a corpse told him. The Soot Hawk soldier he¡¯d reanimated claimed others were sent to hunt him. An angel¡¯s bastard was trying to stop Wolfgang and, by extension, help the stone carriers. By taking the Deeps; Wolfgang had thought they¡¯d avoided their pursuers, but once again, his assumptions were flawed. Opening his eyes, Wolfgang found the laughing skull of Isabelle Gens Silva staring at him. Baring his teeth, Wolfgang wanted to scream at the trapped ghost; to drive away her mockery. How could all of this happen? How could fate have conspired to damn him thrice over? He¡¯s faced triumph and tragedy over and over in a nearly comical series of rises and falls. Just to now be trapped in the dark, waiting for the killing light to shine through the broken rock behind him. A noise from deeper down the tunnel suddenly caught Wolfgang¡¯s attention and with it came new fear. Being trapped and forced into torpor was already harrowing enough; being trapped while scavengers picked over his unliving flesh was worse. Staring into the dark, Wolfgang waited; expecting a troll or other dimwitted beast to come sniffing at his body; uncaring that he was undead. Instead, a rat came into view; a large, fat, black rat. Scampering forward, the rodent sniffed at Wolfgang, its whiskers twitching. Recognition and hope flared through Wolfgang. Unable to speak, he mouthed the rat¡¯s name. ¡°Shortooth.¡± It didn¡¯t respond, merely coming closer; sniffing at Wolfgang with animal caution. Confusion and concern replaced recognition and hope. Had the strigoi been permanently damaged by the demons? Was this just a rat that escaped its master¡¯s death and reverted to its basic instincts? Small grubby paws latched onto the skull lying next to Wolfgang and started pulling it away. Eyes widening; Wolfgang tried to reach with his remaining hand to stop the rat but it was too fast. The clatter of bone upon stone filled the tunnel as the rat dragged the prize Wolfgang sacrificed so much for into the dark. Fighting against his entrapment; Wolfgang gurgled in fury as he tried to pull free. Once the rat seemed to judge it was at a safe distance, its mouth fell upon and words escaped. ¡°Y-y-you got my br-brother killed, f-fly. I-I¡¯ll return to the V-Voivode with this prize and tell him how-how much you failed.¡± Clawing against the cold stone, Wolfgang wanted to scream; this final betrayal and indignity was just another twist of the knife. In the near-pitch black of the tunnel, all Wolfgang could do was watch as Shorttooth scurried away, dragging the skull with him. Then a noise like tearing flesh echoed through the tunnel and yet another impossibility happened. A gaping wound in reality opened up right above Shorttooth and from its festering depths came a stomping boot. With a wet crunch, the strigoi was turned into gore; a contemptuous heel grind smearing blood along the cave floor. More of the organic ripping sound filled the cave as the cut in existence widened. Droplets of shimmering iridescent blood splattered onto the ground as some force peeled reality open like a hunter might skin game. Another leg joined the first, as the unknown interloper shimmed through the hole and into sight. Dressed in white and green, the stranger wore a gore-slicked cooper¡¯s cloak and a bizarre mask. It was green and depicted an exaggerated smiling face with a mustache and goatee. Something about the strange sight itched at Wolfgang¡¯s mind; but he just didn¡¯t know what. Picking up Isabelle¡¯s skull gingerly, the masked man¡­ no, vampire judging by his silent heart, approached Wolfgang. As he did the portal-wound behind him stretched even wider and took on a more door-like shape. Reality twisted and bled impossible colors as another figure stepped through the gash. This one Wolfgang recognized instantly, even though it wore a white plaster death mask. The tall, gaunt and terrible form of Pater Epulo was difficult to misidentify. Handing Isabelle¡¯s skull to Epulo who took it with undisguised reverence; the green masked vampire strutted forward with acrid braggadocio. Squatting down before Wolfgang, he spoke, his voice almost familiar. ¡°My my! It seems our little Capitano played his role spectacularly. I¡¯m impressed, Pierrot; you caught a very useful fly in your web.¡± Staring up at the two vampires, unable to do anything; Wolfgang simply mouthed. ¡°Help me.¡± He knew it was a pointless request. Epulo and¡­ probably Scapino were here to retrieve the prize, nothing else. So it came as an utter shock when the green masked vampire bobbed his head and said. ¡°Of course! You did such a good job and caught our patron¡¯s attention; how could we refuse you aid?¡± With a pantomime¡¯s exaggeration, Green Mask started shifting rubble; whistling a laborer¡¯s tune as he did. ¡°We really need to meet in better circumstances, Wolfgang. If you hadn¡¯t guessed, it''s me, Scapino. It''s good to properly greet you while wearing my real face.¡± Pater Epulo, or Pierrot, came forward. ¡°That won¡¯t work; the debris will keep him trapped.¡± Scapino paused and nodded. ¡°I suppose you are right.¡± With a flourish of his hand, Scapino conjured a long sharp billhook and winced dramatically. ¡°This will probably force you into torpor; and hurt so very much, but it''s better than being trapped with only a ton of rock separating us from a jagging Seraphilim.¡± Seraphilim¡­ the children of Seraphs. The dawn¡­ it hadn¡¯t been a Hierophant at all, the light came from a far far more terrible source. This shocking news was enough to distract Wolfgang from the other and more pressing part of Scapino¡¯s words. The billhooks bite as it cut into Wolfgang¡¯s flesh was enough to refocus him. Unable to scream, Wolfgang could only stare at Scapino as he worked, slowly cutting the Black Fly free. With quick hands, the masked vampire sawed; speaking as he did. ¡°Honestly, you should take it as a compliment. Not every little behind-the-lines scheme the Duchies engage in elicits that sort of response. I mean really, the Gods sent one of their metaphorical grandkids after you. That¡¯s a jagged, but impressive edge to get caught on.¡± Wolfgang¡¯s pained gurgles changed as Scapino finished sawing through his trunk muscles and into his lungs. Grunting as he tried to keep the blade steady; Scapino said. ¡°Things didn¡¯t exactly go to plan, Wolfgang; but the Troupe has taken notice of you. Our patron, the Reaper, seems to think you''re valuable enough to keep alive, and after seeing how that little plague of yours is working, I have to agree.¡± The billhook reached Wolfgang¡¯s spine and he spasmed against its cruel edge. Forcing Wolfgang to be still with his free hand, Scapino kept sawing. ¡°Besides, I don¡¯t have much room to judge when it comes to the Homunculus and Alukah. That pair is far more tricky than people think. Surviving them and claiming the prize is impressive; even if the process wasn¡¯t as¡­ clean as we¡¯d all like.¡± White hot terrible pain filled Wolfgang¡¯s being as his body started to shut down. The darkness of torpor licked at his vision; promising escape from this torture. Scapino started to saw faster and with every stroke of his blade Wolfgang fell farther and farther into the darkness. Just as the shadows prepared to swallow him, Wolfgang heard his bizarre savior say. ¡°You are wasted as a piece, but not ready to be a player. So¡­ how about you take the step in between? The Troupe likes to keep its numbers small, only so many roles after all, but¡­ we can always use talented understudies." Then with those words, Wolfgang fell into darkness, wondering who or what was now holding his leash. Book III: Chapter 53: Webs and Chains

Chapter 53: Webs and Chains

¡°Fire, water, earth air and mind are the five prime elements that influence the Aether. This differs from precious metals and crystals; which just react to the Aether instead of altering it. But outside the prime five are other substances with lesser but still important resonance. Salt purifies and protects, disrupting the unnatural. Blood is power and connection, both of which are key concepts. Music, yes music, is the ultimate unifier and focuses minds like nothing else. Ash¡­ ash is loss and truth, bitter truth.¡± - Witch Rochia of Magyuviv to her apprentices.
Yara had never before had much interest in learning magic; it had always been the purview of her betters. Now, as she tried desperately to keep her eyes on all her responsibilities, the thrall wished she knew some sensory cantrips to help. Paramount of these responsibilities was keeping Natalie safe; but considering a werebeast had a dagger in her heart, and a traitorous priestess was working icy spells upon her, Yara wasn¡¯t doing that good of a job. Holding the dagger still stained with Cole¡¯s blood, Yara watched Mina work, ready to drive the oddly shiny blade into the traitor¡¯s skull at any sign of subversion. She¡¯d picked up the thin knife, thinking it silver-dipped, but it''s odd weight and luster was giving Yara doubts. But considering it had killed Cole¡­ well it should still work for her purposes. The Paladin was the second of Yara¡¯s concerns. While she still felt a small spark of bitterness related to her former master¡¯s demise; Yara couldn¡¯t deny how important he was to her mistresses, or forget that he¡¯d given his blood to save her. That Cole was some sort of immortal monster didn¡¯t bother Yara; long years of service to Dietrich had carved away much of her capacity to be shocked or alarmed by the unnatural. The fact she seemed to be alone in her acceptance of his nature was what kept Yara glancing back at the slowly resurrecting Paladin. Both the werewolf and angelblood kept one eye upon Cole, a cautious tension to them Yara knew all too well. He frightened the pair, and even Mina seemed disturbed despite her God vouching for him. Yara¡¯s trained talent in catastrophizing kept insisting if Cole or Natalie didn¡¯t wake up soon then their saviors would become their destroyers. Lastly, Yara felt this strange need to keep part of her over-taxed attention on Kit. Both his forearms had been badly crushed by one of the vampires. Requiring Deborah to weave chains of gilded runes that now wrapped around Kit¡¯s already swollen flesh. It had been just one of the potent healing spells the Seraphblood placed upon the badly injured members of the group before the mess with Mina and Natalie took center stage. Judging by what Deborah had said, she¡¯d put Kit, Alia, and Nokin into a deep magical sleep to help heal them and buy time for more potent spells to be cast. Even now, the Serahblood conjured up streams of gilded light that flowed over the injured while waiting for Mina to do her work. The temperature within the tower had steadily dropped with every second since Mina started, forcing Deborah to summon up miniature suns to keep her patients warm. Patches of frost grew along the stone, stretching out from Natalie¡¯s prone body, only stopping where the magical warmth held domain. This deep cold and the fact Grettir wasn¡¯t struggling as much with the knife seemed like good signs to Yara. But that didn¡¯t mean events couldn¡¯t take a dreadful turn at any moment. In fact, she was expecting Mina to suddenly do something horrible, right at the worst possible time. Yara had no faith in the gods, in fact, she felt mainly suspicion and shame when it came to them. She¡¯d not take Master Time¡¯s word that Mina was free of whatever ensorcellment caused all this. Movement from Cole pulled Yara¡¯s attention from the priestess; it was a faint twitch, but enough for her nervous senses to notice. Squatted down as she was behind and to Mina¡¯s left, Yara was closest to Cole and seemed to be the only one to see the twitch. Slowly shifting herself so she could keep both Mina and Cole better in her sights; Yara watched and waited. Just when she wondered if her exhausted mind imagined the movement, it repeated. Cole¡¯s arm spasmed and as it did, things fell off it. Eyes widening, Yara gently reached out and grabbed Cole¡¯s hand. He was still dead, Yara had moved enough corpses to tell that instantly. But dead as he was, Cole still bled. Fresh blood dripped from patches of damaged skin where burned tissue crumbled away. Holding his hand up, Yara realized bits of stone were embedded in Cole¡¯s palm, only now being pushed out of his skin by new growth. As red stained Yara¡¯s own fingers, she felt for Cole¡¯s pulse and frowned upon not finding even a hint of one. The hand twitched again, this time with Yara holding it. Nearly dropping the damaged limb, Yara shivered in disgust; an extremely rare thing for her. She¡¯d thought the spasms had been signs of life returning, and in a way it was¡­ The muscles and bones of Cole¡¯s hand were horribly damaged and now worked to realign themselves. Yara could vaguely see the movements of tissue beneath the burned skin as part found their proper configuration. Slowly setting Cole¡¯s hand on his lap; Yara eyed the Paladin with a little more caution. Magic that warped flesh was never good, especially when you couldn¡¯t tell the source. Before those thoughts could properly settle in Yara¡¯s mind Mina slumped to the side. Moving towards the priestess, mind surging with panic; Yara tried to grab onto her but was stopped by the incredible cold radiating off Mina. Half-laying on her side, Mina¡¯s hands were still pressed onto the stigma, but her breaths were shallow and frosted. Swallowing down a nervous lump, Yara held the dagger out ready to drive it into the priestess¡¯s throat. A warm soft hand gripped Yara¡¯s wrist, and she realized Deborah had come next to her, moving so fast she¡¯d not even noticed. ¡°Don¡¯t. Priestess Mina is fighting the corruption, I can see the battle in the Aether.¡± the Seraphblood said, her golden eyes boring into Yara¡¯s being. Slowly releasing the knife, Yara let it clatter to the floor, and Deborah¡¯s grip softened. Pulling herself free, Yara recoiled from the angel woman and looked back at Natalie. The black lines on her skin were still present, but the stigma glowed painfully bright, visible even beneath Mina¡¯s hands. Grettir was covered in thick fur, the knife still pressed into Natalie¡¯s heart by half-frozen hands. Yara could now see Mina¡¯s face and how her eyes were rolled back into her skull while a silent scream escaped pale lips. Frost swirled about Mina, in slow but unending eddies of mist and ice. The priestess was calling upon great power and Yara¡¯s teeth started to chatter, even with the warm glow of Deborah beside her. Glancing at the Serahblood, Yara asked. ¡°What do we do?¡± Deborah¡¯s unnaturally perfect features formed a deep frown. ¡°Pray.¡±
Mina fought against the all-powerful current drawing her deeper into Natalie¡¯s soul. Straining against the arcane tendrils entrapping her, Mina tried and failed to break free. With the help of Master Time¡¯s boon, Mina slowed her descent into darkness but couldn¡¯t stop it. She was in too deep, and had been rattled by her enemy¡¯s fell words. But the burning feather gifted Mina was appropriately buying her time, which she spent trying to understand what attacked her. As a priestess and rest-bringer, Mina¡¯s training had focused on the dead and the undead; but that didn¡¯t mean she wasn¡¯t aware of the Tenth Temple''s other responsibilities. Time Priests fought against more than just unliving perversions. Destroying demons and cults belonging to Fell Gods was another holy task; particularly those anathema to Master Time. Be they cultists of bitter winter, mad prophets shaping bleak futures, demons of decay or¡­ worshippers of grief. Sparks of intuition fed on the kindling of connected facts and Mina¡¯s understanding grew. A demon of grief, or something similar, was infesting Natalie¡¯s soul; nesting in the parts of her essence marked by loss. The demon had embedded itself in the spiritual wounds it felt most at home in, stopping Mina from healing them. Now that Mina had isolated and attacked it; the demon was trying to pull her into its ¡®lair¡¯ of infected soul-stuff. Caught in the demon''s hungry tendrils, Mina was burning through the power Master Time gifted at a terrible rate and it seemed unlikely she could outlast her foe. Instead of struggling against the web she was caught in, Mina needed to try something else. Carefully, Mina let the power cloaking her dim, turning it from a blazing torch to a guttering candle. Working slowly, Mina did her best to pantomime weakness and exhaustion; hoping to trick the demon with a display of flagging strength. Considering Master Time¡¯s boon was the main reason Mina hadn¡¯t collapsed from exhaustion, her pretense was remarkably accurate. Tendrils of hungry darkness pulled Mina deeper, wrapping her up like a bug in spider silk. Claustrophobia crept at the edge of the Priestess¡¯s awareness, old wounds from the cellar threatening to tear open in face of this new horror. Muttering mantras of focus and sanity to herself, Mina surrendered to the enemy without while resisting the enemy within. Alien hunger and perverse intent swirled about Minas as her mind was pulled into the infected wound, into the demon¡¯s lair. Drowning in darkness, Mina fought against her rising panic. She was so close; to lose her nerve now would not only ruin the best opportunity to save Natalie, but perhaps doom Mina as well. Clutching at the now unburning feather with her mind¡¯s eye, Mina focused on the token and the faith it represented. Examining the dark pinion, she ignored the whispers in the dark, the noises and movements coming from all around her. Here in the belly of the beast, Mina refused to acknowledge what she thought she saw and heard. That wasn¡¯t her brother crying out for help, or her father screaming in pain; she didn¡¯t catch glimpses of Morri crumpled on the ground or smell Alia¡¯s blood. Focus never wavering from the feather, Mina felt herself strangely comforted by the probing attacks wearing her loved one¡¯s faces. Her training to resist psychic assaults was working on the demon¡¯s whispers, even if it had been useless in face of the geas. Buoyed slightly, Mina let a thought lash out into the dark, filling it with all the contempt she could muster. ¡°Well, you wanted me, demon? Here I am!¡± The darkness vibrated, coming alive with a dreadful proclamation. ¡°Come and see!¡± All around Mina, the demon''s lair changed, the hinted to shapes coming into focus. Light did not shine in the purest black, instead the darkness itself shifted, becoming a gradient of flavors. Here in the domain of magic and souls, darkness could be more than mere absence; it could be an antithesis, providing its own spectrum of un-illumination. In the shifting hues of shadow, Mina sensed her surroundings. Great interlinking webs of sticky quintessence the shade of darkness found within deep caverns filled a space large as cities and small as thimbles. The webs were stretched over and through a void that tasted of grief and smelled like ash. Each apex of the web, where myriad strands fused into great anchor lines, was bound to a gash in the void, where pungent memories dripped into miasmic clouds. Wrapped up in her family cellar¡¯s flavor of black, Mina was trapped, witness to the nest hidden in Natalie¡¯s soul, and the monster that built it. At the webs center, squatting among the disparate threads, was a grotesque parody of both arachnid and woman. Eight multi-jointed human arms clutched crude harvest sickles in their hands, using them like a dockworker''s hook to dangle from thick threads. Suspended between the limbs was an abdomen bloated with troubled pregnancy, and from its neck stuck a human head, spun about so it could sink its over-sized fangs into a squirming bundle trapped in the web. Eight eyes looked up from the monster¡¯s meal, each shining like a dead star, and gazed upon Mina. Like a grotesque harp the web vibrated, speaking for the demon. ¡°Come and see! Come and see my offering and my blessing!¡± Liquid pain extruded from the woman-spider¡¯s abdomen, congealing into webbing that its back two arms weaved into the nest''s growing structure. Here in the heart of Natalie¡¯s grief, this horror was drinking her essence, using it to grow stronger and keep the spiritual wounds open. The monster was killing Natalie, breaking her mind bit by bit, and leaving paths for the Alukah to arise. Mina had bought time by rebuilding the stigma and repairing the worst of the damage; but as long as this parasite dwelled within Natalie, the young vampire queen would never heal. Faced with the unclean spirit before her, the Priestess of Death felt the flame of understanding grow larger and with it came dreadful shadows of fear. She¡¯d thought her foe a mere demon, but as her mind still shuddered with the parasite¡¯s un-words, Mina wasn¡¯t so certain anymore. Seeking confirmation for her burgeoning theory; she gazed upon the monster¡¯s face. Mina watched the mask change, flickering between painfully familiar features. Her mother, her aunt, members of the Temple who helped raise her. Keeping the pain those faces evoked under control, Mina took in the full mockery of motherhood the woman-spider embodied. Bits of old lessons on older enemies danced in the priestess¡¯s mind as she became increasingly certain of what she faced. A mere demon would break under a saint-marked Seraphblood¡¯s power; and yet this task hadn¡¯t fallen to Deborah. Instead of using the obvious agent, Master Time had gifted Mina with power, an act that would certainly upset the Gates Beyond. If this was a simple demon, then Deborah would have driven it out, leaving Mina to slowly rebuild the stigma with her existing strength. Instead, a fiery boon was given and with it a dangerous task. One that Mina now understood in its full complexity and terror. Meeting the eight eyes of the woman-spider, Mina repeated bits of a lecture half-forgotten. ¡°No one grieves like mothers and no one is grieved like mothers. The loss associated with motherhood is the oldest and most potent. Many, many demons spawn from that pain; but all are pale shadows of their own mother and mistress. The Reaper of Sorrows has many forms, but her most horrible are perversions of motherhood.¡± Finally dislodging her fangs from the squirming bundle at the lair¡¯s heart, the Reaper answered. ¡°You see! Now wait, dear child of my heart¡¯s hatred. I can taste your grief, of how you ache for those lost. Soon, once my work is done here, I will share my gift with you. Until then, take my blessing, and feel the thread that binds you to those loved and lost.¡± The darkness trapping Mina grew teeth and sank them into her. Wrapped up in fell threads, Mina thrashed as bitter venom filled her soul. In this place of magic and memory the toxin didn¡¯t clot veins or kill nerves but found bits of the priestess kindred to itself and dragged them to the surface of consciousness. Flashes of screams and sobs assailed Mina as hooked barbs plunged into her soul, bringing old grief and fresh fears to the forefront of her mind. Mina remembered the sounds her brother made when the ghouls devoured him. How the air smelled when she stood in her village¡¯s ruins. She imagined the Temple Hermitage and how her heart would break to see Morri join the Anchorites. Loss and the fear of loss flowed through Mina, eroding her mind with every moment. Caught in a spider¡¯s web, she was subject to its dreadful kiss, her very essence putrefying for later consumption. Except¡­ there was another factor at work. All this grief, all this pain; it was by now familiar to Mina. In the tower, then in the cellar, Mina had faced her demons. She¡¯d already been broken by her own hand, and in light of that, even a God¡¯s cruelty felt lacking. Clutching the feather that danced in her mind, Mina let it burn. Silver fire erupted along the pinions'' length and it cascaded out from Mina, scouring away the venom and her bindings. Leaving her free and furious with all the might her God could give. Around Mina, bits of web started to smoke and peel apart; the woven effluvium of grief burning in the face of its anathema. Cold, pure light flowed from Mina as she became a new star within her friend¡¯s soul. Wings of frost bloomed from Mina and in her hands a sword of polished ice materialized. Meeting the eight eyes of the Reaper; seeing the outrage and shock there; Mina proclaimed with a trumpet blast of will. ¡°You said I must wait, as if time would be your friend. But we both know that couldn¡¯t be farther from the truth.¡± Slashing out with the winter-white blade in her hand, Mina tore through parts of the web, cutting strands and letting them burn/freeze. ¡°Reaper of Sorrows! Fell Goddess! Usurper! Corrupter! Monster! In the name of my God and all he is; I cast you out! You are banished from my friend, and condemn it to the perdition you so deserve!¡± The festering wound where Priestess and Fell Goddess faced each other shuddered as opposing powers clashed. Burning feather upon her brow, Mina drank in the situation and from it came new wisdom. This nest, cut in the space between Natalie¡¯s losses, was key to the Reaper¡¯s infection and consumption of her. It was also not particularly stable, being a spider web anchored in different thought clusters across Natalie¡¯s soul. Here the Reaper was at her most powerful and most vulnerable. If Mina could cut those anchor lines and keep burning the web, then whatever piece of itself the Reaper had infected Natalie with would be banished; but that wouldn¡¯t be easy. Even empowered as Mina was, she faced a dark deity¡¯s shard; one capable of attacking with traumas both past and potential. Stolen novel; please report. That thought helped stoke Mina¡¯s growing understanding, and she knew why this task had fallen to her. ¡°The ending, no matter how sad, is only part of the story... You can call upon the pain and fear of loss; but that''s just a distorted sliver of the totality. Time is more, its beginnings, endings, and everything in between. Sunlight, fire and femininity aren¡¯t what can break your hold on Natalie; telling the full story will.¡± In response, tendrils of animated darkness that was both webbing and ash lashed out at Mina, seeking to ensnare her. Again, the Reaper attacked with Mina¡¯s own grief, each of its threads woven from the memories sampled before Mina ignited her power. Sword at the ready, Mina deflected each and every one; not through strength of arms, but strength of selfhood. A whipping strike composed of her mother¡¯s dying gurgles was knocked away by a goodnight kiss. Her brother¡¯s frantic attempts to stop her screaming became a gentle hug. The onyx black of an Anchorite fell away from Morri¡¯s face as he told Mina how proud he was. Blade flashing, Mina tore at the webs, injecting memories of the first time Natalie made her laugh into the growing fire. Parrying the tears she shed at her grandfather¡¯s funeral with his smile; Mina struck at an anchor composed of a snarling corpse wolf and a screaming mother; severing it with Natalie¡¯s shared stories about life among the Werefolk. Ducking beneath the hundred graves dug for her village using a harvest festival dance, the priestess stabbed the last time Natalie saw her hometown with memories of the pair of them exploring a Vindabonian market. All around Mina, the web trembled and shook. Once taut sections of woven grief now flapping in a breeze of laughter as the Reaper¡¯s nest collapsed. A shriek like a mother finding a cradle death split the ash-dark void and Mina braced as the Fell Goddess attacked. Leaping from sorrow to sorrow; bladed legs flashing, the Reaper smashed into Mina bringing with it a tidal-wave of pain. Mina answered the goddess¡¯s scream with her own; feeling the deep hollowness of grief being carved into her essence. Dull edges cut at Mina, trying to peel open old wounds and bring with them the terrible truth of loss. Fighting against the intrusion, Mina drove her sword into the Reaper; its edge sharp with a funeral feast¡¯s somber celebration. Squealing like the first hog Mina had butchered; the Goddess retreated, leaking clumps of half-digested soul-stuff from a gaping wound. Out from the ragged wound, more woman-spider limbs grew as the Reaper¡¯s form mutated, becoming less coherent and more horrible. Flesh shifted like wax, and features both matronly and monstrous, mixed in the goddess¡¯s changing body. Ragged hands grabbed sections of tattered webbing; sculpting marionettes into familiar shapes. A simulacrum of Alia hung before Mina, her face a mask of shock, painted red with blood shed by treachery. From crimson lips came a slurred question and plea that Mina¡¯s brain had heard but not processed. ¡°M-M-Mina?¡± The pain of betrayal and confusion filled Alia¡¯s voice; lancing out towards Mina in a heart-cracking blow. Flinching from the sight and the shame it evoked, Mina failed to parry the coming strike. Her shield, made from a first kiss, cracked under the Reaper¡¯s blow and the jagged edge of Alia¡¯s words pierced the priestess¡¯s soul. Fear and pain spraying from the wound like blood. Another of the Reaper¡¯s questing arms lashed out, grabbing some of the spilled emotions and shaping them into three cruel javelins. Forged from grief for what was and fear of what might be lost, the metaphysical pila punched through Mina¡¯s armor. Desperately, the priestess tried to summon happy memories of Alia, but each became poisoned by what had transpired. With every failed evocation of romance and affection, Mina merely helped the javelins sink deeper, their points growing sharper with every mutilated memory. The Reaper grabbed onto the spears impaling Mina, bringing its twisted head close to the priestess. ¡°Do you see now? In the end, all that remains are sorrows, and by embracing them is all that can be done. Everything ends, everything dies, and only the grief remains. That is the truth, that is me and that is the only true companion one can hope for.¡± Buried in pain; trying to keep the burning feather lit and her mind intact; Mina whimpered and reached out with her shaking hand. As she groped vainly for her weapon, the Reaper smiled. ¡°Hush¡­ there is no point in struggling. Your efforts were mighty, but wasted. Your armor is broken, and the power gifted to you gutters. Your sword is gone, do not waste time resisting the truth.¡± Mina smiled then, her hands closing around the hilt she searched for. ¡°I have other companions, better ones than you.¡± Outside the wound in Natalie¡¯s soul, back in the Mundane side of reality, Mina gripped the dagger Grettir was keeping in her friend¡¯s heart and pulled. At first, it didn¡¯t move, and Mina could distantly feel the werewolf struggling against her efforts. But then another hand joined Mina¡¯s and Grettir let go. Even as her soul was impaled by spears of grief, Mina pulled the dagger free from Natalie. A sudden unmistakable shift happened inside the wound and eight eyes widened in shock as the Reaper realized what just happened. Tears flowing down her face, but still smiling, Mina said. ¡°My magic has been healing her this whole time; and I¡¯ve been keeping you distracted. Natalie should be recovered enough to know friend from foe.¡± Elsewhere, the bundle of threads the Reaper had been feeding upon started to tear; ripping open as the dreaming vampire awoke.
The temple bell of Glockmire cut through the sounds of screams and groans. Natalie, Iona and Wilhelm ran down a sidestreet, trying to avoid the hungry dead. Hand firmly gripping his daughter¡¯s wrist, Wilhelm kept saying. ¡°Almost there, almost there Nattie.¡± Just a stride ahead of them, Iona ran, holding the lantern up for her family to follow. Face set in a grim mask, Natalie¡¯s mother kept moving, guiding them through the crooked Glockmire streets and towards sanctuary. As Iona turned down another path, Natalie¡¯s heart dropped as the light of the lantern flickered and a scream cut through the night. Wilhelm and Natalie rounded the alley corner and saw a monster holding Iona in clawed hands. Rotting lupine jaws snapped forward and closed on soft flesh, blood sprayed and Iona¡¯s scream died; replaced by her daughter and husband¡¯s own wail of horror. Wilhelm pulled his daughter away from the shredded meat that had once been his wife and the pair now stood in the Silly Goat. Letting go of Natalie, Wilhelm ran towards the door where a balding man who never blinked drove his forearm right through the innkeeper¡¯s gut. Screaming, Natalie fell to her knees, trying to staunch the bleeding, but as Wilhelm breathed his last she leaned over him, hunger consuming her mind. Now her fangs sunk into Cole¡¯s broken body and Natalie drank down his life, physical ecstasy warring with psychic agony. Again and again, the world shifted around Natalie, pulling her from scenes of loss to scenes of grief. Moments of sorrow melted into each other in an ever repeating, ever mixing parade of misery. Natalie¡¯s only respite was those rare moments when the visions would dim and she¡¯d fall into a half-slumber that never lasted. Her mind danced between nightmares and unconsciousness in a macabre waltz. Every cycle of memory, more of Natalie, drifted away, her mind dissolving like spun sugar in a tempest. At the edge of her fading psyche, Natalie caught bits of what she should know. Of a spider¡¯s words and the kiss of winter. But they were just strands of silk dancing just beyond her reach. For the dozenth or dozen dozenth time, Natalie was in the black cell beneath Castle Glockmire; grieving her humanity and the man she loved when things changed. Old stone cracked with a sound of thunder and Natalie could only stare as the cell wall split open. A tiny but growing crevice formed in the rock and light shone in from it. Eyes wide, feeling the illusion dissipate, Natalie stumbled towards the crack. Reaching it, she stared into the silver light and felt reality spin once again. But this time, she wasn¡¯t hauled into another tragedy; this time she stood among red lilies. Gazing across the field, and its mix of snow and bloody bell flowers, Natalie tried to grasp at her thoughts but they refused to come easily. Too much of her had been peeled away, too much bled from countless wounds. Still, compelled by some instinct or intuition, Natalie looked in the direction where a willow once stood. In the frozen tree¡¯s place was a gouge cutting into the ground. Walking slowly, Natalie moved toward the gouge, trepidation growing in her murky mind. Standing on the pit''s edge, Natalie made a noise of disgust at what she saw. Instead of torn earth and displaced soil, the gouge was of ripped flesh and dripping black blood. But that was only part of the foulness. Growing in the open wound was a spider web stretching between open veins and tubules. Painted with frost, the web was damaged, part of it hanging loose. Sparks of silver and motes of ash danced in the web, clashing like warring insects. Falling to her knees, Natalie stared at the battle, her mind trying to touch a conclusion just beyond reach. Closer now, she could see the webs center, the bloated spider sitting among broken threads, a bird clutched in its limbs. Frowning, Natalie reached out and swatted at the spider, trying to free the young crow it had caught. Claws she didn¡¯t remember having slashed the spider, and it recoiled, letting the crow go. Sudden vertigo pulled on Natalie and she tumbled into the web. Blinking away her dizziness, Natalie floated in darkness, illuminated only by burning web strands and the silver star next to her. Perspective and size had changed; now Natalie was within the web and seeing its true size. Drinking in the colossal spider lair, Natalie reached out and touched a thread of webbing. It melted at her touch, dissolving into flickers of selfhood that she eagerly drank down. Eyes fluttering, Natalie felt a little bit of herself return. Finally, focusing on the silver star, she recognized it. Mina was wounded, spears sticking through her, and bits of soul-stuff leaking from metaphorical wounds. Looking at her friend, Natalie smiled, happy to see the priestess. Exhausted and battle-worn, Mina took a moment to return the smile. Gesturing with the icy sword she carried, Mina pointed towards the web¡¯s center where a malformed mix of woman and spider waited. ¡°I need your help; the Reaper is weakened but so am I.¡± More fragments of memory and awareness snagged on Natalie¡¯s mind. She wasn¡¯t whole, but intact enough to understand Mina¡¯s purpose. This spider was an enemy, it was why Natalie had suffered. A cruel snarl formed on the vampire¡¯s face and she drifted towards the Reaper, uncaring of the threads she touched. Instead of sticking to her, the strands of soul-silk dissolved into Natalie, bringing with them more flashes of what had been done. Reaching out, Natalie grabbed a large knot of webbing and pulled. With a sound like cracking bones, the weaved silk fell apart bringing with them more truth and more rage. Drinking in the bits of her pain the Reaper had stolen and repurposed into this web, Natalie felt words bubble up and like a whip crack; the message cut through the Reaper¡¯s lair. ¡°How dare you.¡± At the edges of the gouge where web met wound droplets of black blood dripped from opened veins, flowing along soul-silk and traveling towards Natalie. As the first spatters of inky ichor reached Natalie, the web shook as its anchors came under attack. Obsidian blood flowed in and around Natalie, mixing with the dissolving threads. Again, the whip words lashed out, this time sharper and crueler. ¡°HOW DARE YOU!¡± Natalie was healing; the wounds Wolfgang and the Reaper cut into her were shutting. But healing didn¡¯t mean healed. Enough of the girl from Glockmire was intact to be awake, and enough of her was broken for the Alukah¡¯s power to slip through the cracks. Nearby, Mina shied away from the growing storm of black fury and bloody hunger that was Natalie. The silver light of a burning feather suddenly seemed dim in face of the rising darkness. Clenching her hands into fists, Natalie felt a strange unity of purpose fill her. So often her humanity and nature were at war; a constant struggle she barely won with significant help. Now, in light of the Reaper¡¯s transgressions, both facets of her were in agreement. She¡¯d channeled her hunger before, and learned to dance on the edge between monster and mortal but this was different. A deeper, more terrible drive than the vampire instincts Natalie normally battled was awake. Annoch the Binder was dead, but his blood carried flickers of his will. Before, Natalie had always repressed these echoes, ignoring their calls to dominate and claim others as property. But now, another facet of Annoch was coming to the forefront, the prideful fury of a ruler whose domain was attacked. This arrogant rage found a mirror in Natalie¡¯s wrath. Her mind and soul had been violated; her personal kingdom sacked by a miserable parasite. That would not, could not be allowed. Black blood and spider silk mixed in Natalie¡¯s tight grip, forming into the universal symbol of ownership, punishment, and cruelty. A long chain slithered down from Natalie¡¯s hand, its obsidian links glistening in Mina¡¯s fire. The Reaper and her minions had sought to break Natalie, to ruin her mind and rouse the Alukah. They¡¯d not succeeded, nor had they failed. Natalie was damaged, and into those cracks some of what had once slumbered now flowed. With a terrible shriek, Natalie lashed out with the chain, cutting through the web and striking the Reaper¡¯s manifestation. A great rent opened in the spider¡¯s body and the piece of a goddess quailed in face of the Alukah¡¯s wrath. Again, the chain struck like a furious viper, severing a multi-jointed limb. From the iron whip¡¯s tip, nine smaller lengths of chain blossomed, turning its end into a hungry scourge. As Natalie tore into the Reaper, more chains grew from the swirling black blood surrounding her. Like a consuming cancer, the new chains spread along the dying web, subsuming it bit by bit. Nearby, Mina struggled to ward off the questing chains as they circled about her like hungry wolves. By now, four of the Reaper¡¯s legs were torn free and half-digested soul-stuff leaked from a dozen lacerations. Still screaming her fury, Natalie closed in on the fragment of dark divinity that had tortured her so. Uncaring of Mina¡¯s desperate attempts to avoid the chains, the Alukah prepared to feed. All around the lair, the chain cancer consumed the web, spreading out and reaching the anchors at wound edge. The mindscape groaned as the chains pulled on the gouge¡¯s edge, working to seal this final and most terrible wound while Natalie punished its maker. Limbless and wrapped in biting chains that burrowed through it, the Reaper hung helpless, spider turned fly. Finally, Natalie¡¯s scream subsided and in a voice not quite her own, she asked. ¡°If I devour the souls of vampires I consume, then what will happen if I drink you?¡± Natalie¡¯s mouth widened impossibly and her fangs became monstrous sabers eager to tear open the Reaper. But before she could strike, a familiar taste tickled Natalie¡¯s tongue. Warm and wonderful blood danced down her throat, telling her much about its origin. Fresh, and potent, the ichor coursed with strange crisp power while lacking a few key elements she knew should be present. As hot blood flowed into Natalie, she shivered with alien cold. All around the Reaper¡¯s lair, chains stopped their grim work and Mina looked about, soul leaking relief. Tasting the blood, and the request that came with it, Natalie opened her mind to its owner. Smiling despite herself, Natalie whispered a name. ¡°Cole.¡± Into the wound fell a meteor of icy fire. Reaper, Alukah and Priestess all looked up as the Paladin descended. The first time Natalie pulled Cole into her mind she¡¯d seen the truth of his pain. How he appeared as mutilated flesh and thrashing limbs before she calmed him. Now she saw the truth of his power. A great statue of polished steel arrived in the wound, its nude form marked by thousands of scratches and dents that bled silver fire. Staring up at the shining face of her love; Natalie felt more and more of the imperious fury that gripped her fall away. Reaching out with a hand cloaked in argent light, the Paladin spoke, his voice soft as falling snow, loud as clashing glaciers. ¡°I¡¯m here. I¡¯ll always be here.¡± Taking his hand, Natalie looked back at Mina who floated nearby, spectral wings and armor cloaking her. Seeing the now slumbering chains near her friend, Natalie said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± A slightly panicked laugh escaped the priestess. ¡°I¡­I should be saying that.¡± Wincing as memories of Mina¡¯s ¡®betrayal¡¯ danced in her mind, Natalie turned her focus and asked Cole. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Looking at the broken Reaper, Cole replied. ¡°I resurrected a few moments ago. The situation wasn¡¯t¡­ good. The power Mina channeled was coming close to freezing everyone to death; and Grettir wouldn¡¯t let her remove the dagger in you. I pulled the knife free and mitigated the worst of the cold. After that, I could see the Alukah rising within you, and Mina¡¯s suffering. I didn¡¯t know what to do, but Yara said when the Rabisu first attacked, her blood helped you. So I tried that and then accepted your invitation.¡± Joining him in examining the broken god-shard, Natalie said. ¡°Not the Rabisu, but the Reaper. Thank you for stopping me from eating her¡­ I don¡¯t know what would have happened.¡± Cole just shrugged, his massive steel shoulders sending a shower of sparks flying. As the Paladin digested this disturbing news, Mina said. ¡°This isn¡¯t over. We need to drive the Reaper out. Otherwise, it might rebuild itself inside you.¡± Nodding, Natalie felt a spike of disgust at her parasite and with a thought tightened the chains binding it. Flinching slightly at this, Mina continued. ¡°Nothing of it can remain; we must cut the cancer out entirely.¡± Focusing on the nest of chains all around them, Natalie pulled on the converted web. Anchors tore and what had once been the Reaper¡¯s lair now closed in around its ruined form. Like a monumental ball of yarn, Natalie wove the chains around the Reaper, sealing it within a sphere of overlapping chains. When every thread and every link was part of the mass, Mina raised her hands and the feather upon her brow flared into a silver sun. White light poured from her into the chain ball, burning the ashen darkness within. Natalie could feel the webbing she¡¯d subsumed and repurposed melting away. Like a forge scouring away impurities, the argent fire destroyed the Reaper¡¯s taint letting cleansed soul-stuff flow out from the chain ball. Streams of Natalie¡¯s essence dripped from the Reaper¡¯s prison and found the wound¡¯s edges, repairing them like plaster upon a wall. A curse escaped Mina as her light guttered. ¡°Fixed-stars! Cole, I need your help. We need to finish destroying the Reaper¡¯s shard and cleaning what it infected.¡± Nodding, Cole reached out with his hands and the chain ball shrunk to fit between the Paladin¡¯s fingers. Squeezing it between his hands, Cole began to pray; a saint-speech dirge Natalie recognized from too many funerals. As he did, the fire burning away the Reaper shifted, shapes appearing in it. In the dancing flames, Natalie saw an open grave covered in myriad tokens, and heard other voices join Cole¡¯s hymn. A lump formed in her throat as she understood what memory Cole had called up to finish purging the Reaper; her father¡¯s funeral. As the hymn faded and the fire dimmed, Cole said. ¡°Grief is natural, grief is good, grief exists only where love once was. But grief is not everything. It plays a role, but is not the story¡¯s truth. Loss is but part of life, and must be put in the place it belongs.¡± Opening his hands, Cole revealed a sphere of pearlescent soul-stuff. Like a raindrop and falling star, the sphere splashed into the healing wound, expanding to fill the gouge left by a fell god. A shaky breath escaped Natalie as more and more of her returned. The Reaper¡¯s two seeds and whatever Wolfgang did had torn her open. But with Mina and now Cole¡¯s help, the damage was being repaired. It might take some time but she would be whole again. Looking at the priestess and paladin assigned to watch over her; Natalie smiled. Yes, it would take time, but he was on her side. Book III: Chapter 54: Answers among the Wreckage

Chapter 54: Answers among the Wreckage

¡°Fed by terrible Erum¡¯s wrath, the tempest charged down the mountains like wild stallions, ready to trample all that fell beneath its lightning-clad hooves. For nine days and nine nights, the priests of Nurim-Cana struggled to hold back the spirit-storm. But they were mere men, able to do little but delay a Jotunn¡¯s wrath. On the tenth day when sky and sun were drowned by sick clouds all hope seemed lost. But in a trumpet cry Sera Aarin proclaimed ¡®Fear Not¡¯ as he rode across the storm-kissed plains, catching lightning in his hand. At the gates of Nurim-Cana he stood and before him, the storm of ages quailed; the stallions bridled by a Seraphilim¡¯s might.¡±- Book of Miracles, Heroes 6-6.
Natalie¡¯s eyes opened with the snap of breaking ice. Blinking away frozen tears, the young Alukah groaned weakly, filling lungs with winter-cold air. An unfamiliar male voice reached her ears then, its gruff northern accent warped by Natalie¡¯s thawing ears. ¡°You sure this is a good idea?¡± As Natalie tried to move her arm, feeling blood and cartilage crackle, another speaker answered the man, this one female and melodic. ¡°I have faith, the Tenth God is many things, but never foolish.¡± Strong, warm fingers wrapped around Natalie¡¯s hand and squeezed gently. Barely able to return the gesture, Natalie forced a name from frost-kissed lips. ¡°Cole?¡± A large but unsteady thumb drew circles on Natalie¡¯s palm and a deep voice cracked like old stone rasped. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± Finally focusing her vision, Natalie let out a weak gasp upon seeing the burned horror looming over her. Cole was alive, but barely. His already ruined skin now boasted great patches of mottled red flesh. Blood and other more foul substances wept from cracked tissue; while his armor seemed almost melted to him in places. Yet despite all that, his gaze was strong. Pale blue eyes shone through a mask of injuries. Meeting his gaze, Natalie asked. ¡°Where are we? Where is everyone?¡± Looking away from her, Cole replied. ¡°The central tower in the lock cave. Allies have come, and the worst injuries have been treated.¡± A low whimper came from somewhere nearby and Natalie glanced over to see Mina lying next to her. The Priestess was curled up into a ball and shivering violently. A stranger kneeled over Mina, golden hands touching her head. Upon seeing the stranger, Natalie sucked in an involuntary breath and felt a spasm of fear run up her spine. Gripping Cole¡¯s hand tighter, Natalie recoiled from the golden woman, trying to get a grip on her rising terror. Staring into those amber eyes, feeling what lay within and Beyond them, Natalie¡¯s instincts screamed for her to run, to hide, to do anything but stay near this monster. This new flood of alien reactions battered at Natalie¡¯s already off-kilter mind. She was used to the Alukah¡¯s hungers, but had no idea how to handle its fear. A soft smile, warm as summer split the woman¡¯s features and Natalie¡¯s dead blood turned to black ice at the sight. Flashes of fire and it''s horrible tongues licking at her flesh danced through Natalie¡¯s mind; accompanied by a sunburn itch that soaked all the way to her bones. Speaking slowly, her voice identifying her as the melodic woman from before, the gilded lady said. ¡°The darkness within you clearly remembers my light. Ignore its flailing, heiress, I mean you no harm.¡± Remembering how to speak, Natalie asked. ¡°Who¡­? How¡­? What¡­?¡± In a small raw voice, Mina said. ¡°She¡¯s Deborah,, the soul-daughter of Seraphim Anthelioi Nanal.¡± A new surge of fear crashed into Natalie then. Nanal; she knew that name, having heard it spoken by Glynn as he read a silver book to her. Wrestling down the inhuman panic bubbling up from the Alukah, Natalie said. ¡°You were sent to kill me if I lost control, right?¡± Cole looked to the saint-marked woman then with new concern. ¡°What?¡± Deborah nodded slightly. ¡°Only if all was truly lost. Rescuing you, the stone and the¡­ Paladin was the main goal. But if Annoch, or the husk that remains of him, were to break free, then I would die stopping him, just as my soul-sister once tried. A fate I wish to avoid as much as you do, I¡¯d wager.¡± Brushing away golden locks, the Seraphilim shifted the subject. ¡°You are well read about the Rabisu and her children. Nanal is my soul-parent, just as she was to Yaellap the Sunkissed who fought at the fields of Golgido. But we can talk more about my heritage later. Other more pressing matters are at hand.¡± Deborah shut her golden eyes and gently reached out with one hand to let motes of amber drip from her fingertips towards Natalie. Where the sparks touched, warm tingling remained. A low hum escaped Deborah. ¡°Her soul is mostly intact, and healing, but is not stable. Mina used raw power to compensate for her lack of training, but that can only go so far. The worst should heal over the next few months but until then there will be-.¡± Eyes wide, Natalie interrupted Deborah. ¡°The Rabisu! The thing inside me isn¡¯t the Rabisu! It was part of-¡± Mina interrupted Natalie¡¯s interruption. ¡°The Reaper of Sorrows¡­ A fragment of it was inside of you; waiting to break free. I¡¯ve no idea how it got into you, or what our enemy did to wake it up, though.¡± Nodding slowly, feeling her neck muscle creak, Natalie said. ¡°Scapin, the Ashborn I fought at the solstice ball, he infected me when I¡­I tried to eat him. Then when Isabelle attacked Wolfgang he unleashed another part of the Reaper into me. I tried to stop them but¡­ jagged edges, it wasn¡¯t enough. Wolfgang did something to me¡­ it¡­ it hurt.¡± Again, Mina spoke, her voice brittle as old ice. ¡°He cut the link with Isabelle. I don¡¯t know how, but he did. I tried to fix the damage as best I could but-¡± Cole bolted upright, turning about, eyes scanning the room, his every movement tense. ¡°Where is she?¡± he asked, a hint of deep panic in his voice. Glances were exchanged among those within the tower and as the silence dragged on. Cole barked. ¡°Where is she?!¡± Nearby, a weary-looking man in oversized chainmail said. ¡°One of the clot-lickers got away, or at least tried to. Stupid jagger collapsed the tunnel entrance on himself trying to escape Sunbeam.¡± Sucking in a deep breath, Cole looked from Mina to Deborah. ¡°Is Natalie safe?¡± Brow furrowed, the Seraphilim said. ¡°I fear what long-term effects such a grievous wound will have but-¡± Voice practically a growl, Cole said. ¡°Will she come to any harm right this moment?¡± To Natalie¡¯s surprise, the angelblood recoiled slightly at Cole¡¯s intensity. ¡°No, she¡¯s safe in my care.¡± Nodding, Cole kissed his pointer and middle finger, placing them briefly upon Natalie¡¯s head before turning to leave. ¡°Yara, watch her for me. I¡¯ll be back soon.¡± Stunned, Natalie watched as Cole marched away, his broken body suddenly filled with a mad vigor she recognized. The first time she saw it was in the Silly Goats shed, and ever since then whenever someone Cole loved was threatened. Whispered words from a spider monster danced in Natalie¡¯s mind. ¡®How arrogant to think you are the crop. No, Natalie, you are but the chaff; and Wolfgang has already started the threshing.¡¯ A horrified gasp escaped Natalie, and she tried to sit up. Deborah¡¯s warm hands stopped her, but Natalie managed to grab the Seraphilim¡¯s hand. ¡°You need to help him find Isabelle! That¡¯s what this has all been about! Not me, not the Alukah! She¡¯s been the Reaper¡¯s target the entire time!¡± Frowning in confusion, Deborah looked to the man in chainmail. ¡°Grettir, go after him, make sure he doesn¡¯t hurt himself or someone else.¡± With a grunt Grettir spat a glob of mucus onto the ground. ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll go follow the soul-eating homunculus into a dark cave by myself.¡± Putting a little gilded iron into her voice Deborah snapped. ¡°Grettir!¡± Shrugging, her companion picked up an oversized battle-axe that rested against the wall next to him. ¡°I mean, he¡¯s not in any condition to hurt someone, and as we just jagging saw, he¡¯ll heal from anything.¡± As Grettir left, Natalie shut her eyes and let out an exhausted breath. They knew about Cole; they¡¯d seen him resurrect. Natalie didn¡¯t want to consider what new nest of problems this revelation would bring, but she had no option. A twinge of sadness coursed through Natalie as she thought about Cole leaving. While intellectually she understood why, it still hurt. Sure, going and finding Isabelle was the priority but¡­ but couldn¡¯t he stay a little longer? Being abandoned at one¡¯s sickbed by a loved one was never fun, no matter the logic. Uncurling a little from the shivering ball she¡¯d been, Mina stared at Natalie with tired eyes filled with questions and concerns. ¡°You knew didn¡¯t you?¡± Natalie nodded, finally managing to prop herself up on creaking elbows. Sucking in a rattling breath Mina glanced in the direction Cole went. ¡°Why didn¡¯t either of you tell us? We¡¯ve been fighting at your side for weeks now and yet you¡­ didn¡¯t trust us, even though Morri knows.¡± Rubbing her hands together, trying to get some feeling back in them, Natalie just shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s Cole''s secret to share; I only told Morri because there was no other option after the solstice ball.¡± A noise of anger slipped past Mina¡¯s lips, and she snapped. ¡°I¡¯ve risked my life for you and him. Hells, more than that I dragged someone I love into this and neither of you would give me the courtesy of sharing the full story! You said Isabelle is the Reaper¡¯s goal but I don¡¯t think the vampires even knew about her or you at first. This whole disaster was meant to capture Cole. Those monsters attacked us trying to get him! I¡­I can accept what happened, but not being kept in the dark about why it happened.¡± From somewhere behind Natalie, a disgusted scoff split the air. Yara, who¡¯d been skulking nearby made her presence known. ¡°Don¡¯t bleat about trust and secrets after what happened.¡± Mina flinched like she¡¯d been slapped, anger quickly bubbling up from where Yara¡¯s word had gouged her.. ¡°Did the jagging thrall know before me?¡± Yara glared daggers at Mina, an effort helped by the actual blade gripped in her hand. ¡°I did not, but that isn¡¯t what¡¯s important here. You betrayed us, nearly getting everyone killed. Even if Master Time cut the witchery out of you, that doesn¡¯t change what happened. Of everyone here, you have the least right to bleat about broken trust.¡± Voice sharp as a whip, Natalie said. ¡°Yara! Enough!¡¯ Bowing her head, the thrall said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, mistress, but it''s the truth. The Priestess betrayed both herself and her partner. Now she¡¯s just seeing traitors everywhere, as if that will dilute what she¡¯s done¡± If Yara¡¯s earlier words had been a verbal slap, this was a skull-cracking haymaker. Mina curled back into a ball of pain, retreating from the cold iron of truth. Natalie didn¡¯t need to see into the Aether to tell what emotions and thoughts were leaking from Mina¡¯s cracked mind. Shame, guilt and unimaginable exhaustion clung to the Priestess like tar. Everyone has a breaking point, no matter the strength of will or character a person has. Eventually, they will reach the point where something snaps. Mina had faced death, (imagined) betrayal, torture and unimaginable shock in a very short period. Then, before the truth of events could sink in, the Priestess faced her God and had fell magic excised from her mind. But even in the face of all that, Mina had stood strong, healing Natalie and facing a shard of true evil in a battle for the continent¡¯s future. Now, after all that and more, the normally ever so calm and kind Mina Vrock was falling apart. She¡¯d tried to shield herself with righteous anger, but Yara smashed that apart with a few choice words. Natalie could bitterly imagine her thrall was no stranger to such wounded states or the ugly truths hidden in them. Forcing her thawing body to move, Natalie managed to touch Mina, wrapping a stiff arm around the now sobbing priestess. Something resembling an apology bubbled out of Mina¡¯s mouth, as she wept. ¡°Imsorrysorryiamsorsorsorry¡± Old ugly memories of a black cell beneath Castle Glockmire came to Natalie; of the taste of fresh blood and how it cooled upon her hands. She knew something of the pain Mina was experiencing; of what it was like to utterly horribly betray someone you love and not even have a choice in the matter. ¡°I found out Cole was immortal after I killed him.¡± That actually got Mina to stop crying; it even pulled Deborah¡¯s attention from her work healing Alia¡¯s skull. Shutting her eyes and thinking about her first night as a vampire, Natalie continued. ¡°I¡¯d just been turned and¡­ and the leeches wanted to break me. So they dropped Cole into my cell after he¡¯d fought a gauntlet of monsters trying to rescue me. I fought the thirst for a time, but eventually I gave in. Mina¡­ I didn¡¯t just feel him die, I tasted it.¡± Hugging her best friend close, Natalie whispered. ¡°It took me a long time to realize it wasn¡¯t my fault. The curse, it couldn¡¯t be stopped, and¡­ and it might have been worse. If someone other than Cole was dumped into that jagging cell with me then¡­ I might have been truly broken. What happened to me was horrible, so was what happened to you; but it could have been so, so much worse.¡± Mina¡¯s racking sobs started up again. ¡°But¡­but Masga isn-isn¡¯t a homunculus! He won¡¯t come back after what I did and-and with Alia¡­ Oh gods, I hurt her, I hurt her!¡± Not quite knowing what to say, Natalie just held onto Mina. Eventually Natalie asked. ¡°The magic that controlled you; what do you know about it?¡± Slowly, Mina started to explain what she¡¯d learned from Master Time; particularly how Natalie was supposed to play a role in uncovering and healing those subverted by the geas. Frowning at that, Natalie wondered what did Master Time expect from her? She had a talent for mind magic but hadn¡¯t properly delved into it for ethical reasons. But that couldn¡¯t be the only reason. Plenty of powerful Seers or even other ¡®nice¡¯ vampires might help remove the geas; so why was Natalie being called to this task? The answer was both obvious and obtuse; as the Alukah, she could do things no other vampire could. Thinking about how she¡¯d banished the ash heap Wolfgang unleashed and then helped bind the Reaper; Natalie had an inkling of what Master Time wished of her. As Mina¡¯s tale trailed off, Natalie decided it was best to fill the silence with her own account. She shared about Wolfgang being her granduncle, how Isabelle had tried to consume him and the trap hidden inside the bespectacled vampire. The sheer insanity of what Natalie described seemed to be enough to pull Mina¡¯s mind from her own pain. Thankful for the distraction, the pair started piecing together events. To both vampire and priestess¡¯s surprise, Yara occasionally chimed in adding details neither possessed. Soon a relatively complete accounting of events was weaved by the three women. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Deborah, for her part simply listened, working her magic upon the wounded; acting the part of silent and sacred watcher perfectly. She only spoke once it seemed the story was complete. ¡°Again I must apologize for being so late; much grief might have been spared if Grettir and I arrived just a little sooner.¡± Recovered somewhat, Mina managed a weak smile. ¡°Natalie¡¯s right, things could have gone better but also much worse. That you arrived to save us was miraculous.¡± Staring into empty space, her fingers dancing a spell into being across Nolkin¡¯s belly; Deborah nodded. ¡°It truly was, catching all of you before you turned south was fortunate. I just wish Grettir and I hadn¡¯t wasted so much time trying to figure out what route you¡¯d all take. The pair of us almost went up into the mountains proper before I realized the truth of my sister¡¯s words.¡± Golden eyes turning to Natalie, Deborah answered the question forming in the Alukah¡¯s mind. ¡°My kind rarely share the same abilities. I am Sunkissed like my soul-sister Yaellap before me, but my blood-sister has other gifts. Jude is a Sibylline, a prophetess most potent. Her visions guided us to you¡­ even if they are vague. She said ¡®Death¡¯s Apostle would walk through the mountains, facing darkness until an impossible dawn.¡¯ As ever, the future and those who see it tend to be poetic in the worst possible way.¡± Glancing at Kit, Yara asked. ¡°So this sister¡­ she¡¯s also angelblooded? Is she what¡¯s keeping the Lictorum protections working?¡± Deborah stopped mid spell, her golden weave flickering slightly as she stared at the thrall with shock. ¡°How did you¡­?¡± Nodding to the Magi, Yara said. ¡°We were at Fort Carnum, and Kit here figured out what you were doing.¡± Looking at the injured Kit with a new, wary respect, Deborah replied. ¡°Yes, to both. Jude has a different angel as third-parent but we are blood-twins. As for the Lictorum¡­ we are keeping the details of that secret, something I think all of you can appreciate. It''s better for everyone to think a single Seraphilim is running herself ragged trying to protect Prince Franz¡¯s host than for it to be common knowledge two Seraphilim are simply powering an old taboo spell array. It allows Jude or me to slip away for a time while all eyes, be they living or undead, are at Fort Erdom.¡± Digesting all of this, Natalie spoke. ¡°Your sister¡­ she knows about Cole. When we get to Fort Erdom, could I ask her about the Alukah and-¡± Deborah cut her off. ¡°We aren¡¯t going to Fort Erdom, at least not yet.¡± Surprise rippled through the room and Natalie said. ¡°But what about the sage stone! The cure needs to reach Franz¡¯s army!¡± Again, Deborah stared into the middle distance, her Beyond-touched mind clearly focusing on something only she could sense. ¡°It does and it will, just not in the way Vindabon originally planned. See, bringing the stone and the cure to Erdom will shift the balance of power but¡­ but that might not be enough. Jannah is being beaten back. The sultanate is going to lose western Atham. Soon the full might of Dracon¡¯s Red Empire will be coming to the Southern Marches.¡± Horrible dead silence filled the room, only broken by Mina¡¯s muttered oath. ¡°Fixed-stars preserve us¡­¡± For what felt like the hundredth time that night Natalie¡¯s insides turned to cold iron. ¡°Dracon¡­ W-why is he doing this?¡± Sadness filled the Seraphilim¡¯s deep golden eyes. ¡°You. He¡¯s coming for you.¡± Natalie felt like she was going to throw up. That her dead body was going to simply spew her shriveled guts onto the cold stone floor. She thought about the town of Barlstine, of the human bone bracers of the White Orcs, of the countless plague corpses she¡¯d seen in Vindabon. A black miserable terror crushed at Natalie¡¯s mind. She¡¯d known why all this was happening, the true reason for all this death and horror. Archduke Dracon, first of the Wyrmoi, dragon-slayer, conqueror of Thirteen Duchies, Dux of Trakis, and ruler of all vampires, wanted his property back. A lump of rock formed in Natalie¡¯s throat and she shut her eyes, thankful she couldn¡¯t properly cry. The feeling of a warm gentle hand on her shoulder forced Natalie¡¯s eyes open. Deborah kneeled before the vampire, her touch soothing as a nice summer day. ¡°Be not afraid. For while the forces of blood and death march; those in opposition to them have not been idle. The sage stone might turn the tide for a little while if brought to Fort Erdom, but it would not end the war. If the stone were to reach another location, the heart of all this rot and ruin, then victory might come not just quickly, but easily.¡± Mina whispered the name of where they must go, where Master Time had directed her. ¡°Harmas, we need to go to Harmas. Are we supposed to use the stone to kill whatever elder Fae is connected to plague?¡± Deborah nodded and explained. ¡°Yes, and no; Destroying the Broodmaiden would help, but that is not what might win us this war in a single move. Harmas is sealed away by an ancient and powerful spirit bound to the city¡¯s ruling family. For now, that spirit merely acts as Harmas¡¯ gaoler, but if it were to be roused to action, so much might be saved.¡± Confused, Natalie tried to put all the pieces together. ¡°How? If the spirit was that strong, why hasn¡¯t it saved Harmas?¡± Glancing away, Deborah pursed her lips. ¡°We don¡¯t know why the spirit has merely kept the quarantine instead of doing more; but that isn¡¯t the point. See, the guardian of Harmas is no mere Aetheric elemental but is the spirit of the Alidonian River itself. A being like that holds incredible sway over its domain and can help us not just win the war but cripple the Duchies for years.¡± Trying to remember what little bit of shaman lore Kistine had taught her, Natalie chewed on this. The spirit of a mighty river was obviously not something to sniff at, but Natalie couldn¡¯t understand what Deborah was implying. Thankfully, Mina did and with a startled gasp the Priestess exclaimed. ¡°The sage stone! It can confer magical properties to fluid, any fluid!¡± Still confused, Natalie looked to her friend, seeing the sparks of hope behind Mina¡¯s eyes. Seeing Natalie¡¯s expression, Mina actually smiled. ¡°Holy water! We can use the stone and the spirit to turn the entire river into holy water!¡± In her mind¡¯s eye, Natalie could see the crooked length of the Alidon River snaking down from Harmas, into the Duchies proper. Going past the Marcher Forts and right through the great vampire city of Scordis before flowing into Dux Trakis, and Noct Kalat, seat of Dracon¡¯s power. Visions of how the sheep pond Cole barely blessed turned wights into cold bone danced behind Natalie¡¯s eyes. Now Natalie could understand Mina¡¯s smile. The Duchies would be split in half, its very heart-river turned into a font of true death. Simple hydromancy might send hallowed waves smashing into undead legions, destroying them in seconds. Deborah was right, bringing the cure to Prince Franz might change the war''s course, but taking the stone to Harmas would change the tides of fate. Still, the paranoid part of Natalie¡¯s mind, that section trained by Cole¡¯s presence, had concerns. ¡°But doesn¡¯t holy water not last long outside a temple?¡± Nodding slowly, Deborah explained. ¡°Yes, which is why the spirit and other factors are so important. The river spirit has primacy over the entire Aether of its domain. It is tutelar, or genius loci, for all between its banks. By sanctifying the spirit, we could turn the entire Alidon River into a temple of sorts; where the stone¡¯s work might persist for months. In fact, if we do this well, then holy water taken from the river might stay holy for days at a time depending on how far it travels. If¡­ if the stories about the sacred rivers in Qabsu are true that is.¡± Slowly trying to understand all this, Natalie next asked. ¡°How can the stone be used to bless the spirit?¡± A slightly sad smile crossed Deborah¡¯s face. ¡°It can¡¯t, instead a truly colossal amount of divine power is needed. The type of which no mortal could properly channel, nor slip through the Final Gates unnoticed. But fate finally weaves in the Light¡¯s favor; my sister or I can wield the magic required and the Gates are already unbalanced. The Reaper is not the only Fell God with debts unpaid thanks to this war; while the Pantheon has been miserly in their responses. When the time comes, every fell miracle, every dark whisper will be answered using my voice and that stone.¡± The stink of burning ghouls flared in Natalie¡¯s mind. She remembered the paltry aid offered during the plague; of how Glynn feared for what that might portend. Now finally so many more of the pieces were in place and the full puzzle painting was visible. The scope and scale of all the factors and players was incredible. A great game of nations, and gods was underway and Natalie was just another piece upon the board. Perhaps a relatively important one, but still a token to be used to assure victory. Just a few months ago that idea would have sparked fury in Natalie, but now it only brought a sense of exhausted nervousness. While she wanted to rant and rage at the gods for letting so many suffer from the plague just so this winning blow might happen; Natalie knew better. A war was being fought, a war that at its core was about her; and she didn¡¯t have any right to complain about what shape victory took.
The Homunculus dug at the cracked stone. Hands still raw and bleeding pushed aside hunks of debris with a madman¡¯s energy. Fingernails chipped and fresh scabs tore as the Homunculus worked. Inhuman muscles bulged as small boulders were tossed aside in a steady crunch and clatter. Sky-blue eyes focused only upon the next rock, uncaring of everything around them; all that mattered was clearing the cave in. Fire-chapped lips muttered the same word over and over, adding a dreadful hymn to the dirge of falling rocks. ¡°No no no no no no no no¡± A strong hand gripped the Homunculus¡¯s shoulder, and it spun about ready to fight whoever the interloper was. Grettir the Werewolf jumped back dodging the Homunculus¡¯s vicious punch. Hands raised in surrender Grettir said. ¡°Whoa whoa whoa! No need for that, Sunbeam sent me to check on you.¡± Eyeing the large war axe slung over the Werewolf¡¯s back, the Homunculus considered his options before returning to his work. Over the sound of shifting rubble, the immortal vaguely heard Grettir say. ¡°You didn¡¯t respond when I said your name. Obviously, you don¡¯t fully heal after resurrecting, so are you still concussed or maybe brain damaged? It would explain why you stormed out without a second glance for your girlfriend.¡± Snarling, the Homunculus glared at Grettir, trying to focus pain-bleared eyes upon him. This resurrection hadn¡¯t been an easy one, the Homunculus could feel much of its body was still broken. Normally the immortal would have simply waited and died a few more times to heal but that hadn¡¯t been an option. When the first hints of consciousness returned to the Homunculus, it had seen the whirling ice of Mina¡¯s magic and her desperate attempt to free the knife from Natalie¡¯s heart. Driven by instinct and vague understanding, the immortal knight aided Mina and then tried to help Natalie. While inside a mindscape, the Homunculus had been divorced from its pain and able to function. Now, back in its broken body and facing the mounting terror of Isabelle¡¯s loss, the thin layer of sanity the Homunculus had managed to recover in resurrection was fading away. Seeing the madness in the Knight¡¯s eyes, Grettir scratched at his stubble and sighed. Dropping his great-axe he came up beside the Homunculus and got to work on the rubble. ¡°When Sunbeam hired me for this job I didn¡¯t jagging expect to be a lobotomized flesh golem¡¯s nanny. But¡­ I¡¯ve done worse things for coin, so here we are.¡± Working together the two monsters moved aside kilos of rock, their unnatural strength and endurance letting them match an entire mine crew¡¯s efforts. In less time than one might expect, a gap in the collapse came into shape. In that small space between shifting stone, the Homunculus caught sight of something that made its efforts frantic; the dull gleam of bone. Squeezing into the gap, questing out with bloody hands, the Homunculus Knight closed fingers about cracked ivory. Pulling back, so the dim light Deborah conjured could shine upon its discovery, the Homunculus growled in frustration. Instead of a skull, the immortal held part of an ashen femur. Bone cracked as the Homunculus squeezed the femur into pieces. Discarding the bone, the immortal kept working, widening the hole in the rock with Grettir¡¯s help, finding more bits of damaged skeleton. Eyeing the recovered pieces, the Werewolf said. ¡°Well, I think we know what became of this Wolfgang bastard. Fitting for a clot-licker to die in a tomb of his own making.¡± Silent except for its heavy breathing, the Homunculus moved more stone and more bone. The pair found legs, feet, a bit of spine and lots of shattered pelvis; but no skull. Eventually, as shifting rock gave way to stagnant cave air, the Homunculus realized they¡¯d made it to the other side. Uncaring of how jagged debris bit at its wounds, the Knight pushed itself through the hole and into the tunnel beyond. On hands and knees, the Homunculus could feel the grit of fresh ash upon the tunnel floor and smell drying blood. Clambering over pebbles and soot-stained ribs, the Homunculus stood within the dark tunnel, its eyes trying to peel away shadows using the faint bioluminescence of fungal growth. Sniffing the air, stalking forward, hunting knife now in hand, the Homunculus looked back and forth trying to find his responsibility. The clatter of stone and faint curses from behind announced Grettir¡¯s arrival as the Werewolf tried to get his chainmail untangled. Faint golden light filled the tunnel then as Grettir pulled a glowstone from a pocket and kindled its magic. In that warm illumination, the Homunculus finally found the stink of blood¡¯s source. A little way down the tunnel was a crushed rat corpse, its body smeared along the stone floor like overripe fruit. Squatting down next to the Knight, Grettir examined the ground, pointing at blood-flecked footsteps. ¡°Someone smashed the rat and came to the tunnel blockage, tracking blood on their boots. Then they did something here at the collapse before dragging a load away.¡± Staring down at the small but noticeable pile of ash they disturbed in entering the tunnel, the Homunculus had an idea of what that load was. Half of Wolfgang was missing, and young as the vampire was; it wasn¡¯t impossible for a Strix to survive such injuries if helped. Clenching its jaw, the Homunculus marched down the tunnel, sniffing the air for any sign of who or what saved Wolfgang. Bizarrely, the one scent that stood out from the blood and ash was¡­ plaster. Ignoring that oddity for now, the Homunculus kneeled down next to the crushed rat. The greasy black fur and rotund body gave the rodent¡¯s identity away as one of Shortooth¡¯s; but that wasn¡¯t what snagged the Knight¡¯s focus. A dim sense of wrongness itched at its mind, an ache without clear origin or nature. Powers sealed away by a stargent knife sputtered like wet wood touched by flame as the Homunculus tried to peer into the Aether. But, broken as the Knight was, the magic wouldn¡¯t come, only offering a vague but intense sense of preternatural discomfort. Something strange happened to the Aether in this little patch about the dead rat. Sucking in a rattling breath, the Homunculus tried again, trying to force a spell into being through sheer will and little else. Flickers of knives and the hot pain of flesh being cut smashed into the Knight¡¯s mind. Gasping in shock; the Homunculus fell forward, landing next to the crushed rodent. With a sigh, Grettir grabbed one of the Knight¡¯s arms and helped it stand. ¡°Let¡¯s get you back to the tower. Sunbeam might be able to sew your parts back together better.¡± Shaking its head, the Homunculus forced words from a dry throat. ¡°No, need to find out where she is.¡± Struggling against Grettir, the Knight tried to walk down the tunnel. ¡°They can¡¯t be far, she can¡¯t be far. Follow trail, rescue her.¡± Grunting as he worked to keep the bigger but thankfully wounded monster from running off; Grettir said. ¡°There isn¡¯t a trail!¡± That got the Homunculus to pause. ¡°What?¡± Letting go of the Knight, Grettir pointed at the tunnel floor. ¡°I¡¯m one of the best trackers on the blood continent and I¡¯m telling you there is no trail! Whoever was here stepped into thin-jagging air and vanished. Now I don¡¯t know how much of your rotting brain is intact; but hopefully enough to know we can¡¯t follow someone who can teleport! Besides, even if we could, that would be a quick path to your God¡¯s domain and unlike you that would be permanent for me. Anything that can step between places is a dangerous cockbiter, not something to chase after blindly.¡± Weakly, the Homunculus whispered. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ I can¡¯t lose her, not again.¡± Grettir made a disgusted noise. ¡°I thought paladins were supposed to be better than this! Your lover and friends are waiting back in the tower, trying to piece themselves back together after a brutal blade buggering. Now is not the time to run off like a cunt-sick whelp!¡± Eyes wide with rage and madness, the Homunculus wheeled on Grettir. Lightning quick the Werewolf struck out with a brutal punch, hitting the Knight square in the gut. Organs and muscles barely repaired by resurrection screamed as the Homunculus doubled over. Hoisting the knight up, Grettir snarled. ¡°Not half an hour ago I saw you dive into the jagging Alukah¡¯s demon-haunted soul after coming back from the dead. You saved her and gods know who else; but I think that took all the luck you had left. Now, will you do your duty and come with me or must I beat some more sense into you?¡± Duty. That word rang in the Homunculus¡¯s mind like a temple bell. Yes, he had a duty, not just to Isabelle, but to Natalie and the world. He¡­ he couldn¡¯t help Isabelle, not yet; but others needed him. Slowly nodding, Cole whispered. ¡°You are right.¡± Grettir slowly released Cole, and the Paladin bowed his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ I acted poorly.¡± The Werewolf shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m used to idiots acting the beast instead of man. Now I don¡¯t know which you are, but I think you¡¯re capable of at least pretending to be the latter. So let''s go back and regroup with the others.¡± Chastened, Cole followed Grettir through the small path they¡¯d dug. Only stopping to collect one of Wolfgang¡¯s ribs. Cole didn¡¯t know if his seeking spells would work if side-stepping magic was involved; but he would try later. Besides, even if he couldn¡¯t track Wolfgang using the rib, that didn¡¯t mean another might. Returning to the cavern, Cole glanced around, trying to sort through his jumbled thoughts and make a checklist of everything that needed doing. Gathering supplies from the dead aardigs, laying Masga and Olkar to rest, finding out everything that had happened to everyone else, learning why a Seraphblood had rescued them. It was a lot and- Cole and Grettir both stopped mid-stride, their ears both catching the same strange sound. ¡®RrRrRrRrRrRrRrRr¡¯ Something was grinding along the stone floor, filling the cave with a faint but unceasing note. Glancing around, Cole¡¯s eyes widened as he found the noise¡¯s source. Maybe five meters away lay a pile of broken bone, slowly worming its way along the ground. Faint emerald sparks dripped from plates of cracked ivory as the sound¡¯s origin crawled towards them like a crippled insect. Missing both arms, and with both legs damaged, the Dullahan wriggled forward upon its belly. Staring at the ruin he¡¯d left in his wake, Cole said. ¡°Pankrator Marcus.¡± Book III: Chapter 55: Picking up the Pieces

Chapter 55: Picking up the Pieces

¡°That need of theirs to dominate, to rule; it shows how cowardly they all are. Vampires seek control over everything around them because they think that makes them safe. Fools, somehow they live for centuries and forget a lesson most of us learn as children. You can¡¯t control everything, or even most things, just yourself. But that doesn¡¯t stop them from trying, and Gods help us all survive their efforts.¡± - High Templar Abram of the Silver Shield Order.
Cole stared down at the wriggling husk that had once been a holy warrior. Fragments of scorched bone and green sparks followed the Dullahan like a slug¡¯s trail as it hauled itself over cracked stone. Without arms or functioning legs, the headless hunter still moved towards Cole, driven by the implacable magics animating it. The wretched sight proved a keen reminder of how dangerous the creature was. Once a Dullahan¡¯s flames had tasted someone, it could track them across continents; stopped only by true death or if they moved too far from their skull. Great-axe drawn, Grettir moved closer to the headless hunter, a rough whisper escaping the werewolf. ¡°Is¡­is that a jagging Dullahan.¡± Nodding, Cole circled around the remains of Marcus, watching as it tried to reposition itself in his direction. Feeling the burns upon his skin, Cole knew he was the Dullahan¡¯s target, it had been commanded to kill him and tried to fulfill those orders even in its broken condition. Despite Cole¡¯s promise, he¡¯d been unable to free the former Pankrator in battle, and would need to call upon another¡¯s aid. Glancing at the tower and the golden light shining from inside it, Cole asked. ¡°Do you think Sera Deborah could free him?¡± Grettir seemed momentarily bemused by Cole¡¯s use of the honorific afforded to the Seraphilim. ¡°Maybe? That sort of thing is more your territory I¡¯d wager. But sunbeam always has secrets up her over-sized sleeves; perhaps she can do something.¡± For not the first time, Cole wondered how someone like Grettir ended up the bodyguard to a living saint like Deborah. Drawing his knife and feeling for his power, Cole slowly approached the desecrated remains. The magic barely came to Cole¡¯s call. Helping Mina destroy the Reaper¡¯s shard cost him much of his strength, and what little remained was further hollowed out by his terrible physical state. He really would need to ¡®reset¡¯ himself a few times in the near future to be anyway useful, and the debacle that entailed was more than daunting. Still, a faint silver glow escaped the edge of Alia¡¯s gifted knife even without the prayer beads. It was a paltry showing but considering the Dullahan¡¯s state and Grettir¡¯s presence, it should be enough. With an armored boot, Cole rolled Marcus onto his back and prepared to drive his knife into the Dullahan¡¯s partially exposed spine. But before the Paladin could further cripple his unwilling enemy, a grating voice punctuated by cracks issued from the damaged bones. ¡°Paladin, wait!¡± Even distorted by death, Marcus''s words carried a frantic energy. Hesitating, Cole frowned, not expecting enough of the old soldier to be intact for such a plea. The flames around the Dullahan¡¯s neck grew the tiniest bit, a vague impression of a face visible in the dancing sparks. ¡°Wolfgang has fled?¡± Cole nodded and then, considering what he spoke to, said. ¡°Yes, he did.¡± The green motes composing Marcus¡¯s visage grew brighter. ¡°Did he capture the stone? Or¡­or your paramour?¡± It seemed Marcus wasn¡¯t aware of Isabelle or her importance; something Cole wasn¡¯t going to rectify. ¡°No, he ran when the battle turned against him.¡± A laugh like wet wood popping in a fireplace escaped the Dullahan, the sound going on longer than living lungs would allow, turning sinister with length. Clearly disquieted by this, Grettir brought his axe to bear, ready to splinter what remained of Marcus. With a gesture, Cole told the werewolf to pause, something about the way Marcus asked these things felt¡­ familiar. As his laughter finally died away, Marcus asked. ¡°Tallclaw, Shortooth, they are both dead?¡± When Cole confirmed this, another bark of crackling laughter escaped the mad rattler. Shifting slightly, so the spark-voids he called eyes met Cole¡¯s, Marcus said. ¡°As the sole loyal survivor of this expedition, I am bound to Duke Umbria¡¯s word. He commanded me to assist Lord Aloyius Wolfgang in acquiring the sage stone and eliminating the Homunculus Knight. With Wolfgang failing those tasks and acting against my liege¡¯s interest, another duty falls to me.¡± Grettir grunted in surprise at the oddly clipped, nearly contractual nature of Marcus¡¯s words. Cole simply stared at the Dullahan, realizing his earlier hunch was correct. Marcus hadn¡¯t been totally broken like most undead servitors of the vampires. They¡¯d not hollowed the former Pankrator out, instead leaving his memories, personality and sense of self intact, or at least mostly intact. Cole didn¡¯t know why Marcus was spared the mind-rape most sapient undead suffered before being drafted into service; but he could appreciate the effects. Given the opportunity, Marcus had helped Cole in his duel against the strigoi, undermining them via blunt obedience. Now, alone and broken, the Pankrator was seeking another such opportunity. ¡°Aloyius Wolfgang fled the field of battle after squandering multiple opportunities to achieve his goals. He is a craven, a deserter, and unworthy of his blessed blood. As Duke Umbria¡¯s loyal servant, I am tasked with locating and executing Wolfgang before he can do more harm to my liege or his own sire,¡± said Marcus, continuing in the flat tone of a barrister at work. Those words hung in the cavern, their meaning soaking into Cole¡¯s pain-addled brain. Once the parts of him still functioning sorted through the implications, Cole almost smiled. If the Dullahan¡¯s words could be trusted, then by absconding with Isabelle¡¯s skull, Wolfgang had betrayed his master, Duke Umbria. An act that engendered reprisal in the form of a headless hunter. The half-smile on Cole¡¯s face grew as a mad-idea came into being. With trembling fingers, Cole pulled the rib he¡¯d collected from Wolfgang¡¯s ¡®scraps¡¯ and held it out before the Dullahan. ¡°If you were to burn one of his ribs, could you track Wolfgang?¡± Marcus stared at the cracked bone for a moment before saying ¡°No.¡± The freshly rekindled sparks of hope died within Cole, his shoulders slumping as the miracle he sought was snatched away. Then, with a wet pop, Marcus said. ¡°But I don¡¯t need to. I¡¯m already bound to him. He¡¯s roughly forty kilometers east of us.¡± Cole dropped the rib in sheer surprise, staring at Marcus, not knowing what part of this revelation he should be most shocked by. After a moment, he decided the incredible act of teleportation could wait. ¡°Of course¡­ You¡¯re bound to his skull instead of your own.¡± A Dullahan was intrinsically connected to their skull, but some of those properties could be transferred to another with the correct rituals. While Duke Umbria held the original bone relic and with it Marcus¡¯s collar, the metaphysical leash binding him to the skull had been given to Wolfgang. That meant Marcus could not stray too far from Wolfgang and would always know where to find him. Damaged as he was, the Dullahan couldn¡¯t hunt his former charge, but he could guide others to Wolfgang. The ruined husk of bone and fire lying before Cole wasn¡¯t his foe any longer; now he was his compass. A thought forced Cole to temper his growing hope. During the fight, Marcus seemed eager to die. What changed? Cautiously, he said. ¡°We might be able to free you, Pankrator, as I promised. Why do you want to help us hunt Wolfgang, instead of ending your suffering?¡± The Dullahan was silent for a long moment before saying. ¡°I haven¡¯t earned my death yet; too many sins rest on my shoulders. Now that I can¡¯t hurt anyone else, there are other priorities than my liberation. Wolfgang¡­ he¡­ he gave me orders that must be answered for.¡± Brittle iron entered the broken Pankrator¡¯s voice. ¡°I will face judgment, that is certain, but not until the Black Fly faces his.¡± Cole could imagine what horrors the bound Marcus must have been forced to perpetrate. ¡°Alright, I will take you into my custody and use your link against Wolfgang.¡± Grettir shifted uncomfortably. ¡°Is this a good idea? I know our motley band already has multiple crimes against nature among it, but he¡¯s under the enemy''s control.¡± Marcus made a grinding noise of agreement. ¡°The magic binding me is potent, even if I¡¯ve managed to¡­ twist it for now. I¡¯m also not a threat, damaged as I am. Even if I wasn''t, my strength is paltry with Wolfgang so far away. It''s taking all I have to speak with you, and will continue to do so until I¡¯m closer to that cur.¡± The Dullahan put a strange emphasis on his words, conveying a deeper meaning Cole could guess at. Marcus was playing a dangerous game, dancing between the lines of whatever orders he¡¯d been given. For now, Marcus could help them hunt Wolfgang, but if circumstances were to change, the power controlling him would force a betrayal. Crippled and captured, the best the Dullahan could serve its master was guiding another to execute Wolfgang. Yet that would change the moment a better opportunity presented itself. Marcus would be powerless against the bindings if the chance to claim the sage stone presented itself. Kneeling down, Cole pulled his prayer beads from a pocket and said. ¡°I understand; I won¡¯t let you harm anyone else.¡± Working quickly, the Paladin pulled apart the remnants of bone plate, exposing Marcus¡¯s twitching spine to the cool cave air. Emerald embers slithered up and down the ivory column, crackling their displeasure as Cole cut the spine free. Like some armored serpent, the vertebrae thrashed in Cole¡¯s grip, the green sparks furious insects trying to sting him. Carefully, Cole wrapped the prayer beads around the spine, watching the Dullahan¡¯s fire dim to near nothing as bitter cold soaked into the bone. Examining the now quiescent spine, Cole nodded to himself and marked the bitter irony of all this. He was trading a lover¡¯s skull for an enemy¡¯s spine. Another surge of the deep fear and fury that consumed him before pulled at Cole¡¯s mind, but he pushed it down. He¡¯d failed Isabelle again, that terrible truth and the emotions it entailed were too much for him. Shaking his head violently, Cole set his eyes on the tower. Falling apart wasn¡¯t the answer, helping those he could was. Yes, he needed Natalie; he needed to go to her and apologize. Spine in hand, he approached the tower, then after a moment''s pause he looked left and realized his duty wasn¡¯t done. Ignoring Grettir¡¯s confused questions, Cole went to the pile of sun-baked soil and bone that had once been the two demons. Examining the stretched and mutated skull that once had been Ranger Olkar before his post-mortem possession, Cole sighed. Running burnt fingers along the warped bone, Cole shut his eyes and felt with other senses. Olkar¡¯s soul still clung to the bones, having been ¡®shielded¡¯ by the demon''s banishment. Calling upon his dimmed power, Cole let holy magic flow into the skeleton, snapping the brittle connection between corpse and soul. A vague sense of confusion, fear and faint gratitude wafted through the Aether, tickling Cole¡¯s worn mind. Nodding to himself, Cole used his dagger like a trowel, digging into the soil, hunting for whatever remained of Masga. The poor Bonekeeper had been right to fear the undead, just not the right ones. Finding a few putrefied strips of flesh, Cole focused his power again. As he did, his stomach twisted into knots as the sixth sense granted by Master Time reported something disturbing. Masga¡¯s soul was badly damaged; pieces of him had been ripped away, leaving a tattered remnant. Hanging his head in defeat, Cole freed the scraps and let them fade into the Beyond with a whispered apology. The demon had partially digested Masga, tearing parts of his essence away like meat off a bone. Setting his jaw, Cole stood up, feeling a sense of shame add to his already tumultuous emotions. Another tragedy created by his compounding failures. If he¡¯d been stronger Masga might have lived, if he was stronger Isabelle wouldn¡¯t have needed to act, if he was stronger she¡¯d never have been taken and bindings upon the demon would have stayed intact. Squeezing the knife so hard its handle squealed its displeasure, Cole approached the tower; his heart a storm of pain and loathing. Entering with a silent Grettir following behind him, Cole found Mina and Natalie sitting together, both looking exhausted. Yara hung in the nearby shadows, watching as Deborah worked her magic upon the most grievously injured. Elsewhere in the chamber Cole saw patches of ash and bleached bones that had once been mutilated trolls now freed by the Seraphilim. Cole¡¯s arrival was greeted with pregnant silence, and the Paladin knew many difficult conversations were due before the night was out. Meeting Natalie¡¯s concerned gaze, Cole shook his head as he walked over toward her. ¡°Wolfgang escaped. Someone or something helped him take Isabelle.¡± Eyes wide Natalie scrambled to her feet. ¡°How!? If the tunnel collapsed on them then-¡± Only then did she see the spine dangling from Cole¡¯s hand and the dim sparks visible between its vertebrae. ¡°The Dullahan? You captured it? Why?¡± Holding out the length of bone, Cole sucked in a breath. ¡°Pankrator Marcus is dead, probably killed by whatever happened at Harmas. Duke Umbria had him reanimated as¡­ this.¡± A sharp gasp escaped Mina, and Deborah stepped forward, golden power gathering about her form. Staring at the spine, the angelblood¡¯s voice was tinged with sadness. ¡°That is a terrible fate; I don¡¯t know if I can break the curse but I¡¯ll try.¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Shaking his head, Cole explained. ¡°Yes, eventually; but for now he¡¯s agreed to help us track Wolfgang. Umbria bound them together and ordered Marcus to execute Wolfgang if he failed or betrayed him. The magic binding Pankrator Marcus tells him this ¡®Black Fly¡¯ is to the west. I¡¯ll pursue him and recover Isabelle while you take the stone to Fort Erdom.¡± Natalie bristled. ¡°No.¡± Cole had known this was coming. She¡¯d not want to be separated, but too much was at stake. ¡°Once the cure is at Erdom you can find me, we¡¯ll figure out a way to track me and-¡± Glaring at him, Natalie said. ¡°No! We aren¡¯t going to Fort Erdom. Besides, judging by what Master Time told Mina, I can guess where Wolfgang is.¡± Coming up to Cole, Natalie conjured more of her craft-mark fire and jabbed his chest with one cold-blued finger. ¡°I love her too and I¡¯m not letting you run off alone to a jagging undead city without support. Besides, my uncle owes me for a long list of crime, Isabelle¡¯s abduction being just the most recent.¡± For a long moment, Cole stared at Natalie, trying to understand if he¡¯d heard her correctly. ¡°What?¡± Natalie pursed her lips. ¡°Well, it''s a good thing we just got done putting all the parts of this disaster together.¡± Turning her focus, she added. ¡°I suppose you should go first Mina, but if talking about the geas is too difficult, I¡¯ll start.¡± Eyes wide, Cole sputtered. ¡°What?!¡±
After twenty minutes, the repeated and revised account of events was laid out for Cole. As he added his own part to the absurd chronicle, Mina was relieved to know for certain she hadn¡¯t pulled the knife from him. Voice apologetic, the Paladin explained his actions. ¡°I feared the knife would¡­ nghh, slow my resurrection or interfere with my mantle. I¡¯m sorry for the¡­Ahh! the suspicion I accidentally cast upon you.¡± Seated next to Natalie, Cole was being slowly peeled out of his armor with Deborah¡¯s help. Mina could only watch with dull horror as ruined plate and burned arming wear was removed. Only the Seraphilim¡¯s intervention prevented large sections of scorched skin from being peeled free as well. Again, Mina¡¯s impression of a cooked corpse was validated as more of Cole was exposed. Deborah¡¯s magic helped wash away the absolute worst of the burns, but they still left large red and mottled patches weeping pus and blood. Despite his horrible condition Cole listened intently and joined the conversation without much issue. Somehow that more than anything pushed the fact of his inhumanity into Mina¡¯s mind. Shrugging at his apology, Mina wanted to look away as a grim-faced Natalie and disturbed Deborah worked; but morbid curiosity stopped her as toxic silver rub and other slightly less worrying unguents were applied to his myriad wounds. Eventually, one of the questions that had been bubbling in her mind broke free as Cole winced while a few strands of leather were pulled from an abrasion. ¡°Why hasn¡¯t anyone noticed what your soul is before?¡± Letting out a shaky breath, it was Cole¡¯s turn to shrug. ¡°Some have; horses and the Bonekeeper Seohal Tinfoot for example. But I imagine my emotions and mantle hide it most times. With the stargent knife in, me and my mind¡­ frayed by everything, I guess my nature was more visible to those looking.¡± Digesting this, Mina decided there was no point hiding from the next question, the one that burned in her gut like a hot coal. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me? If Morri and Glynn know what you are, then why keep it a secret from me?¡± From a corner, Yara scoffed, and Natalie shot the thrall a warning glance. Mina truly disliked the red-headed woman and was nostalgic for when she¡¯d been a timid shadow. It was bizarre that the thrall had become so brazen after nearly being eaten by Natalie. Refocusing on Cole, Mina saw tired sadness in his eyes then. Licking cracked lips the Homunculus said. ¡°I¡¯d been debating telling you since we started, but could never find the moment or will too.¡± The conversation she¡¯d had with him on the road to Turul¡¯s Tomb suddenly made much more sense. Crossing her stiff arms, Mina waited as Cole tried to pick his words. ¡°But, I don¡¯t like telling people if I can. My nature is a valuable secret that endangers those who know it.¡± Chewing her tongue, Mina thought about that. He had a point; the Duchies were built upon the lengths people would go for a false blood-tinged immortality. Nations had burned for secrets less valuable than Cole¡¯s nature. As that thought filled her head, a God¡¯s request echoed with it. Master Time wanted her to help Cole retrieve Isabelle, and the full stakes of that task were becoming clear. Wolfgang was clever enough to make the jagging plague from Isabelle¡¯s surviving notes. Mina shuddered at what he might do with the vampire herself. Rubbing her eyes, exhaustion soaking into her bones, Mina asked. ¡°Well, what now? I know we are headed for Harmas and whatever nightmare it¡¯s become, but before that; is there a plan?¡± Deborah nodded. ¡°We ought to take a day to rest and regroup. The injured should be safe to transport to Azyge by then. Once there, we can plot out our next step. Harmas is our eventual goal if we are to end this war; and perhaps save the former Countess. I don¡¯t know why Master Time thinks this Wolfgang will be in that cursed city but the Dullahan¡¯s words vindicate him¡± Upon her mentioning of the wounded, Mina¡¯s eyes flicked to where Alia and the others lay in healing comas. Mina felt a lump grow in her throat. She desperately wanted to speak with her girlfriend, to explain all that had happened and beg forgiveness. She also felt the overwhelming urge to run and do everything possible to never see the woman she¡¯d betrayed again. Slumping forward, Mina decided it wasn¡¯t her better self that stopped her flight, but sheer fatigue. As the final bandages were wrapped about him, Cole grunted. ¡°Our supplies should be with the aardig¡¯s husks.¡± He tried to stand, clearly planning on setting up camp, but Natalie¡¯s iron grip stopped him. Meeting her eyes, Cole nodded slowly as she silently insisted he was too injured to work. Grettir shook his head and headed for the door to start scavenging. ¡°Strangest damned couple I¡¯ve ever seen, but still a jagging couple, it seems.¡± As Grettir and Yara got to work gathering food, and other necessities, Deborah paused her work and stared at Cole. Wearing only tattered pants and a shocking number of bandages, he looked more and more like the flesh golem Iron-teeth first thought him. Mina found some bitter humor in that musing; and how close her former captain had been to the truth. Clearing her throat, Deborah slowly asked. ¡°Did you know what your presence does to the dead? That your ¡®soul¡¯ drinks in pieces of them to heal and empower itself?¡± Shutting his eyes, Cole nodded a jerky, almost ghoul-like movement. ¡°In part. I knew I was absorbing something, but not the details. I¡­I checked to make sure I wasn¡¯t damaging them, but didn¡¯t want to know more.¡± Mina hadn¡¯t even considered that Cole might be ignorant of such details and the revelation was unsettling. That the Homunculus¡¯s nature and powers were a mystery to him as well was concerning and forced another part of Master Time¡¯s message to the forefront of her mind. ¡®The Homunculus Knight must stand alone; no others can be kin to him, or this world will fall.¡¯ A shudder went through Mina, a bone deep sense of dread that spoke of shifting fate and her unfortunate place in this axis mundi of destiny.
The moment Mina¡¯s head touched her pillow, she was asleep. Her dreams were vague and ominous things, filled with bleak metaphors bleeding from psychic wounds. So despite her utter exhaustion Mina was roused easily by a strange noise. Some rhythmic tapping itched at her ears, digging Mina out from her slumber like a pick at rock. Bleary eyes peeled open as Mina tried to find the sound¡¯s source. Only the dim embers of a fungus-fed fire lit the tower¡¯s base level and in them Mina could just make out a figure hunched over her. Starting, Mina pulled back and scrambled with her blankets. Only then did she recognize the noise and its source. It was the sound of spoon against bowl, repeated over and over. The Priestess¡¯s sleep-addled mind drank in the murky sight before her and forced a single croaking name from Mina¡¯s mouth. ¡°Alia.¡± Hunched over a bowl of the road porridge Grettir had cooked, Alia Cat-eyes stared down at Mina, her namesake reflecting the dim firelight. A bandana of treated linen covered much of the city-warden¡¯s head, hiding her torn scalp and cracked skull. Pausing from her frantic eating, the catblood said. ¡°This tastes like shit.¡± Uncertain of what to say, Mina simply nodded. Finally, putting the bowl down, Alia let out a long sigh. ¡°Well, I expect everything to taste like shit now.¡± Finally finding her voice, Mina said. ¡°Alia, I¡¯m so-¡± A raised hand stopped her. ¡°The jagging angel told me what happened. I apparently woke up earlier than I was supposed to, so she had the fun job of explaining the gory guts mess this all was.¡± Silence hung between them, and Mina tried to find the right words. Eventually she realized they¡¯d never come and let the silence grow. Luminescent feline eyes dug into Mina¡¯s soul and from that freshly cut well tears flowed free. Unable to meet her girlfriends, eyes Mina cried, deep shaking sobs escaping her. Something cool and soft was pressed into Mina¡¯s hands and she blinked away tears, realizing Alia had handed her a filled waterskin. Looking up at her partner, wet eyes brimming with questions, Mina was guided into drinking. Voice rough with emotion, Alia said. ¡°You were crying in your sleep, and dehydration is an ornery sow.¡± Mina hadn¡¯t even realized part of the crust caking her eyes and face was dried tears. Wiping away sleep dust and stray droplets, the Priestess tried to speak, but Alia stopped her with a gentle hand squeeze. In the faint light of the campfire, Mina could see the exhaustion and sadness in her partner¡¯s face. They locked eyes for a long moment but this time Alia was the one to break first. Biting her lip, the catblood said. ¡°You''re not the first person I¡¯ve loved who''s tried to kill me.¡± Scratching at her nose, Alia continued. ¡°It¡¯s part of being werekin, I guess. I had a brother, he¡­ he lost control. The clan had to put him down, it was their duty. But¡­but I still love him, even after he went feral.¡± Alia let out a long sigh and stared at the ceiling. ¡°I¡¯m doing this wrong. Look, what I¡¯m trying to say is I need time. What happened wasn¡¯t your fault, and if I can still love the fucking wereleopard that tried to eat me then¡­¡± Slipping her fingers from Mina¡¯s, Alia slowly stood up. ¡°I don¡¯t know how long it will take, but¡­ but just give me time.¡± Turning away, Alia walked towards the tower door. Mina¡¯s heartbeat spiked with panic. ¡°Where are you going?¡± Looking back, Alia offered a crooked grin. ¡°I¡¯m not running off, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll be back soon, just need to get myself a new pair of boots.¡± Drawing a hunting knife, the catblood¡¯s smiled turned cruel, and she headed toward the lamia¡¯s cooled corpse, ready to fulfill her promise to the monster. As the door shut behind Alia, Mina let herself fall back into her bedroll. Time, Alia wanted time. Reaching to her neck, finding the holy amulet dangling there, Mina didn¡¯t know if she should laugh or cry. While it was the most precious resource, time was also on her side, in a very literal way. Feeling a weight leave her shoulders, Mina shut her eyes, letting sleep come again.
¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± were Cole¡¯s words once he and Natalie were curled up together. Careful not to touch his burns but unwilling to be too far from him, Natalie stared at her lover, feeling the pain in his words. Trying to find a safe spot upon Cole¡¯s chest for her hand, Natalie replied. ¡°It¡¯s okay, you needed to find out what happened to Isabelle.¡± Grunting, Cole found her hand with his own. ¡°Still, you¡¯d been through much and I shouldn¡¯t have run off like that.¡± Carefully, Natalie squeezed his fingers. ¡°I¡¯m not the only one, how are you?¡± He shrugged with one shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve suffered worse injuries.¡± Rolling her eyes, Natalie amended herself. ¡°I meant now with people knowing your secret.¡± Cole was silent for so long Natalie might have thought he¡¯d fallen asleep. ¡°No secret lasts forever, that¡¯s just the truth. I just¡­ thank you.¡± Frowning, Natalie asked. ¡°For what?¡± A long deep sigh escaped Cole. ¡°For not looking at me like they do. I see it in everyone''s eyes, Mina, Deborah, Grettir, and even Yara a little.¡± Letting herself rest against Cole, Natalie said. ¡°It''s not fun, being feared.¡± Shaking his head, Cole replied. ¡°No, it''s not fear; I¡¯m used to that. It¡¯s not even one of fear¡¯s cousins, like doubt or suspicion. Well, those are there, but that¡¯s not what hurts. I hate the question I people ask themselves. ¡®Why do you get to come back when I don''t?¡¯ Everyone dies, everyone loses someone, everyone grieves, so people learn how to handle that truth. But then I exist, breaking those rules and it¡­ it ruins things for them.¡± Natalie could feel the open psychic wound these words were dripping from. The deep pain that Cole felt related to his nature, his¡­ his guilt. He was ashamed that he survived when others didn¡¯t. As that truth filled Natalie, Cole slowly said. ¡°You must have thought it, right? Once I came back, you must have wondered why I got to live when your father or-¡± With inhuman speed Natalie flicked Cole in the forehead. ¡°Stop that.¡± A hiss of pain escaped him and Natalie sighed with exasperation. ¡°Don¡¯t, don¡¯t think that or go there. It doesn¡¯t help anyone, least of all you. I didn¡¯t ask to be a vampire, you didn¡¯t ask to be a homunculus. We are what we are.¡± In a shockingly small voice for someone so large Cole whispered. ¡°Thank you.¡± Hugging him the best she could with all his injuries, Natalie said. ¡°You are mine, and I will not let you stew in such thoughts.¡± They lay like that for a long moment, so much said and unsaid passing between them. Cole broke the silence, his voice brittle as glass. ¡°Thank you for loving me¡± It was such a strange sentence, Natalie could only stare at him as his cracked-crystal words continued. ¡°I¡­I know I failed, both, you, Isabelle, and everyone else. So, thank you for still lov-Ahh!¡± This time Natalie bit him, not hard, just enough for her fang¡¯s sharpness to become known. ¡°No, no no no! You didn¡¯t fail, stop that.¡± Sitting up, Natalie¡¯s red eyes met Cole¡¯s, and she jabbed a finger at him. ¡° You fought a trio of horrible monsters to a standstill and got a stargent dagger to the gut for your troubles. Then still managed to buy enough time for a literal miracle to save us. If that counts as failure, then what do you think my efforts were? I¡¯m the one who lost Isabelle, I¡¯m the one who needed Mina to dig a parasite out of their soul, I¡¯m the one who could only lie on her back frozen while everything went to¡­to¡­ goatshit!¡± Natalie¡¯s words trembled and broke with that final oath. Exhausted sobs escaped her, as she fell into the horrible dry crying of vampire-kind. She¡¯d put on a strong face for Mina, and then Cole once he returned without Isabelle; but that mask wasn¡¯t staying in place. Deep sadness and deeper rage filled Natalie. Cole was rebuking himself for failing, when it had been her who let everything fall apart. Isabelle was her mentor, her friend, her lover! And Natalie had not just exposed her survival to the enemy but let her fall into their hands! Cole wrapped large arms around her, hugging Natalie tight, ignoring his own injuries so they embraced. Feeling a slight dampness upon her brow, Natalie realized he was crying as well. They were both exhausted and broken, having lost so much and finding no comfort in the fact they hadn¡¯t lost more. Soft words meant to help both himself and Natalie escaped Cole. ¡°We¡¯ll get her back. ¡± Nodding her head, Natalie replied, ¡°I promised I¡¯d rescue you, and you did the same for me. So¡­ so we¡¯ll get stronger together, stop Wolfgang and make sure no one else can hurt us!¡± Cole hesitated at that, a frown flicked across his tear-stained face but then his expression became harder. ¡°Yes, together.¡± Book III: Epilogue

Epilogue

Wolfgang¡¯s eyes snapped open as consciousness crashed into him. Flinching, at the expected bite of Scapino¡¯s knife Wolfgang realized his torment was over. In fact, nothing remained of the injuries suffered during the ill-fated ambush. He felt no pain, no phantom itch speaking to missing parts, no terror, just soothing warmth. Eyes focusing, Wolfgang realized he was submerged in dark sticky fluid, his naked body lying against polished metal. Uncurling from the fetal ball he¡¯d become, the Black Fly groped out with shaking hands, trying to identify where he was. The smooth rounded sides of his new container brushed against twitching fingers and Wolfgang drank in a mouthful of the warm liquid. New energy and life filled him with every drop of blood. Eventually one of his hands parted the blood¡¯s surface and found the lip of whatever held him. Withered muscles strained even with the glut of ichor to power them and it took Wolfgang terrible effort to pull his head into open air. Blinking away red droplets, licking what rained down his face, Wolfgang realized he lay in a bathtub, its copper stink practically invisible beneath the overwhelming aroma of fresh blood. Trying and failing to clean his sticky face, Wolfgang felt something patter against the top of his head. Looking up, he found the source of his rejuvenation. Three human corpses dangled overhead like ghastly chandeliers, their throats slit, emptying their life into the tub. Even now, the pale husks dripped their final contents onto him. ¡°Strix really are fragile, aren¡¯t they? It took two weeks of such luxury to heal you.¡± Spoke an oddly familiar voice from nearby. The cadence and accent was Scapino, but the tone and pitch were not. Wolfgang finally cleared his eyes and scanned the surroundings, looking for his savior. A short, burly man with practically no neck sat on a stool next to the tub. A ragged cooper¡¯s cloak hung about his shoulders and Scapino¡¯s green mask covered his face. Looking past this new form of his rescuer, Wolfgang realized he was in a posh bathing chamber, complete with tall mirrors, wash basins and every other acutremont available to the wealthy. But in the dingy light of candles and cracked glowstones, the room¡¯s poor state became apparent. The mirrors were spotted, while water stains and mold showed on the floor and counters. In fact, Wolfgang could clearly see in the dust where he and the fodder for his regeneration had been dragged into the room. Finding his words, Wolfgang spoke in a reedy voice. ¡°Where have you taken me?¡± Scapino stood from his three-legged stool and gestured about dramatically. ¡°The Manor of the Kunras family, whose last members dangle above you.¡± squinting at the pale corpses, Scapino amended himself. ¡°That or whoever was squatting in their manor, wearing their clothes. Honestly, considering the shape of things, it could be either option.¡± Resisting the urge to let himself sink back into the warm blood¡¯s embrace, Wolfgang tried to be more specific. ¡°Where is Kunras Manor? What city?¡± The smile on Scapino¡¯s face was audible. ¡°The site of your previous triumph, of course!¡± Strutting over to what Wolfgang now realized was a shuttered window, Scapino threw it open and gestured out at what lay beyond. Shakily, Wolfgang climbed from the tub, blood dripping from his nakedness as he stepped onto the stained tile floor. He knew what awaited him at the window but still needed to see with his own eyes. Shuffling forward, Wolfgang was greeted by the stink of rot and ruin, of putrefaction and pestilence, of soot and sorrows. Reeling from the stained air¡¯s reek, Wolfgang only then noticed the noise filling the bathroom along with the smell. At first he thought it was some low but constant gale scratching at the manor, but as Wolfgang¡¯s ears came unclogged of blood, he knew what the sound was. It was the groans of ghouls, thousands and thousands of ghouls. Stepping to the window, Wolfgang looked out across the corpse of his greatest victim. In the months since he¡¯d last been to Harmas, much had changed. The wretched deaths and subsequent reanimation of so many plague victims had curdled the Aether. Gone was the metaphysical melodies of a living city, in their place was a blanket of miasma. Soaked in that layer of arcane corruption, Harmas¡¯s once austere but impressive structures were now beset by rot. Stone cracked, wood warped, while the plants and trees that should have grown wild without management were withered and sickly. Aside from this accelerated decay, the signs of more mundane violence were painted across the city. Burned husks of stores and homes neighbored crudely fortified businesses whose doors and windows were smashed open. Old stains and splintered bones upon worn cobblestones testified to grisly deaths. An overturned cart partially blocked one street, its contents long spilled and the only sign of its horse a gnawed upon spine sitting near the front axle. But those details were secondary to the truest sign of Harmas¡¯ death. For those abandoned and gore-marked streets and buildings were not empty. Shuffling throngs of corpses milled about, drawn to the moans of their kin, creating a never ending current of wandering dead. Just from where Wolfgang stood, he could easily see a hundred ghouls trudging down the road in pursuit of prey, real or imagined. The rotting parade moved at a steady shambling pace, its members a study in all of death''s forms. Bloated husks wearing brown-stained night clothes walked alongside mauled men-at-arms, whose rusting armor clanked with every dragging footstep. Children bereft of limbs or organs struggled to keep up with their larger fellows, finding comradery with the more maimed members of the procession crawling along the ground. The eldest of the ghouls were easily identifiable by the withered nude forms; bodies desiccated but preserved by the very miasma that rotted the surrounding city. Watching this danse macabre, drinking in the stories hidden in every corpse, Wolfgang smiled. The black lumps visible upon so many of the bodies testified to his genius, of how effectively he¡¯d killed this city. Staring out at the unending corpse parade, Wolfgang could scarcely imagine what it must have been like mere weeks or months ago when these bodies were fresh grinning ghouls. How quickly must have things fallen apart as every victim of the plague rose up an undead berserker? Defending against the growing swarm would be near impossible as the contagion wormed its way through the soldiery and spread anew in every shelter or safe zone. Wolfgang wondered how long did the Temples stand? Harmas had only five compared to Vindabon¡¯s great ten, but surely they must have put up a fight. It mattered little in the end. The plague¡¯s potency along with the other complications Wolfgang and Spymaster Arici set in motion made sure of that. Cut off by its ruler¡¯s paranoia and left to fester, Harmas died the worst kind of death. Its end was slow enough for suffering, but fast enough to prevent salvation. Now, the city¡¯s husk was reanimated and set forth as Duke Umbria willed it, a weapon to crush Crowbend Castle and with it all the Southern Marches. But what the Duke wished now mattered little to Wolfgang. He had other benefactors now, ones who wouldn¡¯t waste his talents on ill-planned expeditions like what nearly just killed him. Still, his current location raised many questions. Why had Scapino and his fellows brought him here? Normally he would assume they sought the Broodmaiden, but it had been Pater Epulo himself who helped Wolfgang summon and bind the potent faerie. So, if this ¡®troupe¡¯ didn¡¯t seek the plague¡¯s heart, then what did they wish of him? Something soft smacked into the side of Wolfgang¡¯s head and he whirled about, nearly toppling over thanks to his withered limbs. Clutching the moth-eaten towel Scapino had just thrown at him, Wolfgang got the message and started wiping the blood from his skin. His masked savior spoke then, voice dripping with wry amusement. ¡°You can jerk yourself out the window later; we¡¯ve got business to attend to.¡± Ignoring the crude joke, Wolfgang managed to scrape off, and mop up most of the blood. A bucket of cold water and another towel later, he was getting dressed in musty but well-fitting clothes Scapino scavenged from red night knows where. Pulling at his cuffs, Wolfgang asked. ¡°What sort of business?¡± Scapino was standing before a large floor-length mirror, staring into its spotted reflection. Approaching him, Wolfgang examined himself in the looking glass but realized it was pointless. The mirror was silver-backed and showed merely an empty suit animated by some invisible force. Finishing the final adjustments to his clothes, Wolfgang watched the empty suit mimic his actions. Such mirrors were practically unheard of in the Duchies, the nobility eschewing the infamous marker of their nature. So, considering this novelty, it took Wolfgang a moment to notice Scapino¡¯s reflection. A shout of panic escaped him as the Black Fly jumped back, tripping over his own legs and landing with a crack. Eyes wide, he stared at the mirror and what awaited him through the looking glass. Scapino wasn¡¯t missing, like Wolfgang was, or more accurately, he was replaced. Instead of Scapino or his empty clothes, the mirror showed a writhing mass of ash compressed into humanoid form. Layers of undulating soot moved atop and through each other in a weaving dance. Wolfgang thought he saw occult sigils and fell runes in that pattern but couldn¡¯t be certain with the ash moving so quickly. The form in the mirror was indistinct, a blurry outline that changed height, weight and even proportion constantly. Aside from its substance, the only constant part of it was the face. It wore a duplicate of Scapino¡¯s mask, a smiling green visage leering out at the world with fell amusement. Scapino turned around, but his reflection didn¡¯t. Eyeing Wolfgang with dry humor, the creature said. ¡°I see you are familiar with my kind. Well, it seems the Voivode didn¡¯t skimp on your education, at least.¡± Ashborn, Scapino, was Ashborn, a chimera of vampire and demon living in twisted symbiosis. As Wolfgang watched, the Hellkyn in the mirror faded away, replaced with Scapino¡¯s empty clothes, leaving no sign of its insidious presence. Recovering himself slightly, Wolfgang struggled to his feet, eyes never leaving the hybrid. He knew what an Ashborn could do and what sort of person might enjoy such an existence. The comical pretense Scapino put on suddenly went from mildly annoying to deeply disturbing in Wolfgang¡¯s estimate. Managing to stand up, Wolfgang asked. ¡°Why have you brought me here? What do you want?¡± Looking at his nails with all the mock indifference of the street performer he pretended to be, Scapino answered. ¡°Lots and lots of reasons, which we¡¯ll go over during the meeting. But as for me personally; I want to be free, something I think you can empathize with. That desire is actually what unites this little cabal you¡¯ve found yourself dragged into.¡± Glancing around the bath chamber, wondering who or what would be meeting them in Harmas, Wolfgang pushed for more details. ¡°What sort of freedom?¡± Moving his head with exaggerated exasperation, Scapino gestured wildly. ¡°The only kind that matters! Freedom from time, from death, from all the pesky pesky consequences this ill-bred universe tries to place upon us. Now, we can discuss that later, but the rest of the Troupe is waiting for us.¡± Before Wolfgang could ask, Scapino pulled a long sliver of glass from his sleeve and jabbed it into the mirror behind him. Great cracks spread out from the shard, fracturing the looking glass into a dozen pieces. As Wolfgang watched, the silver melted into the cracked mirror, its sparkling material flowing into fractures, filling them with eerie too-white light. As the glow spread each of the broken pieces changed, no longer did they show the moldering bath chamber but strange and terrible masks. There must have been more than a dozen of the sculpted faces, each reflected in a section of the mirror. No bodies lay behind each of the masks, they simply hung in empty air; stage props awaiting their next direction. Wolfgang¡¯s eyes danced over the visages, drinking a red-faced miser; next to who was an ebony scholar with fat cheeks. Nearby was a leering cousin of Scapino¡¯s own mask, colored brown with an avaricious expression to contrast the Ashborn¡¯s mirth. Elsewhere a pair of oversized glasses sat upon a turtle-shell green face that twitched constantly; contrasted by the perfectly still white dove head next to it. Among these motley visages, only one was familiar to Wolfgang, the pallid death-mask of Pater Epulo. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Spreading his arms wide, Scapino bowed with all his usual dramatic flourish. ¡°Ladies, gentlemen and miscellaneous members of our esteemed Troupe! It is my honor to call upon you all this dark night to introduce a talented Capitano with the potential to move beyond such a disposable role.¡± Stepping to the side, gesturing for Wolfgang to come forward, the Ashborn continued. ¡°I bid welcome to Lord Aloyius Tyto Wolfgang! The Plague-Sower of Harmas, Black Fly of Gens Suillia and now warden of the infamous Isabelle Gens Silva!¡± Standing before all those empty masks, feeling the cold gazes of so many monsters upon him, Wolfgang felt worse than naked. He felt flayed, his every strand uncoiled and examined. Leaning in next to him, Scapino spoke into Wolfgang¡¯s ear in a mocking stage whisper. ¡°I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t disappoint us.¡±
It was a well-known truth among members of the Ivory Towers that, with enough time and not enough oversight, every Magi¡¯s workspace will come to resemble the inner workings of their mind. For Preceptor Rellim Hardspade of Vindabon¡¯s archaeology department, this was especially accurate. At first glance, the Preceptor¡¯s office resembled that of any other academic allowed to nest in the same space for more than two decades. Overstuffed bookshelves and document cabinets pressed against each other, all waiting for the weakest among them to burst apart in a shower of paper and parchment giving the survivors much needed room. Maps, sketches, and seemingly incomprehensible diagrams filled much of the walls not blocked by the before-mentioned furniture. While a large and rather time-worn desk dominated the room¡¯s center, its surface fittingly an archaeological dig of documents, trinkets, and academic sundries. All of these features blended into a morass of banality that the uninformed or incurious might dismiss with a glace; much like the Magi responsible for them. But with a little inspection, the true implications of the room¡¯s contents would come to light. Of all the papers and parchments filling the room, very few were written in standard Western. In fact, over three dozen languages and scripts were represented among the ink-marked mounds. Of those languages, maybe a quarter were still spoken; but Preceptor Rellim could read all of them. Short, bespectacled and slightly portly, Rellim was in his native habitat, sitting in his high-backed chair and pouring over a scroll thick as his arm. Midnight had come and gone some time ago with only a now empty pot of tea testifying to Rellim noticing this fact. Alone in his office, the Preceptor traced the archaic characters upon the scroll, deciphering this copy of a translation of a copy the best he could. A deep frown was digging itself into Rellim¡¯s forehead as he read and reread a particular passage. While Rellim¡¯s almost supernatural skill for languages, particularly dead ones, was a large factor for him gaining Preceptorship, it wasn¡¯t the only reason. His obsessiveness, the bane of many students, had helped push his department to new heights. It was that trait that had him pouring over a crude copy of what he hoped was accurately transcribed northern proto-qabian poetry while recovering from the plague. This was just another step in a long meandering journey he¡¯d started when a red-headed vampire thrall scribbled down her impressions of a forgotten tomb. Rellim did not know how close he was to this quest¡¯s conclusion, but as he journeyed deeper down the aardig¡¯s burrow, the more he feared what might greet him at the end. At first, the Preceptor had simply wanted to know why Annoch was slumbering beneath the Dragon Tail Mountains of all places; being so far from his home. But careful reading of commentaries upon the Book of Miracles, along with translations of stele rubbings, pointed him to a deeper mystery. While Annoch the Binders presence could be explained by the ur-vampire simply fleeing his mother¡¯s defeat by going as far away as possible; the torpor Lord Glockmire found him in was harder to puzzle out. While no Rest-bringer like his father or siblings, Rellim was familiar with the mechanics of undeath. One did not last as an archaeologist on Vardis without understanding that despite the past being dead, it often reanimated under the right circumstances. So he knew vampires entered decade or century long torpors to either heal from near-mortal wounds or to wash away the fog of ages such a long unlife spawned. The obvious answer, and the one Rellim almost settled on, was that Annoch suffered battling the Seraphilim arrayed against him and his siblings. Yet this didn¡¯t explain the mosaics in Yara¡¯s drawings. These weren¡¯t crude wall paintings but elaborate murals that must have taken considerable time, effort and resources to make. Annoch hadn¡¯t hidden himself in some hole hoping to outlast the Seraphilim but nested in a grand tomb prepared by legions of servants. A conclusion supported by what little detail Yara captured in her sketches. They showed a bloody warlord, presumably Annoch himself conquering and ruling a petty kingdom in the Dragon Tail Mountains. So if Annoch hadn¡¯t been maimed by the angelbloods, then had he simply tried to sleep away the clutter in his mind all such an ancient experience? After pouring over scraps of old Imperial military reports, Rellim found a brief mention of the region that became Glockmire. Of how iron legionnaires conquered and ¡®rectified¡¯ a tribe of cultists worshiping a Redcap. While he couldn¡¯t be certain, Rellim could guess this ¡®Redcap¡¯ had been the slumbering Annoch. Soldiers trained in fighting the Fae would see what they expected to see, after all. With this in mind, it seemed possible a group of lead-fisted legionaries might have accidentally saved the entire continent by killing those tasked with waking Annoch at his torpor''s end. Which was exactly the sort of coincidence the Pantheon favored. Reading between the lines of later documents, Rellim found plenty of signs that even with the original tribe destroyed, Annoch''s presence was still felt. The imperial fort erected in the mountain pass would quickly gain a reputation for its discipline problems and shocking rate of attrition. On two separate occasions, there were failed mutinies that ended in decimation and ugly executions. While the small mining settlement attached to the fort was subject to near constant Veneficium inspections to root out fell magics. Rellim wondered in some ironic way if the later duchy rulership of what became Glockmire and the harvesting of the Alukah¡¯s power had actually helped mellow what had once been a truly cursed place. The Preceptor had been about to formally document his findings and shut the proverbial book on this enigma when he finally noticed the old scroll he now perused. It had been buried among the texts collected from the tower archive and at first seemed only tangentially related to Rellim¡¯s research. The scroll contained a variety of poems and songs from roughly the time and region of the Rabisu. Rellim suspected the librarian had added it to the pile of reference texts he¡¯d requested on a whim, or in hopes of making the collection of tomes seem bigger. No matter the reason for its presence, this old and poorly translated collection of forgotten words now recontextualized much of Rellim¡¯s work. Mixed in with the scroll¡¯s prose was a gruesome tale of filicide and matricide. At a cursory glance, this story seemed a mere ghost poem nestled between its more palatable kindred; and that is probably exactly what whoever compiled this scroll thought it was. Rellim could imagine some poor scholar who could write proto-qabian tasked with copying dozens of loosely connected texts onto this single scroll for safe keeping. Their inexpert eye mixing in a profound outlier out of sheer ignorance. As it took someone like Rellim who knew both proto-qabian and zutic votive script to realize the ¡®poem¡¯s true nature. It wasn¡¯t grisly prose, but a very literal account of events. Over and over, Rellim read this testament, trying to comprehend its full meaning. The recorded tale was of the Rabisu, her rise, and fall. That much was indisputable, matching the Book of Miracles and other more¡­ precise texts the Temples preferred to keep locked away. But unlike those accounts, this version offered another reason for the Alukahs defeat and Annoch¡¯s flight. Just as they turned on their mother, the nine original vampires betrayed each other at the worst possible moment. Descending into paranoia and fratricide even as the Seraphilim and their allies hunted them one by one. Instead of uniting against this common enemy, each of the Alukah tried to direct the avenging host against their siblings. At first, Rellim thought this act of staggering short-sightedness was an attempt to exhaust the Seraphilm¡¯s force; but the more he read and deciphered the subtext, the more the truth became clear. With each Alukah slain, the surviving siblings grew stronger. Not just in unlife, but in true death as well. Every time the armies of the living slew one of the nine, the destruction unleashed became worse. Corrupted wastelands, dripping with blood and curses arose from each destroyed Alukah. Fertile lands and prosperous cities turned into demon-haunted deserts and bone-strewn ruins by each ¡®victory.¡¯ This forced the living to change tactics, deciding to seal away the four remaining Alukah, an infinitely more difficult effort that would spare the heartlands of Qabsu more torment. Only Zisurr the Clever suffered such a fate, and the remaining three fled. Other texts told that Shama the Perverse, ninth Alukah, eventually met a similar end as Zisurr at the Sidhe¡¯s hands, centuries later, but until Natalie Striga stumbled into focus, the last two Alukah were missing from the records. Now, that village girl held within her inconceivable power and worryingly little information about its potential. That potential was what had Rellim so concerned, as he reread the scroll for perhaps the tenth time. Because despite being an average Magi by all standards of puissance, Rellim knew much about curses and could guess how the Alukahs grew in power as they decreased in number. Liking his lips, Rellim spoke the answer aloud to make it feel real. ¡°They become more like their mother, more like the original. They can draw upon the curse, being altered by it and¡­and¡± ¡°Altering it, yes,¡± said a bored voice from across Rellim¡¯s desk. The Preceptor let out a shocked yelp and nearly toppled over his chair, bringing up a gold-capped wand to bear on the intruder. Sitting in the lumpy chair Rellim kept for guests and more often more books was a desiccated cadaver wearing heavy jewelry and fine blue robes. With an audible creak, the corpse raised one of its thin eyebrows. Letting out a breath, Rellim settled back in his chair and put down his wand. ¡°First Preceptor¡­ how long were you sitting there?¡± The Lych shrugged one shoulder in a noncommittal gesture. Resting his hands on the scroll before him, Rellim met the corpses'' polished opal eyes. Archmagi Leonid Lupa could change his forms like most men did their clothes; and out of some strange tradition, he kept specific bodies for each Preceptor beneath him. So naturally Lupa took the form of some long-dead noble pulled from his ransacked tomb. Rellim guessed this appearance was some joke or commentary; but had long given up on trying to decipher its meaning. Reaching out with a ring-encrusted finger, Lupa tapped the scroll, taking up much of Rellim¡¯s desk. ¡°I see you found the little secret hidden in this.¡± Understanding how and why this odd text had ended up in his office, Rellim nodded. ¡°Could she do it? Alter the curse of vampirism, that is?¡± Steepling those same fingers, Lupa replied. ¡°Theoretically, but much stands in the way of such a feat. Queen Eresh barely managed it with the Pantheon''s assistance and look how that ended for her. Still, I¡¯d wager Master Time has high hopes for young Natalie in that regard. The corruption Eresh spawned is too far gone to truly destroy; It''s cut into the Beyond and can be shoddily recreated over and over by the desperate and damned. But just because the curse can¡¯t be destroyed, doesn¡¯t mean it can¡¯t be lessened. I mean, look at what happened with the Werebeasts.¡± Reaching out and collecting one of Rellim¡¯s teacups, the Lych filled it with a gesture and sipped some dark brew. ¡°Whatever happens with her, Natalie Striga is destined to have an interesting life. Poor girl. But she¡¯s not what I¡¯m here to talk to you about; I simply wanted to provide some context before moving onto the main topic.¡± Reeling with what was certainly information some would kill for, Rellim asked. ¡°Well, what is the main topic?¡± Draining his cup, Lupa¡¯s opal eyes flashed. ¡°Her protector, of course. You are friends with him, correct?¡± Lips pursed, Rellim replied. ¡°Not long ago, I¡¯d have simply said we were colleagues, but now¡­ I guess we are. What do you want to know about Cole?¡± The cadaver¡¯s face split into a smile, revealing solid gold teeth. ¡°He¡¯s caught my attention, and I¡¯d like to get another''s perspective about him. Particularly if you¡¯ve noticed anything¡­ unusual about this Paladin.¡± Rellim was silent for a long moment. Where could he start? Not much about Cole was normal. His size, his skin, his personality, his¡­ everything was strange. But even if Rellim knew where to begin, should he? While he¡¯d always had good relations with the Lych, Rellim found himself hesitant to speak about Cole. His father Philip''s words echoed in his ear, ¡®If it won¡¯t die it will always lie.¡¯ ¡°What do you want to know?¡± asked Rellim, hoping to get a sense of what direction this conversation might take. Still smiling, the Lych set down his teacup and replied. ¡°Well, to start, have you seen him die before?¡± Side Story: Better Left Buried (Part One)

Better Left Buried (Part One)

¡°Bah! Such arrogance to think history started with you! This world was ancient long before your most distant ancestors learned to walk upright! You up-jumped apes are products of an age of slowly waxing magic and do not know of what came before. Even though my kind are not native to this sphere, we remember those whose world you claim as birthright. They have long left this facet of existence, but their imprint can still be found if one knows where to look; something I suggest your infantile species avoids doing¡± - The ancient dragon, Tizqarix speaking about the ruins of Thul.
Of all the ways he¡¯d died, Paladin Cole found drowning to be the most palatable. Breathing in water and letting himself slip into darkness was simply far easier and less painful than any other method he¡¯d experienced. As an added boon, he also regenerated faster while drowning, a fact Isabelle had always attributed to his creation in an alchemical vat. So while death was never pleasant, the immortal Homunculus Knight would choose water over anything else if given the option. This proved some comfort for Cole as the fisherman¡¯s sloop he sat in crested another wave before plunging downward in a hull-creaking lurch. Hanging onto a side rail and offering muttered prayers to the Prince of Tides, Cole forced himself to stare at his destination. The green and white cliffs of Mycio Island seemed painfully far away as the winds of a late summer storm battered at the small boat. Behind the Paladin, a trio of Aenean fisherfolk fought the rudder, rigging and sails to keep them on course. Taking his eyes off the distant island, Cole glanced over at the three sailors and then the white-capped water surrounding them. Gray clouds dancing overhead, stripping away much of the semi-tropical sunlight, giving everything a bleached look. While the Sky Priest prognostications claimed the storm would only really hit once night fell, that was dim comfort to those trapped upon the wind-tossed Marble Sea. This wasn¡¯t the weather any smart sailor would want to be out in a vessel so small, and judging by the tension radiating from the sloop¡¯s crew, they weren¡¯t idiots. Neither were they pleased to be doing this, and judging by the constant dirty looks the youngest of the three leveled at Cole, he could guess who they blamed for that. Looking back toward the approaching island, Cole couldn¡¯t disagree with the teenage boy for such feelings. His father had only embarked on this unpleasant journey because the Paladin, or more accurately, the Temple he represented, asked it of him. Cole needed urgent transport to the remote Mycio Island and there were few who could make such a trip on such short notice. So on direction of Hierophant Vanuli of Seirena, he went to a nearby fishing village and traded in a favor. The Temples never turned away those in need of their help, but did expect some form of reimbursement for the time and effort. In those cases where donations of gold or silver weren¡¯t feasible, the Temples would accept services, present or future as payment. So much to his personal discomfort, Cole called in a debt owed to some other priest, gaining the boat and crew needed for his mission. Checking for the fiftieth time that his pack was firmly attached to him, Cole breathed in the salty air and went over everything he knew about matters. He¡¯d followed the god-touch in his chest to the great port city of Seirena along the south-west Aenean coast and arrived at its Time Temple just as a call for help arrived. The local Ivory Tower had received word from an archaeological dig of all things requesting immediate and qualified support for a ¡®Tenth Temple matter.¡¯ As it was want to do, the Ivory Tower dispatched a Knight-Proctor at once and only then relayed the message to the Tenth Temple despite it calling upon both institution¡¯s aid. Seeing Cole¡¯s arrival for the omen it was, the Temple Hierophant dispatched the Paladin on this mysterious quest. Despite his repeated questions, Cole had uncovered worryingly little detail about this island or what a group of arcane archaeologists were doing on it. Mentions of old ruins uncovered by a recent earthquake were about the most he¡¯d learned. But from inference alone, Cole knew whatever was happening on the island couldn¡¯t be good. Proper archaeologists, like the sort on Mycio, were more than capable of handling a few rattlers or wraiths dug up in an expedition. One didn¡¯t poke around forgotten tombs or half-buried cities without an understanding of the undead, or at least didn¡¯t poke around for very long. As the fishing boat rocked violently in another wave, Cole redoubled his grip upon both the rail and his pack. They were close now; he could see details on the island¡¯s shore and his destination. A rough harbor sat in the lee of a great rock-face stretching out from the island¡¯s main body. Squinting, Cole made out a small collection of tents congregating near the shore. Protruding out into the water from this makeshift camp was a crude stone dock hosting a single small dinghy. Only this sandstone pier spoke to the camp¡¯s owners. Who else would use geomancy in such a way? If he was being honest with himself, Cole wasn¡¯t too thrilled about working with the Ivory Tower. Only the constant cold weight of Master Time¡¯s guidance kept him on this course and ignoring the nagging doubts being around so many Magi brought on. The idea of such¡­ inquisitive people uncovering his secrets and what might come of their ¡®interest¡¯ sickened Cole. Rationally, he knew if the priests couldn¡¯t sense what he was, then neither would these arcanist; but paranoia had long served Cole well. Better to assume those he¡¯d been tasked with rescuing might turn upon him and be proven wrong than be caught unaware and end up on yet another dissection table. ¡°That should be the worst of it.¡± came a gruff voice from behind Cole. Turning about, he found the captain of the commandeered sloop adjusting some of the rigging. Short but with the wiry muscle of a swimmer, he looked the archetypical Olive Aeneian with his curly dark hair and rich skin. Scratching at his graying beard, the middle-aged sailor continued. ¡°Closer we get to the island, calmer the sea will be. Once there, we¡¯ll dock, let you disembark, then cast off.¡± The captain¡¯s words were stiff with unspoken meaning. The moment Cole left his boat, he¡¯d consider his debt paid and wanted nothing more to do with the Paladin or his mission. Nodding, Cole looked up at the gray sky and asked. ¡°Will you be fine in this weather?¡± An annoyed grunt escaped the captain. ¡°Better to be on the water than stuck there overnight.¡± Frowning, Cole started to ask what the fisherman meant, but he was already returned to his tasks and clearly wasn¡¯t willing to answer. Letting out a long sigh, Cole gripped the railing tighter and locked his eyes on the approaching island. From here, it didn¡¯t look any different from any other of the countless spits of sandstone and greenery dotting the Marble Sea. Once again, the Paladin found himself frustrated with his lack of knowledge about what he was sailing into. As the sloop properly entered the island¡¯s lee the waves faded and the vessel reached the dock easily. All about Cole, the three sailors worked frantically to slow the vessel and prepare it for mooring. Knowing his help would be less than useless, Cole simply scanned the shore as the boat drifted towards the sculpted sandstone pier. Strangely, no one stood upon the dock to greet them. In fact, as Cole¡¯s watchful eyes picked over the tents, he saw not a single living soul. Absently, the Paladin gripped onto his axe while the fishermen cast mooring lines onto the small stone outcroppings fashioned for that use. With some effort, the sailors got the sloop docked opposite from the smaller dinghy. Checking his equipment, Cole stepped onto the boat¡¯s railing and then onto the stone pier. Eyes not leaving the shore, Cole spoke calmly but firmly to the captain. ¡°I think you¡¯ve got the right idea about this place. Cast off the moment you can.¡± Grunting his agreement, the fisherman and his crew quickly started freeing themselves from the dock. ¡°May your God protect you, Rest-Bringer.¡± Nodding slowly, Cole waited as the small sloop creaked and slowly came about, leaving the harbor as fast as its crew could manage. Watching as the vessel slipped away, the Paladin grimaced. If he was going to kick this hornet¡¯s nest better for only him to get caught up in it. Unsheathing his axe, the Paladin walked slowly along the dock, coming closer to the rocky shore. Ahead of him, the only movement was the flapping of canvas in the island breeze. The tents were in good condition, and as Cole approached, other signs of recent habitation became clear. It seemed the camp hadn¡¯t been abandoned as he feared¡­ or at least only abandoned recently. Nicking his arm and extending his axe into a pole-arm, Cole tugged at his light leather jerkin, then checked his belt pouches. Deciding he was ready as he¡¯d ever be, the Paladin called out. ¡°Hello?!¡± Even with the wind, his shout carried through the camp loud and clear. Weapon at the ready, Cole waited patiently for someone or something to answer. Only the sea breeze and crack of rustling tents filled the air; leaving Cole alone in the empty camp. Stepping forward, senses peeled, Cole noticed fresh footprints in the rocky soil. Minding how the ground crunched beneath every footfall, Cole followed the tracks, glancing over the dozen or so tents. More than one was open, their flaps tied, exposing improvised living quarters to his watchful gaze. Nothing within them seemed amiss, no bodies, no signs of a struggle, not even marks of an enterprising animal investigating for food. Only one thing told Cole he simply hadn¡¯t arrived at a bad time and the archaeologists would simply return from some dig site at any moment. Away from the sea and its myriad scents, Cole caught an unmistakable whiff of decay. The smell was subtle and oddly muted; but two years of serving Master Time and a life within the Duchies before then had trained Cole well in recognizing all the aromas of death; even ones as strange as this. A person was dead, their body left to rot; but it lacked the raw pungency Cole knew to expect in hot, wet places like Mycio island. Following the smell, Cole grimaced as it became clear the tracks he¡¯d noticed were heading in the same direction. While it was hard to tell on such terrain, Cole doubted a ghoul left the prints, the strides were too regular, but that didn¡¯t mean some other form of undeath awaited him. Sidling past one of the larger tents, this one filled with shelves and equipment; Cole heard a rhythmic clunk and clatter. Pole-axe at the ready, the Paladin came around the tent¡¯s corner and found the noises¡¯s source. A wheelbarrow sat overturned, a pile of stone debris spilling out from it. Squatting next to the handcart was a man picking up bits of rock and trying to put them back inside the wheelbarrow¡¯s bucket. The man was naked and uncaring of his surroundings, focused on his monotonous task. Every few stones, the man¡¯s efforts would be undone as more fell out of the cart in a miniature rockslide. Sniffing the air, Cole rolled his shoulders, he¡¯d found the smell¡¯s source. Slowly approaching the man, Cole said. ¡°Hello?¡± There was no response, and the strange figure merely continued his pointless work. Jaw tightening, knowing what to expect, the Paladin reached out with his pole-axe and used its flat to knock the stranger onto his back. Landing with a crunch, the man¡¯s head smacked against the ground and his empty eyes stared up at the sky. He was dead, flesh withered and bloodless, soul trapped and tormented. Quick as he could, Cole brought his pole-axe¡¯s head down upon the corpse''s neck. The decapitation was clean, and remarkably little rotting blood dripped onto the ground. Staring at the now headless body, Cole sucked in a deep nervous breath. The dead man was coated in grime, with heavily calloused hands, a laborer''s hands. Strangely, the corpse seemed in good condition, with little sign of external rot and no overt injuries aside from missing a head. Looking at the wheelbarrow and tracing the groove it left in the soil, Cole started to get an idea of things. It seemed one of the workers hired to help in the archaeology dig had died, but his employers hadn¡¯t gotten their full use out of him. Ghouls didn¡¯t make the best labor, but that didn¡¯t stop unscrupulous Magi with a little too much necromantic knowledge from using them that way. As for why the body was naked? Well, that would be another question for Cole to ask whoever animated this unfortunate soul. Tightening his grip upon his weapon, Cole knew such an ugly but relatively minor act wasn¡¯t what might spur a Preceptor to call for help. In fact, this was exactly the sort of thing the Ivory Towers would fight tooth and nail to keep under-wraps. The Magi preferred to handle such violations internally and only sought divine aid in the most extreme situations. Glancing around at the empty camp, and then down at the corpse lying at its southern edge, Cole grimaced. Whatever happened here, this poor reanimated soul was merely the spear¡¯s tip. Quickly fishing his amulet out of his shirt, Cole squatted down over the body and got to work freeing the soul within. Eyes shut, the Paladin called upon his power and started his holy task. Reaching out, amulet in hand, Cole let the cleansing power wash over the corpse and¡­ and felt nothing; he couldn¡¯t sense the strange ghoul¡¯s soul. Brow furrowing, he pushed more of the magic into the corpse, both its head and body. Cole¡¯s frown deepened as he failed to find any trace of the soul, or even the telltale scraps left behind by some metaphysical predator. In fact, a soul wasn¡¯t the only thing missing. There was no sign of magic aside from Cole¡¯s own on the corpse. No cloying hints of necromancy or rotten soul-stuff left over from a ghoul¡¯s reanimation, nothing to even explain how the body had been moving. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Opening his eyes, grunting at the rising headache he felt, Cole looked around him, blinking away the strange double-vision his gifts sometimes imparted. Normally, it just offered glimpses into the Aether or arcane synesthesia; but other times like now¡­ it did stranger things. If he let his eyes unfocus, he caught hints of the corpse back at its task and what it had been doing before then. The blurry outline walked away from the camp and came back, driving the wheelbarrow until it caught on a root and overturned. Watching this strange pantomime repeat a few times, Cole tried to understand what his mind was failing to interpret. But before he could dwell on this, the corpse at his feet moved. Jumping back, weapon at the ready, Cole blinked rapidly, mouth falling open in shock. The headless body was no longer headless, its neck lacking any sign of his blow. Slowly pulling itself upright, the corpse stiffly turned from Cole, and started walking south-west, just as it had in his vision. Stunned, all the Paladin could do was watch as the husk disappeared down a path deeper into the island¡¯s interior. Shocked beyond words, Cole looked around him wildly, trying to understand what had just happened. For the barest moment he considered the ghoul had never been, and this was some illusion, but the blood drying on his pole-axe convinced him otherwise. He¡¯d severed the ghoul¡¯s head, split its neck apart in a single good strike and flooded its body with enough power to free a dozen of its kind. So how was it now intact? And more than that, how was it even moving? No magic animated the body, no spell or curse puppeteer''d the dead flesh; nor was there any hint to flesh crafting or occult corpse preparation to explain the regeneration. None of this made sense; it defied all of Cole¡¯s considerable arcane knowledge. Faced with this enigma, and the dull throb in his chest, Cole had only one option, to follow the ghoul and try to find out what was happening.
The more Cole observed the husk, the stranger it became. Following perhaps two meters behind it, he watched the animated corpse trudge along the rocky path, uncaring of his presence. Usually, ghouls moved at a lethargic shuffle or frenzied sprint; instead, this one simply walked with disturbing normality. It didn¡¯t drag its feet or stumble over its own limbs; and could almost be mistaken for a living person aside from its nudity and abnormal decay. While ghouls never rotted properly, this one was especially strange, it looked like a body left in the cold dryness of a temple mortuary for a little too long. At first Cole had assumed necromantic preservation spells had been the cause, but after the decapitation and¡­ recapitation, he wasn¡¯t so certain. Adding to this already growing pile of abnormalities, Cole occasionally noticed odd quirks in the ghoul''s movements. An arm would spasm up, or its head would turn seemingly randomly. After maybe the third of the arm spasms, Cole finally recognized the gesture; the ghoul was swatting at insects, insects that weren¡¯t present. The Paladin and animated corpse continued down the trail for perhaps twenty minutes, Cole occasionally stopping to notice one of oddities alongside the path. Mounds of freshly piled rock and bushes half-buried in damp sand marked their progress. Hesitating beside a large mound of what had to be a small spoil tip from an excavation. Cole heard something other than the ghoul¡¯s footsteps, another traveler somewhere farther up the path. Pole-axe still in hand, Cole stepped off the trail, crouching down, and crept forward. Keeping the strange corpse in sight, he watched it slow down as if to greet someone. Farther down the trail came another figure, this one moving with the same calm pace as the ghoul, the exact same pace. From his vantage among the rocks and bushes, Cole couldn¡¯t see the newcomer well but he did witness what happened when the ghoul got close to them. Jerking its head, the animated corpse let out a bubbling sound, one answered by the other traveler. Mystified, Cole kept watching as the ghoul and¡­ and other ghoul passed each other on the trail. This new corpse carried a heavy sack over one shoulder that dripped constantly, but other than that was akin to the first. Watching this new sack carrier, Cole frowned as it came into proper sight. The ghouls weren¡¯t similar to each other; they were identical, both naked and only distinguished by the patterns of grime covering them. Confused by twin¡¯s sudden appearance, Cole could only stare as the sack-carrying ghoul moved to one of the piles and emptied its burden onto the sandy mound. Watching as clumps of wet sand splattered onto the ground, Cole felt the icy tug in his chest grow stronger, pulling him in the direction the first ghoul was traveling. Swallowing down a lump of nerves, Cole followed as the second ghoul turned about and went back the way it came, empty sack in hand. Trailing after the pair of identical twins, Cole sifted through every piece of arcane knowledge and occult lore he knew, trying to understand what was happening. Nothing he could think of matched this madness; Cole needed more information, and fast. Stalking towards the sack-carrying ghoul, he lashed out with his pole-axe, splitting the creature¡¯s leg at the knee. As it smacked into the dirt, Cole attempted to free this corpse¡¯s soul. Like before, he found nothing, no soul, no magic, nothing to say how the ghoul could move. Hand upon the crawling husk¡¯s head, Cole felt the precursors to fear flow through him. This made no sense, ghouls and every other form of undead were inherently magical; they relied upon the Aether to function. Cole considered perhaps his admittedly crude arcane senses were missing whatever spell was at work on the corpse; but that seemed incredibly unlikely. Magic capable of not just puppeteering an entire body, but repairing a decapitation wasn¡¯t subtle. For the first time in as long as Cole could remember, he was utterly in the dark and that scared him more than any animated corpse or deathly curse. Letting go of the body, Cole looked up the trail seeing more of the half-vision his powers gifted after trying to free the first ghoul. Again, he saw flickers of the corpse at work, walking down the trail towards the pile and returning once its task was done. Trying to focus on what his powers could sense but his mind couldn¡¯t grasp, Cole caught hints of other phantoms, all moving with the same sedate pace, some carrying burdens, others not. Was he seeing every trip these twin ghouls had taken? Or was their recent history stretched out before his eyes? That seemed the strongest possibility, so Cole stepped past the body, trying to match the myriad tracks in the soil against the half-seen flickers. The scrape of feet on gravel, pulled Cole¡¯s attention back and to his discomfort but not necessarily shock, the second ghoul had stood up. Uncaring of him, the corpse continued down the path, sack in hand. The only sign of Cole¡¯s attack was a slight blemish on one leg where some grime had been knocked free. Letting his eyes unfocus and his mind touch those hints of magic still filling him, Cole watched the ghoul walk away and join the procession of phantoms. After maybe three or four steps, the ghoul¡¯s movements started to overlap with one of the visions and soon enough, they matched perfectly. Disliking what this implied, Cole followed after the creature, seeing both its body and the spectral path it followed. Cole and the ghoul continued like this for close to an hour; heading deeper into the island¡¯s interior with every step. The occult sight he¡¯d activated had long faded, but that mattered little; the ghoul¡¯s prints fit perfectly into some tracks on the path. Whatever force was animating these corpses, it had them moving like a cart on mine rails. Uncertain of what to do except simply follow and observe; Cole did just that. The path was winding and heading steadily upward, moving towards what had to be the island¡¯s peak. Aside from the occasional piles of rock and sand left by the worker ghouls, the only other sign of activity were chest-high wooden stakes occasionally pounded into the ground. These were becoming more common higher up the island, just the spoil mounds were getting rarer. They seemed to be marking out the trail, but Cole¡¯ couldn¡¯t be certain. Following the ghoul through a series of limestone outcroppings, Cole hesitated as a sound reached his ears, the unmistakable clatter of disturbed stone. Spinning about, pole-axe at the ready, he scanned his surroundings. Cursing himself, Cole realized this maze of boulders and bushes around him was a perfect place for an ambush. Walking towards the noise¡¯s source, he rounded a corner just for words of power to reach his ears. Operating on instinct, Cole leapt back behind a boulder just in time to dodge a gout of flame. As the conjured fire died away, Cole shouted. ¡°Who''s there?¡± After a long silence a woman¡¯s voice, tight with tension, answered. ¡°You first!¡± Hoping he¡¯d found a survivor, Cole called out. ¡°Rest-Bringer Cole of the Tenth Temple. I¡¯ve been dispatched to help the expedition here.¡± Another long silence, and then the woman spat. ¡°Prove it!¡± Amulet in hand, Cole slowly stuck it out from behind the boulder and called silver light into existence. ¡°I hope that is satisfactory?¡± Instead of words, Cole heard the patter of rapid footsteps as the stranger bolted. Sighing, Cole crept out from behind the boulder, keeping himself low and close to cover. Deciding his chances of catching a firebolt with his head were low enough, the Paladin followed the woman¡¯s tracks. Moving cautiously, never tarrying too far between outcroppings of stone, he left the limestone maze and started climbing a steep ridge. After a few minutes of tense effort while expecting another attack, Cole reached the top. Poking his head up, Cole swore at what he saw. The ridge he¡¯d climbed descended down into a small ravine of rock that ended at an abrupt cliff-face. Smooth stone jutted out in a flat stretch big as a castle. It was like some ancient titan had cracked the island in two and set one half¡¯s edge atop the others, leaving an exposed stretch of polished rock. Cole could see the layers of time in the cliff-face, and soon realized the very ridge he stood upon was born of debris displaced by its upheaval. But these details about the impressive geologic structure were just background noise in Cole¡¯s mind as he stared down at the cliff¡¯s bottom. Breaking up the patterns of multi-hued stone was a huge mass of reflective metal. Easily the size of a house, the material was part of the cliff-face, giving the appearance of some monumental mirror set into the rock. Shaped like a triangle, the metal structure¡¯s only blemish was a similarly three-sided aperture towards its center. A simple but well-made ramp of stone lead up from the ravine floor to this entrance and signs of excavation and other industry were apparent around it. Of these signs, the most obvious were the two dozen laborers hard at work moving debris away from the structure; they were what forced an oath from Cole¡¯s lips. Each and every one was a ghoul, and more than that, completely identical to the first two he¡¯d encountered. ¡°Not twins¡­ copies.¡± the Paladin whispered to himself as a trio of the working corpses appeared from the mirror wall¡¯s opening, each carrying baskets filled with stone. Watching as the ghouls emptied their cargo onto a growing pile of debris their duplicates sorted through, Cole wondered at the mirror triangle origin. It had be the ruin exposed by an earthquake, that was obvious, especially considering how its bottom point was still partially buried. Letting out a tired breath, Cole finished climbing the ridge, preparing to go get a closer look. The ghouls hadn¡¯t been aggressive and, from what he¡¯d seen, the Paladin was confident he could outrun or outfight them. Picking his steps carefully, he trudged down the ridge as the creatures worked. They weren¡¯t very competent, but made up for it with sheer mechanical persistence. The way they worked in a slow, stumbling concert reminded Cole of ants. There wasn¡¯t much intelligence at work here, but an overriding directive the corpses struggled towards without stopping. Right as Cole was about to reach the bottom, a sharp whistle caught his attention. Standing on the bluff marking the west end of the ravine was a short man frantically waving his arms. ¡°Don¡¯t get any closer! They don¡¯t like that!¡± Taking a tentative step back up the slope, Cole held his amulet aloft. ¡°I¡¯m here to speak with the Magi in charge.¡± The short man gestured for Cole to come closer. ¡°That would be me! I¡¯m Preceptor Rellim of Vindabon. But we can talk once we¡¯re back at the new camp.¡± Nodding to himself, Cole started the trek up and along the slope towards Rellim. The man matched the description he¡¯d been given and seemed his best chance at getting answers. Approaching the Magi, Cole glanced back at the excavation and noted a pair of new arrivals entering from the opposite side of the ravine. They were the ghouls he¡¯d encountered and were now collecting more debris to haul. Seeing the scores of identical corpses sent a shiver up Cole¡¯s spine; something about the sight itched at his mind. Reaching Rellim, Cole found the Preceptor standing with a young woman with tight braids and tighter nerves. Gesturing at the Paladin she said. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s him.¡± Smiling, Rellim reached out to shake Cole¡¯s hands. ¡°Excellent! Forgive Niello her reaction; things haven¡¯t been¡­ pleasant.¡± Grunting his agreement, Cole didn¡¯t take the Magi¡¯s offered hand. ¡°What is all this?¡± Rellim¡¯s smile turned brittle. ¡°Nothing good. Let¡¯s get back to camp and we can go over all the details then.¡± Adjusting his grip on his pole-axe in a way to bring attention to its presence, Cole growled. ¡°On the topic of forgiveness, I hope you can excuse me not wanting to follow you without more information.¡± Looking past Cole, down the ravine, Rellim licked his lips nervously. ¡°It really would be better if we didn¡¯t stay so close to the Triskelion.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Cole asked. ¡°The what?¡± Gesturing down towards the mirror wall, Rellim said. ¡°Just a nickname until something better becomes apparent. Now, let''s please get moving; we¡¯ve no way of telling how long the docile phase will last.¡± Rolling his shoulders, Cole''s voice became colder. ¡°Not until you tell me what those things are.¡± Deflating slightly, Rellim muttered. ¡°I was hoping you would know; it is your temple¡¯s expertise after all.¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ve never even heard of undead like that.¡± A pained expression crossed the Preceptor¡¯s face. ¡°Yes, well, I don¡¯t think they are undead; technically that is.¡± Seeing Cole¡¯s grim expression, Rellim elaborated. ¡°I should have been more specific; your temple¡¯s expertise outside death.¡± Cole frowned, mouth parting in confusion. Then, whirling about, he stared down at the duplicates toiling below. Flashes of the strange phantom paths he¡¯d seen danced in his mind as Cole whispered. ¡°Time.¡± Side Story: Better Left Buried (Part Two)

Better Left Buried (Part Two)

¡°That¡¯s not strictly accurate. The Grey Beyond isn¡¯t just the domain of faerie, they are simply its most encountered inhabitants. Other nations and¡­ entities live deeper in the Grey; but they are far, far, far more alien than even the strangest fae. What few ones we¡¯ve documented can barely interact with our reality and only under special circumstances. But even those few encounters have had¡­ drastic effects. Actually, that reminds me. Do you know why we swear by the fixed stars? No? Well, it¡¯s connected to this topic. See, some of those special circumstances relate to celestial bodies, particularly their formations and movements. For long long years our people have prayed for fixed stars, hoping to ward off the times when those special stars align¡­¡± - Hierophant Hugihard of the Ninth Temple.
Pole-axe over one shoulder, Cole followed the two magi, his mind a storm of thoughts. It was almost funny how often the core aspect of his god became overshadowed, even though it was in deity''s very name. As a Paladin, Cole had spent the past two years dealing with practically every form of undead curse or crisis; but he lacked practically any understanding of threats related to time itself. Not even his extensive education at the Thoas Citadel offered insight into that most primordial concept and the forbidden magic connected to it. This deficit in mind, Cole couldn¡¯t understand why he¡¯d been guided to Mycio Island and whatever was happening here. Surely, Master Time had other servants better prepared to handle chronomantic calamities? The only answer Cole could come up with was either Magi Rellim was wrong, or the Paladins¡­ other capabilities might prove useful. Clambering down the rocky slope, he hoped it was the former. Glancing back at the rift behind them, Cole asked. ¡°Why do you think this is a time related phenomena?¡± Rellim paused in his descent and replied. ¡°It''s just a working hypothesis, but nothing else makes sense¡­ or well, makes less sense. Once we¡¯re back at the camp, I¡¯ll go over all the details,¡± Disliking this evasion, Cole was about to push on why Rellim was so set on fleeing when the Magi¡¯s companion, Niello, spoke. ¡°Respectfully, Preceptor Rellim, how much aid will he be? He¡¯s just a rest-bringer after all and we know these things aren¡¯t normal undead.¡± Cocking an eyebrow at that, Cole found himself annoyed by the student¡¯s attitude, even if he agreed with her. Instead of rebuking the younger Magi, Rellim looked at Cole and smiled. ¡°He¡¯s not a rest-bringer, no matter what he says. Fixed-stars, he¡¯s not even a proper priest; but that''s not a problem.¡± Both Cole and Niello spat a shocked ¡°What?!¡± but for very different reasons. Adjusting his slightly crooked glasses, Rellim waved off his companion¡¯s surprise. ¡°Let¡¯s stop wasting time. I¡¯ll answer as many questions as I can at camp. We really don¡¯t want to be stuck out here if one of them starts to accelerate¡± That got Niello to speed up but Cole stood still, shaking his head in annoyance. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you know too much and I know too little for me to be comfortable. Those ghouls, or corpses, do they become aggressive? Is that why the main camp is abandoned?¡± Rellim¡¯s expression became pained and his gaze lingered on the bluff they¡¯d descended. ¡°Not quite. They are just a symptom of the larger issue, but still dangerous. It was extraordinary good fortune on your part to arrive when you did and not interfere with the refracted too severely.¡± Seeing Cole¡¯s confused look, Rellim elaborated. ¡°It¡¯s what we¡¯ve been calling the bodies since they aren¡¯t ghouls.¡± ¡°That wasn¡¯t my question.¡± replied Cole. ¡°I wanted to know what qualified as interference since I tried to destroy one of these ¡®refracted.¡± Both magi stared at Cole in shock. Scrambling towards him, Rellim ignored the unspoken warning of Cole¡¯s pole-axe as he squinted up at the Paladin. ¡°What did you do to it?¡± Eyeing the Preceptor, Cole explained. ¡°Decapitated one and took the leg off another. They both regenerated in less than a minute.¡± Niello yelled, her voice gaining a shrill quality. ¡°Then how are you still alive?!!?¡± Cole recoiled slightly, his mind racing as thoughts of the larder gnawed at him. Feeling a knot of terror grow in his gut, Cole wondered if he¡¯d just exposed himself without even knowing how. But Rellim¡¯s words put a quick end to the Homunculus¡¯s panic. ¡°Because he¡¯s a paladin, Niello. The Tenth God protects his own, even from madness such as this.¡± As the magi retreated from Cole, returning to his path, the Paladin asked. ¡°How do you know?¡± Rellim didn¡¯t answer at first, only responding once Cole followed him. ¡°My father was a rest-bringer; I¡¯ve known servants of Master Time my whole life. Your presence in the Aether is distinctly different from any priest I¡¯ve encountered and besides, I expected at least a Hierophant to answer my plea. Now, let''s hurry, we¡¯ve wasted enough time¡± Content with finally getting a few basic answers, Cole lengthened his pole-axe to use as a walking stick and let himself be led farther down the island''s slope towards a cypress grove. Walking between the thin trees, the group trekked through the forest, heading south. Ironically, Cole needed to slow his pace to match the others; his long strides and long experience traversing difficult terrain kept putting him ahead of Rellim. Taking one of these pauses, Cole drank in his surroundings, looking for any oddities, and he found one. Pointing with his halberd¡¯s point, he whispered to Rellim. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Ten meters away, barely visible among the foliage, was a badly damaged tree. Something had carved away part of its trunk, leaving a roughly two-meter tall hollow along one side. Leaning precariously on its neighbors, the wounded tree looked ready to topple over once the storm hit. Taking some steps forward to find what Cole was pointing to, Rellim paused mid-stride, foot dangling a few centimeters above the ground. ¡°Jagged edges¡­ That is what we¡¯re trying to avoid.¡± Gesturing for his companions to follow, the magi changed directions and started to run. Deciding now wasn¡¯t the time for more questions, Cole easily kept pace with the pair of academics. Dashing through the forest, Cole caught sight of other damaged trees, some toppled, others mauled like the first. Now looking for other abnormalities, he found mutilated bushes and other disturbed plant life. All of them looked as if some extraordinarily sharp blade had cut pieces off at random. Or at least, somewhat randomly; with every new example of this strangeness, it became clear the damage was always lower on the tree, starting at Cole¡¯s eye level and going down to the ground. As the trio pushed into a clearing, Cole paused right as he was about to step into something strange. A yellowish powder lay smeared across the ground in a three meter long mark. Tracing the powder''s origin, Cole found another of the destroyed trees, this one completely missing its bottom quarter. As he was about to point this out, Cole heard something odd, a humming buzz that grew louder with every second. Operating more on instinct than anything else, Cole grabbed Rellim and Niello, dragging them to the ground just as a nearby tree exploded in a shower of splinters. As the last of the wooden barrage settled, Cole looked up and found one of the refracted standing nearby, a brutalized tree collapsing behind it. The corpse was covered in more of the powder, while a faint cloud of the stuff hung in the air. Getting to one knee, halberd at the ready; Cole realized the buzzing noise was coming from the refracted. As the two magi scrambled to their feet, the Paladin reached down and touched some of the powder on the ground. ¡°Sawdust?¡± No sooner had the words left Cole¡¯s mouth than the refracted moved, or at least he assumed it did. With a thunderous crack it disappeared and somewhere else in the forest a tree died, its snapping groan echoing through the grove. A stream of honestly impressive curses flowed from Rellim¡¯s mouth as he pulled a wand from one pocket; without missing a beat, his oaths became words of power and Cole saw the air shimmer around him and the others. Gesturing with his free hand, Rellim shouted. ¡°This will stop the splinters but little else, we need to keep moving!¡± Looking once at the destroyed trees and inferring what such force would do to mere flesh, Cole grunted and started running. Footsteps pounding over rocky soil and patches of sawdust, the trio bolted through the forest, the sound of trees dying violent deaths in the distance. Escaping the clearing, they kept heading south, Cole¡¯s trained eyes catching sight of more and more ruined vegetation. Huffing, Rellim said. ¡°They are becoming more active, but at least that one is headed away from us.¡± After a few more minutes of frantic flight, Cole caught sight of what had to be the camp. Barely visible between the cypress trees was a wall of solid stone. As they got closer, Cole got a better view of the structure. Surrounded by uprooted trees was a palisade of rock standing over two meters tall. Some nearby trees were splintered, and close to them, Cole noticed odd rippling grooves marring sections of the stone. Wand raised high, Rellim spat more arcane phrases and when they were within ten meters of the wall a section of it slid forward, offering passage inside. Never slowing down, the trio entered the new camp and the stone ground shut behind them. Now within the small fortress¡¯s square walls, Cole drank in its contents and occupants. Large tarpaulins stretched down from the walls in makeshift sunshades and a few crates were scattered about, testifying to how little had been scavenged from the original camp. In this refuge were three dozen men and women; just enough to make things feel slightly cramped. Suntanned laborers sat beside nervous tower staff while knots of scholars and magi muttered among themselves. What little activity within the fort came to a stop as its occupants realized Rellim had brought a stranger among them. A female dwarf with long blond hair and a series of golden piercings stood up from what Cole thought might be a well under construction. Dusting off her tattooed hands, she gestured at the Paladin. ¡°Well, is this who the Temple sent?¡± Nodding, Rellim said. ¡°Yes, meet Paladin Cole. Niello found him heading up towards the Triskelion.¡± The dwarf sucked on her teeth. ¡°A paladin? Well, we might actually survive this then.¡± Speaking quickly, Niello said. ¡°He hurt one of the refracted and survived, Magus Alvia.¡± That got a stir of mutters from the small crowd. Walking over to one corner of the fort, the dwarf magi stomped her bare foot onto the stone and a collection of stools slid up out of the rock. Taking one, Cole found the others occupied by Rellim, Alvia, and two other magi. The space between the stools quickly became a low table that Alvia danced her fingers across, conjuring what Cole quickly realized was a simple map of the island. Nodding in appreciation at the magical skill, Cole asked. ¡°I take it you¡¯re a savant?¡± Alvia grunted a confirmation as she marked their location on the map. They were on the southern side of the island, with the central heights between them and the north shore where the original camp lay. Gesturing first to the dwarf, Rellim started introductions. ¡°Our geomancer and geology scholar, Magus Alvia.¡± Then he pointed to a twitching older man with a wispy beard and nervous eyes. ¡°Magus Torim, token seer and historian.¡± Next the Preceptor gestured to perhaps the most incongruous member of the group; a lean woman wearing a sword at one side with a partially shaved head and a burn covering much of one cheek. ¡°Proctor Olasis from the Seirena Ivory tower.¡± Not letting go of his halberd, Cole nodded to each of them before eyeing Rellim. ¡°Well, we made it here intact. Could you now please tell me what¡¯s going on?¡± Lighting an ornate pipe shaped like a dragon¡¯s mouth, Alvia said. ¡°We dug up something we shouldn¡¯t have and now we don¡¯t know how to bury it.¡± Nodding, Rellim elaborated. ¡°Well, to be more specific, we didn¡¯t dig it up, an earthquake uncovered it earlier this spring and the Ivory Tower of Vindabon put together this expedition by midsummer.¡± Examining the stone map, Cole asked. ¡°How did anyone know about the ruins? You can¡¯t see it from the sea and this island is uninhabited.¡± In a very dry, very tired voice, Magus Torim answered. ¡°We didn¡¯t come here looking for the Triskelion¡¯s entrance. We came here looking for this¡± The Magi pointed to a spot on the map¡¯s south-east shore. ¡°That¡­ thing up at the rift is just part of the ruin. It stretches beneath the entire island, sticking out at different parts.¡± Letting a smoke ring float up and away, Alvia corrected the older Magus. ¡°Not sticking out, pushing through. Whatever¡¯s down there is pressing up from beneath the surface and shifting the entire island around it.¡± Leaning forward, Cole spoke softly. ¡°Could this be a faerie relic? Something from their attempts to drown the world in magic?¡± Shaking his head, Rellim said. ¡°We don¡¯t think so; the animals aren¡¯t mutated, and it doesn¡¯t match anything found in the White Isles. For a while we thought the structure might be Jotunn in origin but¡­ well once we started to excavate the timeline didn¡¯t add up¡± Staring at the map, Cole asked. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Rellim and Alvia exchanged glances and the dwarf spoke. ¡°You saw the Triskelion, how it''s stuck in the rock-face, right? At first, we thought whoever built the ruin carved it into the island¡¯s guts, but that¡¯s not the case. See, the Triskelion came first, and the surrounding rock, second.¡± For all of Cole¡¯s extensive knowledge, he knew little about geology and Alvia must have guessed that from the look on his face. Dumping out some ash from her pipe she explained. ¡°Stone grows, that¡¯s a truth my people have known for a very long time. But it grows slowly over the epochs. So whatever is under this island has been here for a very long time, long enough for a castle¡¯s worth of rock to grow over it.¡± Thinking about this, Cole said. ¡°But the Jotunn have been here since the First Epoch, that¡¯s tens of thousands of-¡± Alvia shook her head. ¡°You are thinking too small.¡± Gesturing in the vague direction of the Triskelion, she said. ¡°Rock like that doesn¡¯t grow in ten thousand years, slag¡­ it might not get that big in ten million! Whatever we dug up has been sitting nice and snug before our shared ancestors climbed out of trees.¡± Cole was silent for a moment, that truth sinking into him. with every passing moment, his pile of questions grew larger and what little answers he¡¯d collected were more ominous than anything else. Privately, the Paladin thought he was well and truly out of his depth, but if Master Time guided him here, then he¡¯d try to play his part. Meeting Rellim¡¯s eyes, the Paladin said, ¡°Well, if I¡¯m going to help with this, I¡¯ll need to know all I can.¡± Fidgeting with his glasses, the Magi said. ¡°Well, it all started with an accident.¡±
: Two Weeks Previous : ¡°Preceptor¡­. uh something¡¯s happened up at the central dig.¡± Those words pulled Rellim from the text on Jotunn metallurgy he¡¯d been reading and made his heart sink. Sentences like that rarely meant anything good; especially if a Magi, even an apprentice like Carnic, wasn¡¯t being specific. Magic, especially the type practiced by the Towers, was a thing of exact certitude and methodical understanding. Students freshly raised in that tradition were rarely so imprecise; obsession with their class standing made sure of that. So, for one of Rellim¡¯s more promising adepts to be standing at the entrance of his tent, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robes and unwilling to meet his eyes, things must be¡­ difficult. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Collecting his wand and a few other trinkets, Rellim stood up. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Glancing over his shoulder, Carnic elaborated. ¡°It''s one of the workers, sir. He¡¯s inside¡­ well, I think it''s better if you just see.¡± Frowning, Rellim let himself be led from his tent and the camp. Glancing about the few scholars and magi among the flapping canvas, Rellim did his best to seem unperturbed. While no great leader of men, Rellim understood fear and how it worked; it wouldn¡¯t do for the expedition to see its nominal leader panicking. Not that he was panicking, that is, for now, Rellim was merely concerned. But after events of the past month, it would be easy for the Preceptor to pass that threshold. Trotting after the skittish apprentice, Rellim waited till they were free of the camp. ¡°Well, what happened?¡± Carnic licked his sun-chapped lips. ¡°I didn¡¯t see sir, I was in the atrium at the time. But four of the workers were moving equipment down the shaft when the crane broke. One of the workers, Abel, I don¡¯t know if you know him¡­ was on the hook.¡± A muttered oath escaped the Preceptor. ¡°Fire-and iron! They should know better. Is he injured? How badly?¡± Swallowing as they hiked up one of the marked trails, Carnic said. ¡°That¡¯s the thing sir, he fell from the near top and then when he hit the bottom he¡­ he went through it.¡± That got Rellim to hesitate. ¡°How!!! We¡¯ve been unable to get as much as a scraping of the material for analysis! A man and a crate falling a few stories should barely dent the floor!¡± Now Carnic looked a little sick. ¡°He didn¡¯t break through the floor, he went through it like a mirror and now¡­ and now he¡¯s trapped.¡± As those words sunk in, Rellim wiggled his toes in an intricate pattern and shot off twice as fast as before. The enchantment he¡¯d woven into his boots wasn¡¯t perfect, but now wasn¡¯t the time to worry about Aetheric bleed from iffy runes. Leaving Carnic literally in his dust, the Preceptor¡¯s mind raced even faster than his body. Ever since they¡¯d arrived on Mycio Island, the dig had been beset by unexpected challenges at every turn. The south-east section of the ruin they¡¯d originally intended to explore was right at tide level and practically impossible to investigate. Most of the other exposed bits of the structure were impenetrable, appearing as just masses of strange metal bursting from the rock. Only the entrance near the island¡¯s peak had been accessible and, even then, with some difficulty. Eons of sediment and sedimentary rocks had filled much of the tunnel and what lay beyond it; requiring efforts more akin to a quarry work than an archaeological dig to excavate. Repeated accidents and equipment failures slowed efforts; with only Alvia the Geomancer¡¯s efforts keeping them anywhere close to on schedule. After the fourth inexplicable act of misfortune, Rellim had started privately looking for signs of a poltergeist. He¡¯d expected to find the long-diffused remnants of some poor shipwrecked soul causing the problems, but even using every trick learned from his father and a lifetime of magical study, Rellim uncovered nothing of the sort. These accidents, along with the strange dreams some of the more sensitive among the magi were experiencing, kept everyone on edge. Nowhere to be found was the usual excitement such a large and mysterious find as the Triskelion should engender among the archaeological staff. The discovery of a massive complex belonging to an unidentified precursor culture was the sort of thing people in Rellim¡¯s profession dreamed of. Now, on this isolated island, plagued by enigmas, those dreams were souring like sun-baked goat-milk. While this wasn¡¯t the first unsettling dig Rellim had been part of; it was perhaps the first where the senior staff were just as skittish as the students and workers. The collection of magi and scholars Rellim oversaw were some of the best in their fields. Experienced and educated masters of the myriad crafts that the Vindabon Ivory Tower labeled archaeology. So for them to be at a collective loss about the Triskelion ruin¡¯s origin¡­ well, ignorance fed fear like rain does crops. On more than one occasion, Rellim or a colleague would throw up their hands, wishing for a sign as to which precursor culture or species the ruin belonged to. But now, after hearing Carnic¡¯s tale, Rellim had his sign, and it filled him with dread. Mirror magic was fae magic. They now knew the Triskelion¡¯s origin, just in time for it to swallow up someone under Rellim¡¯s protection. Finally reaching the rift, the Preceptor found nervous students and workers milling about. Upon seeing him, Magus Urbain approached, the corpulent telekinetic practically skipping to meet him. ¡°We¡¯ve evacuated the ruin and started working on wards and counter-charms. But there''s been no other activity after what happened to that poor worker.¡± Nodding his approval, Rellim headed towards the Triskelions entrance. Urbain had been in the running for the preceptorship and excellent crisis manager; he¡¯d clearly come to the same conclusion as Rellim and acted accordingly. Looking around the gathered staff, the Preceptor called out. ¡°Torim, Lomi, and Wilkith, come with me. Everyone else, Urbain, is in charge, follow his orders and maintain the perimeter here. If we don¡¯t return in one hour, evacuate to the main camp and call the Seirena tower for aid.¡± Rellim climbed the small ramp into the ruin as his selected cadre assembled. It was standard practice to never enter a dangerous site without a seer, and Torim¡¯s skill with psychometry might come in handy. Lomi was a practiced battlemage specializing in combat wards and healing. If Abel was alive, she¡¯d keep him that way, and if he wasn¡¯t, she¡¯d protect the rest of them. Wilkith was one of Urbain¡¯s favored students and a telekinetic prodigy. It would fall to him to get this little group into and out of the ruin¡¯s deeps. Standing at the ruin¡¯s entrance; Rellim considered things for a moment and then collected some climbing rope from a nearby crate. Working quickly, he bound his team together in a mountaineer¡¯s fashion. While he didn¡¯t know if it would help if any of them ¡®fell¡¯ through the floor, Rellim wouldn¡¯t spurn the possibility. That set, the four magi entered the Triskelion ruin, stepping onto the unnaturally reflective floor with trepidation. Staring down at the mirror-polished metal; Rellim chewed on one cheek. The fae weren¡¯t known for such elaborate metallurgy, but that didn¡¯t mean one of the kaleidoscope kingdoms wasn¡¯t an outlier. Walking forward, Rellim tried to ignore the tri-part reflection surrounding his group and every story he¡¯d heard of faeries pulling unsuspecting victims into mirrors. Moving deeper into the ruin, the walls and floor were slowly rotated, giving the tunnel the feeling of some titanic screw. Using the wooden planks left for this purpose, the cadre scrambled over sections of the ruin where the floor''s slant was treacherous. The farther they went, the ¡®tighter¡¯ the tunnel''s rotation became, and the cadre¡¯s reflections became more numerous and distorted. Despite Rellim calling up only a speck of magelight, the ruin was almost painfully bright; arcane light bouncing between polished metal over and over. ¡°Jagged edges!¡± came a loud curse from behind Rellim along with a rattling thunk. Spinning about he and the rest of the cadre found Thorim splayed against one wall, hands out, magical sparks flowing between his fingers. Eyes locked on his opposite reflection, the token-seer spoke slowly. ¡°Something moved.¡± Staring at the distorted mirroring of his colleague, Rellim reached out with his arcane senses. ¡°I don¡¯t feel anything, does anyone else?¡± Negative grunts and murmurs filled the hallway, and Rellim took a calming breath. ¡°It''s possible this place is playing tricks on us; either literally or figuratively. Stay on guard and keep your sixth sight close at hand. Thorim, if something like that happens again, try to catch sight of it in the Aether.¡± With that, they journeyed deeper, soon reaching the grand chamber they¡¯d named the atrium. Twenty-one meters from one end to the other, it was composed of three slightly flattened spheres that overlapped, creating odd arch-like structures where they met; giving the place an almost organic, shell-like appearance. Three tunnels stretched out from where the lobes met and at the center of the structure was a six-sided shaft that descended close to fifty meters down below. They¡¯d been excavating the other two tunnels, bridging off the atrium, having some success but recent focus had turned to the shaft, which Rellim wondered might have been a mistake. Built over the shaft¡¯s opening was a simple crane, constructed using good rope, good wood and good magic. Approaching the equipment, Rellim gingerly inspected it, finding no overt signs of tampering. Lomi got to work cranking up the line and soon where the crane broke became visible. The former battlemage held the sturdy rope in her hands and said. ¡°I¡¯d estimate this was roughly twenty meters from the top. Very tricky to cut from up here, even with telekinesis and a good knife.¡± Rellim stared at the perfectly severed rope and nodded. There was no fraying, no strain signs, just the clean split of a sharp edge. Noting how the cut end hadn¡¯t split apart, the Preceptor took the rope from Lomi and tapped it with his wand¡¯s golden tip. Whispering a sensory spell, Rellim blinked his eyes rapidly as information flowed into his brain. The magic he¡¯d just used was originally meant for measuring the smoothness of material, but with a little adjustment, Rellim used it to check the cut¡¯s precision. Letting the rope flop to the ground, the Preceptor said. ¡°I don¡¯t think a blade did this; or at least not one of mortal make.¡± Nodding slowly as he peered over the pit¡¯s lip, Rellim made his decision. ¡°We need to find out if he¡¯s alive, dead, or worse. Lomi and Thorim, can you ward us while Wilkith and I carry us down?¡± The young telekinetic adept looked back and forth from Rellim and the pit. ¡°Uh sir¡­ I don¡¯t know if I can-¡± Rellim riffled through his pockets and pulled out a small disk. Causally, the Preceptor tossed the palm-sized object onto the ground where it landed with a solid thunk. Making an arcane gesture and whispering some words, Rellim commanded the disc to grow. The outer gold band of the disc stretched and thinned as the trinket swelled to two meters in diameter. Stepping onto the now paper-thin but sturdy disc, the Preceptor asked. ¡°Have you worked with one of these before?¡± Staring at the artifact, Wilkith slowly nodded. ¡°Yes, but only a recreation, not an actual skith disc.¡± At Rellim¡¯s prompting, the telekinetic adept joined him on the disc; the pair kneeling down and touching its waxy surface. After a few tentative moments both magi were linked to the artifact. Once all four members of the group were on board, Rellim guided the disc towards the shaft''s edge. Lomi offered whispered prayers under her breath as they slipped into open air. Instead of plummeting to a messy end or joining Abel¡¯s fate the magi floated slowly downwards. Around them, the six-sided shaft seemed to spin; its corkscrew design offering surreal reflections to the disc¡¯s passengers. Cloaked in protective wards, the magi were cautious in their descent. Rellim half expected some cutting edge to slip free from the surrounding mirrors or for his trinket to buckle under some unseen assault. But even as they passed the twenty meter mark, things were still going smoothly. Mind focused on the artifact beneath him, Rellim guided the magi towards the bottom, steering the strange vessel, while Wilkith provided most of the magical power. Eventually, the tense descent ended, and the disc alighted upon smooth metal. The shaft¡¯s bottom was vaguely bulb-shaped, made of interlocking hexagons only interrupted by three tunnels branching off of it. Stone filled the offshoots with only a meter or so of the tunnels accessible. Abandoned digging tools were scattered about the space, signs of where the expedition had labored to excavate one of the passages. Buckets of broken rock lay next to rune-marked picks, and a knocked over tremor-teller tripod. The faceted walls of the shaft¡¯s bottom reflected Rellim¡¯s magelight over and over, giving the place a candle-haunted look. As Rellim stepped to the disc''s edge a frantic knocking reached his ears. With a thought, Rellim brightened the golden sphere hovering near his head and found the sound¡¯s source. All around them were reflections and reflections of reflections; each depicting a kneeling man. Wild-eyed and naked, Abel beat his fist against the shining metal, the sound the only way Rellim could identify the original. One hand on his wand, the other on the guiding line tying him to his fellows, Rellim slowly stepped onto the shaft''s vaguely concave floor. It didn¡¯t buckle beneath him and he didn¡¯t fall into his reflection. Letting out a breath he hadn¡¯t noticed he was holding, Rellim approached the trapped man. Beneath the Preceptor¡¯s feet was his own reflection, unbothered by its panicked companion on that side of the mirror. Abel looked ¡®up¡¯ towards Rellim¡¯s reflection and reached out towards it. His fingers passed through the image and a string of silent oaths escaped Abel¡¯s mouth. Kneeling down, Rellim started to trace characters in the air with his wand, leaving golden lines that formed words. After a moment¡¯s consideration, the Preceptor flipped the hovering message and let it sink onto the floor. Abel¡¯s eyes locked onto the words and he calmed slightly. ¡®Help is here, we won¡¯t leave you.¡¯ Gingerly, all but Wilkith left the disc and clustered around Rellim, staring down at the nervous Abel and his reflections. Lomi spoke first. ¡°Any idea why he¡¯s naked?¡± In response, Thorim plucked something from the ground and held it up. Pinched between two fingers was a long thread. As the seer tugged at the strange string, Lomi cursed and leapt to her feet, having been kneeling on its continuation. Thorim whispered a word and purple light extended out along the thread, revealing its shocking size. Scattered all across the shaft¡¯s bottom was a single incredibly long string, coiling and overlapping like some prehistoric worm. Letting the magic fade, the seer said. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of things like this; side effects of spatial magic. Abel is lucky; his clothes were merely regurgitated, not fused with him.¡± Hand going to the shortsword at her belt, Lomi asked. ¡°So that settles it? This is faerie business?¡± Thorim exhaled slowly and shut his eyes. Rellim could almost taste the magic the seer was working and waited patiently. Dropping the thread, Thorim hissed in annoyance. ¡°That¡­ that doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± Staring down at the string, the token-seer elaborated. ¡°I read the materials history and it was Abel''s clothes, but it was also¡­ it¡¯s also always been this thread. It has two pasts.¡± Sucking a breath in through her teeth, Lomi said. ¡°That sounds strange enough to be Fae. Any ideas on how to free our friend here?¡± Abel was currently curled up, trying to keep a modicum of modesty as the magi above/below him discussed his fate. Meeting the trapped worker¡¯s nervous eyes, Rellim said. ¡°Let''s start with the best sensor wards we know; whatever magic is at work here has to leave signs. If we can find them, we can start pulling apart what exactly happened.¡± Nodding his agreement, Thorim held onto the string, staring at the curiosity. ¡°I¡¯m still curious about this. If it''s all his clothes woven together, then perhaps by cutting the thread I might get a better reading.¡± With a quick jerk of his hand, Thorim snapped the thread and prepared his magic. For a single moment Thorim¡¯s eyes went wide, pupils dilating and then becoming pinpricks. A gurgling grunt escaped the token-seer, and he wobbled precariously. The other two magi caught their colleague before he could fall over. Cursing, Lomi placed a hand on Thorim¡¯s forehead. ¡°He¡¯s having a seizure.¡± Eyes rolled back into his head, the token-seer started to shake and groan, spit dribbling into his beard. The magi worked quickly, trying to help their colleague through the episode. Such ailments weren¡¯t uncommon among seers and similar spellweavers. Even a magi¡¯s brain could only handle so much information without side-effects. As Thorim lay on his side, spasming Rellim noticed something strange, one of the token-seer¡¯s sleeves was frayed. Staring at that oddity, the Preceptor¡¯s eyes drifted towards the string Thorim snapped, it was intact. Sucking in a deep breath, Rellim nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s get him onto the disc. He needs a proper healer, and we need more information before something else happens.¡± Lightning quick, Thorim grabbed onto Rellim with surprising strength. Pupils expanding and contracting in mad pulses, the token-seer managed to form a few words. ¡°It-it-ti-it-iti no-not-noti¡± Meeting his colleague''s alien gaze, the Preceptor asked. ¡°It¡¯s not what?¡± Thorim twitched in what might have been a shake of the head. ¡°Notice! NOTICE US!¡± Somewhere near Rellim a frantic drumbeat sounded, turning to look he found Abel pounding frantically on the mirror, shouting something. While no proper lip-reader, the Preceptor could still decipher what Abel was saying. ¡®Something¡¯s in here with me!¡¯ The trapped man¡¯s blows became faster as he looked over his shoulder, panic gripping him. Then, hand raised mid-strike he stopped and then went limp, standing there like some abandoned child¡¯s doll. Rellim raised his wand as Abel started to twitch¡­ no, not twitch, vibrate. His body becoming blurred around the edges like a bee¡¯s wings. Mouth open in shock, Rellim watched as the trapped worker became first an indistinct mass than a skin-colored smear of motion stretched between each mirrored hexagon. Clambering onto the disk, the Preceptor found his wits. ¡°We need to leave!¡± With Lomi¡¯s help Rellim got Thorim onto the artifact as Wilkith poured magic into it. Slowly, horribly slowly, the disk floated up off the tunnel floor, guided upwards and away from whatever madness they¡¯d found. Kneeling at his trinket¡¯s edge, Rellim piloted the disc while watching the mirrors. The vibrations were slowing down and soon enough Abel became more than a tan blur. For a moment, Rellim thought the worst was over; Abel was gesturing with one hand, lips flapping in unheard words. Then Rellim noticed the trapped man¡¯s eyes and saw the truth. Son of a rest-bringer and student of the arcane, Rellim knew when he was looking into a corpse''s eyes. There was nothing behind Abel¡¯s gaze, no pain, no thought, no life; not that his body cared. As this sunk in, Rellim noticed two other things simultaneously about Abel. First was how the body was moving. It flapped its arms and lips for two seconds, then stopped and repeated the gestures perfectly. The bizarre sight reminded the Preceptor of both an actor practicing a pivotal moment and some malfunctioning clockwork device. Yet Rellim only paid this a second¡¯s notice, what was happening in all the other mirrors was more important. As Abel¡¯s corpse did its sickening pantomime, so did his reflections, except they were poorer actors. It was subtle at first, but each reflection, each copy was moving uniquely, changing its patterns and actions ever so slightly with each iteration. By the time the disk was three meters in the air the only commonality between all the copies was how they stared up at the retreating magi. Dozens of empty corpse eyes watched Rellim, boring into him like a dull auger. A gurgling grunt from Thorim pulled Rellim¡¯s attention from the grotesque sight. The token-seer was also peering over the edge as he recovered from his seizure. ¡°It¡¯s learning.¡± ¡°What?¡± asked a startled Rellim. Swallowing down bile, Thorim shut his eyes. ¡°We were wrong, this isn¡¯t fae, it''s older than that; far, far older. Something has been sleeping in here, Rellim, something so ancient it doesn¡¯t know how our world works.¡± A rattling noise that might have been a sob escaped Thorim. ¡°We woke it up, Rellim, we woke it up, and we gave it a manual.¡± Peering down at the twisted copies of Abel, seeing them slowly learning how to move and act, Rellim swore. ¡°Fixed stars preserve us¡­¡± Side Story: Better Left Buried (Part Three)

Better Left Buried (Part Three)

¡°I felt the magic more than anything else. There¡¯s a sort of¡­ crackle in the air when a spell that powerful is unleashed. If you survive your first one, then you get a sense for it. Well, I did and the moment that tingle went up my neck-hair, I bolted for Battlemage Stanmark. He obviously felt it too and was preparing his shields, screaming for everyone to get close. All the old hands did, and most of the new meat¡­ but not enough. After the spell hit and when I could hear and see again; well what was outside the barrier I see it in my nightmares.¡±- A letter written by Man-at-arms Kropik after the Battle of Torek Wood.
The skith disc floated up the shaft in total silence, its occupants too stunned to speak. Glancing upwards, Rellim nodded to himself, they were near the top and so far nothing else had happened. Praying that would continue, the Preceptor started planning. ¡°Thorim, do you think you can get a message to Seirena once we¡¯re on the surface?¡± Staring off into the empty space the rattled seer took a moment to respond. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but using a messenger bird would probably be better.¡± Rellim had expected as much, but needed to be certain. Long distance psychic communication took more effort than what Thorim could currently muster. Still, the expedition wasn¡¯t stupid enough to rely on a single means of communication. Even if the two other less potent seers among the staff weren¡¯t capable, a bewitched bird could get word to the mainland. But the time delay such a method engendered pulled Rellim¡¯s mind to his most pressing concern. ¡°How long until they escape the mirror?¡± He asked, fearing what the older seer might say. Lomi and Wilkith stared at Rellim in horror, apparently not considering what the Preceptor had thought obvious. Peering over the disk''s edge at the hints of movement in the reflections below, Thorim shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know if they even can. Those copies¡­ those refractions of Abel might not be stable enough to enter reality; or at least this part of it. But I wouldn¡¯t put gold on that considering what it did to the crane.¡± Rellim nodded, being on the same page as his colleague. The myriad accidents and issues plaguing the dig site had taken on a new light. Whatever was within the ruin needed knowledge and sought it in the most classical of ways: experimentation. But with that question answered, another took its place. Was the sabotage intentional or merely a side effect? Did the ruin¡¯s occupant seek to stymie their investigation, or were the problems it caused simply the most obvious signs of its own efforts to learn? As the top of the shaft came closer, the Preceptor decided such thoughts could wait for a later date. Even if the intelligence they¡¯d encountered wasn¡¯t intentionally hostile, it had still killed a man. Now wasn¡¯t the time for curiosity and conjecture; it was time to call for help and do what they could to keep this contained. The skith disc gently slid up and onto the atrium¡¯s floor at Rellim¡¯s direction. Offering a final glance down at the now dark shaft, the Preceptor shrunk down his trinket and folded it away. Thorim was upright now but supported by Lomi, the seer still discombobulated by whatever he¡¯d encountered. Interrogating him would be important, but leaving this cursed place came first. Walking together in silence, the four magi traveled down the screw-tunnel and out into the blinding light of high summer. They found the excavation site little changed, with dozens of nervous dig staff staring up at them from where they¡¯d been waiting. Magus Urbain quickly approached them, his voice low. ¡°No luck?¡± Shaking his head, Rellim spoke quickly. ¡°We need to evacuate back to the main camp and get word to the mainland. Things¡­ things aren¡¯t good.¡± Seeing the Preceptor¡¯s grim look, Urbain swallowed down a nervous lump and started shouting orders to those around them. Before he could join his colleague in herding their subordinates, Rellim glanced back at the waiting Triskelion tunnel. Staring into that triangular opening, he got the distinct sense something was returning the favor. Shaking that uncomfortable thought off, Rellim got to work, and within two hours, the entire expedition was assembled back at the main camp. It took another hour for Rellim to relay events to his inner circle and for them to share an agreed upon abridgment with everyone else. Avoiding panic at this point was key; so better the staff and servants be told ruins were merely dangerous, not that they were hosting an eldritch intelligence of unknown origin and intent. With all that settled, Rellim could get to work on the most important task; calling for help. While one of Magus Hanna¡¯s messenger gulls could carry the Preceptor¡¯s words easily, he needed to decide exactly who to seek aid from. On the surface, this conundrum seemed non-existent. The expedition was organized by an Ivory Tower and composed of magi; of course they¡¯d seek their Seirena colleague¡¯s aid. But the Ivory Tower of Seirena wasn¡¯t the Ivory Tower of Vindabon. The high ideals of cooperation were no guarantee, especially in a situation like this. Poaching this expedition out from beneath the Aenean magi¡¯s noses hadn¡¯t earned Rellim¡¯s school any friends and academic grudges combined with avarice for the unknown might lead to tragic results. While the Preceptor didn¡¯t think the Seriena Magi would do anything untoward, it couldn¡¯t be guaranteed. Powerful people tended to get irrational when words like ¡®ancient ruins¡¯ ¡®mysterious magics¡¯ or ¡®dangerous precursor¡¯ were put together. Rellim would not risk any more of his subordinates in this mess, so a counterweight was needed. Of his options, the temples seemed the most obvious. Not only did they have the political and arcane strength to match the Ivory Tower, their priests might have crucial expertise on this matter. Sitting in his tent, stylus in hand, Rellim knew which of the temples he needed to contact. In a fit of cosmic irony, his first choice in these matters was also seemingly the correct one. From what Thorim had said and what the Preceptor himself had witnessed, this was a matter for Master Time¡¯s followers. Thinking about the dead empty eyes of the Abel refractions and how the snapped string repaired itself, Rellim became more certain of this. His expedition had uncovered something beyond their ken, but hopefully not a Knight-Proctor of the Tower or a Hierophant of Time¡¯s.
Rellim stood atop a bluff near Mycio Island¡¯s north shore, staring at the fast-growing dot in the sky. It had been a week since he¡¯d sent his message and less than an hour ago Thorim received psychic word that the Knight-Proctor was close, and arriving by air. This relatively fast response was not unwelcome but still concerning, especially since there was no sign of the counterbalance Rellim sought. So, wand in hand, the Preceptor prepared for the proctor and tried not to worry about the lack of Tenth Temple aid. With every passing second, the dot grew until it resolved itself into three specks, each vaguely oval in shape. Tapping his glasses with his wand, Rellim zoomed in on the shapes and sucked in a nervous breath. They were giant feathers, each at least three meters long and flying through the air fast as any bird. Sitting atop each of them was a warrior in full rune-etched armor, multi-hued sparks dripping from where they gripped the quill tip of their strange steed. The Knight-Proctor and their subordinates were arriving by rukh feather. This was extraordinary and did little to settle the Preceptor¡¯s nerves. Using such a potent elemental relic for mere fast transport was shocking and meant the tower was taking his plea seriously. Now the question was what form would their response take? Deciding it was too late for doubts, Rellim raised his wand and shot a series of fiery words into the air, directing the proctors towards a safe space to land. The three feathers shifted slightly as their passengers altered the magic wind carrying them aloft. Leaving the bluff, Rellim headed towards the reasonably flat stretch of island he¡¯d directed his potential allies towards. Hand on his hat to keep it from blowing away, the Preceptor watched the three feathers descend in a slow circling path. The very air tingled with magic as the relics shaped the wind to their rider¡¯s will. With a final roaring gale, the feathers landed, the spell bound to them fading away as the proctors changed focus. All three were tall, well-built soldiers, two carrying swords and the last a long ornate spear. The spear-user took off his helmet, revealing a shock of white hair and deep bronze skin. Sunborn wrinkles fought old scars for space as the Knight-Proctor¡¯s steady, single-eyed gaze drank in Rellim and his assembled inner circle. One of the old battlemage¡¯s scars traced along the left side of his face, disappearing under the rune-etched eyepatch he wore. Judging by looks alone, Rellim was dealing with that most terrifying of persons, an elder in a dangerous profession. The title proctor was given to those magi tasked with enforcing the law upon their fellows and keeping order within the Ivory Towers. They were the shield raised in defense of magic¡¯s sanctity and the sword placed at the throat of all its practitioners. But among their numbers, those called knights were the most seasoned and effective. These were the battlemages and spellswords sent to deal with the worst threats to the Ivory towers. Facing such a warrior, Rellim could only hope that the enchanted spear he carried would be pointed in a palatable direction. Holding out a hand, Rellim introduced himself. ¡°Preceptor Rellim Hardspade of the Vindabon Archaeology School. Thank you for coming so quickly.¡± After a long moment, the Knight-Proctor took the offered hand. ¡°Haddon Sharp-Staff.¡± gesturing to his left and right, he continued. ¡°My squires, Olasis and Yimik.¡± Olasis was a lean woman with a partially shaved head and scarred cheek. Yimik by contrast, was a hulking bearblood with heavy sideburns and ruddy wild hair. Accepting the pair¡¯s curt nods, Rellim couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the drastically inappropriate title of squire. While the two battlemages were clearly assistants and potential successors to Haddon, they didn¡¯t exactly look like the fresh-faced noblings the word squire brought to mind. Haddon¡¯s single eye fixed on the distant peak of the Triskelion rift. ¡°Take us to the problem. Sooner we deal with it, the better.¡± Glancing at the two squires as they collected and stored the rukh feathers, Rellim made a small but important gamble. ¡°Did the Tenth Temple not send anyone? We¡¯re extraordinarily grateful to have your aid, but their aid might prove important.¡± It wasn¡¯t the most diplomatic question, and judging by Haddon¡¯s iron stare, he didn¡¯t appreciate the implied doubt of his abilities. Still, it had to be asked, and after a few seconds of letting Rellim cook beneath his gaze, the Knight-Proctor answered it. ¡°The Tower will inform them if they are needed; which is doubtful. Old fae relics like this pop up every few years; we of Aenea are long used to handling even their time magic.¡± A surge of deep dread welled up in Rellim. ¡°In my letter, I mentioned how we think the site might pre-date the fae or other known precursors. One of my magus is a skilled geomancer and has dated some of the-¡± Haddon cut him off with a gesture. ¡°If you are relying on physical signs for identification, then of course your findings will be inaccurate. Anywhere the fae infested is twisted, no scholarly assessment is worth shit when it comes to their ruins. You can¡¯t measure layers of dirt or any other academic trick to get the whole story about creatures who warp the world around them.¡± That sense of foreboding in Rellim was growing with every passing second. Before him stood not just an old professional in a dangerous career but the much less desirable other side of that same coin; a headstrong elder so set in their ways they couldn¡¯t adapt. If Rellim had to guess, Haddon was probably beyond knowledgeable and effective in his set fields of expertise; but seemingly unable to conceive of matters outside his context. The Ivory Tower of Seirena had read the Preceptor¡¯s letter and sent who they thought best, instead of who he¡¯d requested. Swallowing down his nerves, Rellim could only pray he was catastrophizing, not prophesying. Deciding acquiescence was his best option, the Preceptor changed topics and focus. ¡°I¡¯ll take you to the site and answer any questions you have.¡± Fittingly for experienced magi, Haddon and his squires had many inquiries for Rellim and his fellows. They hunted after details, cutting through so many words to find what they thought was important. Aside from sharing testimony of events in the tunnels, the expedition offered accounts of all that had happened in the weeks since the Abel incident. Despite layering the shaft¡¯s entrance in protective wards and even sealing the Triskelion¡¯s entrance, uncanny events still plagued the archaeologist. The strange dreams once only found amongst the most sensitive were now common among all the magi and even a few of the mundane staff. Even Rellim hadn¡¯t escaped the dreams, suffering two in the last week. In both he¡¯d been in his office back in Vindabon trying to decipher a scroll made of stone, except every time he blinked or otherwise moved, things around him subtly shifted. Books would change positions on shelves, or furniture would be ever so slightly tilted a handful of degrees. Gripped by that irrational fervor found in dreams, Rellim kept at his translation as with every moment, his office slowly transfigured into something unrecognizable. Eventually, after minutes that felt like hours, he¡¯d look up from the impossible scroll and find himself in a madman¡¯s parody of what once was familiar. Shelves teetering at dangerous angles, their books spilled out into open air, dangling mid-fall above low tables now barely a hand-span tall or bent into ludicrous shapes. The first dream ended with Rellim staring out at this surreality, drinking in its twisted details before consciousness came like a punch to the gut. But in the second dream, he lingered long enough to stand from his desk, which now boughed at the middle and walked to his office¡¯s single window. With every step, Rellim became more and more convinced someone was on the other side of that frosted glass, waiting for him. Strangely, the notion filled him with both giddy excitement and deep terror, both emotions mounting as he came closer to the window. When he stood before the smudged oculus, the Preceptor squinted at his own dusty reflection, trying to see what lay past it. Leaning in towards the glass, despite part of himself screaming not to, Rellim¡¯s dream ended right as his own reflection reached out to touch him. While those originally afflicted with the odd dreams were unwilling to share them, once their importance came to light and they became more common, that self-inflicted taboo died. With every shared dream, the similarities became clear; each had the same basic concept of a familiar space slowly transfiguring in some absurd way. Only some experienced the foreign presence like Rellim, but it was comforting he wasn¡¯t the only one. Haddon found these particularly interesting, and the Preceptor could understand why. The entity in the ruins was clearly touching the expedition¡¯s unconscious minds by some unknown method and for some unknown reason. The stream of questions from the Proctors finally ended as they finally reached the Triskelion rift. Having approached from the west, they entered at one of the rift¡¯s mouths, getting a good look at the abandoned excavation and hastily blocked off ruin. Staring at the great reflective triangle set into the smooth rock, Haddon asked. ¡°Do you know how large the structure is?¡± Magus Alvia cleared her throat. She¡¯d not been too pleased with how dismissive the Proctors were of her geological assessments. Having argued as a trained stone savant, scholar and clan dwarf, she¡¯d have ¡®slagging noticed signs of fae arse-spoil in the rock.¡¯ But, in an unusually diplomatic move, she didn¡¯t continue this argument. ¡°We¡¯ve used tremor-tellers and other methods to get a notion of what¡¯s down there and it''s massive. The entire island sits on top of the complex, with only a few parts of it sticking out into open air.¡± To literally illustrate her point, the Magus squatted down and placed her hands on a reasonably flat hunk of rock. Eyes shut, she made a deep noise in the back of her throat and the rock shifted like disturbed water. When it settled, the stone showed a series of interlinking spirals. Overlapping and flowing into each other, the spirals were clustered in threes, giving the ruin a strange symmetry. At the center of the branching whirls was a tri-lobed cave with a shaft branching down from it into the lower coils and the single tunnel stretched out and breaking the complex¡¯s radial perfection. Staring at the simplified version of what lay beneath their feet, Haddon grunted. ¡°I see why you named it the Triskelion.¡± Pointing at the central shaft that connected the upper atrium and lower spirals, the Knight-Proctor asked. ¡°That''s where the incident happened?¡± Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Rellim nodded and Haddon unbuckled his spear, flickers of indigo fire dancing along its blades. ¡°I want to examine the site and see if these ¡®refracted¡¯ remain. Preceptor, will you accompany us?¡± Letting out a nervous breath, Rellim checked over his robes and the small collection of arcane trinkets he kept on his person. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll need a guide.¡± Soon enough, the Preceptor stood at the entrance of the Triskelion while Magus Urbain telekinetically removed the piled stone plugging the triangular tunnel. Nearby, the three proctors checked over each other''s armor and weapons. Haddon¡¯s spear and his squire¡¯s swords were all intricate casting foci, the battle-tested cousins to Rellim¡¯s own wand. Comparing his own arcane focus and collection of protection runes to the arsenal displayed was enough to have the senior archaeologist feeling grossly unprepared. Magi were often defined by their collections of magical items, using them to bolster and expand their capabilities. While Rellim¡¯s favorites were more than adequate for his uses, they wouldn¡¯t be much use in a true battle. Deciding he¡¯d do his best to keep the proctors between him and any danger, Rellim turned his focus towards the quartet of magi, examining the locus for the warding arrays they¡¯d put inside the ruin. They¡¯d been here before Rellim and the proctors arrived, making final checks to the complicated spells left inside the ruins. Catching bits of the hushed but clearly intense conversation they were having, Rellim asked. ¡°Find anything?¡± The senior of the four, Magus Yvonne, a mousy woman with a slight tic in one cheek, said. ¡°We¡¯ve found something strange; possibly an explanation to the detector ward issue.¡± That got Rellim¡¯s attention. The last thing the expedition had done before sealing off the ruin was cover the atrium in sensor spells, hoping to catch hints of whatever magic had trapped and killed Abel. Despite near constant examinations of the wards, they¡¯d found no sign of whatever pulled the poor man into the mirror; which made no sense. Magic of that scale and scope always left a mark, one a team of skilled magi should find easier than a bloodhound did a cut of raw steak. Fidgeting slightly, Magus Yvonne gestured at the collection of intricate quartz crystals making up the array¡¯s heart. ¡°When I heard the proctors were coming, it seemed a good idea to do a few extra checks. And¡­ and when we did, things didn¡¯t match what we recorded.¡± Rellim¡¯s eyes were drawn then to another member of the quartet, Adept Corico, who was squatting down, a notebook in one hand, the other stroking some of the crystals, tiny ribbons of light dripping from his fingers. The Adept was checking the quartz, feeling the information trapped in the spells bound to them, and clearly not liking what he found judging by the ever deepening frown on his umber face. Letting out a curse, Corico stood up and handed the logbook to his senior. Yvonne took it and after a long look, spoke faster. ¡°We do multiple readings every day and record them; but the spell itself remembers what it experienced. They should match perfectly and they did yesterday and every day since we set the wards, but now they don¡¯t.¡± Lips parting, Rellim slowly asked. ¡°What changed?¡± Fidgeting, Yvonne glanced at the notebook as if she expected its contents to have also changed. ¡°Our records say the Aether was normal over the past week, showing only slight shifts when we worked our more potent spells. But, the magic itself says the Aether has been stirred up horribly. More than that, the spells show signs of stress, like they¡¯d been taxed by overuse. Specifically, twice as much use as they were intended.¡± Part of the Preceptor wanted to ask stupid questions like if the records could be wrong or if someone might have tampered with the detector spells. Instinct and education told him to seek the simplest solution, but experience had a differing opinion. The razor of rationality was excellent in cutting to the truth most of the time, but when you were mired in bizarre arcane phenomena, easy answers weren¡¯t common. Long ago, Rellim learned in moments like these not to deny the impossible just because it was happening; better to accept and adapt. Slowly taking the notebook from Yvonne, Rellim looked it over in a token effort of finding that vaunted simple solution. The old records were intricate, methodical and verbose; as were the new results pulled from the crystals today. Both sets of data told contradicting stories that, when put together with other facts Rellim collected, pointed in a worrying direction. Four skilled magi had witnessed Abel¡¯s fate and none of them had sensed anything, nor had they or anyone else detected the magic clearly at work inside the ruin. So unless whatever was inside could break the rules of reality without magic, then it had some method of hiding its actions. A method Rellim was starting to understand thanks to what happened to Thorim in the ruin. The Token-Seer had seen two pasts for the thread made from Abel¡¯s clothes. That same bizarre string healed itself seemingly at the cost of Thorim¡¯s own sleeve, and in doing so pulled the attention of whatever resided within the ruin. Attention that gave the seer a seizure as his attuned mind brushed against the entity. Thorim¡¯s brain unable to handle contact with something so profoundly alien. But now, staring at the crystals and the logbook, Rellim had an idea of exactly how alien the Triskelion entity was. ¡°It hid its spell in the future, or at least part of it,¡± he murmured, trying to make his brain hold the idea that threatened to slip away. ¡°The magic couldn¡¯t be erased, but it could be put where we wouldn¡¯t see it.¡± The Preceptor stared off into space, putting his jumbled thoughts into order. ¡°Think of a mage hiding behind a boulder, jumping out to shoot flame and then scurrying back behind it when their enemies came looking. Except the mage isn¡¯t moving through space, but through time, using the future as their cover.¡± Coming back the moment and seeing the magi looking at him with confusion, Rellim shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? The damn thing is a mountebank, shuffling its cards and playing tricks on the blind! It cast its magic on Abel last week and hid the effects on the Aether in today. You all recorded what the Aether was like before the spell ¡®arrived¡¯ in the present, so that¡¯s why it doesn¡¯t match! The Mountebank changed things in its favor and reality adjusted, just like the thread. But there has to be a cost, all magic has a price, especially madness like this. That¡¯s why Thorim¡¯s sleeve broke and the sensor wards are damaged.¡± Yvonne and her fellows stared at Rellim in confusion. Grimacing, Rellim handed the logbook back to her and headed for the Proctors. ¡°Thank you; this might help us solve this whole mess!¡± The three battlemages waited and watched while Urbain finished his work. The Telekinetic had just pulled out the last boulder from the Triskelion¡¯s entrance and was setting it down nearby, sweat beading on his brow as he moved solid rock through will alone. Huffing slightly, he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. ¡°The shaft is sealed primarily with spells; Rellim knows how to deactivate them. Which- ah, well he can explain it better than I can.¡± As the corpulent Magus waddled away, Haddon and his squires turned to regard Rellim as he said. ¡°I have a few ideas about the entity.¡± After listening to the Preceptor¡¯s theory, Haddon grunted. ¡°If the Sidhe can steal moments and trade them like baubles, then maybe this ¡®Mountebank¡¯ can hide in them¡± Without further ceremony the old battlemage climbed the ramp to the Triskelion, his squires following him, Rellim a step behind them. Stepping over the dust and gravel left by Urbain¡¯s efforts, the quartet entered the screw-tunnel, senses peeled for anything abnormal. Magelight flared from Haddon¡¯s spear-staff, coating its tip in blue flames. In that queer glow, the warped reflections surrounding the group became pale unearthly things; which reminded Rellim too much of a wraith¡¯s phosphorescence to be comfortable. Aside from the unnerving illumination, there was no sign of activity, paranormal or otherwise. Nothing had changed inside the ruin and Rellim got the sense that thought had been applicable for entire epochs before his expedition came sniffing about. Entering into the atrium, the group slowly approached the collection of wards surrounding the shaft. Wooden planks had been laid over the hole and atop them were layers of arcane defenses marked in runes and crystals. At Haddon¡¯s prompting, Rellim reached out to the wards with his mind and prepared to deactivate the more¡­ active defenses. Standing over the magical array, the Preceptor paused as his Aetheric senses brushed against the wards. A thought had just occurred to him and its implications sent ice through his veins. If the Mountebank could shift its influence on the Aether through time to trick their spells and senses¡­ then what good were these defensive wards? A noise echoed through the atrium then, a horrible horrible noise Rellim recognized. ¡®Thunk thunk thunk¡¯ Slowly turning towards the sound''s origin, the Preceptor saw what he¡¯d feared. Near the atrium¡¯ entrance, in the reflective surface of the wall, stood a naked corpse, its fist banging on the mirror. Staring at the body, Rellim¡¯s brain pointed out details in a vain attempt to stop his growing panic. Abel, or at least this copy of him, was decaying slowly, looking like he¡¯d spent a day in a cold mortuary, not a week on the other side of a mirror. Also the pattern of blows was familiar, almost identical to the real Abel¡¯s frantic strikes. But the refracted copy¡¯s mouth merely flapped like a fish, unable to form the original¡¯s final words. Pointing his wand at the copy, Rellim hissed. ¡°We have a problem.¡± The proctors moved quickly, getting into formation as the Aether stirred with their gathering power. Raising one hand, Haddon made a series of gestures and a sigil cast from blue fire floated from his fingers and towards the copy. Upon touching the mirror wall, the sigil became blindly bright and then vanished with a snap. Blinking away afterimages, Rellim thought for a second he was seeing double as other refracted appeared in other parts of the walls. But the growing rumble of dozens of fists slamming against the mirrors ended that notion. All around them, in every panel of the walls, was a copy, each hammering their fist and flapping their lips in a sickening parody of Abel¡¯s last moments. Spear-staff at the ready, Haddon slowly approached the nearest wall, his single eye fixed on the refracted opposite him. With a whispered word of power, the Knight-Proctor drove his weapon forward, its tip cracking against the mirror wall, sending ripping sparks out from the point of impact. Occult sigils flared momentarily in the crackling discharge and Haddon started to ¡®draw¡¯ with his speartip, painting runes of blue fire onto the mirror. Pulling his weapon back, the Knight-Proctor pressed his hand into the rune¡¯s center and Rellim watched in shock as the fire¡¯s reflection went ¡®deeper¡¯ into the mirror, coiling around the Abel copy and binding it in tongues of sapphire flame. Slowly the refracted was lifted into the air by its fiery shackles, held in place as Haddon positioned himself, spear at the ready. With a lightning quick jab, he stabbed open air and his reflection impaled the copy, catching it right through the heart, sending clots of drying blood flying in a brown splatter. Streams of blue fire danced up the mirror-spear¡¯s tip and flowed into the refracted as the Knight-Proctor started to speak words of magic. Then, with a loud grunt, Haddon fell to one knee, the magic flickering out like a drowned candle. Proctor Yimik ran to his mentor¡¯s side, sword flaring with arcane power. Dropping his spear, clutching his squire with one hand, Haddon slammed his other one into his chest and sparks flew from the blow. Letting out a long groan, the Knight-Proctor got to his feet and collected the dropped staff with a thought. Using it to keep upright, Haddon approached Rellim, still clutching at his chest. Voice tight with pain, the old warrior said. ¡°It just gave me a heart-attack.¡± Deciding now wasn¡¯t the time to be stunned by Haddon¡¯s hardiness, Rellim asked. ¡°What were you doing?¡± Sucking in deep breaths and filling his body with reinforcing magic, the Knight-Proctor said. ¡°Testing some theories.¡± gesturing about them with his staff he added. ¡°These aren¡¯t reflections, or at least not entirely.¡± Haddon shut his single eye for a moment and then continued. ¡°They are moments of time, split off and contained. Bubbles of near-identical alternatives we brush against but don¡¯t enter.¡± An ugly smile spread along the Knight-Proctor¡¯s face. ¡°Or at least aren¡¯t supposed to enter. I managed it, and your Mountebank responded.¡± Taking this in, Rellim nodded but then sought clarification. ¡°No specifically, what were you physically doing when it attacked?¡± Turning to the others, he said. ¡°That goes for all of us.¡± Confused, Yimik offered. ¡°I think I was looking at Master Haddon.¡± Olasis nodded. ¡°I was as well.¡± Frowning, Haddon said. ¡°I shut my eye to focus on the spell. Foolish of me.¡± Rellim looked past his fellows to the Abel copy that was attacked. Aside from a smear of dead blood upon its chest, the refracted showed no sign of being stabbed. Like the others, Rellim had been focused on Haddon. Much like the snapped thread became whole when no one was looking at it, the refracted had healed. Sorting this important fact away, the Preceptor said. ¡°I think we should head back to camp, to get you better treatment, Knight-Proctor.¡± Shaking his head, Haddon knocked on his breastplate, the sound eerily like the rhythmic blows coming all around them. ¡°I always come prepared for fulgurmancy. This isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve restarted my heart during battle.¡± The dead serious looks on both squires'' faces told Rellim the old knight wouldn¡¯t be dissuaded. ¡°Fine, I suppose I should finish undoing the protections so we can examine the-¡± ¡®THUNK!¡¯ All eyes whirled to one corner of the room where Rellim expected to find an agitated refracted; which he did in a way. Sprawled on the ground was one of the copies, it had fallen through the mirror and into this side of reality. All around them the refracted pushed against the looking glass, slipping through the shimmering material and towards Rellim¡¯s group. Thorim¡¯s words echoed in the Preceptor¡¯s mind. ¡®We woke it up, Rellim, we woke it up, and we gave it a manual.¡¯ Haddon hadn¡¯t just pierced the mirror and evoked a backlash, he¡¯d shown the Mountebank a new trick, one it was quickly learning. Blades at the ready, the proctors formed a loose triangle around Rellim, prepared for whatever attack may come. Voice still taut and grim, Haddon barked. ¡°Aim to restrain, not hurt.¡± Within a few seconds, nearly two dozen of the refracted were free from the mirrors and standing about, a husk parade awaiting their orders. Rellim prepared his own binding spells, wondering if the refracted would attack like the hungering ghouls they so resembled, or simply keep standing there, uncertain of what to do. After nearly half a minute of the tense stand-off, the copies did neither. Some of them started walking towards the atrium¡¯s exit while others skirted around the magi, heading for the sealed off shaft. That sent a bolt of concern up Rellim¡¯s spine, particularly the idea of what might happen if the husks triggered the defenses on the shaft. Would the backlash merely damage the spells or the magi who cast them? That wasn¡¯t a risk Rellim was willing to take. ¡°Stop them while I shut off the defenses!¡± To their credit the three proctors understood his reasoning within seconds, and Yimik stepped forward, flipping his sword into a reverse grip, the gemstone pommel glowing with focused power. Some of the rope left behind from the dismantled crane snapped out like a whip and slithered about the two closest refracted. With a thought, the large bearblood tied the pair together, winding lengths of cord about them, while his comrades did similar to the others. Soon all six refracted were trapped, while Rellim himself conjured a barrier of force at the exit tunnel¡¯s mouth, just in time for the first copy to bounce off it like a fly on a window. Even tied up as they were, the six refracted ¡®assigned¡¯ to the shaft kept wriggling, trying to move towards the planks blocking off the vertical tunnel. This time, there was no backlash and Rellim thought they were making progress, then his crude ward at the atrium¡¯s entrance shattered. A noise like thunder exploded through the ruin, deafening Rellim, his ears ringing as he fell to the ground. Trying to gather his wits, Rellim realized his ward had been smashed by incredible kinetic force, and the refracted who¡¯d been pressed up against his barrier was gone. Looking about him, the Preceptor¡¯s hearing returned just in time for a strange buzzing to reach his ears. One of the tied up refracted was¡­ was vibrating, its body blurred like a bee¡¯s wings. Bits of shredded hemp puffed in the air around the refracted, as it twitched on the floor at eye-escaping speeds. Thinking about Abel''s fate, Rellim started to shout something about the refracted¡­ well refracting into more copies and then a second thunderbolt rocked the chamber, this one followed by sticky rain. Rellim¡¯s wards flared around him, crackling as they fought against some attack. Through the distortion of his arcane defenses, Rellim saw a world turned pink. A cloud of cherry mist filled the atrium, and with it a horrible stink. Wiping away some of the crimson vapor clinging to his face and glasses, the Preceptor realized he was on the ground and surrounded by flecks of¡­ of something. Head still reeling from the two blasts, he reached out and picked up some of the splinters dotting the ground near him. He winced upon touching a bitterly sharp metal shard and quickly settled upon a familiarly textured flinder. Holding up the centimeter-long scrap, Rellim¡¯s years of archaeological experience told him its nature. ¡°Bone?¡± Able to hear his own voice now, the Preceptor dropped the fragment and looked around as the reddish fog settled, covering the cave in a slick stinking film. Yimik and Olasis were sprawled out nearby, also reeling from the explosion, their armor¡¯s runes glowing white-hot in response to whatever just happened. Five of the refracted still lay on the ground, struggling against their bonds, but aside from the one that had been vibrating, the cavern was missing another occupant. Haddon was gone, his staff laying on the ground a few meters away. Shakily, Olasis got to her knees, and stared around, her eyes wide with incredulity and recognition. ¡°Fu-fuck!¡± A low groan escaped Yimik as he tried to stand up. In an uncertain voice, the large proctor asked the question on Rellim¡¯s mind ¡°Wh-where is Master Haddon?¡± Grim faced, Olassis looked all about the cave. ¡°Everywhere, he¡¯s everywhere around us.¡± Her meaning sunk into Rellim like a poisoned dagger as he stared at the red mess and the bits of metal and bone mixed in with it. Gazing around the chamber, Rellim looked towards the entrance, seeing a long smear of crimson heading out of the atrium, the tracks of something moving incredibly fast. The vibrating refracted had gotten free and left the Triskelion; Knight-Proctor Haddon just happened to be standing in its way when it did. Despite his efforts, the Preceptor vomited up his lunch all over the blood-coated floor. He¡¯d been around death, and seen its myriad forms, but this¡­ this was new and beyond horrible. There wasn¡¯t even anything left to bury, just a spray of liquefied person and enough shrapnel to nearly crack Rellim¡¯s wards. That thought made other things click into place, the first explosion, the one that destroyed his crude barrier, it had been one of the refracted ¡®accelerating¡¯ like what killed Haddon; there just had been no one to accelerate through for it. Then like toppling gambling tiles another more obvious realization struck him. Two of the refracted were loose out at the dig site, and he was surrounded by the rest. Staring at the five bound copies of poor dead Abel, Rellim sucked in a breath. ¡°We need to leave! NOW!¡± Side Story: Better Left Buried (Part Four)

Better Left Buried (Part Four)

¡°All the gods have an element or two associated with them. Father Sky has lightning, Sister Sun has fire, Uncle Trickster has sound; the list goes on. But of the Pantheon, I think none has a more suitable element as Master Time. Cold is an absence that alters, a preserver that destroys, it is what fills every ending and is also everything¡¯s ending. There really couldn¡¯t be a more perfect metaphor for the Tenth God.¡± - Writings of Saint Mira the Martyr
¡°We left the Triskelion after that and found the dig site in chaos. Magus Urbain was dead, three others wounded, all caught in the accelerated¡¯s path or the shrapnel it created. Thankfully, it sped off into the island¡¯s south and we could evacuate back to the main camp. Once that was done, Yimik left for the mainland by feather, taking his master¡¯s staff and word of our predicament to the tower. I assume his arrival was what shook my original message loose from the bureaucrats and let it reach your temple.¡± Rellim absently cleaned his glasses as he reached his stories end. ¡°After that, we mainly stayed at the camp, monitoring the growing number of refracted. For a while they kept to themselves, milling about the ruin, doing some crude digging but not much else. That ended three days ago; their excavation efforts became more¡­ involved, and they started approaching us.¡± Across from the Preceptor, the Paladin sat slightly hunched over, polearm on his lap, a frown accentuating his terrible scars. This ¡®Cole¡¯ had been silent the entire story, simply drinking in the information, his ever-deepening scowl the only sign of emotion or comprehension offered. While Rellim wouldn¡¯t admit it, the grim intensity of his newfound ally was more than a little intimidating; and judging by how Proctor Olasis kept one hand on her sword at all time, he wasn¡¯t the only one who felt similarly. Gesturing at the crude walls surrounding them, Rellim continued speaking. ¡°We prepared this little redoubt in case matters got bad enough to require abandoning the main camp. Which they did, before most of the supplies could be moved. The normal refracted sniffing about our tents was bad enough, once one of the accelerated got too close yesterday I decided it was time to evacuate.¡± Finally, Cole broke his silence, asking. ¡°Why here?¡± Alvia shrugged, a lopsided smile crossing her face. ¡°This is where I could find the best stone.¡± Understanding crossed the Paladin¡¯s face. ¡°The destroyed trees and ripples on the rock¡­ They can¡¯t punch through your barricade.¡± Nodding, Alvia replied. ¡°It sounds like a cave-in when one hits, and the stone fragments test our wards, but it''s better than ending up like poor old Urbain.¡± Staring at the nearest wall, Cole considered this. ¡°I¡¯m assuming there isn¡¯t a magical backlash when that happens. Do they still regenerate?¡± Rellim answered. ¡°No backlash, or at least not one any of us suffered; and we assume so. We¡¯ve found no evidence of a body after each impact, and there is a trail leading away each time.¡± That got Cole to pause for a moment. ¡°And Knight-Proctor Haddon said each reflection was a reality-pocket, or something similar?¡± Olasis jerked her head in confirmation, and the Paladin considered this. Slowly standing up, placing his halberd on one shoulder, Cole said. ¡°I have an idea. Is there any way to track the accelerated?¡± Token-Seer Thorim pulled a strange object from one pocket and set it on the map table. To the uninitiated it might look like a crude bit of tribal artistry using quartz and seashells; but in truth it was a cleverly made magical artifact. Pointing at the shells fastened to the trinket, Thorim slowly explained. ¡°We¡¯ve been trying to map their movements. Each of these shells is one half of a whole, the other is placed somewhere on the island and both will vibrate if something moves too fast near one of-¡± Near the top of the strange device one of the parted seashells started to rattle. Sucking in a breath, the still not fully recovered Seer continued. ¡°One of them is a kilometer east of us.¡± Looking in that direction, Cole calmly said. ¡°I¡¯m going to try and capture or destroy it.¡± After a moment of shock, the various magi reacted with incredulity. Proctor Olasis finally breaking her silence and lashing out with razor words. ¡°Did you not listen to a word, the Preceptor said? Any damage done to them is reflected! Even if your god is protecting you, there''s no way of knowing how long that will last! Besides, the first ones to accelerate were those we bound. Who knows what will happen next if you even succeed? Will they move even faster and run across the ocean, reaching the mainland?¡± Trying to steer the discussion back in a more civil direction, Rellim interjected. ¡°We¡¯ve tried to capture more of the refracted, but with little luck, they either eventually broke free through brute force, or became accelerated. That state seems to activate when they¡¯re impeded, ?so the Proctor has a point.¡± Scratching at his short white-blond hair, the Paladin replied. ¡°I¡¯m not suggesting I run out there with my axe, some rope and a prayer, hoping for the best. I might know how the entity within the ruins is doing all this and what could stop it.¡± Shutting his eyes, the Paladin explained his efforts to free the refracted souls and the subsequent occult double-vision he¡¯d experienced. This new piece to the ever-growing puzzle itched at Rellim¡¯s mind as a conclusion tried to gnaw its way to the forefront of consciousness. But thankfully for everyone, Cole had already put things together, or at least was closer than anyone else. ¡°The Mountebank, as you are calling it, can manipulate time, but not without limit or cost.¡± spoke Cole. ¡°It couldn¡¯t create a body or servitors from scratch but needed to take Abel and twist him; or¡­ perhaps slice him is more accurate.¡± Fishing through his bag, Cole found a small loaf of travel bread and held it up. ¡°Imagine this is Abel, not physically, but chronologically. One end is his birth, the other is his death¡± Setting the loaf down on the stone table, he tapped the ¡®death¡¯ end of the bread and continued. ¡°I don¡¯t know why the thing in the ruins pulled him into the reflections, or if it even intended to kill him, but that matters little. No matter the Mountebank¡¯s intentions, it ended Abel¡¯s life, but not in any mundane way.¡± Pulling a knife from his belt, Cole cut the death end of the loaf off and set it so it stood upright, his blade separating it from the rest of the bread. ¡°This piece here is Abel¡¯s death, an event that happened within a reality-pocket our foe can manipulate.¡± Gingerly, Cole took the slice of death and started tearing it into smaller pieces, setting them in a line on one side of the knife. Soon the intact loaf faced an army of crumbs kept away by polished steel. ¡°I think this is what the Mountebank did to him.¡± Picking up one of the crumbs, the Paladin explained. ¡°The refracted I encountered seemed halfway between a copy and a corpse. They mimicked actions without reason and did tasks a laborer like Abel would know, but poorly. I thought strange necromancy was at fault at first, and in a way I might be right. Except instead of a dead body or captured soul being puppeteered, it''s a man¡¯s final moment.¡± Dropping the fleck of bread onto the table, Cole knelt down then and did the strangest thing. He blew on the intact loaf like it was fresh from the oven and then on the crumbs, sending many scattering. Seeing the odd looks the surrounding magi were giving him, the Paladin managed to look sheepish, even with all his scars. ¡°What I meant by that was the energy needed to manipulate a living person might be too much; but not a single moment¡¯s refraction¡± Deciding he needed to reevaluate his impression of the Paladin, Rellim leaned over the scattered bread crumbs and slowly nodded. ¡°I think I understand what you are saying. If the Sidhe could bottle a moment and trade them, then perhaps the Mountebank can peel off parts of an instance and use them. Our opponent needs a medium to interact with our part of reality and is using the crumbs of Abel.¡± Cole nodded, a tiny smile flickering across his face on being understood. Alvia who¡¯d been staring at the scattered crumbs, asked. ¡°Why are the refracted acting like Abel when he was alive then? Shouldn¡¯t they be¡­ well, not to be too morbid, but just be panicking?¡± That got a grimace from the Paladin, an expression rendered horrific by his scars. ¡°The brain doesn¡¯t decay instantly. It actually retains much of its functions for some time after death. Judging by what Rellim described with the copies knocking on the walls and flapping their lips, I think that was exactly what the refracted could only do at first. But the Mountebank doesn¡¯t want a captured moment, it wants a tool of some kind and has been quickly learning how to use Abel¡¯s dying moment like some¡­ some complicated piece of machinery. Except it clearly hasn¡¯t figured out the exact minutia or cannot fully separate the useful functions from the not so useful.¡± Leaning forward, Thorim wore a face of intense concentration. ¡°Even if you are correct, how does this connect to capturing or destroying the refracted?¡± Cole tapped a finger on some of the remaining crumbs. ¡°The backlash and altered sensors tell us this is a magical phenomenon with a cost. That the Mountebank has tried to hide this cost or push it onto all of you is telling. I don¡¯t think whatever is in those ruins is as strong as we fear. It has limits; limits that have forced it to rely on trickery and ambush. I want to push on those limits, and I think the accelerated are my best chance.¡± Nodding in understanding, Rellim said. ¡°Even if the Mountebank is¡­ I don¡¯t know, speeding up those captured moments, the required magic would be incredible.¡± One of the Paladin¡¯s hands drifted to his amulet and at his touch a faint silver-blue glow issued from it. ¡°Yes, exactly. The refracted are the Mountebank¡¯s tools, but the accelerated are its weapons and clearly changed to serve that purpose. I don¡¯t know if that alteration is physical, biological, chronological or some mix, but my powers should be able to negate it. Master Time has gifted me with miracles of metaphysical cold. If I catch one of the accelerated I can freeze it and not suffer a backlash. Without being able to force the magical cost onto me, the Mountebank will need to invest more power to keep the accelerated functioning; power I will drain away with holy entropy.¡± Alvia picked up the intact loaf of bread and started splitting pieces of it off. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a better idea than any we¡¯ve had. But that brings us to how to capture one of them. I¡¯ve seen human death priests work their magic and they always did it by touch. So unless you¡¯ve got some special paladin skills, I imagine we need to find a way for you to get close enough without being turned to red mist.¡± She handed a clump of Cole¡¯s own bread to him which he took graciously. Staring at the dull brown piece, the Paladin replied. ¡°Could you dig me a hole?¡± The dwarf savant shrugged. ¡°Simple, but good ideas often are. We¡¯ll do it away from the camp in case this goes to slag, but it''s manageable.¡± Thunder rolled overhead then as the awaited storm finally found Mycio Island. Mutters and curses spread around the camp as hot summer rain started to sluice down from above. Retreating behind one of the tarps set up to block sun or shower, Rellim said. ¡°I don¡¯t think trying this during bad weather would be wise.¡± Cole nodded and looked west. ¡°Dark is also coming soon. Better we hunker down and wait for a clear dawn.¡± Soon after the camp settled into a rhythm of preparations as the last few scouts and scavengers made their way back to the camp from outside. Rellim had been loath to scatter his subordinates across the island; but necessity forced the issue. They needed to gather supplies and information quietly. So he¡¯d sent some of the more subtle and capable members of the expedition to fulfill that role to varying levels of success. That was what Adept Niello had been doing when she encountered Cole, and Rellim thought this alone justified the risk involved. But now thankfully all of them had returned, having grabbed more from the original camp and other dig sites while setting up Thorim¡¯s sensor charms where prudent. By the time night had fallen, the storm had grown, sending sheets of water down in a practical waterfall. Clever use of tarps and telekinesis kept the new camp damp but not soaked. So a cooking fire was managed and a poor tasting but filling stew was prepared. Now with a bowl of the thick broth, Rellim sat opposite Paladin Cole who hunched in one corner, checking over his equipment and pack. Cole had refused any of the soup, not wanting to impinge on the expedition¡¯s supplies; which Rellim thought was silly after Alvia practically stole that loaf of bread. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. As he finished the bowl, Rellim asked a question that had been bothering him since the Paladin¡¯s explanation of the time magic at work. ¡°Who trained you in the arcane?¡± Cole looked up from his pack, a confused expression on his face. ¡°No one; I¡¯m not a magi.¡± Surprised, Rellim gestured with his spoon. ¡°You fooled me. I¡¯ve seen high circle lecturers of the deep mysteries offer poorer explanations of such complex magic. Does your mantle give you insight into the mechanics of such magic?¡± That got a frown as the Paladin seemed to consider this. ¡°That¡¯s possible.¡± Rellim paused to wipe fog from his glasses, sighing at the poor weather. ¡°But you must have some history with magical study, even if you aren¡¯t a true magi. No amateur, no matter how blessed, could reach those conclusions.¡± A flicker of discomfort passed over Cole. ¡°We don¡¯t know if I¡¯m right yet.¡± Unwilling to let the matter rest, Rellim kept pushing. ¡°I¡¯d wager you are. Everything said made sense and I don¡¯t think the Tenth God would send you our way for no reason. So now, tell me, where did you learn about magic.¡± Cole¡¯s expression became pained, an easy thing for his scarred face to do. ¡°I¡­I knew an archmagi once. She taught me things, even though I¡¯ve no talent for proper spellcraft.¡± Deep sadness filled those words, and Rellim could almost taste the loss dripping from them. Whoever Cole¡¯s mentor was, she no longer lived and was a very sore subject. Wincing, Rellim bowed his head, letting the awkward pause grow until he broke it with a change of subjects. ¡°If you succeed and destroy an accelerated, then what next?¡± The Paladin had been staring at his bag, lost in old memories, starting a little bit at Rellim¡¯s words. ¡°I hunt the rest of them down. Once the Mountebank is robbed of weapons, our options expand and we¡¯ll have a plan to deal with any more it creates.¡± Something in the clean simplicity of the plan tickled at Rellim¡¯s memory, reminding him of his father and his general approach to the undead. ¡°Like going for the arms and legs of a ghoul before freeing its soul.¡± That got a small smile from Cole. ¡°An apt comparison. You said your father was a restbringer, I take it you learned some things from him.¡± Rellim bobbed his head in a nod and fiddled with his glasses. ¡°Well, that was more a side-effect of his main occupation than anything else. I think you can imagine how important knowing ways to handle the undead can be for someone in his and my profession. But yes, I learned some things from him and try to pass on some of the more practical parts to my colleagues and students.¡± Soon enough the unusual pair were swapping tricks and stories; learning much from each other. Even as the camp quieted down for the evening, Rellim and Cole kept up their conversation for another two hours. To the Preceptor¡¯s surprise and unless he was sorely mistaken, the Paladin¡¯s as well, they got along rather well. By the time the storm¡¯s worst had passed, an odd comradery had formed between the holy warrior and arcane academic. It seemed to Rellim he and Cole were two different figures cut from remarkably similar cloth. The Preceptor was strained to think of anyone else besides himself who mixed such extensive arcane knowledge and long history with the unquiet dead. Eventually when the need for sleep came calling and Rellim retired, he found himself moderately hopeful for the first time in weeks. The Tenth God had answered his pleas, be they official messages or silent prayer, with Paladin Cole. Perhaps now he and all those beneath him would survive this island and even learn a few valuable secrets to boot.
Cole stared at the square pit at his feet. Measuring three meters by three meters it uncomfortably reminded him of some crude grave. Eyes moving up from the hole, Cole stared at the small berm of silvery material sticking out of the rock nearby. It was part of the Triskelion¡¯s wider ruins and at Thorim¡¯s suggestion their best chance at luring one of the accelerated. The token-seer had been busy mapping the sped-up refracted¡¯s movements and noted they tended to stay close to places where the subterranean complex was exposed. They were guard dogs, and what better way to catch one then go poking about their assigned territory. Turning about, the Paladin saw three more of the pits scattered around him in a rough cross formation. The soil and stone of the last was just settling as Aliva pulled her fingers from the ground and let the magic end. Nodding to himself, Cole addressed the dwarf savant. ¡°That should be enough for now.¡± Dusting dirt from her hands, Aliva walked towards the makeshift bunker she¡¯d crafted nearby for her, Rellim and Olasis. ¡°If this turns into arse-spoil is there anyone we should send your belongings to? That is if we get off this accursed island.¡± Thinking of the skull hidden in his bag, Cole shook his head. ¡°Bury them with whatever bits of me you find.¡± The dwarf grimaced, clearly taking the immortal homunculus¡¯s contingency planning as some morbid gesture. While the previous night and his conversation with Rellim had done much to soothe Cole¡¯s fears about the magi, he desperately didn¡¯t want to be exposed, but better that than losing Isabelle. Walking towards the length of silver spiral sticking out of the ground, Cole did some final equipment checks. His axe hung from his belt and his amulet was fastened to one hand while the other carried a length of shaped quartz. Looking at the rune-etched stone, Cole felt the magic contained within. The magi had spent the morning thinking up a way to lure an accelerated in a fast but predictable manner and this was it. Olasis had put an enchantment meant to disrupt spacial magic onto the quartz, and her fellow magi had filled the gem with as much arcane power as they could. While no one thought the spell would have much of an effect, it would hopefully get the Mountebank and its minion¡¯s attention. Glancing over at the reshaped bit of stone his allies crouched within, Cole made a gesture of beginning. Alvia called out from the slit she¡¯d left in the bunker. ¡°Ready when you are.¡± Raising the quartz up, wondering if he was about to add a new and spectacular form of death to his already long list of experiences, Cole brought the gem down on the exposed metal. A loud un-sound rang through the forest, a ripple in the Aether and reality itself that was felt with senses other than the traditional five. The alien metal of the ruin shook like a struck gong for a moment then stopped instantly. A strange sense of vertigo itched at Cole¡¯s mind but more importantly he heard a tree explode somewhere in the distance. Dropping the now cracked quartz, Cole ran to the space between the pits and offered prayers to his chosen god. The sound of vegetation dying violent deaths cut through the forest and with it came that same buzzing hum he¡¯d encountered the day previous. Stance wide, arms at his sides, Cole felt like some bull leaper of fable ready to claim glory or doom before a cheering crowd. Senses peeled, the Paladin slowly shifted so he faced the oncoming accelerated. As the buzzing grew louder and louder, Cole¡¯s only warning was a tree perhaps a hundred meters away toppling over. Moving on instinct born from hundreds of duels, the homunculus turned paladin dove to the side just as thunder struck him. Ears ringing, Cole hit the ground and barely avoided falling into the nearest pit. The buzzing was an ear-splitting drone now and clouds of dust filled the air all around him. Slowly getting to his feet, hand on his axe¡¯s hilt, Cole looked at the pit that he¡¯d been standing directly in front of. A plume of stone-soot flowed out of the hole like some volcanic chimney. Trying not to breathe the horrid dust in, Cole squinted and found its source. They¡¯d succeed, one of the accelerated had fallen into the pit, but was now busy trying to burrow its way out. To Cole¡¯s eyes the refracted man was just a blur of skin that bounced from wall to wall, sending up a constant shower of gravel and dust. Focusing on his amulet, Cole considered his options. Could he just exhale a breath of entropy down into the pit? Would that be enough? He really didn¡¯t want to jump in after the refracted, but saw no other way to get a good grip on it. Thankfully the captured copy of Abel started to slow, or at least stay in one spot. While still a blurred figure, it now stood at the pit¡¯s center, head flicking about in a constant search for escape. The incredible speed extended to even its neck and Cole stared at the mixing after-images of a dead man¡¯s face, forming into a chimeric parody. Deciding this was the best chance he would get, Cole marshaled his power and dove into the pit in a full body tackle. As he sailed through the air, Cole wondered if his crude skill with Master Time¡¯s gifts would be enough. It was a rare occasion when he used the powers of a paladin, and he could call up little more than a breath of killing cold or a brutally simple form of sanctification. But considering what he was about to try was a bit of both, perhaps this wouldn¡¯t be an elaborate form of suicide. The amulet in Cole¡¯s hand glowed like a silver star and trails of frost billowed off him as huge amounts of holy power flowed through him. Slamming his hand into the accelerated, feeling his arm go instantly numb, Cole forced as much of the magic he channeled into the refracted as possible. The effect was instantaneous and impressive. With a horrible crack the refracted stopped vibrating, its body or perhaps its moment snapping back into something close to normalcy. For the barest moment Cole found himself gripping onto a limp corpse slowly being covered in hoarfrost. But then the vibrations started again, growing in a slow escalating hum that flowed from Cole¡¯s numb arm into the rest of his body. Fearing what might happen if he was still holding onto this copy when it reached top speed, the Paladin forced more power into the refracted. Entropy and energy warred within the copy while Cole held on, feeling his teeth rattle like castanets. As he pulled more and more upon his mantle, Cole felt the occult senses that sometimes accompanied uses of power snap into place. Eyes wide, the Paladin saw the refracted truly for the first time. Yesterday, when he¡¯d tried to free the common copies Cole witnessed paths, glimpses of what actions the refracted took. Now, that same double-vision came with greater clarity and deeper revelations. Cole hadn¡¯t been seeing the past or future of the copies; he¡¯d been seeing their totality. Abel hadn¡¯t just been refracted into myriad simulacra, he¡¯d been stretched along time. His final moment taken and pulled like sticky dough into formations the Mountebank found useful. Each copy was set along a specific path of actions, moving through time and space like a cart upon tracks. The accelerated were merely slices of a dead man¡¯s time pushed into faster motion by a glut of alien energy and intent. Knowing this, feeling this, Cole could touch the trapped refracted not just physically but chronologically. As a massive headache bloomed behind the Paladin¡¯s eyes he groped at the stretched ends of the copy¡¯s timeline and let pure entropy flow into them. Mind struggling to hold onto the information flowing through him, Cole focused on the accelerated¡¯s timeline and squeezed. Cole understood now what the backlash was. It wasn¡¯t simply the magical cost being redirected, or at least not just that. The refracted¡¯s past and future were formed and dictated by the Mountebank, set along a predestined path that defied the rules of time Cole understood. They did as they were told and when disrupted, the refracted simply¡­ continued, not so much healing but skipping to the next moment in their assigned path, warping reality around them to fit with the Mountebank¡¯s vision. But the cosmos did not look upon such trickery favorably and tried to correct events, and this is where Rellim¡¯s nickname for their enemy proved its accuracy. By some unknown mechanism, the Mountebank hoodwinked existence, displacing the correction onto whatever made it required. A snapped thread was fixed and the weakest string in Thorim¡¯s clothes broke. A blade went through a still heart and an old man suffered a heart attack. This was a slight-of-hand on a cosmic level; but one that didn¡¯t work on Cole. Gripping onto the refracted, flooding both it and himself with power while understanding filled his cracking mind, Cole felt¡­felt something grasping at him. There were no words for what pulled at the Paladin¡¯s being, merely a vague sensation only noticed thanks to his altered perception. Oily thoughts/hands/feelers/words attempted to wrap around Cole, trying to get a solid enough grip/touch/leverage to gift/trick/push the truth/lie/perception/path onto him. As the entity worked, the headache growing deep in the Paladin¡¯s skull became a knife of fire pressed ever deeper as he held onto the stretched/refracted/copy but he kept his grip. It had been only just a few years ago when Cole had experienced literal knives of fire; a little psychic bleed wasn¡¯t enough to stop him. After an instant and an eternity, Cole felt his channeled cold start to win the battle, slowly but inexorably consuming the broken moment of Abel. As the stretched instance was squeezed back into its proper shape by the ordered chaos of entropy, it started to collapse. Beneath Cole¡¯s very hands he felt the copy start to flicker in and out of existence. It was a man¡¯s final moment, a split-second trapped, copied and warped to an alien intelligence¡¯s will. But once that will was beaten back and the rules of reality were reestablished¡­ well what came after the last instance? Nothingness. With a snap of displaced air the copy was destroyed, its parody of existence ending as all things would eventually under Master Time¡¯s gaze. As Cole lay on his hands and knees, icy fog swirling about him, the Mountebank¡¯s grip on him intensified. He could feel it coiling about him with greater and greater strength, but less and less success. Flashes of metaphor and esoteric truth swam behind Cole¡¯s eyes. His god¡¯s blessing made him slippery, hard for any chronological manipulation to touch; but more than that the universe wasn¡¯t being fooled. Try as the Mountebank did, it could not shift time and existence so the damage fell upon Cole. So what little traction the creature gained upon his timestream was pointless and Cole now understood why. The universe knew what he was and in some twisted way accepted him. All that was knew Cole would not die. His body could be destroyed, his soul shredded, but he would not truly die. So the Mountebank¡¯s lies fell upon deaf ears and its tool met total dissolution. Staring at the ground of Aliva¡¯s pit, feeling the entity retreat from him, Cole sucked in lungfuls of icy air, his body spasming as it tried to cope with too much that should not be. The world spun about the Paladin and as his powers faded he vomited, spilling icy bile onto the floor. Slumping onto his side, Cole stared at the ripple-marked wall of the pit and groaned. He¡¯d hurt his arm and probably had some frostbite from his sloppy use of magic. But as faint memories of the Mountebank¡¯s panicked retreat traced over his mind, Cole smiled. He didn¡¯t know how long he lay like that, but eventually the crack of stone pulled Cole from his malaise as Alvia summoned a staircase and the three magi descended to him. Looks of shock and concern were painted on all three of their faces. Weakly raising his head, Cole rasped. ¡°I destroyed it.¡± Olasis knelt down and put a hand on Cole¡¯s numb arm. ¡°Fire-and-iron! This is all just one bruise!¡± Blearly, Cole looked at his already swelling arm and grunted. ¡°Expected that.¡± The Proctor got to work weaving healing magics over Cole and he let out a tired sigh as the pain lessened. In moments like these he wondered at his own sanity. Surely only a madman would keep throwing themselves (sometimes literally) into danger as sloppily as he did. Shutting his eyes sorted through all the flashes of insight his powers and encounters had gifted him. He¡¯d seen and learned much in battling the Mountebank but only some of his already fading experiences were useful. Picking at them, Cole felt an idea start to form in his groggy head. Meeting Rellim¡¯s concerned face, Cole grunted. ¡°I think I know how to stop it.¡± Side Story: Better Left Buried (Part Five)

Better Left Buried (Part Five)

¡°Everything ends. That is a simple truth and one our master embodies. The miracles he lets us wield reflect this, giving us some power over endings. While we might slow down, speed up or slightly change an ending, we can not truly stop it. Learning to accept that truth and through it understanding the limits of all things is key to our temple¡¯s creed. Everything ends, but it falls to us to help those endings be the correct ones.¡±- Paladin Thane the Pale Rider
¡°So, what did you learn?¡± asked Rellim as he squatted over the prone Paladin. They¡¯d gotten him out of the pit and back to camp without too much difficulty; thanks mainly to the skith disc carrying Cole¡¯s injured bulk over the rocky ground. Now lying on a makeshift cot, his bruised arm being fussed over by two magi skilled in healing magic, the Paladin offered a wry smile in answer to the Preceptor¡¯s question. Wincing as a bandage slathered in alchemical tinctures was tightened around his bicep, Cole said. ¡°Your nickname for the entity is rather appropriate. It¡¯s trying to play one massive shell game against both us and reality. But now I¡¯ve seen under the table and know what the tricks are.¡± Forcing himself up into a sitting position with his intact arm, Cole¡¯s smile widened. ¡°My magic can destroy the accelerated and probably the refracted as well. In fact, I think wounding the Mountebank itself is possible.¡± Slowly, Cole explained what he¡¯d learned while wrestling the accelerated. Describing how Abel¡¯s last moment had been not just refracted but twisted and puppetered. While providing more details on the backlash and how the Mountebank tried to trick the cosmos into letting another bear the consequences for its act and that Cole¡¯ mantle protected him. It took the Paladin multiple tries to convey his story in an understandable method, but alien as all this was Rellim and the other magi started to see the truth Cole¡¯s mad bravery uncovered. Absently fingering his sleeve, Thorim muttered. ¡°So it still has to follow the rules we know, but has access to tools and options we don¡¯t. As concerning as that is, it could be worse.¡± Cole nodded and thanked one of the adepts as she smeared a healing paste onto the spots of frostbite marking his cheek and ear. ¡°Yes, the Mountebank might approach time and space from a different¡­ angle than us, but it¡¯s not invincible nor particularly powerful actually.¡± Alvia dumped some ash out of her pipe and asked. ¡°How do you reckon that? Anything capable of twisting time and tricking the rules of reality seems pretty slagging strong to me¡± Licking his cold-chapped lips, the Paladin picked his words carefully. ¡°For one, it didn¡¯t overpower me. My magic was draining its energy quickly but not extraordinarily so.¡± Gesturing to his red and puffy arm, Cole continued. ¡°The Mountebank couldn¡¯t injure or kill me enough to stop the spell.¡± Rellim¡¯s eyes narrowed at that odd choice of words. ¡®Kill me enough?¡¯ Perhaps the Paladin was more concussed than he let on? Deciding he¡¯d need to keep an eye on Cole¡¯s balance and future word choice, Rellim kept listening as his new friend talked. ¡°I felt the accelerated speed up and slow down a few times while I was holding onto it. The Mountebank was pouring energy into our contest, trying to overpower the entropic drain long enough to stop me. But it couldn¡¯t, so either it¡¯s limited in total amount of power or how much each refracted can be invested with.¡± Gesturing around the camp, Cole added. ¡°Besides, it hasn¡¯t pulled anyone else into the mirror-pockets or kept up the sabotage, right?¡± As the magi nodded in confirmation Cole¡¯s smile widened, becoming halfway handsome, halfway horrible as his scars stretched. ¡°The Mountebank is limited in its resources and has invested what little it has into excavating the ruins and keeping everyone away from them. I don¡¯t quite know its goal, but I¡¯d rather us stop it before finding out.¡± Frowning, Rellim asked. ¡°You don¡¯t quite know its goal. Does that mean you¡¯ve got a guess or two?¡± Shrugging, Cole shut his eyes. ¡°Those dreams, does anyone have a timeline for when they started and got worse?¡± Nearby a throat was cleared and Magus Yvonne said. ¡°I did, but my dream journal is back at the main camp.¡± Accepting this, the Paladin added. ¡°Good, and I¡¯m assuming records for the excavation are back there as well?¡± As Yvonne nodded, Cole pushed himself up to his feet, earning an annoyed hiss from the two healers looking over him. ¡°I¡¯d like to retrieve both of those and make a few stops closer to the main ruin.¡± Looking at the stone-savant he asked. ¡°I assume your magic can tell you a rock¡¯s composition?¡± The dwarf magus scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t even need my magic for that. Any dwergaz could do that, but I can just do it better.¡± Arm wrapped up and in a sling, Cole was a little shaky on his feet but otherwise seemed relatively intact for someone who¡¯d tackled a time-dilated pseudo-corpse. Rellim considered saying something about the Paladin¡¯s condition but decided against it. He¡¯d trust the professional to know if they were too hurt to work. Besides, the Preceptor would feel much better about having the one person who could fight the refracted be part of this little expedition. So within half an hour, Cole, Rellim, Alvia and Olasis yet again found themselves outside the stone walls of the camp. Using his halberd as a walking stick, the Paladin led the way. It didn¡¯t take the four long to reach the main camp. The previous night¡¯s storm hadn¡¯t been kind to the collection of tents the archaeologists left behind, but finding the required records and even a few supplies for the skith disc to carry hadn¡¯t been difficult. Unfortunately that was where any simplicity ended. As Rellim worked to put the fourth crate onto his favored trinket a whistle cut through the camp. Freezing in place at that designated signal, the Preceptor flicked his wand and sent a ripple of air through the camp, looking for the refracted someone had noticed. Wherever the light breeze he¡¯d summoned struck, Rellim¡¯s mental map got better details, his spell mimicking a bat¡¯s cry. The refracted was towards the camp¡¯s edge, near Olasis and Cole. Carefully, Rellim approached the two just in time for the Paladin to trap the copy in a one-armed headlock. Icy magic swirled around Cole and Rellim got his first good look at the spell used to vanquish the Mountebank¡¯s tools. The first thing that struck the Preceptor was how¡­ sloppy Cole¡¯s working was. He¡¯d only got glimpses of it last time while in Alvia¡¯s bunker and assumed the crude nature of the spell was more a product of circumstances than anything else. But now¡­ seeing how Cole struggled to direct and contain the shocking amount of magic his mantle granted him, Rellim found himself stunned. This didn¡¯t look like a battlemage¡¯s spell, but some sloppy burst of power a young savant might manage. How long had Cole been a Paladin? These thoughts were pushed away by Rellim as the refracted started to flicker and warp, like a guttering candle seen through old glass. Arcane senses focusing on the copy of Abel, Rellim groped after the insights Cole had uncovered. All his training and talent could uncover was a vague sense of¡­ contraction, like the refracted was being squeezed in some direction Rellim couldn¡¯t see. Then with a snap the copy truly disappeared leaving only a panting, ice-encrusted Cole. Pausing for a moment, the Paladin regained his breath and then stooped down. Only then did Rellim realize the refracted had been next to an overturned wheelbarrow. Picking up one of the stones spilled from the handcart, Cole gently tossed it to Alvia and asked. ¡°Can you tell me the composition of that?¡± Barely catching the rock in time, Alvia squinted at it and started to whisper under her breath. The calloused tips of the dwarf¡¯s fingers sunk into the solid stone like it was wet clay and she nodded. ¡°Mainly silica and iron.¡± At Cole¡¯s insistence, the Dwarf noted down her best guess for the exact ratio in one of the notebooks she recovered. Teeth chattering, but smiling, the Paladin gestured along the path heading towards the ruin. ¡°I want to check a few more places then we can head back.¡± Confused, Rellim stayed quiet, mulling over the paradox of Paladin Cole. He showed remarkable magical instinct and understanding but very little skill in actual spellcraft. Cole was like a color-blind man who¡¯d mastered artistic theory but could barely hold a brush steady. It was very curious and made Rellim itch to ask about this enigmatic archmage Cole had loved. But in a rare moment of etiquette, Rellim decided he could wait for another better time to inquire. As they walked, the group encountered a few more spoil piles along the roadside, with Cole getting Alvia to check samples from each. By the fourth collection of rocks, Rellim had a suspicion as to what the Paladin was looking for. As the group came closer to the rift, having taken a shortcut off the trail, Rellim said. ¡°The more iron-filled rocks are farther from the ruin.¡± Cole nodded and Rellim frowned. ¡°Even if the fae¡¯s iron weakness applies to the Mountebank, the density in the rock wouldn¡¯t be enough to affect a faerie.¡± Shrugging with one shoulder as he picked his way along the rocky ground, Cole said. ¡°I think the Mountebank disagrees. This thing is older and more alien than any Sidhe Lord, but probably just as connected to the Grey Beyond as they are. I¡¯d guess having iron-rich rock within the ruins harms it. Perhaps that¡¯s why it''s been dormant all this time? The island¡¯s substance kept the Mountebank weakened until the earthquake freed enough of it; or maybe it caused the earthquake after long-centuries of preparation? Either way, stopping the excavation seems like a good idea.¡± As Rellim mulled over the Paladin¡¯s theory and its implications, the group carefully climbed a familiar ridge. They were less than twenty meters from where Cole had been at their first encounter. Reaching the top of the newborn hill, Cole squatted down and gestured at the piles of rock surrounding them. ¡°Alvia, can you check these?¡± Kneeling down the dwarf magus got to work, Rellim recording her results while Olasis and Cole stood watch. Sure enough, much of the ridge¡¯s material was ferrous. While none of it would be worth the effort to smelt, the volume was huge according to Alvia¡¯s estimates. Looking around him at the morass of debris that formed the ridge, Rellim understood more of Cole¡¯s actions. The earthquake that uncovered the ruins had pushed part of the Triskelion up to the surface and split the ground, creating a small rift valley and this ridge of debris. What they stood upon was much of the rock that once covered the Triskelion. This iron-rich stone had helped nullify the Mountebank¡¯s influence¡­ stone his expedition had been carefully excavating. Glancing at Yvonne¡¯s dream journal and the excavation logs, Rellim guessed they¡¯d find a shocking correlation between the dream¡¯s occurrence and whenever the archaeologist''s had made a major breakthrough at the Triskelion. That thought was both humbling and harrowing. Rellim and his subordinates had done exactly what every archaeologist feared doing. Breaking the seal on a cursed tomb and letting what slept within out upon the world. Hindsight whispered at Rellim¡¯s ears, dripping condescending remarks about his own curiosity and foolishness. But all those thoughts fell away as Olasis¡¯s sharp voice cut through the air. ¡°Something¡¯s happening at the ruins.¡± Shutting the logbook and readying his wand, Rellim joined the Proctor at the ridge¡¯s lip. Sword drawn the battlemage was glaring down at the rift valley below and the ever growing crowd of copies filling the excavation site. Close to fifty refracted stood about the Triskelion¡¯s entrance, with more joining them every second. Naked, grimy and withered the horde stared up at the magi with blank unblinking eyes. Aside from the stream of new arrivals coming from the ruins and mouth of the valley, the refracted were perfectly still; bringing to mind some grotesque statue arrangement. Cole stood maybe a meter down the slope from Rellim and Olasis, squinting at the swarm, axe in hand. Fingers squeezing his wand, the Proctor wondered what if any of his spells would be useful if the horde attacked. Eyes flicking over the assembled copies, which were at least seventy in number by now, Rellim murmured. ¡°Do you think they plan to attack, or are just trying to scare us off?¡± Shrugging, Cole looked at Alvia who¡¯d joined them, the tattoos on her hands and feet pulsing slightly with prepared power. Gesturing at the ridge they stood on and the sheer rock-face surrounding the Triskelion, the Paladin asked. ¡°Could you cause a landslide?¡± Sucking on one cheek, the dwarf magus tapped her bare foot against the ground in an odd pattern, sending out ripples of magic across the surrounding rock. ¡°Possibly? I¡¯d need my stronger colleagues'' support to fuel the working, but it wouldn¡¯t be too difficult with enough energy.¡± A series of loud cracks cut through the air and the assembled group ducked, the magi summoning wards against whatever new assault befell them. After a nervous moment, Cole got up and peered down the ridge. Letting out a sigh he said. ¡°The accelerated have arrived.¡± Sure enough six of Abel¡¯s lethal parodies stood at the mob¡¯s edge. Even when not moving they buzzed, their bodies a humming blur threatening to deliver Haddon¡¯s fate upon anyone who got too close. Staring at the accelerated, Cole grunted. ¡°I think you¡¯re right Rellim, this smells of a threat. The Mountebank wants us to leave, and quickly.¡± No sooner did Cole say that then the refracted started moving towards the ridge in eerie lockstep. Swearing profusely, Rellim turned to leave. ¡°Well, threat acknowledged, let¡¯s go.¡± All three magi pulled back towards the other side of the ridge¡¯s crest but before they could go much further the Paladin said. ¡°Wait¡­¡± Gesturing down at the slowly approaching refracted and then to the still unmoving accelerated, Cole continued. ¡°This isn¡¯t just a threat, it¡¯s a trap.¡± More oaths escaped Rellim¡¯s lips as he got Cole¡¯s meaning. ¡°Fire-in-iron, they¡¯re flusher dogs.¡± The Paladin nodded, as he watched the eighty or so refracted start to shuffle up the ridge. ¡°We run now and the accelerated will cut us down once our attention isn¡¯t on the ruin.¡± Pulling a vial out of his belt, Cole downed it in one and gently undid the sling carrying his injured arm. Flexing the bruised limb with a wince, the Paladin removed his amulet and held it up sending silver light shining across the rift valley. Staring at this, Rellim hissed. ¡°The hells are you doing?¡± Gritting his teeth, Cole replied. ¡°Returning the favor. The Mountebank knows I¡¯m a threat so I¡¯m going to distract it while you all return to camp and help Alvia make whatever preparations she needs to bury this place under tons of rock.¡± A ripple of movement spread across the refracted as every copy shifted slightly to stare up at the Paladin, their blank eyes focused on him. As if to prove his point, Cole started slowly walking back and forth along the ridge¡¯s slope, making fifteen dozen eyes follow him as the copies tried to mount the steep hill. Watching this bizarre sight, Rellim said. ¡°That may be the case, but what stops the accelerated from leaving you and cutting us down while we run?¡± Grimacing, Cole sheathed his axe. ¡°It can¡¯t afford to. Ambushing us all while we flee is one thing, ignoring me is another. Besides, I¡¯ve got a few ideas to keep its attention and defenses occupied. The Mountbank will be too busy with me inside the Triskelion to worry about all of you.¡± By now the first ranks of the copies were nearly half-way up the ridge, having managed the hardest part of the climb. Rellim looked from the fast approaching refracted to Cole and back again, trying to make up his mind. Forcing his jaw to unclench the Preceptor made his choice. ¡°We¡¯ll go back to camp and make preparations.¡± Nodding, Cole spoke quickly. ¡°Come back as soon as you can. If I¡¯m not here and it''s safe¡­ wait two hours before activating the spell.¡± Already the Paladin was walking towards the coming crowd, amulet still shining. Eyes wide, Rellim called out. ¡°Even if you¡¯re still inside the ruin?!¡± Cole shouted ¡°Especially if I¡¯m still inside the ruin! Now get moving!¡± This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Bits of frost started to swirl around the Paladin as his amulet grew brighter and brighter. Feeling the wild, ragged magic pouring off Cole, Rellim turned to his fellow magi. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±
Teeth chattering, Cole tried to ignore the burning cold filling him up. His blood felt like ice water while his lungs felt like they were filled with frozen needles. Whenever he called upon the mantle of paladin, Cole always quickly used the power, not letting it sit like this and for good reason. Despite serving Master Time for two years, his skill with the magic granted him was horribly poor. But thankfully his current gambit didn¡¯t need skill, just endurance which was something of a speciality for Cole. Stumbling down the hill, praying his gamble would pay off, Cole lunged for the nearest refracted. Hands gripping onto the husk¡¯s head, the Paladin let some of the magic filling him pour into the copy. It wasn¡¯t anything like the overwhelming tidal wave he¡¯d used to destroy the accelerated but the effect was still clearly felt. The refracted started to spasm and buzz, as its stretched moment met the ugly certainty of entropy. But collapsing this piece of Abel¡¯s death wasn¡¯t Cole¡¯s main goal. As rival magics warred, reality shifted for Cole, his senses expanding and multiplying, as he gained a sliver of his god¡¯s perspective. At the edges of Cole¡¯s awareness he felt that same grasping presence, something was pulling on him, on his path through time and space, but to very little effect. A wide pained smile split Cole¡¯s face and fog slithered through his teeth like smoke. He had the Mountebank¡¯s attention and was going to put it to good use. Shutting his eyes, Cole summoned up images and memories, letting them bubble off his mind and freeze in the metaphysical cold filling him. Like ice chunks on a winter rapid, Cole¡¯s thoughts flowed through him, into the refracted and towards the creature puppeteering it. The Mountebank recoiled at first from what Cole offered it, but when it came with a slight decrease in the magical onslaught assaulting the refracted, it sniffed at the memories. After maybe ten more seconds the flow of power bolstering the copy ended and it popped out of existence under Cole¡¯s magic. Something resembling a laugh escaped the Paladin¡¯s frost-bitten lips as he barely managed to say upright. Blinking away frozen sweat and tears, Cole eyed the dozens of refracted all standing around him. The Mountebank it seemed had accepted his message and understood it at least in part. Rellim¡¯s stories spoke of the entity was learning and slowly bridging the gap that kept it alienated from this facet of existence. Rightfully the magi had found this development disturbing, but in it Cole found an opportunity. The memories he¡¯d offered were of myriad market squares, noble courts and cloistered back rooms, all of which had been the backdrop for the concept Cole sought to teach the Mountebank. Negotiation. Glancing around him, Cole let out a relieved breath upon seeing the accelerated nearby. While he¡¯d been confident they¡¯d stay focused on him, Rellim¡¯s concerns were not without merit. Tentatively, Cole eyed the copies surrounding him and rolled his shoulders. He needed to buy time for Alvia and the magi to work, and what better way than opening a dialogue? Taking a step forward he watched as the crowd parted slightly for him. Nodding to himself, Cole took all of this as a good sign. He¡¯d brushed against the Mountebank twice now and both times he¡¯d seen a little behind the curtain and got a better view of matters. The entity in the Triskelion was a dangerous alien intelligence capable of warping reality in strange ways; but it was also an isolated, confused creature utterly removed from its native context and desperate to survive. Despite all that had happened, Cole found himself reluctant to pass judgment upon the Mountebank. It needed to be stopped, there was no doubt about that, but the exact method that intervention took was still up for debate. Cole imagined if he got deep into the Triskelion and unleashed his full power directly against it he¡¯d certainly maim it. Ugly as the notion was, since the Mountebank couldn¡¯t ¡®touch¡¯ Cole, the Paladin could simply spend a few days repeating such an attack until the threat was neutralized¡­ but that left a sour taste in his cold-numbed mouth. He was a servant of Master Time, and part of his duties involved offering a clean ending to everyone and everything, no matter how¡­ eldritch. So if hacking the Mountebank to death with entropic magic could be avoided, Cole would try. Which brought him to his next best option, burying the Triskelion underneath enough ferrous rock to keep it sealed. While he still didn¡¯t know if the strange ruin was the Mountebank¡¯s body or something else, it was clearly connected to the ruin and didn¡¯t like exposure to so much iron. That was another mystery and one Cole wished he¡¯d had more time to examine. For the fae, iron acted as a caustic nightmare, searing their flesh and hampering their magic. But the Mountebank was old, older than this island if Alvia¡¯s estimates were right. Perhaps what was an acidic poison for the fae was merely a sedative for it? Such differences weren¡¯t uncommon in different species of more mundane life so maybe it applied here as well? But aside from those two more combative options, Cole had another, the one that had him moving down the slope and towards the Triskelion, accompanied by a bizarre honor guard of refracted. Would it be impossible to simply come to an agreement with a Mountebank? If it was intelligent enough for well¡­ ¡®tool use¡¯ and trickery, then negotiation should be feasible? Well considering what was happening around him, Cole thought the odds might be in his favor, that is if the Mountebank wasn¡¯t just trying to isolate him from the magi before killing him; and if that was the case¡­ well option one would be back on the table. Ignoring the implicit threat presented by the humming accelerated, Cole passed through the work site. The excavation was clearly moving at a fevered pitch, but thankfully making relatively little progress judging by the lack of change among the spoil piles and the number of broken tools Cole had spotted. It seemed the Mountebank for all its power made a poor puppeteer and poorer digger. But, with numbers and time, anything was possible; so Cole had little desire to leave the entity to its work. Stepping up into ruin proper, Cole used his amulets light to navigate the twisted structure. All around him stood a ring of refracted, their motions caught and distorted in the surrounding mirrors, making Cole¡¯s back muscle tense with every flicker of strange movement. A faint smell tickled at the Paladin¡¯s nose then, a metallic stink with hints of putrefaction. Wincing as he realized the source, Cole looked at the tunnel floor and found a trail of brown filth; the remains of Haddon. The unfortunate Knight-Proctor had been¡­ tracked through the tunnel by the refracted. Trying not to imagine what regenerating from such a fate would be like, Cole ignored the smell and soon entered a larger chamber he guessed was the atrium. More of the brown residue covered the walls, ceiling and floor thankfully obscuring much of the reflections. Willing his amulet to grow brighter, Cole examined the Triskelion¡¯s heart and noted the connecting tunnels and the clear signs of excavation around them. Before he could wonder which direction he was supposed to take, a rhythmic knocking noise caught Cole¡¯s attention. Tracing the sound he found some of his refracted ¡®honor guard¡¯ standing around a spot on the floor in a rough circle. Deciding this was his signal, Cole swallowed down a lump of nerves and approached. Amulet still held high, Cole used his foot to scrape some of the¡­ the Haddon off the floor, revealing the mirrored surface below. Instead of his own scarred form he found himself looking at another copy of Abel, this one slamming a fist into the mirror¡¯s other side. Mid-strike it paused and stared at Cole, its eyes¡­ its eyes showing an inscrutable intelligence all the others had lacked. Kneeling down, the Paladin stared into those time-scratched spheres and watched as the copy restarted its motions. It beat against the ground and shouted unheard words, moving with a clarity Cole hadn¡¯t seen in any refracted. Watching this grotesque pantomime, Cole wondered at the Mountebank¡¯s purpose. Perhaps if the refracted were its tools, the accelerated its weapons, maybe this one was its messenger? But if that was the case, then what possible message could it hope to convey in mimicking Abel¡¯s desperation before the- Cole¡¯s chain of thought pulled taught as he read the words upon the copy¡¯s lips. ¡®Help me! I don¡¯t want to die!¡¯ Scratching his chin, Cole considered this. If the Mountebank could pull at Abel¡¯s memories enough to do menial labor, then perhaps it might use his frantic pleas as a message? Deciding he¡¯d come this far, Cole shut his eyes and focused on more memories, more concepts he might offer the Mountebank without giving it an advantage. Carefully, Cole nicked his arm and smeared blood upon his brow before bending down to press himself against the smooth metal. Calling upon the power of blood, Cole prepared a crude spell. ¡°Head, Thread, Fed¡± Feeling a vague pressure in his ears, Cole let his assembled thoughts flow from him and into the mirror, feeding the Mountebank his selection. One by one the mental flickers passed through the looking glass like beads on a string. * A conclave of priests standing in a circle, their icy breaths flowing together into a growing sphere of concentrated entropy. The sphere drops onto the ground and spreads out in a wave of death that consumes both the priests and everything around them for two square kilometers * * An iron star plucked from the heavens burns through the sky before striking a beautiful insect-man crowned with thorns and surrounded by an army of delusions. The ground shakes, smoke fills the heavens and nothing remains of the Sidhe host but a crater of bubbling metal * * Dozens of galleons float off the coast of an island, each holding a great crystal apparatus that crackles with energy, tens of magi kneel before it, hands interlocked, powering and directing the magic within. Each ship¡¯s crystal flares purple and a storm of lightning smashes into the island over and over.* * A huge bear sniffs the air before shuffling towards a cleft between rocks as snow gently falls about it. Squeezing into the cleft, the bear curls up deep away from the cold wind and sleeps. Time passes and as the first birds of spring sing the bear slowly pulls itself free.* * Cole stands at a crossroad eyeing the three new paths before him. None of them seem to be heading in the direction he needs to go and one leads towards a poorly maintained bridge. After a little hesitation he turns back the way he comes. * Opening his eyes, Cole found the copy twitching slightly, its eyes dancing about like a man in deep sleep. Hoping his message had gotten through, the Paladin waited. He¡¯d offered the Mountebank options, showing it how the free peoples of Vardis might respond to a threat, and what it could do to avoid such a fate. Importantly he¡¯d picked examples pulled from histories and stories, not things Cole knew how to personally do. Teaching it primitive telepathy was risky enough, Cole wouldn¡¯t be sharing any of his more dangerous skills. No sooner did that thought form than Cole found himself yanked forward mentally. A spike of terror filled him but before old pains could feed that fear he found himself clinging to a cliff-face, desperately trying to hold onto sharp stone edges. Grunting with the effort, Cole stared up at the top, it was so close but so far. Reaching out, he gripped a handhold and started to pull himself up, making a little progress up the sheer rock. Eyeing his next notch, Cole reached out and cursed as it melted away between blinks. Fumbling for another outcropping, he managed to stabilize himself. Looking down at the sheer drop and painful death below, the Paladin hissed in annoyance and tried to keep moving, even as the cliff itself conspired against him. Handholds would appear and disappear between glances and bits of the rock-face would bulge out or in at random, turning an arduous climb into a nightmare. Jaw clenched so hard it hurt, Cole hoisted himself up another meter and stopped, staring at what awaited him. A cave was burrowed into the cliff before him and more than that there was a jagging bear sitting in it. Before the Paladin could consider his options a gust of wind threatened to dislodge him, forcing his rapid ascent into the waiting cave. Panting, he hung onto the cliff¡¯s outer edge, staring at the sleeping bear. All Cole¡¯s exhaustion struck him then and he half-fell half crawled into the cave, landing beside the snoring ursine. Looking behind him at the coming storm and how wind and rain battered the cliff-face, Cole decided it would be better to rest and wait, bear or no bear. With a snap the vision ended then and Cole was back in the Triskelion kneeling on the bloody floor. Sucking in a breath he stared into the mirror and found nothing greeting him, not even his own reflection. Slowly, wobbly, Cole got to his feet and glanced around the atrium, finding it empty except for himself. It seemed the Mountebank had made its choice, better to hibernate some more than risk destruction. Rubbing his forehead, Cole felt his long dried blood come away in flakes. Staring at it, and feeling the tension in his back a foul oath escaped him. He¡¯d been kneeling there and communing with the Mountebank for longer than he¡¯d thought. Quickly spinning about, Cole bolted for the tunnel, desperately trying to leave the Triskelion before it was buried.
¡°It¡¯s been three hours, he said to trigger the spell after two.¡± said Olasis, her sharp features contorted into a frown. ¡°We¡¯re risking too much delaying like this, the faster we bury the ruin the better.¡± Glaring up from where he sat, Rellim snapped. ¡°We¡¯ll give him some more time, he¡¯s earned that much.¡± Thorim nodded and gestured at the seashell and quartz artifact before him. ¡°We¡¯ve caught no sign of any accelerated or even refracted since he entered. I¡¯d take that as a good sign.¡± Hand on her sword, the Proctor made her displeasure known with a hissing exhale. From nearby, Alvia grunted. ¡°I¡¯m all for letting the Paladin be tardy, but I can¡¯t hold this forever.¡± Sitting cross legged in a quickly made ritual circle the geomancer was covered in sweat, her fingers touching the quartz ritestones marking the arcane array¡¯s nexus. In a concert effort the elite magi of the expedition had poured their power and expertise into the landslide spell but only Alvia could properly control it. An effort that was seriously straining her, as all that magic didn¡¯t like staying put, it wanted to power the working or fade away, something the dwarf was doing her best to delay. Staring down at the waiting ruin mouth, Rellim danced his wand between fingers. He couldn¡¯t give Cole much more time. Under his breath the Preceptor hissed. ¡°Hurry up.¡± From nearby Magus Aaron, an aeromancer who¡¯d covered the ruin¡¯s mouth in wind detectors called out. ¡°I sense something! Movement in the tunnel!¡± Quickly joining his colleague, Rellim asked. ¡°How fast?¡± Frowning with his eyes shut the Magus said. ¡°Not accelerated, but could be refracted.¡± Offering a silent prayer, the Preceptor approached Alvia. ¡°Be prepared to unleash the spell at my signal.¡± The Geomancer nodded shakily and Rellim went to the ridge¡¯s slope, tapping his glasses to magnify his vision. After thirty seconds of bated breath a ragged figure exploded out of the ruin. As much as Rellim wanted to whoop for joy he stayed silent, gesturing for Alvia to keep the spell prepared. Wand at the ready as Cole started up the slope, Rellim called out. ¡°What¡¯s the easiest way to kill a vampire?¡± Pausing, Cole cocked his head and said. ¡°Burn their lair down during the day.¡± Nodding to himself, Rellim gestured for Cole to come up. If the Mountebank could replace or subvert Cole so effectively he would answer correctly then they were all jagged anyway. Reaching the top, a stinking Cole quickly spoke. ¡°Alvia, can you bury the ruin entrance?¡± Nodding, the Magus grunted. ¡°Slagging finally!¡± But before she could, Cole corrected himself. ¡°Gently, if you could, just obscuring the tunnel mouth.¡± Raising one eyebrow the dwarf spat ¡°You¡­ you want me to cause a landslide¡­ gently?¡± ¡°Yes, if it¡¯s possible¡± replied Cole. Alvia shrugged and the ground beneath them shook slightly. Roughly halfway down the ridge there was a loud crack and a huge mass of rock and stone sprayed toward the Triskelion. Rellim watched as tons of material covered the former work site and slowly walled off the tunnel. After maybe five minutes, the ridge they all stood upon was a little shorter and there was no sign of the Triskelion. Voice tight with strain, Alvia asked. ¡°That enough?¡± Cole nodded and the dwarf let out a long sigh as the magic around her faded. As the last rocks clattered and the shaking stopped, Rellim cleared his throat. ¡°So, what the hells happened?¡± Rubbing what appeared to be long dried blood off his face, Cole shrugged. ¡°We reached an agreement.¡±
It took two more days for the Ivory Tower¡¯s reinforcements to arrive. A trio of enchanted war galleons now floated off the island¡¯s coast, their siege crystals shining in the summer sun. But by the time their complement of proctors and battlemages came ashore the matter was settled. A combination of manual and magical labor had buried the other exposed parts of the Triskelion. While the archaeologists had filled a veritable tome with notes about all that occurred. No sooner was the story conveyed to the new Knight-Proctor assigned to this mission than an official order of quarantine was drafted for the entire island; which had been Cole¡¯s suggestion, not that the Ivory Tower was willing to give him credit. It had become abundantly clear the magi were trying their best to downplay the severity of matters and his own involvement. The notion they¡¯d radically mishandled this crisis, requiring a rather ragged paladin to solve it was apparently not something the powers-that-be wanted attention drawn to. Cole didn¡¯t particularly mind, and was just glad his advice about Mycio Island was being taken seriously. When the three war galleon¡¯s arrived, he¡¯d been afraid the Ivory Tower would make him a liar and attack the Mountebank. But thankfully matters were resolving well enough, leaving Cole with time to lick his wounds. Sitting on a fallen log near the stone pier, watching as rowboats ferried staff and equipment back the waiting ships, Cole adjusted his sling. The bruising was going down, and he should be healed within a week. Something the magi healers were willing to take credit for, rather than assuming any abnormality on his end. Footsteps caught Cole¡¯s attention and Rellim sat next to him, the Preceptor looking exhausted. Setting a box on the ground before him, he said. ¡°Abel¡¯s belongings. I¡¯ll contact his family once we¡¯re back on the mainland.¡± Staring at the container, Cole asked. ¡°Will they be compensated? ¡° Rellim nodded. ¡°We have a fund for accidents.¡± Letting out a breath, Cole wondered if he¡¯d made the right choice. Iron-justice said he should have killed the Mountebank for what it had done but the practicality let alone morality of that option had stayed Cole¡¯s hand. Instead he¡¯d trapped the entity on the island, doing his best to ensure no one else was hurt. Still, could leaving the Mountebank alone be a mistake? Looking behind him at the island¡¯s distant crest, Cole muttered. ¡°It¡¯s working on something I think.¡± Again, Rellim nodded. ¡°Those dreams were attempts to communicate that, right?¡± Cole cocked his head to the side. ¡°Perhaps, or maybe you magi could just sense its louder thoughts. Either way, it¡¯s been busy for¡­ for eons. The earthquake and your prodding just gave it enough breathing room to notice the world beyond it.¡± One of the rowboats docked, and crewmen got to work moving crates from the pier onto their vessel. Watching them, Rellim mused. ¡°So the iron rock hampers it somehow, and by excavating, we ended its hibernation; or at least changed its focus.¡± Slowly standing up, Cole checked his pack. ¡°Yes, but now it should be contained.¡± Joining him, Rellim asked. ¡°What do you think it¡¯s trying to do?¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°I can¡¯t even guess and I frankly don¡¯t even want to know.¡± Accepting that the Preceptor picked up the box and started walking toward the pier. ¡°Fair enough, some things are just better left buried. Besides, if it¡¯s been at work for thousands if not millions of years, I don¡¯t think we have to worry about it ever finishing; at least not during our lifetimes¡± Looking at his own scarred hands, Cole muttered. ¡°At least not this one.¡± Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant and the Warg (Part 1)

Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant and the Warg (Part 1)

¡°Suffering builds strength. That is a truth of existence, one we know and embrace! We, the children of the Three Queens, seek hardship and through it become worthy! Our goddesses, do not coddle us, they challenge us! Their will, their love, hardens us into something greater! We are their chosen and must ever prove ourselves in their eyes! Through this eternal trial, we make ourselves masters of this world!¡±- Witch-Priestess Skrya¡¯s benediction before the Battle of Milda
The Dwarf slammed his shield¡¯s rim forward into the shrieking goblin¡¯s face, splintering teeth and breaking bone. As the malnourished conscript stumbled back, the Dwarf brought the hammer side of his weapon down on the goblin¡¯s skull, sending blood and brain splattering across the muddy ground. Before the enemy soldier¡¯s body even hit the ground, two more of his fellows had replaced him, each howling battle-prayers in their mother tongue. Behind the Dwarf, a human spearman thrust his weapon forward, punching right through one goblin¡¯s shield and into his fur ¡®armor¡¯. Even as his brother-in-arms died to a punctured lung, the other goblin kept coming forward, his pinprick pupils telling of the combat drug flowing through his veins. Flipping his grip on his weapon, the Dwarf swung again, protecting the spearman as he worked to dislodge the thrashing corpse-to-be from his weapon. The goblin tried to raise his shield even as he thrust forward with his short-spear. Knocking the clumsy strike aside before it could even scratch his steel breastplate, the Dwarf checked his blow and stopped his axe from getting caught in the goblin¡¯s shield, before slamming his own shield into his opponent¡¯s chest knocking him back and right into another spear thrust from the lines of human pikemen standing behind the dwarven infantry. Blinking away sweat from his eyes, the Dwarf managed to look past the collection of corpses in front of him and cursed. There was no slagging end to the horde pressing against the company spearline. Even as the human spearmen tore away at the goblins, enough of them slipped through the pikes and attacked the axe-dwarves tasked with guarding their taller comrades. As the next wave of stupid-slagging conscripts came forward, the Dwarf took a step back and formed a proper line, with his kinsmen on either side. Axes raised, shields ready, the dwarves watched as the goblin cracked under the human spears but didn¡¯t shatter. Clambering over the bodies of their fellows, the goblins howled warbling battle-cries as they fed themselves to dwarven axes. Armored in wool gambesons, the conscripted serfs carried wooden shields and spears better for boar hunting than war. Compared to the Vindabonian steel the Leaguer army used, the goblins might as well have been naked and armed with sharpened sticks. But religious fervor, desperate hopes and witch''s brew kept the goblins fighting long past the time any sane army would break. This mob of fifth sons and half-slaves were fighting to protect their motherland from invaders while trying to earn a place among the Kozaks. Joining those prestigious warrior-clans was one of the few ways a Tzarborn goblin might escape serfdom. So, invader he might be, the Dwarf wasn¡¯t about to let these wretches climb their backward empire¡¯s social ladder using his corpse. Nearby, a cry went up, and the Dwarf raised his shield high as arrows whistled through the air. Iron tips clattered against his solid round shield like deadly hail and behind him, human soldiers died; the arrows finding gaps in armor or punching through weak points. Some goblins also perished, getting caught in the short volleys, but whatever bastard was commanding the enemy archers clearly didn¡¯t see that as much of a problem. That was what these serf-soldiers, these ¡®kholops,¡¯ were for, after all. Holding the enemy in place long enough for the actual goblin soldiers to strike true. Lowering his shield and knocking some of the looser arrows off it, the Dwarf watched as more kholops came forward to find death while seeking glory. Cursing his idiot commander and his own idiot choices for getting him into this situation, the Dwarf bellowed out a dwerick war-cry, one that was answered by his kinsmen as they smacked axe-heads against shields. Before them, the charging goblins faltered slightly, and for a moment, the Dwarf wondered if the sight of so many furious dwergaz soldiers had finally gotten through to the enemy¡¯s sense of self-preservation. Something suddenly shifted in the goblins, and the Dwarf caught sight of strange movement behind the enemy bulk. Squinting his eyes, he tried to understand what he was looking at. The back ranks of the goblins seemed hazy, like they were¡­. were¡­ caught in fog. Eyes widening, the Dwarf just started to yell warnings when two competing horns cut through the din of battle. One was the silver trumpets of Vindabon calling for the company to pull back. The other was the brassy call of Gobavi boar-horns signaling the enemy to do something. Desperately, the Leaguer army tried to follow the command, stepping backwards even as they fought the goblins. But the order had come too late and the fog bank rolled forward and over the goblin line, into the Holy League army. This close, the Dwarf could see the fog was clearly no natural thing, its swirling shadows darker and more vivid than any mist or even smoke he¡¯d ever seen. This was spellcraft, and the Dwarf wanted to cry out, demanding where the slag his company¡¯s battlemage was. Instead, he focused on the heavy gold ring on his shield-arm¡¯s pointer finger and muttered the activation word. A ripple of magic flowed through the Dwarf¡¯s hand and into the crudely etched runes marking his shield. Feeling the ward snap into place, the Dwarf envied his human comrades, they at least had someone to pray to when shit got this bad. The fog crackled against the shield¡¯s ward but cared little for the paltry defense it offered, merely flowing around it and onto the Dwarf. Bracing himself, he expected a caustic burn or some sucking hunger, but as neither came, the Dwarf took another step back and stumbled. Catching himself, he grunted as his head swam and his belly heaved. The clank of metal and violent retching from behind caught the Dwarf¡¯s attention. Human soldiers were struggling to stay upright, many on their knees or collapsed into the dirt, many vomiting, others just groaning. Tightening his grip on his axe and shield the Dwarf looked to his nearest kinsmen who was wobbling slightly and asked. ¡°Wwwahat is-is happa-happa¡± As the slurred words left him the Dwarf suddenly understood, he was drunk, very drunk. The condition of the human soldiers also now made sense; they couldn¡¯t handle alcohol like a dwarf or¡­ or a goblin. Forcing his blurry vision to focus, the Dwarf swore at the slowly approaching mass of goblin kholops. ¡°Shit¡± Martialing himself, the Dwarf managed to slur out another battle cry, this one matched half-heartedly by his kinsmen. The humans were helpless, each fighting not to drown in their sick, let alone carry a spear. Now it fell to the dwarves, they¡¯d need to fight the jagging kholops and keep them busy until someone undid the hex. Most of the league¡¯s left-flank was under the spell¡¯s effect and the enemy was clearly trying to break them. A stupid little giggle escaped the Dwarf as he eyed the stumbling goblins as they approached. Whoever the enemy battlemage was, they clearly didn¡¯t know much about dwarves. If anyone could fight and win while piss-drunk, it would be dwergaz soldiers. Slowly the dwarves formed up, putting a solid wall of steel between their hexed comrades and the coming goblins. They needed to hold the left side of the army¡¯s formation against a drunken mob of serfs pretending to be soldiers; it wouldn¡¯t be easy, but it could be done. As the kholops managed to work themselves up into a ridiculous parody of the charge, another sound filled the battlefield. At first the Dwarf thought it was another horn, but as it carried on and was joined by others, he realized the truth, it was a howl. Hearing those horrible calls, the Dwarf¡¯s addled mind remembered something important; the other reason for mixed companies. Axe-dwarves and swordsmen might be able to break enemy infantry or shift the tide in a clash of spears, but they were royally fucked in the face of cavalry. Knights on horseback could cut them down like reapers among wheat; but the goblins didn¡¯t ride horses, or at least not only horses. Somewhere nearby, someone shouted a single word. ¡°WARGS!¡± Bursting out from the nearby woodline came hundreds of lupine monsters, each with an armored Kozak astride them. Larger than any true wolf and ill-proportioned, the creatures loped forward, splitting off into smaller packs and charging towards the faltering Leaguer line. The Dwarf could only watch as one of these packs headed his way; their Kozak riders already loosing volleys of arrows. Shield raised, the Dwarf caught one of the shafts with a grunt, the arrow punching worryingly deep into the reinforced linden wood. In response to this first volley of arrows a swarm of fiery bolts sailed from somewhere behind the Leaguer front line and struck among the charging warg-riders; each exploding into a sphere of crackling flames that elicited horrible screams and dying howls from those caught in them. But this wasn¡¯t enough, it wasn¡¯t anywhere close; the Kozaks charged on, the fastest of them already falling about the league army¡¯s left flank, tearing into their infantry as they struggled to stay upright. The Dwarf wanted to dress down whatever shitbrain thought a bombardment was a better use of magic than sobering up an entire section of the army. Instead he screamed orders, trying to rally the dwergaz infantry and few standing humans into a formation that might hold off the two coming charges. Kholops coming from the front, kozaks from the left, the battalion was caught between hammer and anvil. Trumpets sounded from somewhere to the right and behind the Dwarf¡¯s company and he allowed himself to look. Banners streaming, lances at the ready, the army¡¯s cavalry was coming, slipping through a corridor between the left and center formation. Letting out a breath, the Dwarf started to reevaluate his odds of survival. If the knights moved to intercept the kozaks then, this would- That thought died as the Dwarf stared in horror at what he was seeing. The knights weren¡¯t intercepting the kozaks, they were slamming into the kholops. Cutting the undisciplined peasants down like wheat while the mutant wolves and their riders surged into the Leaguer infantry. Instead of challenging their peers, the knights were going for easy glory and bloody triumph. Before the Dwarf¡¯s shock could fully turn to rage, the wargs were upon his beleaguered unit. Coming forward in a gray blur, twelve war-beasts loped along the ground, their riders stowing horn-bows before drawing cruel sabers or polearms. A few of the more functional humans brandished spears at the coming wargs, but they were fast, wickedly so, slipping past the clumsy thrusts and tearing into the tipsy soldiers with claws and fangs. Without a full pike-line, to ward off a charge, there was little to do against the rampaging beasts and their cackling riders. Already past the paltry spears, the warg set upon the drunk soldiery. Hexed as they were, the humans couldn¡¯t fight back, but the dwarves could. Leading his make-shift squad, the Dwarf pointed at the nearest warg and shouted ¡°Surround it!¡± The beast in question had it¡¯s jaws around a screaming man¡¯s torso, flailing him back and forth while the kozak atop it lashed out with a bardiche. Seeing the coming dwarfs, the warg jerked its head and snapped the man¡¯s spine with a single cruel movement before turning to meet the new threat. Cursing whatever warlock had created these cruel parodies of an already dangerous animal, the Dwarf pushed towards the warg even as it leapt for him. Diving forward, landing amid mud and blood, the Dwarf heard the whoosh of air as the beast passed over him and into those following him. Desperately trying to stand up, the Dwarf fought against the sucking swamp the battle had turned the surrounding farm field into. Wiping away stinking dirt from his face, the Dwarf found the snarling warg barely a meter away, its jaws clamped around a screaming soldier¡¯s breastplate, slowly crushing it and him while the kozak hacked at the surrounding axe-dwarves. The Dwarf had lost his shield in the mud but still held his father¡¯s axe-hammer, that would have to be enough. With the warg¡¯s attention on the others, the Dwarf lunged for its back legs, going for the reversed knee. Tested steel was triumphant, cartilage and ligaments snapped as the axe-hammer sunk into flesh. A howling yelp escaped the warg and it tried to turn but the Dwarf wasn¡¯t done. Ripping his weapon free and spinning the head, he brought the hammer down on the beast¡¯s hip. Bone cracked and the back leg kicked pathetically, as the warg tried to change focus; a mistake that killed it. The other soldiers swarmed in like ants over dropped sugar, hacking away at the creature and its rider. Barciache, lashing out the kozak screamed curses until a shaky pikeman drove his weapon through the goblin¡¯s throat. As warg and rider died under countless blows, the Dwarf realized his head was clearing, the hex was dissipating. All around him more and more of his company were rising from their stupor, but not all of them. Arrows, kholops and wargs had torn into the ranks, but even now as they tried to regroup, the damage was done. Properly trained and equipped boi-kholopi, the elite slave-soldiers of the boyars, were marching forward, gathering the scraps of previous kholop assaults to themselves while the kozaks rampaged through the left flank. The day hadn¡¯t been decided yet, but any chance of easy victory was long gone. Like drops of water pooling into a puddle, the disparate survivors of the goblin attack reformed into formation, returning to the rectangular shape they¡¯d been drilled to take on instinct. Reduced in number and shaken, the mixed company still formed up and pushed the wargs back. Which admittedly wasn¡¯t that big of an accomplishment. Once the monstrous cavalry saw they¡¯d lost their advantage, they happily retreated; kozaks reversed in their saddles firing arrows, while their mounts gnawed on whatever poor soul they managed to take with them. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Trying to spot banners and listen for horn calls, the Dwarf got a sense for how the battle was going. The Leaguer reserve was moving up and the goblin assault seemed to be pulling back, but the legitimacy of any Gobavi retreat was beyond suspect. Warg riders and other goblin cavalry would gladly dance around an enemy, nipping at them like any proper wolfpack. Except unlike wolves, the kozaks had swarms of conscripts to tie down and exhaust foes. Staring at the pulped serfs who covered the ground, the Dwarf felt sick; the pointlessness of all this was staggering. This had started as a minor punitive raid, an ugly little border-crossing meant to avenge some of the goblin¡¯s own banditry and repaint the borders in blood. A dirty business, but a necessity as far as those in power were concerned. The lands of Gobavi were massive but never enough, scheming boyars, hungry peasants and a divinely ordained tradition of expansion kept the Tzardom always pressing and poking at their neighbors. Reminding the goblins the leaguer kingdoms known collectively as the Eastern Marches would not tolerate such aggression was important. All of that, ugly as it was, the Dwarf could understand. What he could not was how that rat-fucking aristocrat in charge of this whole endeavour had managed to turn it into this steaming pile of goat-shit. Instead of a focused raid, he¡¯d lead his army on a mad march deeper and deeper into Gobavi, facing greater and greater resistance at every turn. General Louon said they weren¡¯t far now, and just needed to take the town of Milda and all this would be worth it. The Dwarf had his doubts, with every kilometer the odds of them getting surrounded, cut off and cut down rose dramatically. Nearby a voice started to shout, growing closer with every second. ¡°Captain! Captain! Captain!¡± Glancing about, the Dwarf frowned, wondering where the company¡¯s chief officer had gotten to? Was he dead in the mud like so many others or in a warg¡¯s jaw. Eventually the soldier standing next to the Dwarf nudged him. ¡°Think that¡¯s for you, sir.¡± Confused, the Dwarf started to point at his helmet and sergeant marks but then the distant voice got louder and more verbose. ¡°Captain Ironteeth!¡±
Eyes snapping open, taking in a deep breath, Captain Arkaz Ironteeth of the Vindabon city watch blinked away old memories and looked up from his desk. Darvy, his ever loyal lieutenant, stood before him, a nervous look on his face. Voice slurred by sleep, Arkaz grunted. ¡°Slag are you doing here Darvy? It''s¡­ its, world knows what time.¡± Clearing his throat and rubbing his eternal stubble, Darvy replied. ¡°Uh, it¡¯s seventh bell sir, I think you¡­¡± Blinking away the disorientation of sleep, Ironteeth groaned and looked out his office window. He¡¯d fallen asleep working on paperwork and spent the night at the guard tower. Glancing over his messy desk, Ironteeth sighed, his right hand was covered in dried ink and so was the paper he¡¯d been writing on when sleep ripped him from consciousness¡¯s arms. Slowly standing up and starting to clean up his dropped stylus¡¯s mess, Ironteeth glanced at his lieutenant. ¡°Well, does the night shift report anything interesting?¡± Nodding, Darvy looked over the paper in his hands. ¡°Some more of the usual. A wake over at the flagon got a little rowdy, but nothing too terrible. Over on Aajie Street someone stole a cart and managed to flip it right in the road¡¯s middle.¡± Finding his wash basin and trying to scrub the ink off, Ironteeth grunted. ¡°I assume he was drunk?¡± Smirking, Darvy bobbed his head. ¡°Spectacularly. He¡¯s in the holding cells and we¡¯re trying to find the cart¡¯s owner. The horse is missing, though, so I¡¯ve got people keeping an eye out.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Ironteeth asked. ¡°He stole a horse and cart, knocked one over and lost the other¡­. There''s probably an impressive story to that. What else do I need to worry about today?¡± Darvy shrugged and seemed to hesitate slightly. ¡°It¡¯s not really our business, but I thought you should know. Someone broke into the courier house over by the Sun Gate. I don¡¯t know what they took, but its been all the gossip.¡± Finally managing to turn his fingers back to their usual shade, Ironteeth glanced at his deputy. ¡°Really? They keep that place under a heavy lock.¡± Handing one of his papers to his now not stained commander, Darvy elaborated. ¡°It¡¯s why everyone''s so focused on it; especially since they didn¡¯t steal anything valuable.¡± Looking at the document, Ironteeth saw an urgently sketched bulletin alerting all the guards districts about the theft. Glancing it over, Ironteeth¡¯s heavy brow rose steadily. The courier house was the first stop for most messengers coming and going to Vindabon. Lots of coin moved through the structure and it held a series of lockboxes of Andvari dwarf make. Yet, it hadn¡¯t been some pay chest or courier-carried gemstone taken from the house. Instead, someone broke in, ransacked one of the file rooms and took a number of manifests and postal route records. ¡°Seems to me like someone is looking for something moving in the courier network.¡± muttered Ironteeth before adding. ¡°You¡¯re right, not really our business, but still interesting. I doubt whatever comes from this will happen in Vindabon. Hopefully, they can get word and extra security to whatever unlucky rider is carrying the thief¡¯s target.¡± Setting the paper down, Ironteeth groomed his dark beard and looked himself over in the mirror. Deciding he didn¡¯t look like some grimy deep-shaft squatter, the captain left his office and went about the business of keeping order in the Weinstadt district. By the time noon came, Ironteeth was thoroughly reminded of why beds existed. A desk, no matter how cushioned by documents, made a very poor excuse for one. Back aching, beard itching, Arkaz split his time between the guard tower and surrounding district the best he could. Helping his subordinates, citizens and doing the most important thing a leader and guard could: be visible. That this kept his sore body moving and away from the equally important task of paperwork was just a nice bonus. Returning to the tower, after getting himself an oggy at the distract market, Ironteeth ran into a frustrated subordinate on the way back to his office. City-Warden Cat-eyes was less than six months in the guard but already proving a valuable addition to Ironteeth¡¯s staff. Face contorted into an annoyed frown, she saluted Ironteeth and said. ¡°I still haven¡¯t found the horse, sir.¡± A little surprised, Ironteeth asked. ¡°Really? Do you think it¡¯s in another district?¡± Shaking her head, Alia Cat-eyes replied. ¡°No, that¡¯s the damndest part. I keep picking up and losing the trail. There are signs of the horse all over; hells, I almost stepped in its shit. But no one has seen it, including me. As far as I can tell, it''s meandering all around our district without anyone noticing it!¡± That set off a new itch in Ironteeth¡¯s beard. Looking towards the holding cells, he started to say. ¡°Let¡¯s go talk with our horse-thief; I¡¯ve got an idea about-¡± Darvy appeared from the tower stairway, panting as if he¡¯d been running. ¡°Captain, there¡¯s someone downstairs who insistently wants to meet with you.¡± Crossing his arms, the Captain asked. ¡°What about?¡± Glancing behind him and then stepping closer, Darvy spoke softly. ¡°He¡¯s a merchant of some kind, and says he¡¯s got information on the courier house robbery. Seems pretty nervous and wanted only to speak to you, saying something about your ¡®specific qualifications.¡¯¡± That got a raised eyebrow. As far as Ironteeth knew, the only thing that set him really apart from the other guard captains was his species. A factor that came up more often than he¡¯d like. Since every time a ¡®dwarf crime¡¯ became an issue, some rat-chewer would think it a good time to ¡®consult¡¯ with him on his obvious ¡®expertise.¡¯ Letting out a breath from between his namesake, Captain Ironteeth shrugged. ¡°Well, send him up.¡± Nodding, Darvy hesitated for a moment before adding. ¡°One thing, sir, the merchant, he¡¯s a goblin.¡± That got Ironteeth¡¯s attention. Goblins weren¡¯t common in Vindabon, few of them ever left their homelands. Even the population of league-aligned goblins in the Eastern Marches rarely strayed far from their native regions. For a people who glorified conquest and expansion, they rarely migrated. Bitterly, Ironteeth noted they did migrate, but only after wiping out or subjugating those who¡¯d lived in a region before. He¡¯d seen what remained of villages on the Gobavi border when a Boyar decided it was time to expand, the fires, the rapes, the blood sacrifices. Shaking his head, Ironteeth grit his jaw. For a moment he wanted to tell Darvy to shoo the little sidhe-shit away. Letting out a breath and pushing down the old pains, Ironteeth said. ¡°I¡¯ll meet him in my office.¡± Heading that way, Ironteeth realized he¡¯d almost forgotten about Cat-eyes. ¡°Check on the horse thief, maybe if you find out where the horse was stolen from you¡¯ll know where it¡¯s going. Work horses like that sometimes know their routes better than the driver.¡± Settling into his office chair, eyeing his axe-hammer with perhaps a little too much intensity, Ironteeth waited for the goblin. Using a breathing exercise, a Priest of Aunt Seeress had taught him, he tried not to think about the blood and screams of battle. He¡¯d killed lots of goblins, and lost lots of friends to them. This would not be an easy meeting, no matter what. After nearly five minutes, there was a knock at the door and Darvy swung it open, ushering a well-dressed goblin into Ironteeth¡¯s office. Tall by his people¡¯s standard, being nearly Ironteeth¡¯s height, the goblin had gray-purple skin and long silver hair. Large, almost bat-like ears drooped from the sides of his head and his brow receded slightly. The goblin¡¯s features were sharp and angular, softened only slightly by his small beard. Clad in a garb fitting of any successful merchant, he carried a cap between long fingers. Like all his people, the goblin had six digits, each covered in rings, giving his hands the impression of bejeweled spiders. For a moment, both goblin and dwarf stared at each other, both clearly sizing each other up. Remembering himself, Ironteeth gestured towards the chair before his desk. Slipping into the too-large chair, the goblin spoke, his voice surprisingly deep and accented by his mother tongue. ¡°Thank you for meeting with me, Captain Ironteeth. I am Boris Tamvo.¡± Grunting, Ironteeth asked. ¡°My lieutenant says you have information about the courier house burglary.¡± Nodding, Boris said. ¡°Yes, I know who did it and why.¡± The Merchant was fidgeting with his rings, nervousness leaking from his every action. Something had him spooked and Ironteeth found himself becoming increasingly agitated just watching Boris. ¡°Well, spit it out.¡± Swallowing fearfully, Boris Tamvo leaned forward. ¡°The Warg¡¯s Head.¡± Confused, Ironteeth, stared at his ¡®guest.¡¯ ¡°And what does that mean?¡± Spinning one of his rings so fast its gemstone became a blueish blur, Boris elaborated. ¡°They are an order, a monastic order that serves the Tzar. They hunt his enemies, killing them, torturing them, making an example. They¡¯ve come from the motherland, and they are hunting me.¡± Scoffing, Ironteeth started to get up from his chair. ¡°I think we are done here.¡± Vigorously shaking his head, Boris spoke rapidly. ¡°No! No! You don¡¯t understand, I¡¯m an Orphan!¡± Ironteeth shrugged and gestured towards the door. ¡°So is everyone, eventually. Now please leave and stop wasting my time. The Tzar has bigger threats to send his killers after than a merchant in a foreign land.¡± Raising his six-fingered hands in a desperate plea, Boris kept speaking. ¡°Please, I come to you because you fight my kinsmen, you know what my motherland is like, what it makes of people!¡± A flash of anger filled Ironteeth. This little slant-browed sidhe-shit had looked into his past! He¡¯d come here, knowing what Ironteeth had seen, what he¡¯d survived. Hand drifting to his belt, the Captain growled. ¡°You should leave now, and not slagging come back!¡± Panicked, Boris kept speaking. ¡°There are records! Records of me and my fellow escapee¡¯s at the courier house. Former children of the motherland, all of us hunted but still in contact with each other.¡± Ironteeth hesitated and seeing this the Merchant let out a breath and tried to explain. ¡°Am sorry for poor start. I fled Gobavi and its cruelty when I was younger; but I still have family there. People who deserve a better life than breaking themselves for the Boyars and dying for the Tzar. Here in Vindabon I am successful merchant, I make much coin and send some home, to those who want to change things. This probably a dream, but one I share, many of us across your lands send what we can back to those who resist the yoke.¡± Fear had thickened Boris¡¯s accent but Ironteeth still understood what was being said. ¡°You¡¯re part of a rebellion?¡± Boris shrugged. ¡°Enough to earn the Tzar¡¯s wrath. See, as a merchant in your great city, I act as¡­ connector for different donors. Money and information flow to me and then to my contacts. We do this through the courier network, and there are papers telling of our work, papers now stolen.¡± Still listening but not convinced, Ironteeth asked. ¡°What makes you think the robbery has to do with your network? You can¡¯t be the only ones moving valuable information through the couriers.¡± Taking a shuddering breath, Boris flicked his eyes around the office, as if he expected to find someone listening. ¡°Two of my contacts in the east have gone silent, one sent word of Warg¡¯s Head sniffing about him before disappearance. That was less than a month ago, and it take nearly that long to reach Vindabon from where he was. Also, the Tzar has been pressing his boot recently, trying to crush any hint of disloyalty. Too much, too soon for all to be coincidence.¡± Returning to his seat and leaning back in the chair, Ironteeth spoke slowly. ¡°So assuming I believe you, what will this goblin spy do now?¡± Boris let out a tired little laugh. ¡°Kill me, probably horribly, then leave and do the rest to everyone else he can find in the Orphan network.¡± Shutting his eyes, the Merchant continued. ¡°If the Varganiki¡± seeing Ironteeth¡¯s confusion on the goblin word he amended himself. ¡°If the Warg¡¯s Head got enough from my contact to know about the couriers and my place in Vindabon it is only a matter of time until he finds me.¡± Ironteeth sighed. ¡°Alright, so still under the assumption this is not paranoia, why come to me? The courier house isn¡¯t in my district.¡± The Captain already had an idea as to why, judging by Boris¡¯s frantic words earlier, but wanted to make sure. Bowing his head slightly, the Merchant explained. ¡°You are the only guard officer who fought my kinsmen. What I say sounds paranoid, I understand that, but it is not so if you know my motherland. Gobavi, the land, the people, the gods, are cruel, grasping things that never forget a slight. They will do wretched things to any who wrong them and worse to any who try to take from them. I¡¯ve done both and helped others do the same. You understand that and what they are capable of.¡± Boris¡¯s eyes were black, making his pupils seem huge. ¡°It is not paranoia if they really are out to get you, Captain Ironteeth.¡± Hand going to the large scar along his chest, feeling its dull ache more than he had in years, Arkaz Ironteeth let out a very long, very tired sigh. ¡°Fuck.¡± Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant and the Warg (Part 2)

Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant and the Warg (Part 2)

¡°I remember the night they came for my father. They broke down our hovel¡¯s door; it wasn¡¯t locked and could barely keep out the cold, but they still smashed it apart. At first I thought them werewolves come to eat us, but then I realized they wore masks, dreadful snarling masks of fur and fang. My father picked up his old bardiche from above the fireplace but was too slow. The four masked men set upon him with clubs, breaking his bones and my mother¡¯s arm when she tried to help. They dragged my father out into the snow then and ordered us to go as well. We did, and followed them to the village square. They set my father onto a chair, tying him to it and then¡­. then they came for us. My mother was first, then my sisters, and eventually me. Right in front of my father and our village, the monsters broke us; making everyone watch our humiliation and degradation. Then, once the last of them finished, they mounted horses black as their robes and left without a further word. By then I wished they¡¯d been werewolves, those monsters just kill you.¡± - Captain Ivoni Kvetsky, officer in the Krakusmund Hussars and Orphan.
Eyes shut, slumped in his chair, Ironteeth said. ¡°I want to check at the courier house and see what exact documents were stolen. For all we know, the thief didn¡¯t even take anything related to your resistance movement. Once that¡¯s ascertained, we can move on from there.¡± Boris let out a relieved breath and pulled a folded note out of a pocket and set it on Ironteeth¡¯s desk. Tapping the newest addition to the desk¡¯s mess, Boris said. ¡°This is list of courier services used by Orphanage.¡± Plucking the paper up, Ironteeth unfolded and read it. Names, dates, coin amounts, it was all recorded in tight script. Nodding, he stood up and said. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of this right now. You stay here until I get back.¡± Shaking his head frantically, Boris said. ¡°No, no, no! I can¡¯t let paper leave my presence. Talking is already a grave risk. Your history is only reason I trust you with this matter.¡± Teeth scraping against each other, the Captain growled. ¡°You aren¡¯t in a position to make demands like that. I¡¯m willing to spend my time chasing this ridiculousness; but will not bring you to an active crime scene.¡± A pained look went across the Merchant¡¯s face. ¡°I am literal about paper, not leaving my presence. It is hexed, will crumble away if it goes too far from me.¡± Dropping the note as if it was poisonous, Ironteeth eyed Boris with newfound suspicion. Goblins were bad enough, a goblin who knew spellcraft was another matter. Considering his options, Ironteeth wondered if he could just copy the note. That would probably be the easiest option aside from just ignoring all of this as a foreigner¡¯s mad ravings; but old ghosts whispered at the edges of Ironteeth¡¯s mind. He remembered the Battle of Milda and the carnage that led up to it. Boris¡¯s words about the vindictiveness of his motherland struck a cord Ironteeth would much prefer had stayed silent. Grunting, Ironteeth buckled his axe-hammer on and started for the door. ¡°Fine then, come with me.¡± Smiling, showing the slightly too-pointed teeth of his kind, Boris said. ¡°I have carriage waiting outside; it will save time.¡± That bothered Ironteeth, he didn¡¯t like the idea of using civilian transport, especially one owned by a goblin. But as he considered it, refusing seemed more and more ridiculous. Time might be of the essence if Boris was right, and wasting the hours it would take to walk all the way towards the Sun Gate was foolish. Besides that, Ironteeth figured a private carriage ride would be a good chance to gain more information from the Merchant. So soon enough, he and Boris were entering a plain but well kept coach that had been waiting near the guard tower. Sitting opposite the goblin, Ironteeth found himself wondering why exactly he¡¯d agreed to this? Simply copying the note or sending a request for more information about the robbery would be easier. Letting a civilian get enmeshed like this went against procedure and was only done in extreme situations. But try as the Captain might, he just couldn¡¯t convince himself to ignore the hunch that this current course was the correct one. Boris¡¯s words had opened up old wounds and Ironteeth wanted to either prove the goblin wrong or not let him out of his sight if he was right. For his part, Boris merely sat and fidgeted with his rings, a compulsive behavior that made Ironteeth wonder how long it would take the Goblin to rub his fingers raw. Sucking in a breath, the Captain decided he should stop thinking about what he was thinking, and get some answer. ¡°These spies, why are they called the Warg¡¯s Head?¡± That got Boris to stop his fidgeting. ¡°You know about Kozaks? How they bond with wargs?¡± Shrugging, Ironteeth replied. ¡°Not much, just that they somehow manage to tame and ride the monsters.¡± Boris shook his head. ¡°Not tame, raise. Warg pups are given to strongest youths of a Kozak clan. They train their warg as they are trained in the arts of war. A bond is formed, deeper than any other; warg and Kozak become brothers-in-war, utterly inseparable. If rider dies, the warg will starve itself, if the warg dies the rider goes mad.¡± Clasping his hands together, Boris shook them in a sign of unity. ¡°You understand? This is sacred link, loyalty deep as the world¡¯s bones and is just as strong.¡± Slowly nodding, Ironteeth thought of the vicious monsters he¡¯d seen, and tried to square that image with the almost noble one Boris presented. Letting his hands fall away, Boris¡¯s voice became quieter. ¡°Now, thinking on this, listen to my words. To join the Varganiki a Kozak must sacrifice his warg. They cut their beast-brother¡¯s heart from his very chest and offer it to an icon of the Tzar. Then, before the blood even dries, they take the warg¡¯s pelt and craft a mask. The Varganiki, murder their greatest friend to prove loyalty to the Tzar and then become his hunting hounds; wearing their own warg¡¯s head while they bring terror and death to any who oppose him.¡± Silence filled the coach as Ironteeth digested this barbarism. Slowly, teeth scraping against each other, he spat. ¡°And your people do this willingly?!¡± Boris shrugged. ¡°Not truly. Few people in my motherland do anything willingly. They do what is expected, what is required and what is ordered. But, don¡¯t misunderstand me, Varganiki aren¡¯t common, it takes a certain type of¡­ creature to commit such a betrayal in the name of fanaticism. The Warg¡¯s Head are monsters in goblin-form, one¡¯s collected and cultivated by the empire¡¯s will for their needs. I¡¯m sure you have encountered their ilk in your work, people who, despite no curse or bewitchment act with cruelty, that rivals vampires.¡± Ironteeth got what Boris meant. There was a certain breed of individual who lacked any semblance of empathy and acted more like a predator than a person. Folklore said these heartless folk had drops of demonic blood in them; being throwbacks to some infernal coupling from generations ago. The truth of those legends wasn¡¯t something Ironteeth cared to consider; that was for the priests, and his people had little time for them. What he did know was that for all its flaws, the Holy League usually locked up or killed people like that, not swear them in as secret police. For a time they rode in silence, Ironteeth chewing on this information and its implications. Eventually he asked. ¡°Sending someone like that all the way to Vindabon seems like a lot of effort. Surely it would be easier to just hire local criminals to do the Tzar¡¯s work? Stone knows we have enough that would take his silver to do terrible things.¡± That elicited a nervous laugh from Boris. ¡°It matter of principle. When I said I was an ¡®orphan¡¯ I didn¡¯t mean my parents died or abandoned me as whelp. In Gobavi we worship the Three Queens as the holy mothers of our people, with the Tzar, our spiritual father. As an Orphan of Gobavi I renounce and reject my former pantheon. That isn¡¯t the kind of slight the motherland takes lightly, especially considering I¡¯ve not just escaped them, but actively plotted against Gobavi with some success. By having a Varganiki kill me and all those connected to my network, a message is sent to any who dream of rebellion within and without Gobavi.¡± Tapping his fingers against the hilt of his axe-hammer, Ironteeth muttered. ¡°Your gods sound more like racketeers than deities. I always found the human gods strange, but they at least don¡¯t try to string up former worshippers.¡± Looking at one of his rings, Boris muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t disagree. But I do wonder how much of this is the Goddesses'' will and how much is the clergy¡¯s. The Three Queens don¡¯t coddle my people with constant aid and advice like the human pantheon. They demand we be strong, but seem content to let us sort out exactly how to be so. Perhaps the apparatus surrounding their chosen monarch is¡­. oh, forget it. Fear makes an apologist out of me.¡± Shoulders hunched, Boris made a noise like a chuckle¡¯s sick cousin. ¡°I thought I was long past my crisis of faith, but fear brings out the believer in all of us. Perhaps that¡¯s why they send the Varganiki? To make us Orphans seek repentance and restitution in the Triple Goddess¡¯s sight?¡± As those words hung in the air, the pair sat in silence. Ironteeth pulled apart all Boris had shared and added the strands to his tapestry of goblin culture. Stroking his beard, he thought about his own people¡¯s complicated relationship with divinity. Losing their pantheon had cut a bone-deep wound in the Dwergaz soul and the very notion of gods left a bitter taste in Ironteeth¡¯s mouth. That being said, he had to admit having the dwarf gods disappear like smoke in the wind was better than being stuck with whatever slag the goblins had. Eventually, the silence between them ended as the coach¡¯s driver knocked on the side and shouted. ¡°Almost at the courier house, boss!¡± Leaning out the coach window, Boris exchanged words with his employee and then ducked back inside. ¡°There is a small crowd out front, why?¡± A bleak snort escaped Ironteeth. ¡°I¡¯d guess you aren¡¯t the only person worried about this robbery. Courier houses are supposed to be secure, even if this theft isn¡¯t part of a slagging goblin conspiracy, it¡¯s still a major problem.¡± As the coach came to a stop, Ironteeth asked. ¡°Any ideas how your ¡®Varganiki¡¯ managed this?¡± Opening the door and slowly stepping out after a few nervous glances around him, Boris replied. ¡°The stories say a coven of witches work with them, supplying spells and potions.¡± That got Ironteeth to clench his jaw. He had bad memories of goblin magic and didn¡¯t like the idea of encountering more of the wretched stuff inside his city. Making a note of the possible danger, he eyed the small mob and said. ¡°Don¡¯t say anything unless I tell you to, and don¡¯t get separated from me.¡± Leaving the coach behind, Ironteeth stomped forward, pushing into the crowd like a boulder through a forest. Bureaucrats, couriers, merchants, and that ever miserable category of ¡®concerned citizens,¡¯ found themselves parted through a mix of shoves, shouts and unsubtle threats. Reaching the front doors to the courier house, Boris trailing right behind him, Ironteeth held up his badge to the frazzled looking guards tasked with keeping the building locked down. ¡°Captain Ironteeth of the thirteenth, I need to speak with whoever is in charge.¡± After the barest moment of hesitation, the senior of the guards grunted and opened the door. ¡°Find City-Warden Arnulf, he¡¯s who you want.¡± Before the guard shut the door behind Ironteeth and Boris he added. ¡°And tell him we need more jagging men! These idiots can¡¯t seem to get that this place is closed!¡± The inside of the courier house was thankfully safe from the raucous activity outside. Silent except for the murmur of the crowd and the crinkle of shifting paper; the building was kin to both a road hostel and bank. Its interior designed to give exhausted couriers a place to safely deposit their cargo and then take a much needed rest. Aside from Ironteeth and Boris a single weary looking clerk was in the lobby. Seeing Ironteeth¡¯s uniform the clerk gestured behind her and to the left. ¡°The other guards are back there, in the records room.¡± Thanking the woman, Ironteeth followed her directions, quickly finding an open door with a busted lock. Beyond the damaged entrance was a large room filled floor to ceiling with shelves, each containing stacks of record books and loosely bound paper. Glancing about the chamber, Ironteeth noted not all the documents were so neatly stored. One corner of the room was an utter mess, with parchment and paper scattered about near overturned shelves. Two guards and two clerks sifted through the scattered records while a bored-looking man with bad facial hair watched from nearby. Hearing them approach, the man looked towards Ironteeth and grunted. ¡°You''re the captain of the thirteenth district, right? What are you doing here?¡± Nodding, Ironteeth offered his grip. ¡°You must be City-Warden Arnulf, then?¡± Eyeing the dwarf¡¯s hand for perhaps a moment too long, the man made a noise of confirmation and then shook it. Arnulf¡¯s deep-set eyes flicked back and forth from Ironteeth and Boris, questions, assessments and more bubbling within him. Deciding to head off any awkwardness, Ironteeth said. ¡°I got some information that might be useful to you. Is there a list of what¡¯s been stolen yet?¡± Still eyeing Boris, Arnulf shrugged with one shoulder. ¡°Part of one. What¡¯s this about, Captain?¡± Scratching his black beard, the dwarf replied. ¡°Hopefully nothing, but if your list matches mine, then things might get tricky.¡± A number of emotions passed through Arnulf¡¯s face, he clearly didn¡¯t like being interrupted and pressed upon this early in an investigation. But as his eyes flicked down to Ironteeth¡¯s badge and the rank it implied, he repeated his half-shrug. ¡°Fine then, let me take a look at whatever you¡¯ve got.¡± Ironteeth glanced at the goblin and then asked. ¡°Were some of the records related to the Cloudhoof Courier¡¯s Krakusmund route? Particularly in the first week of Newflame?¡± That got a twitch from both Boris and one of the clerks who¡¯d been gathering papers. It seemed the goblin merchant had forgotten about dwarven memory. Even if Ironteeth wasn¡¯t eidetic like some of his kind, seeing Boris¡¯s list was still enough for him to remember the first few entries. Standing up quickly, the clerk, a sandy-haired man with centimeter-thick glasses, exclaimed. ¡°How did you know that?¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Letting out a curse, Ironteeth gestured to Boris who tentatively handed him the scrap of enchanted paper. Taking the document with a little hesitance, Ironteeth kept reading off it. ¡°Vronti Company, Krakusmund again, Sixteenth of Scorchset?¡± Exchanging a look with Arnulf the clerk adjusted his spectacles. ¡°That is two of the stolen entries, yes! Most of what was taken was from Krakusmund and a few other Lechian towns.¡± Letting out a bone-deep sigh, Ironteeth stroked his beard. That matched much of Boris¡¯s messages heading east. It seemed more and more likely the goblin¡¯s fears weren¡¯t so foolish. Staring down at the list in hand, the dwarf kept reading off more and more, comparing them to the clerk¡¯s inventory of missing documents. Nearly all of what the courier house thought was missing was on the list, making up nearly a third of its content. There was no getting around it now, Boris might have been paranoid, but someone was certainly out to get him. Looking at the merchant in question, Ironteeth was surprised to see a look of almost relief on his face. Before confusion could properly set in, Ironteeth felt his brain finish the chain of thought that Boris clearly had. If the stolen records were only what the merchant had been sending east, then the network wasn¡¯t fully uncovered. The papers taken would be enough to identify Boris as the Orphanage¡¯s contact in Vindabon but not who else he was working with further west. Shutting his eyes, Ironteeth tried to imagine the system Boris had described and its implications. Money and information flowed from goblin expatriates across the Holy League towards Boris who used his mercantile connections to send what he collected to a number of contacts in the lands bordering the Tzardom. Some of those contacts had gone dark, possibly killed by this Varganiki, but not before giving up information about how they were getting support; particularly what courier service was used and when. That information when combined with what was stolen from the courier house would be enough to identify Boris as he¡¯d feared, but not enough to find his other contacts. Sure, the Varganiki could steal every paper with Boris¡¯s name on it and work from there, but he was a successful merchant, and finding the important scraps of information among all his messages and deliveries would be near-impossible. It would be far easier to just grab Boris and pull the important information from him. The Orphanage wasn¡¯t ruined, but the steel would certainly be aimed between the goblin merchant¡¯s ribs now. Arms crossed, face in a scowl, Arnulf brought Ironteeth¡¯s attention back to the moment. ¡°Alright, you¡¯ve proved you know something. So what is this about?¡± Folding up the list and handing it back to Boris, the Guard Captain replied. ¡°Ugly goblin business that¡¯s wriggled its way into our city. Do you know how the thief broke in?¡± Again, Arnulf glanced at the badge pinned to Ironteeth¡¯s uniform, seemingly needing the reminder of who was in charge here. Clenching and unclenching his jaw the City-Warden replied. ¡°The security around the records room was nothing special. Two good locks are pretty much all that kept this stuff safe. The thief picked one and broke the other, probably when they were trying to leave. It looks like something spooked the bastard and he bolted once he got what he came for, breaking open the door he previously snuck through.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Ironteeth asked. ¡°No guards?¡± Arnulf shook his head. ¡°The lockboxes and vault have them, but not the jagging records room. There wasn¡¯t even a detection spell or hallway patrols. I¡¯d wager anyone who looked like they belonged could slip back here, grab what they needed and then get out.¡± Glancing back at the busted lock, Ironteeth muttered. ¡°Then why didn¡¯t they? If the thief could pick the lock, then why break it while escaping? What spooked him?¡± Giving the pair of clerks working nearby a strange look, Arnulf replied. ¡°That¡¯s the thing, no one even knew anything was stolen till this morning. We don¡¯t even have a good idea of when the robbery happened. Only that it was sometime between midnight and sixth bell.¡± A deep grumbling groan escaped the Dwarf Captain, not having a clear timeline would be tricky. Scratching at his beard, he went over to the broken door and decided to see if he could gather anything from it. Reaching out, he prodded the splintered wood and warped metal mechanism. Even with the right tools breaking down a door like that would be tricky; and loud, very loud. Glancing back at the City-Warden he asked. ¡°How many people were staying here last night?¡± Arnulf gestured at one of the guards assisting the clerks, who pulled out his notepad and read off. ¡°Twenty three couriers, all resting between routes.¡± Fingers in his beard, Ironteeth frowned. ¡°And no one heard anything?¡± The guard bobbed his head. ¡°I asked about that. Apparently, after riding hard for kilometers and making deliveries, most couriers sleep like the dead once they reach a good bed. Besides, the dormitory part of the building is a floor above and a hallway apart.¡± That was a reasonable explanation, but Ironteeth didn¡¯t know if he accepted it. Soldiers were the same, falling asleep fast and hard when the time came. Still, much like soldiers, couriers had to stay alert. Not all of the Holy League¡¯s roads were safe for lone travelers. It seemed strange not a single one out of the nearly two-dozen couriers woke up when someone was battering a lock open. Ironteeth had kicked down his share of doors and knew how much of a racket it made. That thought sent another rolling and Ironteeth refocused on the damaged wood and realized something he¡¯d missed. Judging by the marks and splintering on the door, whoever busted it open was short, close to his own height. This fact joined the Captain¡¯s growing ledger of reasons to think Boris was correct. The thief was dwarf or goblin-sized, and strong enough to smash the mechanism. Most dwarves could manage something like that, but on average, goblins were wiry; being more dexterous and flexible than strong. Still, outliers exist and more importantly, so does magic. The Varganiki were originally Kozak warriors and good warriors could become Paragons. So unless Ironteeth was massively misjudging things, odds had it a vicious foreign Paragon was running about his city, looking to torture and kill one of Vindabon¡¯s citizens. Turning from the door, Ironteeth said. ¡°City-Warden Arnulf, you¡¯ve been a great help. I¡¯ll let your captain know of your cooperation and aid next time I see him.¡± Instead of acknowledging the praise, Arnulf snapped. ¡°You''re taking this case from me then?¡± Heading towards the door, gesturing for Boris to follow behind him, Ironteeth replied. ¡°I am, and that¡¯s probably best for everyone. Also send some more men up front to deal with the crowd.¡±
The Captain and Merchant were quiet as they left the building, pushing past the slightly smaller crowd outside and returning to the waiting coach. Inside the well kept carriage, Ironteeth cracked his neck and said. ¡°Well, so far, all the evidence is saying you¡¯re correct. This Varganiki is loose in Vindabon and hunting you. Let¡¯s get you back to the station and I¡¯ll spread the word to the city government and temples.¡± Staring at his rings, Boris said slowly. ¡°Must that happen?¡± A little surprised, Ironteeth replied. ¡°If we want to catch the rat-fucker quickly, then yes.¡± Taking a breath the Merchant picked his words. ¡°What do you think will happen when word spreads of violent goblin foreigner lurking in the city? That some unknown child of Gobavi is actually dangerous spy and needs to be hunted down?¡± Ironteeth clenched his jaw. ¡°Don¡¯t be like that. This is Vindabon, not some back-country village where a foreigner is a-¡± Boris raised an eyebrow and interrupted Ironteeth. ¡°That Warden back there despised both our presence. I could feel his disgust at being ordered about by you. Captain Ironteeth, I did my research and know you gained your station by merit and service. You¡¯re a war-hero and a capable leader; but you still face discrimination. Can you imagine what the scared slum-dwelling goblins who barely speak Western might be subjected to during a spy-hunt?¡± As much as Ironteeth didn¡¯t like to be interrupted, the truth in Boris¡¯s words struck him hard and left him brooding for a moment. ¡°Then what would you have me do?¡± A bitter expression passed over the Merchant¡¯s face. ¡°What any hunter does when faced with a canny monster; bait it into a trap.¡± With those words, Boris gestured at himself. ¡°The Varganiki is no doubt after me; use it¡¯s own goal against it.¡± Shaking his head, Ironteeth snapped. ¡°I¡¯m not about to put a civilian into harm''s way like that! You¡¯re going back to the tower and under guard until this matter is settled.¡± Boris spat out. ¡°And what? spend weeks or months as your guest while the city flails about, brutalizing my countrymen and missing the actual warg among the sheep?¡± Becoming more annoyed, the Captain answered. ¡°Vindabon isn¡¯t incompetent, it can root out a spy in ways more subtle than the goat shit Gobavi uses. Besides, why in the world¡¯s bones do you want to endanger yourself like this? When you came into my office you were wringing your hands and sniveling, not desperate to jump into the fray!¡± Sharp teeth bared, Boris hissed. ¡°I feared the entire network was compromised! My life has less value than the organization I¡¯ve helped build. If I die, then others will take up the work, and besides, sacrificing myself to stop this beast is a small price for my people¡¯s eventual freedom.¡± Ironteeth looked into Boris¡¯s eyes and saw the goblin¡¯s zeal. Felt the fanatic commitment behind the merchant¡¯s words and it was disgusting. ¡°This is why I jagging hate your kind, always eager to martyr yourself at a pebble¡¯s drop! All someone has to do is wave a ¡®glorious purpose¡¯ in front of a goblin and they¡¯ll fall over themselves to die or kill for it!¡± Standing up, eyes blazing, the Dwarf Captain¡¯s voice grew louder. ¡°I was at Milda, I know what goblin heroism looks like, and I¡¯m not letting you bring that filth into my city! I¡¯ll put you in a cell if I have to, to stop even a hint of this vicious idiocy!¡± If the Captain¡¯s words had cut Boris he didn¡¯t acknowledge them. Instead he kept his black-eyed gaze on Ironteeth and hissed. ¡°I was as well.¡± That struck Ironteeth like a blow. ¡°You were there? At Milda?¡± Boris shrugged. ¡°I wasn¡¯t part of the battle, or¡­ or the fire. My master¡¯s lands were east of the town and many of my brothers were conscripted for the defense. I was sick at the time, having caught something while on the road peddling, and escaped the druzhinas rounding up of peasants. Still, I saw what happened that night.¡± Memories swam in the air between the pair, both clearly remembering the siege of Milda and the atrocity that followed. Pulling himself from his ugly memories, Boris let out a sad chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s what got me to leave home. I saw what the Boyar ordered and the aftermath. Your army¡¯s retreat helped me escape Gobavi. Following after the survivors and picking over the battlefields got me into Lechia with enough coin to start a new life.¡± ¡®What the Boyar ordered.¡¯ A simple sentence that didn¡¯t capture the full horror of Milda. Under General Louon¡¯s command the Vindabonian Army fought all the way to the town¡¯s walls, catching and breaking the enemy before they could retreat into the settlement; or at least that¡¯s what the officers had thought. Upon reaching the town, the army accepted its aldermen¡¯s surrender and occupied Milda. For two days and one night the walls were garrisoned by the Vindabon force while its leaders sought some prize hidden in the town¡¯s keep. The locals offered little resistance, merely keeping their heads down and being thankful their home hadn¡¯t been sacked. For that scant bit of time, Ironteeth and his comrades had thought they¡¯d been successful, and this whole bloody march into enemy territory would end with an impressive victory. Then the second night came and with it the fire. All across the town, flames were let loose, allowed to slither free and start consuming everything around them. No bells rang, no warnings were shouted, the blaze grew and grew until by the time the soldiers realized what was happening, the town was burning. At first the invading army tried to douse the flames, forming bucket chains and screaming at the locals for aid. Many of the goblins simply cowered and prayed, others drew sharp knives. They set upon those trying to save their town with cold steel and religious mania. It was only then when Ironteeth noticed something about the townsfolk, they were mostly elders and those in ill-health. He¡¯d at first thought the children were merely being hidden and the young folk had died in the battle, but as the fire burned and the war-songs came from outside the walls the truth became clear. Milda wasn¡¯t a town anymore, it was a trap. The Gobavi host hadn¡¯t broken but simply fought a delaying action so the town¡¯s ¡®valuable¡¯ people could evacuate; leaving the old, weak and useless to burn their home down with the enemy inside it. Now as the Milda caught flame and formed a signal flare, the enemy army returned, encircling the town. Only through the efforts of the leaguer battlemages was the fire held at bay long enough for the Vindabon army to regroup and prepare for battle. Caught between the kozaks beyond the walls and the growing blaze around them, the soldiers fought tooth-and-nail to escape, breaking through the encirclement at a heavy cost; leaving Milda to burn. In a desperate flight that danced between retreat and rout, the Vindabon army pushed west, facing constant attacks by vicious warg-riders. It was during this mad flight that Ironteeth nearly died. Slower and sturdier than their human comrades, the dwarves naturally found themselves the rearguard, paying a dear price to ensure an escape. With only the glow of Milda to illuminate the battlefield, he and his kin fought off screaming Boi-Kholopi with wild desperation. It was one of those elite slave soldiers that caught Ironteeth in the mouth with his shield, shattering his teeth and cracking his jaw before driving an axe right into the dwarf¡¯s chest. Only the presence of a human war-priest and General Louon¡¯s final charge saved Ironteeth¡¯s life. Keeping him alive enough to be slung over a donkey¡¯s back and carried with the retreat while the mad noble had the grace to die spectacularly keeping the goblins occupied. Pulling himself from those wretched memories, Ironteeth growled. ¡°And you think this fact will jagging convince me of your idiotic plan? All I see is a stupid goblin ready to endanger themselves and my guards for the chance at martyrdom.¡± Ironteeth knew the venom in his words was out of line, but he couldn¡¯t stop himself. It was bad enough to be around a goblin, but one who was literally part of his wretched past, even tangentially, pushed him too far. He¡¯d buried memories of that battle alongside the friends he¡¯d lost, and now this sidhe-shit merchant was eagerly digging them up. When Boris had laid out his plan, his eyes shone with the mania Ironteeth saw back at Milda and in the battles before it. It was the look of a creature not just willing to die for a cause, but eager to do so. Instead of matching Ironteeth¡¯s rage, Boris simply stared at him, spinning his rings in a constant nervous dance. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die, but I¡¯ll gladly risk myself to catch the Varganiki and-¡± Jabbing a finger forward, Ironteeth spat. ¡°There, right there, that¡¯s the problem. No one should want to gladly risk themselves. That sort of rat-shit talk is for fools, zealots and stupid youths who don¡¯t know any better. Facing danger is to be avoided and done only when truly necessary. See, your plan to lure out this warg-headed arsehole isn¡¯t actually bad, but your eagerness to do it is wrong.¡± Back stiffening, Boris bared his sharp teeth. ¡°Then what? You¡¯d prefer me to cringe and whine rather than do what is necessary to protect my people? Baiting out the Varganiki is the best way to catch him, and I¡¯m your only bait! Better to take this risk then let the city¡¯s flailing strike my innocent countrymen!¡± Ironteeth ground his jaw, making his name-sakes scrape against each other. ¡°I have other options, before going to the city government or putting your ass on my fishing hook. The city guard isn¡¯t as clumsy or cruel as you¡¯d think.¡± Slouching backward, the Merchant replied. ¡°I¡¯d pray you are right, but I don¡¯t have anyone to answer me anymore.¡± An involuntary snort of laughter escaped Ironteeth. ¡°At least we have that in common.¡± Some of the tension bled away then, and the pair sat in silence as the carriage rolled on. Ironteeth had never thought he¡¯d end up arguing with a slagging goblin like this, especially about keeping the fool alive. The whole thing had a surreal quality to it, and not for the first time the Captain wondered if he was making a mistake. Letting this civilian get enmeshed into all this was bad enough, but now he was squabbling with Boris like two elders debating city elections. While always taciturn, Ironteeth was rarely this argumentative and just damn rude. But being around a goblin, especially one who was at Milda, just brought it out in him. He wasn¡¯t acting like the respected city watch officer he was and more like the hot-headed youth who¡¯d joined a human army to escape a shameful family that he¡¯d been. Taking deep breaths and trying to push down the memories and bad habits, Ironteeth let out a sigh as the guard tower came into sight. ¡°Let¡¯s lay this all out with some of my best subordinates. Your knowledge about this Warg¡¯s Head and other goblin rat-shit will be useful, so I¡¯m letting you join us. But don¡¯t push me.¡± Boris nodded slowly, and Ironteeth kicked the carriage¡¯s door open and hopped out. Goblin in tow, he headed into the guard tower and up towards his office and the workrooms. Before he got too far, City-Warden Cat-eyes ambushed him, a strange look on her face. ¡°Hey boss, I¡¯ve got more information on the wagon from last night and-¡± Cutting her off, Ironteeth said. ¡°That can wait. We¡¯ve got a slagging mess falling right into our laps.¡± Shifting uncomfortably, Cat-eyes said. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know sir, I think this might be important.¡± Taking a deep breath, Ironteeth tried to change his mental mine-cart onto another track. Cat-eyes wouldn''t push if whatever happened wasn¡¯t important. ¡°What?¡± Glancing at Boris and then back at her officer, the City-Warden said. ¡°The horse is invisible and still loose in the district.¡± Before Ironteeth could let out a curse and start ranting about idiotic apprentice magi and their pranks, Boris spoke. ¡°How invisible?¡± Alia shrugged at the strange question. ¡°I can¡¯t fucking find it, so pretty damn invisible?¡± Slowly, Boris nodded and said. ¡°I think I know how the Varganiki broke into the courier house.¡± Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant and the Warg (Part 3)

Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant, and the Warg (Part 3)

¡°To see his beloved once again Wil the Bard wagered with the Five-Faced Fool of Filaamora. Names would be gambled over knucklebones, and fate would decided. With only himself to bet, Wil danced his fingers along the bones, knowing he¡¯d join them if he failed. Deft hands and defter wit carried the day when Wil caught nine-and-five to the Fool¡¯s four-and-seven. Laughing all the while, the Five-Faced Fool became the Four-Faced Fool and Wil became someone else.¡±- The Fall of Antoia (Act II, Scene VI)
¡°I was just heading back after finishing me last deliveries when this strange little bugger jumps out of an alley, grabs my horse¡¯s head, then runs off. I thought at first it was just some kid mucking about on a dare, but then Rolf, that¡¯s my horse, started acting funny.¡± Wibran the wagon driver paused from his tale to take another long swig from the cup of tepid tea in his hands. Sitting in one of the guard tower¡¯s drunk cells, the stocky workman seemed more sheepish than anything else as he recounted the previous night¡¯s events to Ironteeth, Darvy, and Cat-eyes. He¡¯d woken up while the Captain had been at the courier house and was quick to offer his account of things, especially upon finding out the cart he¡¯d tipped over was suspected of being stolen. Swallowing down the tea, the sobering wagon driver continued. ¡°Rolf started shaking his head back and forth like flies were about, even though it was well past midnight. For a moment I was scared the stranger had fed him something rotten, but then the real weirdness started. See, Rolf started to¡­ to fade. I could look through his rump and see the cobblestones below! At first, it scared me but then I figured out what musta happened. Those young magi are always playing tricks, right? One must have cast a charm on Rolf!¡± Leaning back in his chair, Ironteeth let out a tired breath. It was true that the Ivory Tower¡¯s students had something of a reputation for¡­ pranks; the majority of which proved harmless amusements for both the apprentice magi and city at large. Ironteeth also knew what happened when one of those pranks got out of hand; he¡¯d cleaned up after more than one and extracted all sorts of favors from the Tower to not arrest the arrogant little arselings responsible. ¡°I got off me wagon, checked on Rolf and he seemed well enough even as he turned completely see-through. Strangest thing I ever did see, his harness just floating in the air like that.¡± Wibran hesitated then, glancing up at the trio of guards staring at him. ¡°Well, it was such an odd thing, I had to show me, mates, right? I¡¯d made the deliveries and was free, so¡­. I took Rolf down to the Brass Belly; that¡¯s a pub over in-¡± Ironteeth interrupted the carter. ¡°I know where it is. So you what? Had some drinks, showed off your enchanted horse? What happened after that?¡± Nodding slowly, unwilling to meet the Captain¡¯s eyes, Wibran said. ¡°I¡¯d had one too many but, that wasn¡¯t anything new for me or Rolf. He''s a good old dray and has taken us both home more than once. We got on the road and it was just another night for a while, but then something got him nickering and all nervous. Even though I couldn¡¯t see him, I knew Rolf was bothered, just the way he pulled and sounded.¡± Cat-eyes spoke then. ¡°Any idea what scared him?¡± Shaking his head, Wilbran answered. ¡°He wasn¡¯t scared, that wasn¡¯t the way he was acting, no Rolf was stressed; like how he¡¯d be on a fly-thick summer day or a new route with too many other horses. By then, I wasn¡¯t seeing or standing straight, but I still tried to calm him. Took a bit to get off the wagon seat without falling over but I got to his bridle and did my best. But Rolf wasn¡¯t having any of it, he was tossing his head back and forth, neighing and bout ready to rear up. Now I was nervous as well and had a good grip on his halter to keep him from doing anything stupid.¡± Taking another long sip of his tea, and then staring at the cup¡¯s dregs, Wilbran half-whispered. ¡°For a moment I thought I¡¯d got him under control but then¡­ bugger me, the halter just fell into my hand, like it fell right through him. Now I may have been in the bottle, but horses are me livelihood, I know when a halter breaks or has been put on bad, this was neither. So I just stared at the thing for a moment, and I think Rolf did too, but he wasn¡¯t drunk and had enough wits to spook.¡± The guards exchanged looks as Wilbran hunched his shoulders. ¡°Rolf reared up then and I got away from his hoofs. But the liquor was having its say and I fell over me-self right into the gutter. The world took a little bit to stop spinning but when it did I saw Rolf was right panicked. He was thrashing about, I could see that in his harness and how my wagon moved. But, more than that, he was getting tangled in his tack, the different ropes wrapping around places they shouldn¡¯t. No, not shouldn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t. They were falling around and through him, leather that should have been on his back was tripping up his legs.¡± Finally looking up from his empty teacup, the cart driver said. ¡°I tried to get up and calm him, but jagged-jacks, I could barely stand. Still, even without my sorry hide, Rolf got himself free, knocking over my cart and putting me back in the gutter again. He must have hit me hard that time since I don¡¯t really remember much else until I woke up here.¡± Processing this mad story and trying to file away all the important bits, Ironteeth asked. ¡°How long were you at the Brass Belly?¡± Wlbran made a noncommittal gesture. ¡°Two, maybe three hours? I¡¯d say all together it couldn¡¯t have been more than four hours between Rolf turning see-through and me getting knocked out. You could ask round the pub, someone would have a better idea.¡± Slowly getting to his feet, Wilbran approached the cell bars. ¡°Uh, so how much trouble am I in? I mean, this whole mess happened cause one of those kids at the Ivory Tower, and I¡¯ve told you all I know.¡± Standing up as well, Ironteeth gestured towards Darvy. ¡°Start the paperwork for the proper fines. I think considering everything we can write this up as drunk and disorderly conduct, with maybe another mark for reckless wagon driving.¡± Wilbran winced and Darvy nodded before offering the cart driver a smile. ¡°Oh don¡¯t be so sour. No jail time and we¡¯ll even see if we can get your horse back.¡± Gesturing for Cat-eyes to follow him, Ironteeth left the cell and started heading towards his office. The City-warden walked slowly beside him and asked. ¡°So, you think this is connected to your goblin?¡± Ironteeth grunted. ¡°He¡¯s not my goblin, but it could be; it¡¯s slagging strange enough.¡± They found the goblin in question waiting in the Captain¡¯s office, still fidgeting with his overabundance of rings. Reaching his desk, Ironteeth fell into his chair and asked. ¡°So what do you know about magic that doesn¡¯t just turn things invisible but also partially intangible?¡± Grim-faced, Boris blinked slowly. ¡°In-tangi-ble? Yes, that was word I looked for.¡± Glancing to Cat-eyes he said. ¡°Before, I asked if this invisible horse was intangible. Which I take it is?¡± Despite himself, Ironteeth snorted in amusement, thinking back to his own days of learning the common tongue. Compared to dwerick, the western human language was flowery with parts both annoyingly vague and bizarrely detailed. Humans, it seemed, needed multiple words for everything important and even more for everything not. Refocusing, Ironteeth nodded, recounted much of Wilbran¡¯s story, and then asked. ¡°So, can you tell us what sort of slagged goblin witchery this is? Boris sucked in a breath through his teeth. ¡°The curse of styranie. It¡¯s old ugly magic, the side-walkers used it as punishment, but my people found another use. Anyone under the curse is doomed to be forgotten by the world. Something spies and similar can use.¡± Thinking of the courier house, Ironteeth muttered. ¡°Like a subtlety spell? That would explain how no one noticed our thief.¡± Shaking his head, Boris clarified. ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t make people overlook you; it makes everything forget you. At first, it is just like invisibility or unhearable, but with every minute, the curse settles, and the bearer is erased, bit by bit¡± Biting his tongue, Boris was clearly struggling to find the right words. ¡°This horse couldn¡¯t be seen because the world forgot it was supposed to be visible. Then its tack fell off because it forgot to touch the horse. Eventually, the ground will forget the tracks it leaves, and air won¡¯t remember to carry the sounds it makes. With enough time, the world¡¯s pull will ignore the horse and it will disappear into the stars¡± A long breath escaped Cat-eyes, and she said. ¡°What the fuck?¡± Boris¡¯s angular face split in a tight smile. ¡°A dreadful fate, but it can be avoided by transferring the curse before it grows too strong. Which I suspect explains the strangeness with the horse.¡± Shutting his eyes, Ironteeth felt the pieces slide together like perfectly cut masonry. ¡°This Varganiki, he put the curse on himself to slip into the courier house undetected. But his search took too long, and the magic started to erase the sound he made. That¡¯s why he broke the door and nobody heard it, he was rushing to find something to dump the magic onto.¡± Getting up from his desk, Ironteeth frowned as something stuck out. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make sense, if the Varganiki was invisible, then who did the carter see bothering his horse?¡± Cat-eyes shrugged. ¡°Maybe we¡¯re overthinking this and these are two separate matters? Vindabon is a big city with lots of magic, the horse could be unrelated to the robbery. Besides, Wilbran said the strangeness started over in Einmark, that¡¯s two districts over from us and not that close to the courier house.¡± Slowly, Ironteeth said. ¡°I don¡¯t like coincidences, and having a Gobavi assassin loose in our city while something awfully like a goblin curse has been spotted seems like a big one.¡± Turning his focus to Boris, the Guard Captain asked. ¡°What¡¯s exactly involved with transferring the curse and how long does it take to work?¡± Boris made a noncommittal shrug. ¡°The stories say the curse bearer can take a bite out of a piece of bread and then offer what¡¯s left to another, and if they eat it they take the curse. I¡¯ve also heard the more ¡®known¡¯ a person is the longer it takes the curse to erase them.¡± Getting up from his desk, Ironteeth let out a sigh. ¡°We¡¯re well past our steel price on this. I think someone with proper magical knowledge is needed to get any answers.¡± Seeing how Boris recoiled at that suggestion, Ironteeth elaborated. ¡°I¡¯m not going to turn this into a city-wide hunt just yet, but calling in some help is necessary. The Seventh Temple should have some insight into all this. If anyone can track down a cursed horse, it will be them¡± That did little to quell Boris¡¯s clear discomfort, but he still acquiesced, joining the captain and warden as they left the guard tower. Once again, they took the goblin merchant¡¯s carriage, with Cat-eyes joining them as they rode towards the Temple of Aunt Huntress. Staring out the coach¡¯s window, the City-Warden said. ¡°Well, as bad as all this is, I¡¯m taking some comfort in the fact magic is involved. I¡¯ve been kicking myself all day for not being able to find that jagging horse.¡± Ironteeth thought on his subordinates'' flippancy and asked. ¡°You¡¯d been tracking it all morning, correct? What signs did you see?¡± Shrugging, Cat-eyes shut her eyes, pulling up memories. ¡°Well, hoofprints for one, and its smell. That alone should have been enough for me and I swore I got close multiple times but¡­¡± Taking a moment, she looked at Boris and slowly said. ¡°But its path made no sense. I¡¯d gain and lose the trail over and over like it was teleporting or¡­ moving through things I couldn¡¯t. Shit! Could it have been literally walking through walls?¡± It was Boris¡¯s turn to shrug. ¡°Buildings come and go; they¡¯d have a shorter memory and forget the horse before the ground beneath its feet did.¡± Letting out a sigh, Cat-eyes rubbed her face. ¡°Well, that would explain things, and put another tally mark in favor of your curse being responsible. Jagging Sidhe ratfuckery! This stuff hurts my brain!¡± Leaning back against the coach¡¯s seat, Ironteeth sifted through all the facts and some of their broader implications. His people had no love of the Fae but hadn¡¯t ever quite developed the bone-deep hate for them that humans did. Being the first people on Vardis to learn iron-smithing and living predominantly below ground kept the Dwergaz safe from the worst parts of the Sidhe wars. Still, the dwarves knew to leave faerie magic well enough alone. Something the goblins and distant elves never seemed to learn. As the more Ironteeth thought about it, keeping this matter secret seemed a wise choice. Even disregarding Boris¡¯s concern for his fellow goblins, if word got out of a Sidhe curse being loose in Vindabon? Well, panic had never made a city guard¡¯s life easier. Soon, the Seventh Temple came into sight and Ironteeth could no longer brood. Moving his jaws so his metallic replacements clacked against each other, the Captain hoped involving the priests of the human hunting goddess wouldn¡¯t be a mistake. Staring up at the approaching structure, Ironteeth couldn¡¯t help but admit the humans were good at sticking to a theme for their respective deities. Where the Tenth Temple in his own district was a monolith of dark stone, stained glass, and a shocking amount of statuary. The Seventh Temple¡¯s structure was predominantly wood and shaped like a seven-spoked wheel. Each spoke was a timber structure akin to some northern lord¡¯s longhouse, with sloping roofs and large eaves. The open spaces between each structure held forest paths and gardens that seemed cut from distant wildernesses and transported into the city¡¯s heart. At the center of the seven halls and the green gaps was a great circular fane built akin to a nomad¡¯s tent. Mighty beams, each sourced from ancient oaks, stuck out from the wheel spokes at an acute angle, their ends interlocking and forming the fane¡¯s apex. Wood and glass filled in the space between each beam, creating a huge internal space that Ironteeth knew to be decorated with every manner of carving, tapestry, and trophy imaginable. Staring up at the temple, Ironteeth felt a strange mix of envy and contempt for the humans and their pantheon. He remembered when his mother took him to the ruin his clan once prayed in, showing him the desecrated statues and cracked altar now left as a reminder to future generations of the betrayal his people once suffered. Then, as a child, he¡¯d not given it all that much thought, merely finding the broken idols and stink of neglect unsettling. Now, decades later, seeing what artistry and passion the human¡¯s faith evoked, Ironteeth looked upon those old memories with new eyes. Absently, he wondered what the humans might have done in the dwarf¡¯s place. If their gods had abandoned them, would they have burned down their temples or kept the faith in the face of such betrayal? Glancing over at Boris, Ironteeth let out a slow breath and decided such questions were irrelevant, especially when worse fates could befall a culture than their deities disappearing. Leaving the coach, the trio headed for one of the temple¡¯s halls, and hopefully some aid. Inside the great structure, the smells of sap and animal musk greeted Ironteeth. He honestly didn¡¯t know if the scents resulted from some incense being burned or just how his mind interpreted the magic filling the structure. The Tenth Temple always left him feeling slightly colder than was warranted, but considering he usually only visited the building to inspect corpses on the slab, his chills meant little. Passing deeper into the temple, Ironteeth let his feet take him on a familiar path toward where he hoped his contact in the Seventh Temple would be. Of all the religious orders in Vindabon he¡¯d had the most contact with the followers of Father Sky, Aunt Huntress, and Master Time; their respective duties overlapping with his own. So he knew a few of their more civically involved priests and could guess at who would be the most helpful in this mess. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. To that end he found Priestess Suvi Spare-Quiver pouring over documents inside the small space she called an office. Looking up from her work, the middle-aged woman raised one pointed eyebrow at the interruption. ¡°Captain Ironteeth, what do I owe the pleasure?¡± On first inspection, the Priestess looked more like a city clerk than an experienced warrior priestess of Aunt Huntress. She lacked any of the stereotypical furs, bone totems or intricate headdresses expected of her kind. Instead, she wore her hair up in a bun and chose plain earth-toned clothes that reinforced the air of bored disinterest she exuded. But anyone who could look past this urban camouflage would quickly see signs of the woman¡¯s history and experience. Her nose had been broken on at least two occasions and the fast fingers she now used to fold away scrolls carried callouses any archer would find familiar. The long pins keeping her silver-brown hair up in a tight bun had unusually sharp edges while a slightly too intricate horns and arrow necklace dangled around her neck. Suvi Spare-Quiver belonged in this temple, she was just better adapted to the city surrounding it than many of her colleagues. Gesturing for Cat-eyes to shut the door behind her, Ironteeth said. ¡°I¡¯ve stumbled into a problem that is looking to be well beyond my steel-price.¡± Suvi nodded, her expression giving away nothing. ¡°I¡¯d assumed so, considering you¡¯ve come to me for help.¡± Glancing at the two who¡¯d followed the Captain into her office, she added. ¡°Is this a werewolf problem like last time or¡­ something new?¡± Ironteeth always found it refreshing to deal with a human who didn¡¯t dance around matters like it was their date to a harvest festival. ¡°Something new. I¡¯ve got good reason to believe the courier house robbery has to do with some goblin goatshit leaking into our city.¡± For nearly the next fifteen minutes, Ironteeth and Boris, with some prodding, explained the situation to Suvi. Laying out the Varganiki¡¯s presence and their suspicions about the invisible horse. Throughout all this, the Priestess listened impassively, digesting Boris¡¯s concerns about a city-wide hunt hurting innocent goblins alongside Cat-eye''s account of the horse''s strange movements. Interlacing her fingers, Suvi nodded slowly. ¡°I know of this curse and I¡¯m inclined to believe it''s what we¡¯re dealing with.¡± Looking at Boris, she asked. ¡°How much of Vindabon¡¯s exile goblin community is sympathetic to your cause?¡± Frowning, the merchant replied. ¡°All of it. One does not leave the motherland without-¡± Suvi cut him off. ¡°Let me rephrase that. How much of the goblin community couldn¡¯t be threatened by this Warg¡¯s Head into helping him.¡± That got Boris to pause and consider things, his frown growing deeper and deeper. Ironteeth let out a tired sigh as he understood the implications. ¡°You think he forced some goblin to take the curse upon themselves and that¡¯s who put it on the horse? Someone who¡¯d not had it long enough to properly disappear?¡± Nodding, Suvi explained. ¡°Curses often hold imprints of their previous holders, and the right rituals can tease out information about them. But rapid repeated transfers can muddy the waters, and degrade the curse¡¯s magic. If I were the one who wanted to get rid of the curse quickly and without leaving a good magical trail I¡¯d force it upon someone who¡¯d know how to do the same.¡± Cat-eyes spoke up then. ¡°Why not just transfer it and then kill the new holder? Seems a lot simpler than turning this into a jagged up kid¡¯s game of tag.¡± It was Boris who answered. ¡°Magical consequences. To take the curse, bread is shared, that is powerful act. If either side broke compact, the curse would punish both.¡± Shaking her head, Cat-eye muttered more curses about faerie magic and its horseshit nature. As much as Ironteeth felt similar, he didn¡¯t have the luxury to bemoan the madness they¡¯d all fallen into. Instead, he said. ¡°Well, I think the curse is a dead end. Asking the goblins about this now seems the best option.¡± Boris winced. ¡°I don¡¯t know how many answers we¡¯d get. My kin are rightfully suspicious and know to fear reprisals.¡± Seeing the words already forming on Ironteeth¡¯s lips, Boris shrugged. ¡°Offers of protection won¡¯t be much good. The Varganiki are feared by all, and promises of safety by foreigners aren¡¯t worth much, even to us exiles.¡± Deciding not to point out how Boris and his fellows were the foreigners, not his guards, Ironteeth grunted and said. ¡°We can still ask about in some of the more goblin-populated districts, someone in the guards must have seen something strange.¡± Clearing her throat, Suvi pulled all eyes to her. ¡°I said repeated transfers might muddy the waters, but not that finding anything useful would be impossible. With the right spells, I might be able to tease out some things of value from this invisible horse.¡± Ironteeth nodded. ¡°That¡¯s good. But we¡¯d need to find the horse first, any ideas on how to do that?¡± Something close to a smile flitted across Suvi¡¯s tight lips. ¡°Finding magical creatures within the city¡¯s walls is something of my temple¡¯s specialty. Give me till the evening and we¡¯ll have something.¡± Frowning, Boris said. ¡°Much time has passed, the horse will soon be forgotten by everything.¡± Suvi let one eyebrow raise in a perfect expression of dismissal. ¡°The curse will have degraded with each transfer, slowing its effects. And besides, my goddess isn¡¯t so easily trammeled by misbegotten faerie magic. The Pantheon has a long memory, and their miracles won¡¯t forget about even a mere horse.¡± Standing up from her desk, the Priestess made a gesture of dismal. ¡°Now, be off, I¡¯ll send word when I know more. It¡¯s going to be long hours of work even without distractions.¡± Used to the curt and often condescending manner of Suvi, Ironteeth got up and led his small group back out of the Seventh Temple. As they headed towards the hall¡¯s entrance, Cat-eyes muttered. ¡°I thought holy folk were supposed to be wise and kind, not have a pine branch up their ass.¡±
The ride back to the tower was nearly silent, with Ironteeth busily organizing his notes and trying to figure out how much he could delegate over the next few days. It was times like these that made him thankful for Darvy, his lieutenant had a knack for organization and bureaucracy that the Thirteenth District Watch often found invaluable. As long as there wasn¡¯t a major incident, Darvy was capable of keeping the organizational clockwork running smoothly. Now it just fell to Ironteeth to keep exactly such an incident from happening. Going over all the pieces, the Captain was tempted to involve more of the city¡¯s labyrinthine structures in this hunt, but Boris¡¯s concerns were not without merit. Still, eventually, he¡¯d need to go up the chain of command and spread what he¡¯d learned to others. Ironteeth was playing a risky game; hunting after a foreign assassin and investigating a faerie curse practically by himself was asking for all kinds of trouble. But if he could catch the Varganiki or at least have enough evidence to aim the city¡¯s wrath, then things would go better for everyone. Unfortunately, time wasn¡¯t on Ironteeth¡¯s side. He didn¡¯t have a better lead than whatever Suvi was working on, but waiting for her, would burn hours better spent elsewhere. Glancing over the coach¡¯s interior, Ironteeth considered how best to use what was available to him. Cat-eyes might have better luck finding the horse now that she knew what was going on. Or maybe she might learn some things poking around the goblin communities. The canny city-warden might have more success than a large hunt, and she¡¯d certainly be more subtle. As for Boris, well, he needed to be kept safe and Ironteeth had a gut feeling the merchant wouldn¡¯t make it easy. Putting a citizen into protective custody was already tricky enough, without accounting for goblin suicidality. If matters dragged on without a clear resolution, odds were Boris would do all he could to bait the Varganiki; especially if this got beyond Ironteeth¡¯s control and the city started lashing out at anything goblin-shaped. While in theory, letting Boris dangle on the end of his fishing hook would be the easiest option for Ironteeth, his dwarven stubbornness refused to even consider the option. He wouldn¡¯t rely on a goblin strategy to solve this problem; he couldn¡¯t vindicate the sick worldview of Gobavi. Looking up from his notes, realizing he¡¯d been staring blankly at them for nearly a minute, Ironteeth said. ¡°Cat-eyes, I want you to map out where there have been signs of the horse. Now that we know the damn thing can walk through walls, you might have better luck figuring out where it''s been and where it¡¯s going.¡± Glancing at Boris, the Captain continued. ¡°You¡¯re coming with me to the tower. If the Varganiki is threatening local goblins into helping him, your knowledge might help figure out who and how.¡± Cracking her neck, Cat-eyes offered a salute and hopped out of the carriage, leaving the Captain and the Merchant alone. Pausing from his eternal fidgeting, Boris asked. ¡°I¡¯m assuming once I enter the tower I won¡¯t be leaving without your permission.¡± Ironteeth grimaced. He¡¯d hoped to have this conversation with a few locked doors and trustworthy subordinates between Boris and freedom. ¡°Yes, protecting you and the information you have is important. The Varganiki will be slagged if he tries anything in my tower.¡± Eyeing one of his rings, Boris said. ¡°What if he uses another curse?¡± Baring his teeth in something close to a smile, the Captain replied. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about that and have some ideas. The Varganiki seems unwilling to risk the curse doing more than turning him invisible, and just because I can¡¯t see something doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t hurt it.¡± Digesting this, Boris seemed to consider his options before bowing his head in acquiescence. ¡°I¡¯ve trusted you so far.¡± A snort of wry amusement left Ironteeth as the carriage came to a stop. After Boris dismissed his driver, he followed the Captain into the city watch building and was sent to one of the workrooms with a guard while Ironteeth delegated what could be to his subordinates, and dealt with what couldn¡¯t. With that done, the Captain collected a few useful items from the armory and his own office before joining Boris. Finding the merchant sitting inside the chamber, his six-fingered hands dancing in a constant display of nerves. Dismissing the guard he¡¯d put on Boris, Ironteeth set a small box on the table between them and started sorting its contents. Some of it was just notes, pertinent documents, and district maps. But alongside these more traditional objects was a set of engraving tools, some scrap metal, and a bag of tiny quartz crystals. Sitting down, Ironteeth stretched his fingers and started picking over the tools while saying. ¡°I want you to start thinking of which goblins in the city the Varganiki could cajole into helping him. Particularly those with resources or abilities that might be useful to him.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Boris said. ¡°Do you know every dwarf in Vindabon?¡± Ironteeth cocked his head to the side and made a non-committal noise. ¡°No, but I know lots of them, particularly those with power or a penchant for causing problems. Considering your role in this ¡®Orphanage,¡¯ I¡¯d imagine you¡¯d know similar.¡± Taking a three-finger wide strip of copper, Ironteeth started etching a complex pattern into the material, muttering a spell cant as he did. The rune he was working on wasn¡¯t anything complex, but it tested his limited skill. With the main inscription done, he plucked one of his beard hairs with a wince and wrapped it around the haft of a small jeweler¡¯s hammer. Taking five of the pea-sized crystals from the bag, Ironteeth placed them along the major axis of his carving and tapped them into place using the gold-tipped hammer. Feeling the familiar prickle of magic go over his skin, Ironteeth held up the completed rune and nodded to himself. Going over to the room¡¯s entrance, Ironteeth affixed the rune to the doorframe. Admiring his handiwork, he said. ¡°If anyone I don¡¯t know tries to open that door for the next day that little plaque will make a lot of light and noise. Later, I''ll make a few more and put them elsewhere.¡± Frowning at the crude bit of runic magic, Boris asked. ¡°Why aren¡¯t those more common?¡± Ironteeth waved a hand dismissively. ¡°They are in dwarf holds. But humans don¡¯t have the memory or temperament to use them properly. Besides, the enchantment needs to be renewed every day or so, and plucking hairs gets annoying real quick.¡± Boris was still frowning. ¡°If those can see through the curse, why don¡¯t we use them more¡­ offensively? Springing a trap using them would be-¡± Jabbing a finger at Boris, Ironteeth growled. ¡°Don¡¯t. Don¡¯t even try that. I¡¯m only guessing the spell will see past that sidhe jaggery. That¡¯s good enough for an extra layer of security here in the guard tower, not some slag-arse ambush with you as bait.¡± Staring at the papers before him, Boris hissed. ¡°Taking that risk is seeming better. Better, than offering up my kin for suspicion and persecution.¡± Sparks practically flew from Ironteeth¡¯s jaw, as ground his teeth together. ¡°I¡¯m not letting a civilian risk themselves like that. Involving a citizen is-¡± Boris scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m already involved. You dragged me across city in your investigations and now want tacit betrayal of my countrymen. By making your list I¡¯d be choosing who would suffer scrutiny and be responsible for any harm that came from the city¡¯s clumsy efforts!¡± Ironteeth wanted to yank out even more of his beard. ¡°That¡¯s not what this is! Someone is helping the Varganiki and you''re our best option for finding them quickly! Besides, a list would help me aim the city, pointing its resources in the best direction instead of letting things get out of control.¡± Shaking his head, Boris snapped. ¡°I won¡¯t endanger my fellows; but I will risk myself. Is that such a terrible trade in your eyes?¡± Throwing his hands up, Ironteeth snapped. ¡°Yes! Besides, you said you¡¯d trust me, so let me do my job!¡± A curse in the goblin tongue escaped Boris. ¡°I¡¯m willing to trust you with my life, but I can¡¯t offer up others, can¡¯t you see the difference? You rant about my people¡¯s sickness and your words have some weight but miss the whole of the thing. Gobavi isn¡¯t rotten because my kin are willing to sacrifice themselves! It¡¯s rotten because our leaders expect and demand it of us! So let me make my choice and I¡¯ll trust you to protect me. But don¡¯t ask me to play Boyar to my brothers and sisters in exile.¡± That struck like a stone and Ironteeth¡¯s mouth shut with a clack. Settling back into his chair, the Captain slowly said. ¡°We wait until the Seventh Temple gets back to us, and if we don¡¯t get any leads from them or Cat-eyes we¡¯ll discuss your plan.¡± Boris bowed his head, making a gesture with his hands. ¡°Thank you.¡± They sat in silence for a long time, neither goblin nor dwarf was willing to break the tentative truce. Eventually, as was his nature, Ironteeth spoke first and risked negotiations collapsing. ¡°Why do they do it?¡± Cocking his head to the side, large ears twitching, Boris made a noise of confusion. Clearing his throat, Ironteeth gestured vaguely and elaborated. ¡°Why do the Boyars sacrifice their people? I can still remember the screams from Milda and¡­ and I could never understand it. Why let all those people die and lose an entire town like that? It wasn¡¯t just cruel, it was¡­ wasteful.¡± Flexing his fingers, Boris stared at his hands. ¡°Those in power would say a message needed to be sent; we must spite our foes and strike fear into any who seek our subjugation. If the foreigners know we¡¯d rather burn down Gobavi than surrender it, they¡¯d know better than to invade. As for the dead¡­ the Sisterhoods of Witches and various monastic orders would say they earned the Three Queen¡¯s favor with such bravery and faith.¡± As Boris trailed off Ironteeth asked. ¡°What do you say?¡± A bleak snort escaped the goblin. ¡°That our towns are made of wood and thatch; they burn all the time, so it''s no great sacrifice. Besides, the Boyar¡¯s hall was made of stone, and rebuilding the town keeps the serfs busy.¡± Bawling his hands into fists, Boris continued, voice growing coarse with anger. ¡°Serfs are but livestock, to be traded and culled as the Boyars see fit. We are sheep guarded by wargs, worth only our wool and meat; nothing more. Kept in filthy hovels and fearing the rest of our flock more than the beasts that own our pens. My family lived in squalor that our neighbors envied; they hated us for having a little more than them and we hated them for their grasping. There were always too many mouths and not enough food, a goat is worth more than a child, and a pig is worth a spouse.¡± Sucking in a deep breath, Boris collected himself. ¡°Do you know why the Boyars never stop fighting each other or our neighbors? Why conquest is a holy duty and war a constant yet there always seem to be enough kholops to feed the beast of war?¡± Ironteeth made a noncommittal shrug. ¡°I assumed they were greedy bastards like all nobles, just without anyone to stop them. As for the other issue¡­ don¡¯t your babes only need six months in their mother?¡± Something like laughter escaped Boris but he shook his head. ¡°Those are both part of it, but not the whole. See, the motherland is sick, our crops grow poorer and poorer with each harvest. Lands once fertile enough to feed armies now struggle to survive the winter. Territory must be taken to replace what turns barren.¡± This shocked Ironteeth, crop failures were rare in the holy league and what Boris was describing lay completely outside his knowledge. ¡°Your priests, the witches, can¡¯t they do something? I know the human priests-¡± Boris met Ironteeth¡¯s eyes. ¡°The witches are the problem. They are not like the human clerics; they practice the magics of shamans and magi, barely using miracles. But what is used, is used poorly. Three is the sacred number of Gobavi, and each Queen offers magic in triplicates. A fallow field can be blessed so its crops are three times as fecund. Newlyweds can be blessed to have a trio of triplets. Those who¡¯ve proven themselves worthy can be blessed with thrice the life span of nature intended.¡± Slow realization crept into Ironteeth as Boris continued. ¡°But each blessing comes with a price. Farmland becomes exhausted, mothers die, leaving nine children behind, and entire generations are robbed of progress by elders who refuse to let things change. The Three Queens gave us these magics for times of trouble, but Gobavi now knows nothing else. My home has too many hungry children, too much ruined land, and too many withered old tyrants.¡± Horrified, Ironteeth asked. ¡°Gobavi is facing all this and they are wasting resources sending an assassin after you? That''s¡­. that''s¡­ mad!¡± Boris just shrugged. ¡°No, it''s Gobavi. Unless something changes my motherland will die, but those in power are cruel, sick, or stupid. They prefer stasis and rot than risk losing a thimble of what they have. That is why they hate me and mine; we see truth in the innards and know this can not continue. I think the Boyars hope if rebels and dissenters are stomped out the problems we warn of will go with us. A delusion, but a powerful enough one to see my head on a pike.¡± As those words filled the room, silence fell again, this one as dark and heavy as any funeral shroud. Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant and the Warg (Part 4)

Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant, and the Warg (Part 4)

¡°Beware, my children, beware! Wander-not at dusk, or wonder at the horn¡¯s call. Beware, my children, beware! Tarry-not beneath oak, ash, or thorn, and never cross ring-o-toad. Beware, my children, beware! Exchange no troth of wood, metal, or flesh on nights of sky-fire. Beware, my children, beware! Count a stranger¡¯s fingers and never offer your name. Beware, my children, beware! For those who walk-between-worlds are on the move, and we are but hare before the fox!¡± - Old Zentish nursery rhyme.
Alia Cat-eyes stared at the apple in her hand. Gently tossing it up and down, she watched the shiny red fruit¡¯s movement while debating her next step. After maybe the tenth toss, she shrugged and knelt down on one knee. Feeling the hard cobblestones through her pant leg, Alia stared into the empty alley before her, hoping this was the end of the chase. In one smooth gesture, she rolled the apple into the side-street, sending it bouncing along the dirty ground like a child¡¯s lost ball. Before it could get more than three meters into the alley, half the apple disappeared without a sound. Looking at the split fruit, Alia smiled just as the rest of the apple vanished. Standing back up, she fished a lump of sugar out of her pockets. Slowly stepping into the alley, making gentle noises, the City-warden prepared to catch an invisible horse. Captain Ironteeth sent her out looking for signs of the bloody equine, with hopes of mapping out where it had been, but she¡¯d done better than that, she¡¯d found the damn thing. It hadn¡¯t been easy, but with what Ironteeth learned from his goblin and Wilbran, the wagoner''s schedule in hand, it was possible. So after three hours of using practically every trick she knew, Alia Cat-eyes had finally cornered the horse in an alley off hardtack street. But as she edged closer to where the apple had vanished, Alia wondered if all that work might have been the easy part. Hand out, palm flat, Alia offered up the sugar lump, and grimly wondering if she was about to lose fingers. Hot wind played across her hand and the sugar disappeared in an eye blink. Staring down at her now empty palm and slight dampness on it, Alia suppressed a shiver. She hadn¡¯t felt the horse''s mouth or tongue; the sugar was just gone with a bit of drool in its place. Judging by what Ironteeth¡¯s source had said, the curse was advancing quickly, with more and more of the horse being forgotten. It could still eat, which was a good sign, but Alia didn¡¯t know how much longer the horse had. Reaching to her belt, Alia unfastened the bridle she¡¯d brought. Holding it up, the city warden offered a silent prayer to no one in particular and motioned the bit towards where she thought the horse''s head might be. Iron hinges squeaked as something latched onto the strip of metal with concerning force. Sucking in a breath as the invisible horse pulled on her, Alia laughed nervously. She¡¯d made her best guess, rolled the dice and now things were coming up sixes. As a city-warden, it was Alia¡¯s job to find details that others hadn¡¯t. So when Wilbran told his tale, a few elements of it stuck out to her. Key among them was how the horse¡¯s tack fell off it. By Alia¡¯s reckoning, it didn¡¯t make much sense for only parts of it to phase through the horse. Surely it should have just all dropped off, not become piecemeal tangled with the horse until it fought its way free? Those thoughts drove the city-warden to find the overturned cart and discarded harness. Old and much-repaired, the tack was mostly leather straps and bronze buckles. But years of use had mandated the replacement of one-eighth of the clasps with better iron ones. Alone this was unremarkable, but when added to Boris the Goblin¡¯s tale of a repurposed faerie curse¡­ well, it got Alia¡¯s neck hairs standing up. Every child on Vardis knew the fae hated iron, and while Alia was often happy to play accuser¡¯s advocate for Ironteeth she also didn¡¯t like coincidences. Doing her due diligence, the city warden asked a stable hand about the buckles and what would happen if all the bronze ones were to fail. He described something much akin to Wilbran¡¯s story, how the horse would get briefly tangled up in the now slack harness, until either the animal tripped or got free. With that in mind, she borrowed a high-quality bridle with all iron buckles and a rusted bit. Now, as the invisible horse sucked on the iron bit, Alia fumbled to attach the rest of the halter in place. It wasn¡¯t easy considering the straps phased through the damn thing, but cat-like reflexes and two more sugar lumps carried the day. Looking over her handiwork, Alia felt another nervous chuckle well up inside her. The empty halter looked both eerie and ridiculous, floating mid-air in the alley. Tying a rope to it, Alia gently started leading the horse out onto the street. While the city-warden didn¡¯t know the exact details for why iron was immune from the curse, the fact it was, was good enough for her. She¡¯d leave all the magical theory and speculation to people actually paid for that shit. Speaking of, Alia¡¯s face split into a smug grin, she¡¯d enjoy showing up the Seventh Temple at their own job. Now out on Hardtack Street, Alia led the horse to Aunt Huntress¡¯s priests, getting many, many strange looks from all those passing by. Yet in some strange testimony to Vindabon¡¯s character, nobody stopped her or caused a fuss. Wryly, the city-warden wondered how often oddities like this could be found on the city¡¯s streets; probably more than most anywhere else on the continent, that was for sure.
¡°What do you mean, she found the horse?¡± asked Captain Ironteeth as the temple runner calmed his nerves. Fidgeting, the youth gestured at the note he¡¯d been ordered to deliver. ¡°I¡¯m just the messenger. Priestess Suvi told me to get that to you and nothing else.¡± Sighing, Ironteeth thanked the courier and dismissed him with a gesture. Gingerly, the boy ducked through the door frame that had just let out a violent shriek and flash of light upon his entrance. Scurrying away before Ironteeth¡¯s rune could repeat its performance, the youth disappeared leaving the Captain and Boris alone again. ¡°Magic works.¡± muttered Boris, rubbing at one of his over-sized ears while looking around the room like a beaten dog. Grunting, Ironteeth muttered something about getting a proper enchanter to make a better detector. If he was being honest with himself, the little rune work he¡¯d done might be slag against whatever fae madness the Varganiki was using, but it seemed better to have it than not. Refocusing himself, the dwarf Captain scratched at his beard and looked over the message again. Apparently his subordinate, Cat-eyes had shown up at the Seventh Temple with the invisible horse and now Aunt Huntress¡¯s priests were busy trying to learn from the curse before removing it. By letting him know, Priestess Suvi was extending an invitation in her own taciturn way. Standing up, Ironteeth stretched his tight back muscles and asked Boris. ¡°How quickly can you get that carriage of yours back here?¡± Shrugging slightly, Boris replied. ¡°Not long, considering he should already be back. I sent him to collect some things from my apartments since you are keeping me here for my protection.¡± As he walked to the door, Ironteeth asked. ¡°Having a carriage like that must be expensive, is it worth it?¡± A half-smile flicked across Boris¡¯s face. ¡°This city is made for people with longer legs than us. The amount of travel time I save more than pays for it.¡± That got an amused snort from Ironteeth, he¡¯d worn down probably a hundred pairs of boots while living in Vindabon. Checking over his equipment, the captain gestured for Boris to follow him. ¡°Best not keep your driver waiting then.¡± After letting Darvy know, Ironteeth left the guard tower, entered the waiting carriage, and let out a tired sigh. He was loath to keep running this relay race by going back and forth across the city but it needed to be done. As Boris sat across from him, the Captain wondered how close they were to finishing this mess. He didn¡¯t know what the Seventh Temple would scrounge up, but hopefully it was something useful. While Ironteeth understood Boris¡¯s reasons, he still didn¡¯t want the goblin to act as bait. The Captain couldn¡¯t outright dismiss that plan anymore, but it was still at the bottom of his list of options. A fact helped by Ironteeth managing to wheedle a little more information out of Boris about his fellow goblins and their networks. Despite being one of the more diverse cities in the Holy League, Vindabon lacked the ghettos seen in its few rivals. Vindabon¡¯s population of foreigners, migrants, and other non-humans were scattered fairly evenly over districts (the lower and middle-class ones, that is.) On paper, this was supposed to speed up integration, but the real purpose was to keep outsiders from congregating together and causing problems. The city leaders would gladly take the coin and labor of those born beyond the borders but weren¡¯t keen on them gaining any sort of power, even that found in numbers. Ironteeth¡¯s appointment as guard captain was one of those rare exceptions and hadn¡¯t been without controversy. Still, despite the city¡¯s efforts, people of all cultures and lineages sought fellowship among their kin. After much talk and many promises, Boris shared a little of what he knew about the social spider web connecting him and the other goblins. Of the blood Ironteeth managed to squeeze from this particular stone, one thing stuck out as important. Some of the goblins weren¡¯t Orphans, having not escaped and denounced their homeland but left it legally. Naturally, these proper expatriates wanted little to do with their rogue cousins, and vice versa; both carrying on the proud goblin tradition of paranoia and grievance. Surprisingly Boris was hesitant to share more about the expatriates, even though Ironteeth was convinced they were the best option in finding who helped the Varganiki. Still, this gave the Captain a place to start once they¡¯d figured out the horse. As the carriage rolled down the cobblestone streets, Ironteeth chewed on the facts, wondering how he could poke this particular cave bear without causing a diplomatic incident. Opposite of him Boris seemed tired, but his hands never stopped dancing over his rings. Ironteeth did his best not to notice, something about the extra fingers and speed brought to mind scuttling insects; a part of his youth in a dwarven hold he didn¡¯t miss. A sharp whistle reached the pair through the carriage¡¯s windows and they came to a stop. Frowning, Ironteeth gestured for Boris to stay where he was. If there was a traffic issue, the guard captain¡¯s badge might save them some time. Opening the carriage door, Ironteeth leaned out, about to ask the driver what the problem was when the young man in question slumped off his bench and hit the ground with a heavy thud. The scent of blood reached Ironteeth¡¯s nose and not only his; the coach¡¯s horse team started to panic, letting out high shrieking cries. A terrible visage swung into view then, leaning down from the carriage seat, was a snarling warg¡¯s head, on a black-cloaked body. ¡°Arsehair and arsenic!¡± Spat Ironteeth in dwerick, his mind returning to the old curses as he reached for his weapon. Feline fast, the Varganiki leaped from the coach seat onto the open door, one hand clutching the window, the other a cruel dagger. Before that blade could lick out for Ironteeth¡¯s throat as it had for the poor driver, the Captain reacted, kicking the door with all his considerable strength, sending it flying open and slamming the Varganiki against the wooden carriage frame. An annoyed snarl escaped the assassin as he pushed off the carriage and tried to scrabble through the window, but Ironteeth had bought himself enough time. The hammer head of the Captain¡¯s weapon lashed out at the top hinge of the door smashing it and sending it and the Varganiki plummeting as the door snapped off the carriage. By now the horses were in full panic, having not just started moving again, but now galloping. Staring down at the slowly blurring street below him, Ironteeth let out an ever-growing string of dwerick curses. Those oaths only grew in volume as he saw the Varganiki disentangle himself from the discarded door and start to run after them. Short as they may be, goblins were fast in the sprint, and this beast-headed killer was a paragon, his honed body strengthened by magic. Even as the horses'' hooves thundered over the cobblestones the Varganiki was getting closer. Finally, looking back at the startled Boris, Ironteeth barked. ¡°Can you drive a carriage?¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Jerkily, the goblin nodded, and Ironteeth gestured at the driver¡¯s bench. ¡°Stop them from crashing or running someone over.¡± Swallowing down his nerves, Boris slowly started to open the other carriage door. ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Trying to steady his breathing, Ironteeth watched the quickly approaching Varganiki. ¡°Kill the bastard.¡± As Boris scrambled up the carriage¡¯s side and into the driver¡¯s seat, Ironteeth buckled his weapon and hoisted himself up onto the coach¡¯s roof using the luggage rack. Holding onto the iron strip to keep himself steady, Ironteeth groped at his pockets, finding the handful of rune-marked pebbles he kept prepared for times like this. Pulling the first out, Ironteeth whispered the command word and tapped the right spot on his missile. The Varganiki was close now and Ironteeth knew he¡¯d only have one chance at this. Heart beating hard, he chose his moment as the assassin leaped forward like a pouncing warg. Before the killer¡¯s dagger could even puncture the wooden carriage frame, Ironteeth flicked the pebble with his thumb like he was playing marbles. It shot forward and struck the goblin with a loud bang. Bits of rock dust exploded out as the pebble detonated right against the Varganiki¡¯s face. Ironteeth couldn¡¯t help but grin as the assassin slammed into the ground and rolled for maybe five meters. That smile died as once the Varganiki came to a stop, he slowly got back to his feet and continued the chase even while injured. Despite the growing distance between them, Ironteeth could see the damage done. The goblin assassin¡¯s mask was split open and so was his face. Blood streamed down from torn skin and exposed muscle, staining matted fur an even darker shade. Grinding his teeth, the Captain muttered. ¡°Paragon bones, hard as bedrock to break.¡± Selecting his next pebble, Ironteeth debated his options. Thunder-stone pebbles were tricky to make, packing all the energy of a dozen hammer swings into a rune barely strong enough to hold it all. He only had five of the little magic stones and didn¡¯t trust his aim now that the paragon knew his trick. Even missing an eye, as the Varganiki now was, his reflexes would be unnatural. Ironteeth didn¡¯t know if catching the bastard off guard was an option anymore, but as he looked at the axe-hammer at his waist, he thought it might not be needed. Ironteeth had the high ground and wasn¡¯t maimed, that would hopefully be enough to tip the scales in his favor. ¡°IRONTEETH! LOOK UP!¡± came Boris¡¯s voice from somewhere behind the Captain. Head spinning about, Ironteeth barely saw the warning¡¯s reason. A black-cloaked shadow was soaring through the air right towards him. There was a second Varganiki, and this mad goatfucker had jumped off a building right towards the speeding coach. Landing hard with an ominous crack, the killer lunged towards Ironteeth with another dagger. Missing his shield more than he¡¯d ever before, Ironteeth pushed himself backward, barely dodging the lunging blade. Teetering on the coach roof¡¯s rear, the Captain hucked a thunder-stone pebble at his attacker but the Varganiki dodged with liquid grace. The stone struck the nearby street with a loud bang that made Ironteeth wince, he really hoped that hadn¡¯t hurt anyone. Axe-hammer in hand, having used the time his pebble bought to unbuckle it, Ironteeth swung out with a wild side strike, hoping to knock the Varganiki off balance. Again the killer dodged and he lunged with his dagger, but a sudden turn of the carriage fouled the blow and set the assassin reeling. Panting heavily, every breath flavored by curses, Ironteeth held on as the coach briefly went onto two wheels. Sparks sprayed as the carriage settled onto all four and skidded around another corner. Boris was trying to knock the assassin off, and Ironteeth just hoped he wouldn¡¯t topple the carriage. Risking a glance around him, Ironteeth realized they weren¡¯t far from the Seventh Temple and the attack had been noticed. Pedestrians were shouting and pointing, while other vehicles desperately tried to clear the road. Thankfully, the first Varganiki had fallen behind, his injuries and lost momentum proving too much even for a paragon. That just left the second, and all Ironteeth had to do was buy time until they reached the temple or other help arrived. Grinding his jaw and sending sparks flying, Ironteeth held his axe-hammer ready. Here he was fighting a delaying action against mad goblins, just like old slagging times. Shouting to be heard, Ironteeth spat out some of the only gobish he knew. ¡°Your father was forced into a monastery after they found him in your mother¡¯s pig pen!¡± The Varganiki hesitated as if he couldn¡¯t believe what he¡¯d heard, which was exactly the point. Even if the insult didn¡¯t make the enemy angry and therefore stupid, it usually made them pause. Using that momentary delay, Ironteeth launched himself at the killer, axe-head of his weapon swinging for the goblin¡¯s torso. Ducking under the blow, the Varganiki lashed out with his dagger and this time Ironteeth didn¡¯t have room to dodge, so instead he twisted with the strike, hoping against hope his armor was strong enough. As the dagger tore through his surcoat but skidded against the dwarven steel beneath; Ironteeth, thoughts of all the times he¡¯d been mocked for always wearing his breastplate and grinned. Reaching out with his free arm, Ironteeth wrapped his hand and forearm around his foe¡¯s dagger arm. Offbalanced by his lunge the Varganiki couldn¡¯t pull away and found his arm caught in the vice grip of an angry dwarf. With his own weapon arm, Ironteeth tried to smash his foe¡¯s face, but the Varganiki copied him and caught the Captain¡¯s arm. This had turned into a proper grapple, exactly what Ironteeth had hoped for. Strong as the paragon was, the Captain had better leverage and probably more experience. Flexing his back muscles, Ironteeth pushed on his foe¡¯s trapped arm, trying to either pop the socket or force him off balance. By contrast, the Varganiki just squeezed on the dwarf¡¯s wrist, steel fingers pressing into unarmored flesh. The pain was growing worse and worse with every second, even the thick bones and double-layered muscle of a dwarf couldn¡¯t last forever against a paragon. But, it wouldn¡¯t take forever for help to arrive, so Ironteeth just needed to hold on. Straining against each other, the two combatants entered a vicious deadlock. Ironteeth could feel the Varganiki¡¯s shoulder starting to bulge out, but his own forearm bones were creaking ominously. Before either of the two wrestlers could claim victory, the carriage swerved, and someone somewhere screamed. Even with his wide stance, Ironteeth¡¯s balance wasn¡¯t enough, and he felt his legs slipping out from beneath him as the coach wobbled precariously. Toppling backward, the dwarf broke the grapple and landed badly, his head sliding off the carriage roof. Frantically, Ironteeth kicked out with one leg and managed to hook the luggage rack with his boot. He tried to get a better grip with his now free hand, but the muscles weren¡¯t responding right, having just escaped a paragon¡¯s grip. The paragon in question wasted no time and fell upon Ironteeth, ready to put the wicked tip of his dagger into the guard captain¡¯s throat. Letting go of his axe-hammer, Ironteeth caught the Varganiki¡¯s wrist, bringing both arms up to desperately keep the knife away. Now practically laying on top of Ironteeth, the goblin killer pressed down with all his might, masked face a hand span from the captain¡¯s own. As death crept closer and closer, Ironteeth stared into that wretched mask. It really was a warg¡¯s head, the pelt and skull cleaned and preserved to act like some disgusting helmet. Black beady eyes more akin to sharks than any lupine stared out at Ironteeth from the empty sockets, while a fanged jaw snapped at him. In those terrible moments, Ironteeth genuinely couldn¡¯t tell if the mask was alive and really coming for his throat or if the movement of the wagon was making the jaw flap up and down. Words rattled from the Varganiki, a rasping string of gobish beyond the captain¡¯s understanding. With every second, the dagger came closer and closer, driven on by unnatural strength. Screaming his defiance, Ironteeth felt the knife-edge press through his beard and start tracing his throat, the edge not yet sinking into his flesh. The Varganiki¡¯s words grew higher, pitched, and ecstatic, filled with sickening bloodlust that transcended language and species. Staring at the gnashing teeth before him as the faint needle-prick of the knife grew into hot pain, Ironteeth roared curses and insults with every labored breath. Struggling to buy himself a little more time, the captain¡¯s eyes widened as a sharp tongue shot out of the beast¡¯s jaws and with it a spray of bloody slobber. Staring at the barbed tip of that bladed tongue, now barely a centimeter from his face, Ironteeth felt the struggle change, he was winning now, pushing the knife away. With a furious bellow, he threw the Varganiki back, and only then did he see the truth. There was no tongue, just an arrow, one that had punched right through the back of the assassin¡¯s neck and come out his mouth, its tip almost hitting him. Wiping the mix of spit and blood from his face, Ironteeth felt the coach slowing down beneath him. Watching as red flowed out from the Varganiki, the captain let out an exhausted breath and slumped to his knees. With the wind and thunder of wheels over cobblestones gone, Ironteeth now could hear the telltale clip-clop of horse hooves. Looking up from his near-murderer, he saw a trio of riders approaching, all but one wore exquisite hunting leathers and antlered helms. The one exception was dressed in slightly rumpled clerks'' clothes and held another arrow at the ready. Panting heavily, Ironteeth bowed his head slightly to the lead rider. ¡°Good timing, Suvi.¡± Limbs shaky, Ironteeth knocked the fresh corpse off the coach¡¯s top and clambered down. Boris stood nearby, leaning against the carriage front, staring at the body, eyes wide, expression haunted. Gesturing vaguely at the body, Ironteeth muttered. ¡°There was another one, I injured him, somewhere¡­ somewhere back there.¡± Suvi dismounted and quickly knelt down next to the body. With practiced hands, she pulled the arrow free with a wet sound and ripped off the warg mask. Tossing it to one of the other two riders, Suvi gestured down the road and made a series of hand signs. The pair of priests set off a slow gallop, the one with the mask holding it out before him, green light flickering around the black fur. Elsewhere, guards were arriving, some on horseback, others by foot, having finally caught up with the monumental civic disturbance. Thinking of all the slagging paperwork this would cause and, more importantly, the poor driver killed by these bastards, Ironteeth spat on the goblin¡¯s corpse. Standing up, Priestess Suvi said. ¡°My fellows will track down the other one. I doubt many in this city will stink of blood and warg fur.¡± Letting the priestess heal the nick on his throat, Ironteeth muttered. ¡°You made good time.¡± Something almost like a smile flicked across Suvi¡¯s face. ¡°A lucky coincidence, aided by our breakthrough.¡± Gingerly touching the new skin, and then pulling away the beard hair severed by the knife with a wince, Ironteeth asked. ¡°Breakthrough?¡± Suvi nodded. ¡°Yes, we were actually heading towards your guard tower, hoping to collect you for the hunt when the chaos reached our ears.¡± A whistle caught Ironteeth¡¯s ears then, and he looked up to see perhaps the strangest sight of the day yet. City-Warden Alia Cat-eyes sat atop a saddle that was slowly floating down the street. Grinning madly, Cat-eyes waved as she bobbed closer. ¡°Good to see you¡¯re alive, boss. I knew in my gut all the screaming had to do with you.¡± Ironteeth barely heard this, he was too busy staring at the reins in his subordinate''s hands, and how they stretched out to a few strips of leather hanging midair before her. While it wasn¡¯t the strangest bit of magic he¡¯d ever seen, something about it was comically surreal. Letting the invisible horse she rode canter towards them, Cat-eyes dismounted her steed and gently patted the empty air before offering a sugar lump that quickly vanished. Gesturing at the floating bridle, Cat-eyes said. ¡°Well, I found the horse, and the Seventh Temple learned some things from the curse.¡± Returning to the corpse, Suvi put a hand on its face, shutting the eyes and sending a pulse of magic through the body, freeing the soul trapped within. Looking up from her grim work, the Priestess nodded. ¡°The curse is fragile from too many transfers, breaking it wouldn¡¯t be too difficult.¡± Gesturing at the still-invisible horse, Ironteeth asked an unspoken question. Again, Suvi almost smiled. ¡°Breaking it wouldn¡¯t be difficult, taking advantage of it was a little harder. My temple has some expertise in such fae-born evil and have learned many ways to counter it.¡± That made sense to Ironteeth, it was in fact one of the reasons he¡¯d gone to the Seventh Temple. It had been humanity''s divine huntress who first taught them to hide from magical predators, and eventually turn the knife around, making prey out of monsters; faeries chief among them. Cleaning the arrow she¡¯d pulled from the dead goblin, Suvi explained. ¡°This curse is weak, a pale imitation of sidhe cruelty. While the results themselves are strong, the actual magic is¡­ impermanent, being of mortal make and shoddy design. So instead of breaking the curse, we punctured it, letting the magic that should perpetuate the curse leak out and seek what is familiar to it. This alone weakens the curse, but it also lets us track who once carried it¡± Still smiling, Cat-eyes rubbed the phantom horse and said. ¡°Yeah, the priests can see the leakage in the Aether, and use it like a compass.¡± As if on cue, Suvi¡¯s eyes glowed like sun-dappled leaves and she nodded slowly. ¡°I think the curse was transferred between five people before the horse, and one of them is close. I¡¯m assuming that¡¯s the Varganiki you injured? The one I killed was never cursed.¡± Ironteeth just shrugged, and Suvi started to frown. ¡°Strange¡­¡± Beyond the quickly growing cordon being set up by the guard, the two other priests appeared one with a black burden slung over her saddle. As the watch parted for them, the pair got closer and the burden was revealed to be the other Varganiki. Seeing the body lying like a dead deer brought some measure of grim satisfaction to Ironteeth, the coach driver was avenged. A twinge of sadness went through the guard captain as he realized he¡¯d never learned the young man¡¯s name. Suvi pulled Ironteeth from his morose thoughts. ¡°We have a problem.¡± The Priestess had approached her colleague and was examining the second corpse, a frown growing as her eyes shone green. ¡°Neither of them ever held the curse.¡± Before confusion could set in, Boris spoke up, breaking his long silence. ¡°Three, three is a sacred number. If they sent more than one, they¡¯d send three.¡± As this sunk in, Ironteeth growled. ¡°Then we still have a goblin assassin loose in the city.¡± Hosting herself up into the invisible horse''s saddle, Cat-eyes shrugged. ¡°For now.¡± Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant, and the Warg (Part 5)

Side Story: The Captain, the Merchant, and the Warg (Part 5)

¡°Our people are dying a slow death of our own making. Every day we march closer to the edge, pushed forward by the generations of tradition behind us. I cannot stop this funeral parade, slowing it is killing me, just as it did my father and his father. Please, I have struggled for you, for your people, I¡¯ve done as the witches command and now come before you a humble petitioner. Oh mothers-three, I beg you, please, please help us!¡±- Confessional of Tzar Mikhal III of Gobavi.
Mounted on the invisible horse, Alia Cat-eyes watched as her boss started to drown. A tide of guards, priests, and other officials had flooded the street, inundating the site of the now-stopped coach in a press of bodies and questions. Bizarrely little of this swamp of procedure seemed that interested in Alia or her steed. Oh, she got plenty of strange looks as she sat on a saddle hovering mid-air, but all the attention fell on Ironteeth. Everyone of some importance and many of none, wanted an explanation for the mad carriage ride and the bodies left in its wake. Thankfully the only casualties had been the assassins and the poor driver, but over a dozen people so far were sporting injuries. Leaning on the saddle pommel, Alia listened to the growing shouting match between Ironteeth and the captain of the fourth district guard. Much was being made out of what happened but Alia smelled more politics than actual outrage. Violence wasn¡¯t as uncommon in Vindabon as those in power would like to pretend, but it also rarely became as much of a spectacle as Ironteeth¡¯s misadventure had. Shit like this often sent heads rolling, literally or metaphorically, and people were already working to take advantage of the situation. While Alia wasn¡¯t so concerned for her boss, as he had a better mind for politics than he let people think, she really didn¡¯t like the amount of time being wasted. If she¡¯d been part of a goblin death squad operating deep in enemy territory and things had gotten this bad, Alia would have just run. Even if this dog-headed arsehole stuck about, spending all this time arguing was giving the Varganiki plenty of time to cover his tracks. Apparently, Alia wasn¡¯t the only one worried about this, as after cowing the fourth district captain, Ironteeth waded through the officials over to her. Leaning down from her saddle, Alia listened as her boss hissed. ¡°Take the priests and try to find this bastard. I need to go to the city palace to settle things.¡± Gripping onto Boris so they didn¡¯t get separated, Ironteeth let himself be washed away by the crowd, going with them to the seat of city government. Spared by her perch atop the horse, Alia left the cordone and found one of the priests of Suvi¡¯s squad waiting for her. Tall and well-built the Priest had an easy smile and sandy-blond hair. Rune-etched horns stuck out of his headdress and he carried an unstrung steppe bow on his back. Noticing him, Alia quirked one lip in a half-smirk. ¡°I see your boss also sent you to continue the hunt?¡± Nodding the Priest got his horse to trot up next to Alia¡¯s and offered a hand. ¡°Priest Vict, I didn¡¯t get to introduce myself earlier.¡± After exchanging grips, Alia gestured at the phantom steed beneath her. ¡°Can you see where the magic is leaking?¡± Vict¡¯s eyes flashed green and he grunted. ¡°Yes, I can still see five different connections. Don¡¯t know which is the oldest, maybe a Hierophant could tell.¡± Sucking on her lower lip, Alia asked. ¡°What about how far they are from us and if they are moving? If someone close is trying to get away, that¡¯s a good jagging sign they''re the one we want.¡± Cocking his head to the side, Vict shut his eyes and whispered something in saint-speech. Dappled shadows danced across the Priest''s face and then he said. ¡°One¡¯s maybe a kilometer to the east, and heading in that direction fast; very fast in fact.¡± Clicking her tongue, Alia got her invisible horse moving. ¡°Well, let¡¯s track the bastard down.¡± Reins in hand, Vict guided his steed into a cantor the City-warden quickly matched. While no expert rider, Alia knew the basics, and the phantom equine proved shockingly placid; a fact probably helped by the Seventh Temple feeding and watering the poor creature. As its hooves beat against the cobblestones, Alia wondered if the curse would fully dissipate, or would the horse stay invisible? Seeing the shocked looks she got while riding, Alia decided if this was permanent, she needed to talk Ironteeth into buying the horse; it was just too much fun. Evening had come to Vindabon and traffic got worse and worse with every passing moment. Only the combined authority of Alia¡¯s badge and Vict¡¯s amulet parted the streams of people finishing up their day. Riding alongside the priest, watching the shadows lengthen, Alia asked. ¡°How close are we?¡± Eyes glowing, Vict muttered. ¡°Hard to tell. Our prey is moving away from us quick as they can and-¡± The Priest paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. Teeth suddenly baring in a snarl, Vict spat. ¡°Jagged edges! I think the quarry is heading towards another of the bearers.¡± Alia understood instantly and had her horse reaching a gallop a heartbeat after Vict¡¯s. The Varganiki wasn¡¯t running, he was trying to cover his tracks; and unfortunately whatever goblin he¡¯d handed the curse off to counted among them. Leaning back in his saddle while his steed thundered forward, Vict held up one hand, making a gesture with his pointer and little finger. Light and shadow swirled about his hand and grew into a mirage of dappled green. Shaped like an elk¡¯s head with antlers wide as a wagon, the illusion floated ahead of Vict¡¯s horse letting out a bugling cry. Trying not to think of the paperwork she¡¯d need to fill out after this, Alia followed the priest as his spell cleared the road for them. Hooves striking against the stone, sending up sparks in their wake the two horses galloped east, heading into the eighteenth district. In Vindabon, a good rule of thumb was the higher the district number the poorer it was, and Poppelheim did little to break that standard. Dashing through dirty streets and past ill-kept buildings Alia grimaced as the smell of too many people and not enough soap wormed its way up her nostrils. Eyes darting around, she noticed the streets were practically empty, in this part of town, folk had better survival instincts and knew to clear out at any sign of trouble, which the giant glowing elk head counted as. Shouting to be heard over their horses, Alia asked. ¡°How far are we?¡± Eyes streaming sparks of forest green that faded into motes of shadow, Vict replied. ¡°We¡¯re close, but so is he.¡± Snapping the reigns, Alia willed her steed to be faster, things were already a big enough mess without the Varganiki beating them there. After another minute of frantic turns in streets not quite wide enough for them, Vict let his spell fade and brought his horse to heel. Alia tried to do the same, but her equestrian luck had run out, as she yanked on the reigns her steed reared up, tipping Alia¡¯s world. Normally she¡¯d have been able to hold on, but the split-second confusion caused by not seeing the horse¡¯s body caught Alia off guard and she fell off the horse''s back. Still, she managed to stick the landing and avoid landing her ass on the cobblestones. A scraping noise and the sound of moving air pricked Alia¡¯s ears. Diving to the left, she felt something whoosh past her by a handspan. Regaining her footing, Alia looked around, trying to figure out where the attack had come from before realization struck. She¡¯d ridden this draft horse hard after it''s a long day of confusion and stress. Yanking on its reigns had been an edge too much and the horse tried to kick her. Wincing, Alia revaluated her opinion on the invisible equine. Anyone without her reflexes would have just taken a hoof to face and probably lost their head. Gingerly, approaching the horse''s reigns, Alia worked to tie the creature to a nearby post as Vict had done. Seeing his unspoken question, Alia shrugged and said. ¡°Horse is ornery.¡± Letting out a snort, Vict gestured ahead of them and said. ¡°I think the static trace is in that building, the other is approaching fast. Should we warn the goblin or set an ambush?¡± Grimacing, Alia thought back to Boris. ¡°Better to jump the bastard, rather than confronting the goblins. I doubt they¡¯d be cooperative¡­ or even if they wouldn¡¯t try to fuck us over. These Varganiki are like their inquisitors, people-shaped monsters that scare them stupid. If they had to choose between trusting us or fearing them I don¡¯t like our chances.¡± Nodding, Vict unslung his bow and got to work stringing it. Alia unbuckled the hand crossbow she kept for times like this and got it ready as well. The sun had set behind the city walls and the cramped streets around them were dark and foreboding, Skulking forward, Alia took the lead, her enhanced senses giving an advantage over even the priest''s magic. Slipping between shadows, Alia approached the building Vict had pointed out. Four stories tall, it was a layered dwelling of brick and wood, probably housing a dozen more families than it comfortably could. The first glowstones and candles of the evening were being lit behind heavy shutters, their light leaking from the structure along with the hundreds of smells of urban living. A slight sneer played across Alia¡¯s face as she sniffed the air, smelling the old pipesmoke, fresh mildew, and hints of dreamsap. Vindabon didn¡¯t have proper slums but did have places walking that path. Crouched down in the shadow of hanging sheets, Alia watched the street, trying to see anyone suspicious. After noting the third pickpocket darting among the crowd of pedestrians returning from work, Alia amended her search to suspicious goblins. Even of those she saw a few, with maybe half a dozen goblins slipping between larger folk, all as shifty as the humans around them. Leaning over to Vict, she asked. ¡°Where is he?¡± Instead of answering, the priest just kept looking up and down the busy street, muttering to himself. Nudging his shoulder, Alia hissed. ¡°Vict, where is he?¡± Shaking himself free of whatever magic he was working, the Priest muttered. ¡°I can¡¯t tell¡­ The magic says he¡¯s within twenty meters of us but¡­ I can¡¯t see him, I should be able to, this close to the horse.¡± Glancing back at the two horses farther up the side street they hid in, Alia started to say. ¡°Do we need to get closer to-¡± Then movement caught her eye, a tiny flicker out of one corner that the human part of her brain didn¡¯t even process, but the feline half did. Craning her neck back, Alia stared up at the rooftops overhead and swore. Jumping between buildings was a black blur, moving with spider-like agility over bricks, tile, and thatch. The leopard in Alia¡¯s blood had spotted it, eager to sink teeth into some flying or climbing prey; but as the rest of the City-warden caught up to her primal instincts, she knew this wasn¡¯t prey, but a rival predator. ¡°Fuck! He¡¯s on the roofs!¡± Vict spun in the direction she was looking and answered her oath with his own. ¡°Jagged-edges, how does he move like that?¡± Checking the bolt on her crossbow, Alia muttered. ¡°Paragon, has to be. Have you hunted one before?¡± Slowly Vict shook his head, grunting, Alia started moving towards the building they¡¯d been watching. ¡°Don¡¯t get close and don¡¯t hesitate to kill. They¡¯re always fast and always tougher than you''d think.¡± Following after her, steppe bow at the ready, the Priest asked. ¡°We¡¯re abandoning the plan?¡± Looking up, Alia watched as the Varganiki leaped through the air, landing on their side of the street, just two buildings down from them. ¡°He¡¯ll come in through the windows or chimney, we need to get to his target before him.¡± Nodding, Vict said. ¡°I think he¡¯s on the third story, towards the building''s left side.¡± They were at the tenement¡¯s front door then and before Alia could worry about it being locked a large man with tired eyes shouldered it open, carrying a crate. Practically shoving her badge into the worker¡¯s face, Alia hissed. ¡°Goblins in this building, on the third story, left side?¡± Stunned, the man weakly nodded and only found his voice to ask questions once the city-warden and priest had already barreled past him. Charging down a dimly lit hallway, Alia found the central staircase and started climbing. The old wood creaked beneath her rapid steps and two women carrying laundry baskets squeezed to the stairwell¡¯s side upon seeing the crossbow and badge headed towards them. While people in this part of Vindabon rarely cooperated with the guards, they also knew better than to get in their way. When they reached the second story, Alia heard a scream and started taking the steps two at a time, the priest flagging behind her. This deep into the tenement¡¯s bowels, Alia¡¯s nose was overwhelmed by the stew of life and livelihoods all about her. Unable to clearly sniff out the Varganiki, she pushed herself faster, reaching the third floor just in time for a new unmistakable smell to reach her: blood. Skidding to a halt, Alia shut her eyes and sucked in a great lungful of air, not to tell the scent¡¯s origin, that was easy enough, but to center herself for what came next. Tensing and untensing her back muscles, Alia focused on the slight stiffness along her upper spine, where a wereleopard¡¯s fangs had pierced. Feeling the scar and the magic within it, Alia let out the breath she¡¯d been holding and felt a ripple of energy run up and down her spine. Back arching like she¡¯d been struck by lightning, Alia felt the world slow down around her. This was the secret of her people, the true power wrestled from a fell god¡¯s curse and cultivated by generations of werefolk. While she couldn¡¯t turn into a leopard, Alia could, for a time, move fast as one. Exploding forward before Vict could even ask why she stopped, Alia became a blur of motion, accelerating to speeds a destrier would struggle to match in just four strides. Tearing down hallways, literally kicking off walls to change direction, Alia reached the smell¡¯s source. It was a rickety wooden door probably salvaged twice over judging by the warped edges. Pushing off the creaking floor, Alia slammed into the door, splintering its latch and sending her into the room beyond. As the stink of blood fully enveloped her, Alia noticed three things about the small apartment she¡¯d entered. First, the window was open, its shutters beating a slow drum beat against the frame. Second, there was a dying goblin on the floor, his life spilling out around him and dripping through cracks in the floorboards. Third and most importantly, four other people were in the room, and only one of them was wearing a fucked-up mask. Crossbow raised, Alia loosed the bolt at the Varganiki while shouting the city watch battle cry. ¡°LEX AETERNA!¡± With liquid grace, the killer leaped out of the bolt¡¯s path and grabbed one of the room¡¯s other occupants who screamed. As the quarrel struck the apartment wall, Alia rushed forward, shortsword in hand, ready to run the Varganiki through, but who he¡¯d grabbed stopped her. Clutched to the foreign assassin¡¯s chest, dagger to her throat was a goblin child. Not a meter away from the girl, a woman, probably her mother screamed and lunged at the Varganiki, only stopped by the teenage boy beside her, his eyes fixed on the blade threatening his little sister. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Chest heaving, killing edge ready, Alia snarled. ¡°You hurt her, you die badly.¡± The Varganiki shrugged, raising one shoulder in a disturbingly casual gesture. Harsh growling words escaped the killer¡¯s mask. ¡°Bring me the one you call Boris Tamvo. I will exchange his death for the whelps, and then accept your blades.¡± Fangs bared, Alia tried to guess if she was fast enough to kill the cockbiter before he hurt the girl. As if he could see her intentions, the Varganiki brought his dagger closer, letting the edge kiss the child¡¯s throat, letting a single drop of blood flow free as she whimpered. With his point made, the Varganiki barked. ¡°Bring me the one you call Boris Tamvo or I¡¯ll take the whelps head and the rest of her family.¡± Glancing next to Alia, he then said. ¡°And tell the pagan priest to back away, or I¡¯ll cut the girl¡¯s nose off.¡± To her shock, the air beside the city-warden flickered and Vict appeared, slowly releasing his bow¡¯s draw. She hadn¡¯t been the only one with extra tricks, he¡¯d turned himself invisible and caught up with her, hoping to ambush the Varganiki. Noting down that the assassin could sense people even she couldn¡¯t Alia said. ¡°I can¡¯t hand over one citizen for another. But if you let the girl go, we¡¯ll take you into custody, and from there we can negotiate something with Gobavi. No one else needs to-¡± With a flick of his hand, the Varganiki brought the knife to the girl¡¯s ear and sliced it off. Blood sprayed out and the girl screamed, a sound answered by her mother. The teenage boy fought hard to keep his mother back, tears streaming down his face, dark eyes boring into Alia with a silent plea. Letting the dagger rest on his hostage¡¯s cheek, the Varganiki said. ¡°Every time you try to negotiate, I cut a piece off her.¡± Glancing down at the cooling corpse on the ground between her and the Varganiki, Alia said. ¡°I¡¯ll have word sent to my commander, Captain Ironteeth¡± The Varganiki sneered. ¡°The dwarf? Yes, he can answer my demands.¡± Not daring to turn away from the killer, Alia gestured at Vict to get help. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, he complied. Between the two of them, Alia stood the best chance of stopping the Varganiki; she wouldn¡¯t be fast enough to save the girl but she¡¯d put the fucker down before he went for the mother or son. As Vict disappeared out the door, City-warden Alia Cat-eyes waited, ready to be a savior or avenger.
Staring up at the high table, Ironteeth watched as Graf Louon took his seat. This was the worst part about going before the city council. Being close to that pyrite-eyed prickle-ass always made his beard itch; a mutual feeling judging by how the Graf¡¯s eyes narrowed upon seeing Ironteeth. Striking his gavel and officially starting the meeting, Graf Louon said. ¡°We are here to discuss the incident that occurred in the eleventh district involving Captain Arkaz Ironteeth of the city watch, an out-of-control carriage, and two unknown assailants.¡± With that, the demand for explanations started, and Ironteeth knew the accusations wouldn¡¯t be far behind. At this point, any hopes of keeping the Varganiki matter secret was scrap, so Ironteeth told all he knew. News of goblin assassins armed with fae witchery loose in the city went over as well as could be expected. The mix of shock and rancor that spilled out after this revelation made Ironteeth glad they¡¯d managed to kill two of the Varganiki just because it would prevent anyone from denying what happened to him. Then as the reality sunk in, much as Boris had feared, the initial reaction on the council was calls to seek out any and all goblins with any possible connection to the Varganiki. But thankfully cooler heads, and louder voices, prevailed before any orders could be given. Ironteeth in particular shouted himself hoarse, pointing out all the problems a spy-hunt might cause. But ethical considerations weren¡¯t really what kept things from escalating, that honor fell to political expedience and international considerations. While war with Gobavi was a near-constant affair in the east, Vindabon wanted to avoid getting entangled with that particular mess again. Memories of the disastrous Louon campaign hadn¡¯t faded completely and few people of importance were interested in funding another expeditionary army, especially the Graf himself. So to preserve coin, prestige, and civic peace, the powers of Vindabon were looking for an easy way to solve this mess. After nearly an hour of testimony, debate, and probably some backroom deals Ironteeth wasn¡¯t privy to, the city government had decided upon their solution. With the official blessing and backing of Vindabon, Captain Ironteeth would continue his investigation to apprehend the remaining Varganiki and expose any collaborators the assassin might have in the city. On the surface, this seemed to be a typical example of city bureaucracy turning its mammoth gears to little effect; as they¡¯d spent precious time coming to the decision to have Ironteeth just do what he¡¯d been doing. But, despite what he liked people to think, Ironteeth understood politics and knew he was being set up as a potential cursegoat. He¡¯d either make this problem go away or be blamed for letting it get out of hand. A fact that made him glad he¡¯d sent Cat-eyes to continue the investigation while he was tied up with bureaucratic string. But as the official writ for Ironteeth¡¯s investigation was being drafted, that small comfort turned into a gut punch. A frantic page burst into the room, carrying a message for the council chair. As Graf Louon unfolded the note, Ironteeth watched with a sinking feeling as the slag arse¡¯s eyes widened with every line read. Golden pupils snapped to the Guard Captain and Louon handed the message to his colleagues before saying. ¡°A situation is developing in Poppelheim. Captain Ironteeth, one of your subordinates tracked down the missing goblin assassin. But instead of apprehending this ¡®warg¡¯s head¡¯ she has gotten us into a hostage situation¡± Lead filled Ironteeth¡¯s belly but he didn¡¯t let it show on his face. ¡°I¡¯ll head there at once and see what can be done.¡± Graf Louon held up a hand. ¡°The assassin is holding an immigrant family hostage and has demands. Ones we as a city cannot meet, but your¡­ source can.¡± A servant collected the message from one of the councilors and scurried forth to the Captain. Reading the cramped missive, Ironteeth felt something in his jaw creak as he clenched his teeth in fury. ¡°No. No, we are not going to do this!¡± Louon raised an arched eyebrow. ¡°That is not your decision to make, Captain Ironteeth.¡± Gilded eyes fell upon Boris and the merchant sucked in a breath. ¡°Ah¡­. I am the price?¡± The Graf simply nodded and a weary smile cut the goblin¡¯s face. Snarling, Ironteeth jabbed a finger at Boris. ¡°I won¡¯t have the sickness of Gobavi in my city! Do not do this, we can find another way, Vindabon is not so weak to let our enemies decide our options!¡± Voice like ice, Louon asked. ¡°Your city, Captain?¡± Glaring up at the polished noble, Ironteeth spat. ¡°You of all people should hate this jaggery! The goblins killed your slagging son, you shouldn¡¯t be letting them-¡± ¡°ENOUGH!¡± roared the council chair, flames flickering out the side of his mouth. ¡°Boris Tamvo is a citizen of Vindabon and while he is afforded the city¡¯s protection, he is also within his rights to sacrifice himself for the greater good; as the statute of Ingol¡¯s Field dictates.¡± Arms wide, Ironteeth shouted back. ¡°Goatshit! That law is about ensuring a dead soldier¡¯s family keeps their pension, not this¡­ this slag!¡± Boris put a hand on Ironteeth¡¯s shoulder, making the dwarf whirl about. Still smiling, Boris said. ¡°I will take risk, but will not be sacrifice. Big difference in that, Captain.¡± Slowly nodding, Ironteeth understood what Boris was saying. ¡°What do you propose?¡± Looking down at his hands and the rings decorating them, Boris said. ¡°What I¡¯ve wanted to do from the beginning.¡± Offering his palms out to Ironteeth, Boris smiled and the captain stared down at the rings, seeing them properly. ¡°Is¡­. is that?¡± Boris bobbed his head in confirmation and the captain let out a long breath. ¡°Fine, let¡¯s make preparations and do this idiocy.¡±
Ironteeth hated how far the smell of blood traveled, even at the tenement¡¯s bottom story he could still catch whiffs of the murder and mutilation waiting for him. Staring up the staircase, he asked. ¡°Ready?¡± Boris adjusted his coat and nodded. Slowly the goblin ascended, step by step, the old wooden stairs creaking with his weight. Ironteeth and the squad of guards he¡¯d hand-picked for this followed a little behind, unwilling to make the stairway bare all of them at ounce. All around them, the tenement was empty, its occupants evacuated, and in their place grim-faced watchmen and tense priests waiting for the other boot to fall. After a small eternity, they reached the third floor, Ironteeth watching as Boris walked down the hallway ahead of them. Glancing at his subordinates, Ironteeth hissed. ¡°This bastard¡¯s a paragon, he can take a beating and keep on coming. Don¡¯t try to take him alive, and don¡¯t do anything stupid; we¡¯re here to cut off his escape routes and pile in once the moment¡¯s right.¡± Grunts of affirmative reached Ironteeth as he watched Boris approach the open door and the familiar woman standing in it. Alia Cat-eyes had her blade drawn and was completely focused on whatever was in the room before her. Eyes flicking down, Ironteeth saw the red stain on Cat-eye¡¯s boots, where she¡¯d stepped in blood. A faint noise reached the Captain¡¯s ears then, one that took him a moment to recognize, it was someone crying, but with no energy left to properly weep. Clenching his jaw, Ironteeth not for the first time wished he had someone to pray to in times like these. Boris approached Cat-eyes, nodding to her, and eliciting the faintest twitch of regret. Alia was probably blaming herself for things getting this far; Ironteeth certainly was. Stepping up next to his subordinate, the Captain looked into the apartment and the horror awaiting him. A cooling corpse lay on the ground, its blood a clotted stain. In one corner was a woman so pale and drawn she matched her husband¡¯s body, while a boy barely old enough to have whiskers clutched at her, trying to support her and himself. But in the center of the tableau was a sight that made Ironteeth remember the hate he felt watching Milda burn. A goblin in black robes and a horrid mask clutched a little girl to him, knife at her throat. The child was missing an ear and carried three ugly scratches down the left side of her face. Eyes fixed on her severed ear that lay on the floor, the girl shivered, her skin ashen. For a moment no one spoke, as the Varganiki eyed the newcomers while they digested the monster¡¯s carnage. Arms wide, Boris broke the silence as he took a step into the room. ¡°I am here.¡± A noise halfway between a growl and purr escaped the Varganiki. Pointing his dagger at Boris he rasped something in gobish. Letting out a breath, Boris took another step forward and answered in his mother language. Now less than two meters apart, the two goblins regarded each other, and a few more words were exchanged. The only one Ironteeth recognized was ¡®traitor.¡¯ Then fast as lightning, the Varganiki tossed the girl aside and lunged forward, his dagger aiming for Boris¡¯s throat. Instead of flinching away or even accepting his death silently, Boris stepped into the strike, catching the blow right in the gut, where it struck the dwarven-steel breastplate Ironteeth had scrounged out of the armory. With a paragon¡¯s strength, the Varganiki drove the dagger through the metal and into Boris¡¯s belly. But this was good dwarven steel, and only the knife¡¯s tip sunk into the merchant¡¯s flesh. As the blade kissed him, Boris reached out as if to hug his would-be assassin. Breath shuddering, he whispered a word, a magic word, one linked to the enchantment on his rings. Storing force is one of the simplest but most dangerous runic techniques. It was how Ironteeth made his thunder-stones, trapping a few hammer blows into a pebble and letting all that energy out at the right moment. As dangerous to make as they were useful, these trinkets pushed the Captain¡¯s skill in rune smithing to the limit, but he¡¯d always been a shoddy runesmith. Boris, as a successful merchant in one of the greatest cities on the entire continent could afford someone a little better. In an act of paranoid brilliance, Boris had turned a nervous tic into a potent weapon. His rings were enchanted so every time they were twisted a little bit of the energy was stored within them. Days, weeks, and months of fiddling had built up an impressive stockpile, one now spent as Boris gently pushed the Varganiki. A noise like thunder exploded through the apartment and Ironteeth¡¯s ears rang as a great cloud of dust filled the room. Deaf and coughing, the Captain rushed forward, axe-hammer at the ready, and nearly stepped on Boris. Lying on the ground, unsettlingly close to the corpse of the Varganiki¡¯s contact, the Goblin stared up at the ceiling, the wind knocked from him, his pupils showing a clear concussion. Putting himself between Boris and where he¡¯d last seen the assassin, Ironteeth felt his jaw fall open as the dust started to settle. There was a hole in the brick wall, a large hole created by the Varganiki¡¯s body. Stepping to the new ¡®window¡¯ Ironteeth adjusted his beard to filter the brick dust and look down at the street below. Splayed out like the goblin he¡¯d killed not long ago was the Varganiki. Teeth flashing, the Captain spat. ¡°Got you, you bastard!¡± No sooner had those words left his mouth than the killer started to twitch. Eyes widening, Ironteeth sucked in a breath of incredulity as the paragon goblin spasmed. Rolling onto his belly, the Varganiki slowly pushed himself up and started to stumble down the road. Turning from the hole, Ironteeth swore. ¡°SLAG AND SOOT! How tough is this bastard!?¡± Barking orders, Ironteeth set the priests and healers assembled on the goblin family and Boris while leading his guards down the stairs. Cat-eyes was ahead of them, literally leaping down the staircase as she hunted her prey. A snarl escaped the City-warden as she flew past them ¡°He¡¯s mine!¡± They reached the tenement¡¯s front and Ironteeth saw Cat-eyes dash after the Varganiki as he hobbled into a nearby alley. Before Alia could close the distance a loud crack and equine shriek cut through the night. Skidding to a halt, Cat-eyes stared at the alley and did the damnedest thing, she started to laugh, a deep gut-busting, borderline hysterical laugh. Finally catching up with her, Ironteeth started to ask what was happening when he saw the corpse. The Varganiki lay on his back, neck at a strange angle, a fresh contusion covering his face. Deeper into the alley was a harness, floating in the air and nickering loudly. Softly, Ironteeth said. ¡°Slag me¡­ did the horse¡­?¡± Alia managed to catch her breath long enough to spit on the corpse. ¡°Yes, after all that, the jagging horse got him.¡± Shaking his head, Ironteeth muttered. ¡°You never know how justice will be served.¡±
It had been two days since the last Varganiki died and Ironteeth finally got out enough from the mountain of paperwork he¡¯d been buried in to visit the Seventh Temple. Knocking on the clinic room door, he waited until an accented voice said. ¡°Enter¡± Boris lay in a bed too big for him, his hands, belly and head wrapped in bandages marked with spells of healing. He¡¯d broken most of his fingers and had his bell rung like it was a high holy day but the merchant was still alive. Managing a smile on seeing Ironteeth, the goblin rasped. ¡°Good to see you.¡± Grunting, Ironteeth pulled up a chair. ¡°They managed to reattach the ear. She¡¯ll have scars, both inside and out, but it could have been worse.¡± That killed Boris¡¯s smile and he shrugged one shoulder. ¡°Poor child. Her father bullied into helping a monster and murdered to cover a trail. I¡¯d offer her brother a job, but¡­ well.¡± Ironteeth crossed his arms. ¡°You¡¯re really going to leave Vindabon?¡± Boris let out a breath. ¡°It has to be done. I have the resources to start again somewhere else. If I don''t, more killers will come for me, and this all might repeat.¡± ¡°Or they might just kill you,¡± muttered Ironteeth. ¡°Better to stay here where we know of the threat.¡± Head slowly cocking to the side, Boris replied. ¡°Perhaps, but my presence would hamper the Orphange¡¯s work. The Tzar will know about me, and what I¡¯ve done here, that endangers the cause. I¡¯m a wealthy goblin, I can go somewhere west, get a new name, restart my business, and maybe open a new branch of the Orphanage in a few years.¡± Ironteeth scoffed. ¡°After all this, you still want to give more to your cause? From what I¡¯ve seen you¡¯re spitting into a deep shaft and expecting to make it a well.¡± Eyes meeting the Captains, the Merchant said. ¡°With enough time, enough goblins, and enough spit, we can fill a well.¡± Leaning back into his pillows, Boris muttered. ¡°It is either that or accept my motherland¡¯s doom. I cannot bring myself to do that, so I must keep spitting.¡± Rubbing his forehead, Ironteeth grunted. ¡°Well, when you decide where you¡¯re going let me know. I might have contacts in the guard there, and it would be good to send word if another warg-masked slagger is sniffing around.¡± Boris made a non-commital noise and changed the topic. ¡°What of the horse?¡± That got a snort from Ironteeth. ¡°Well, its owner showed up asking for it and he slagging broke the curse.¡± Seeing Boris¡¯s look of surprise, Ironteeth explained. ¡°See, he was the only one who remembered its name. Cat-eyes says he came up to the stables, called out for ¡®Rolf¡¯, and like that, we could see the horse again.¡± Ironteeth snapped his fingers for emphasis. ¡°Curious¡± muttered Boris. ¡°I assume it won¡¯t be destroyed for what happened?¡± Ironteeth shook his head. ¡°No, horses kick mangy predators to death all the time.¡± Accepting this, Boris straightened himself up a little. ¡°I must thank you Captain Ironteeth, for everything. You saved my life and Queens¡¯ know how many others. The Varganiki deserved what you brought down on them, and I know many souls sleeping in the Beyond will rest easier knowing they¡¯ve been avenged.¡± Making a noise deep in his throat, Ironteeth nodded and then worked to dredge up words. ¡°Thank you, as well.¡± One of Boris¡¯s ears twitched. ¡°For?¡± Refusing to meet his odd ally¡¯s gaze, Ironteeth said. ¡°For explaining all I saw at Milda and¡­ and showing me your kind can be better than what I thought.¡± Silence reigned for a long time before Boris whispered. ¡°Of all the freedoms my people are denied, that is the cruelest one. The freedom to be better than what is expected.¡± Ironteeth shrugged. ¡°Maybe that can be the first you help win them.¡± Boris smiled. ¡°Maybe.¡± Side Story: A Matriarchs Rage (Part 1)

A Matriarch¡¯s Rage (Part 1)

¡°No, no, no, if you try and subjugate a beast you¡¯ll only break its mind or find yourself warring for dominance until it¡¯s a ruined husk. A true familiar is not a slave or thrall, they are a partner, one whose bond is forged in magic. To do this well, the creature must be a babe with an unfinished soul and still pining for its mother¡¯s teat. Weave a strand of the cub¡¯s essence into your own soul and then return the favor. As the beast grows, the bond will strengthen and your minds will touch. Commune with the familiar, drink in its world, and let it lap at yours. Give the beast your love, earn its loyalty, and you will have no greater companion.¡±- Skinsister Palimo of the Witchlands.
:: Three Weeks since the Fall of House Louon :: Cole didn¡¯t like to think of himself as a violent person. He took no pleasure in the carnage involved with his duties and tried to only use force when necessity dictated it. As a servant of Master Time, Cole wasn¡¯t just a dealer in death but a preserver of life. That being said, the Paladin was seriously considering putting his axe into Lord Jindrich¡¯s skull if the miserable bastard didn¡¯t stop talking. ¡°All I¡¯m saying is we must avoid escalating the situation, and the best way to do that is a compromise. We¡¯ve been fighting with the vampires over Alidonar for decades, and nothing ever changes! Why must we keep sending gold and soldiers into this bottomless well when a treaty might be in reach?¡± Shutting his eyes, Cole leaned back in his chair and took a long slow breath to calm himself. The stink of pipesmoke, old leather, and salt dust filled his nostrils and brought him no comfort. Trying not to think about Natalie¡¯s scent or how much he missed it, the Paladin opened his eyes and refocused on the meeting he was supposed to be part of. He alongside more than two dozen others were seated around a large table in a dimly lit conference chamber in the Conradbau, heart of the city of Lowanburg. Night had fallen some time ago but this bloody meeting still showed no sign of ending. Glancing over at the heavy-set spy sitting next to him, Cole once again regretted granting the Quicksilver Player this favor. Hands folded before him, Alexio Argentarii responded to the idiot lord¡¯s words. ¡°If the Southern Marches were to fall, the vampires would not stop. They¡¯d be marching on Norica within the decade and Baiuvar in our lifetimes. Keeping Alidonar out of enemy hands protects the entire League, including this fine city.¡± Bitterly, Cole noted the spy¡¯s argument focused on the consequences to Lowanburg, not even mentioning the thousands of lives lost or ruined by the ongoing war. Here in the capital of Baiuvar, one of the southern Zentish kingdoms, the vampire threat was slightly more theoretical than in Vindabon. A fact Cole found a little bizarre considering they lay just beyond Norica. But, an inability to recognize a danger if it wasn¡¯t breathing down your neck was a regrettably common shortcoming in people. A shortcoming Cole was supposed to help the leadership of Baiuvar overcome, or at least that¡¯s what Argentarii claimed. It had been almost a month since solstice and much of the Holy League was leery of pouring resources into the growing war with the vampires. Even with news of Harmas¡¯s quarantine and corruption spreading, a strong faction of Leaguers seemed unconvinced the conflict was anything more than the usual border clashes they all knew. Lowanburg was one of the more vocal members of this group of bellyachers, which was proving to be an issue considering the city¡¯s major export. The economy of southern Baiuvar, the part bordering Norica, was built off the mining and selling of salt. Great deposits of the substance ran below the local mountains and their contents were traded all across the central league. Normally this sort of financial minutia would never have entered Cole¡¯s world, but with the war growing the demand for the cleansing crystal did as well. Traditionally Lowanburg and its vassals lowered their tariffs and enforced some measure of price control when war broke out with the Duchies. Salt was often the first line of defense for armies fighting the undead, even more so than steel or leather. A handful of the stuff thrown at the right moment or a line poured along a fortress wall could spell the difference between life and death for many soldiers. Sure, it wouldn¡¯t stop a vampire, but the powder hampered ghouls, rattlers, and most wraiths; which made up the backbone of Duchy armies. Now, as the Elector-Prince of Vindabon clashed with the leeches and Harmas had gone silent, the rulers of Lowanburg were suddenly unwilling to do their patriotic duty and were even threatening to raise prices in response to the high demand. Naturally, Argentarii smelled a rat, particularly an undead one, and wanted to find out more. Which is why he¡¯d ventured to Lowanburg officially as a Vindabonite trade official, and unofficially as an agent of Uncle Trickster. Similarly, Cole was on paper present to stress the dangers of the undead and remind everyone of the solstice ball attack he¡¯d foiled; while more subtletyhelping Argentarii identify and eliminate any vampire subversion. But even after three days of pomp and meetings, Cole still genuinely couldn¡¯t tell if the ¡®de-escalation faction¡¯ of Lowanburg was intentionally or unintentionally serving Duchy interests. There were dozens of ways vampires could ensnare useful mortals and only some of them left magical traces. So far, Cole was reasonably certain none of the various mortal aristocrats he¡¯d encountered were thralls. Recent experiences with Yara, Natalie¡¯s unwanted blood slave, had given Cole some valuable insight into the Aetheric signs of vampire venom to complement his preexisting knowledge of the physical symptoms. Eyes drifting over the two dozen officials filling the other chairs in the chamber, Cole knew even without the Sting in play, there were other ways for the nocturnal nobility to get their hooks in their daytime counterparts. Not least of which was mundane or not so mundane bribery. Gold and jewels had always been reason enough for people to betray their homeland, and wealth was just the start of what the vampires could offer those unscrupulous enough to do business with them. Forbidden spells to slow aging, subtle curses to drive enemies mad, or bewitching potions to compel affection and subservience. Clenching his jaw, Cole hoped if someone in this room had sold themselves, they¡¯d at least done it for coin, not fell magic. ¡°Is something the matter, Sir Paladin? You look like you¡¯ve swallowed something raw.¡± The words snapped Cole out of his musing and he looked to the source. Margrave Rabith was seated diagonally from the Paladin and had apparently interrupted one of his colleague¡¯s list of complaints to speak. Of average height and thick physique, Rabith was bald but more than compensated with a massive mustache and beard. As a Margrave, he ruled over one of the Baiuvari border fiefs in the south and in theory should be more focused on the defense of his homeland than some of the other nobles present. Clearing his throat, Cole glanced at Argentari and then decided to be diplomatic. ¡°I was wondering what the price of a life is.¡± An awkward silence fell across the chamber and Cole expected the spymaster to say something and recover the situation but Argentarii stayed silent telling Cole all he needed to know. One of the Paladin¡¯s many gifts in life was making people slightly uncomfortable when he spoke honestly. It wasn¡¯t something he did intentionally, but a life spent neck-deep in tragedy and horror had¡­ warped Cole¡¯s conversational skills. Lip twitching in a half-smile as he remembered all the times he¡¯d stunned Natalie with some off-hand comment, Cole understood another reason why Argentarii brought him here. As Isabelle¡¯s Homunculus Knight, he¡¯d been party to enough negotiations to know how useful keeping the opposing party off-kilter could be. He wasn¡¯t just here to champion the cause or seek out traitors but also to unsettle the leadership of Lowanburg. Leaning forward, letting his bulk loom over the table, Cole did his job. ¡°Salt will save lives in the east, that is not speculation but fact. So I want to know how much you think each life is worth. If I were in your boots I¡¯d personally think every life, every soldier between me and the dead legions was worth quite a bit, more than a slight increase in profit.¡± Face contorting in a sneer, another of the nobles, Baroness Tifina snapped. ¡°Every year Alidonar demands more from us, more soldiers, more steel, more salt. More! More! More! We pay our obligations and hamstring our economy but nothing ever changes! For generations, my family¡¯s lands have been selling salt to the marcher lords cheap as dirt whenever they howl about some undead incursion or other crisis that fails to materialize. Enough is enough, they can pay a fair price like everyone else and learn to respect us. All the Southern Marches do is take from us, antagonize the vampires, and demand more for the wars they start.¡± Meeting the over-primped aristocrat''s eyes, Cole stared, waiting for her to break. It didn¡¯t take long as she recoiled from his gaze. She had a slight point about the marcher lords pushing conflict with Duchies but he wasn¡¯t going to admit that. Roloyo was using Alidonar¡¯s probing into the western Dragontail Mountains as their casus belli. A legitimate grievance, but one used to mask the pursuit of Natalie, which Cole couldn¡¯t exactly bring up. So he simply said, ¡°It will be hard for them to ¡®learn respect¡¯ if they¡¯re dead.¡± Margrave Rabith cleared his throat, pulling focus to him. ¡°While the news out of Harmas is concerning, you have to understand Sir Paladin, Alidonar has been¡­ how should I say it, ¡®Crying wolf¡¯ for generations now, can you understand our hesitance to continue selling our economic lifeblood so cheaply? How can we know the situation is as dire as you say? Plagues, vampire raids, and other crises have struck the Southern Marches many times, what makes this one different?¡± Cole simply pulled his amulet from his shirt and let silver light fill the dim chamber. ¡°You can know it¡¯s dire, because I¡¯m here, right now, telling you it is. Bearers of my mantle are not called when a situation is minor.¡± Lord Jindrich scoffed. ¡°Well as far as I can see, you aren¡¯t out on the frontlines where you belong but instead browbeating us as a favor for Vindabon. Personally, I find that more telling, than any flashing trinkets.¡± A twitch went across Cole¡¯s face but he managed to keep his anger contained to just that. Jindrich¡¯s words struck an ugly chord and raised Cole¡¯s hackles. A year ago he¡¯d have not hesitated to journey to the front, lending his spells and steel to the war; but time changes everything. He wasn¡¯t an itinerant rest-bringer flowing between calamities anymore. Master Time had given him new duties, ones he gladly took on, not least because the focus of them made his heart beat faster just to think about. Even understanding the paramount importance of Natalie¡¯s protection, Cole still felt some shame for not joining the fight, a shame that motivated him to help Argentarii in the first place. Before Cole could respond to Jindrich¡¯s comments, the Spymaster tapped the pile of papers before him on the desk and addressed the Margrave. ¡°To double back a little, something you said I think harkens to the center of all this. I could more than understand the hesitance to implement the traditional salt subsidies but I¡¯m finding the proposed price increase rather¡­ concerning. It''s one thing to want to keep your economy strong, it''s quite another to try and profit off your cousin-kingdom¡¯s war to defend our entire federation.¡± That got some of the nobles to look uncomfortable, something Argentarii pounced upon. ¡°Of course, I¡¯m not implying the august and venerable kingdom of Baiuvar would stoop to such base war-profiteering. This proposal I¡¯d assume is merely a negotiation tactic, not a tacit betrayal of the League¡¯s holy charter of cooperation and mutual defense.¡± A slight shift spread around the table, as one layer of subtly was peeled away like onion skin. Watching the elite of Lowanburg, Cole started to get a sense of the factions and the lever Argentarii hoped to use on them. Some of the assembly seemed unbothered by the Spymaster¡¯s borderline accusation, these were probably the ones who viewed the proposal as a haggling tool like Argentarrii said. Others were a bit more incensed, clearly reacting to the barely softened insult for one reason or another. The last group though was the most interesting to Cole, they looked uncomfortable and kept glancing at one among them who¡¯d hardly spoken as if expecting a cue from her. Looking at the noblewoman Cole guessed led this third faction, he tried to remember her name. As far as he could tell she¡¯d introduced herself on the first day of the meeting and after that only exchanged a few whispers with some of the other council members. Wearing extravagant clothes that didn¡¯t quite match as well as she probably thought, the woman had long blond hair that had clearly been fussed over and her plump face was coated in a thick layer of makeup. While no expert on fashion or anything of the sort, Cole got an odd sense of disjointment from her appearance, like her ensemble had been assembled from half a dozen distinct outfits. Considering this woman, and whatever role she was playing in events, the Paladin mused on the mixed reaction to the accusation. Shrugging internally, Cole decided he might as well play the role Argentarii expected, and hurled a rock into the political pond still rippling with the spymaster¡¯s words. ¡°If the proposal is not a negotiation tactic, then it¡¯s a worrying sign, one open for interpretation. See, in my experience, people usually find what they¡¯ve been taught to find when looking at matters like this. Alexio here is a trade minister, so he sees an attempt to squeeze financial considerations or base profit out of a crisis. But I¡¯m not like him, or anyone else here; so my interpretation is different.¡± Letting his words hang, Cole watched the aristocrats and bureaucrats digest this, waiting for Argentarii to cut him off or let the next stone fly. Eventually, one of the nobles, a member of the incensed faction asked. ¡°Well, what is your interpretation, Sir Paladin?¡± Letting his icy eyes flow over the assembled group, Cole simply said. ¡°I see an organized effort to aid the enemies of mortal kind.¡± For a moment a pin drop would have been audible, then the shouting started. ¡°HOW DARE YOU!¡± ¡°SUCH ACCUSATIONS MUST BE ANSWERED FOR!¡± ¡°WE SHOULD NOT SUFFER A GUEST¡¯S INSOLENCE!¡± ¡°HE SAYS SUCH THINGS WHEN HE LAYS WITH A-¡± ¡®URRGHHHOOOAR¡¯ A primal roar cut through the tumult and got everyone to go silent. All eyes at the table turned to the dias along the room¡¯s western wall and the throne seated atop it. Sitting in the ornate chair was an annoyed-looking teenage boy with long curly golden hair framed by an equally golden diadem. At the boy''s feet were a pair of lions, actual lions, huge beasts whose eyes glinted with reflected firelight and regal distaste. Reaching down, the boy scratched beneath one of the lion¡¯s chin, a gesture the cat appreciated before settling back onto the rich carpet. Leaning back on his throne, head propped up with one arm in the perfect display of royal aloofness, the boy said. ¡°Insulting my vassals is a strange way to negotiate, Paladin Cole.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Cole offered the boy a slight bow and wondered if he¡¯d overstepped. ¡°Not an insult Prince Heinrich, an observation, one others might share.¡± Elector-Prince Heinrich of Lowanburg, ruler of all Baiuvar and palatine scion of kingly blood raised an eyebrow. ¡°Explain.¡± Glancing at Argentarii and seeing him nod imperceptibly, Cole stood from his chair so he might be better seen by the monarch. ¡°Vindabon, Norica, Alidonar, Helv, and a dozen other kingdoms have contributed soldiers and supplies to the war. They are doing their duty and might look unfavorably upon those seeking profit while their sons and daughters risk themselves. Some of those nation¡¯s leaders will see this as Minister Argentarii does, finding it a distasteful negotiation tactic or grasping extortion attempt. Those are the ones who will give you the benefit of the doubt.¡± Prince Heinrich watched Cole with growing interest, a fact reflected in his two lions as they stared at the Paladin. With all attention on him, Cole kept going. ¡°Others, particularly those who¡¯ve lost family and friends to the leeches will see this course as a betrayal, one that cost them loved ones.¡± Jindrich scoffed. ¡°Ridiculous, why would they blame us for those the vampires kill? Setting a fair price for salt isn¡¯t the same as-¡± Cole cut him off. ¡°A child leans against a newly made banister, it breaks and they fall to their death. The fall killed them, but I¡¯d wager the carpenter would be blamed.¡± With the interruption dismissed, Cole continued. ¡°War is costly, that is a fact, and why we are here. Every silver coin, every drop of sweat, and every second must be spent wisely if you are to win, and more importantly, win well. By squeezing the Prince of Vindabon¡¯s army and the Alidonar garrisons you take resources that might save lives or win battles to line your coffers. How will that look to all those who¡¯ve shed blood to keep the League free? Will they see simple greed or something darker at work? When the skies darkened and your kinsmen called, you want to answer with a price increase? Honestly, the most charitable interpretation of such actions is assuming the enemy is skulking among you, whispering poison into unguarded minds.¡± Casually, Cole removed his amulet and held it out before him. ¡°If anyone here has been twisted by the undead, now would be the time to confess and seek clemency. I¡¯ve walked among the vampires and know not all servants of them are willing. My Temple has ways to free and help those bound by venom, geas, or simple blackmail.¡± Argentarii coughed politely and Cole realized he¡¯d probably gone too far. Settling back into his chair, the Paladin simply said. ¡°That is how I see this, and I will not be the only one.¡± Prince Heinrich rose from his throne and approached the table, his lions trailing after him like loyal hounds. ¡°Well, that was dramatic, do any of my council want to rebut the Paladin¡¯s point.¡± Soft clapping came from farther down the council table and Cole realized the woman faction leader was the source. Rising, she offered a deep bow to the prince and then said. ¡°It was indeed an excellent performance my liege, but one stained by ironically both hypocrisy and naivete. If it pleases you my Prince I¡¯d gladly pull apart the Paladin¡¯s posturing.¡± Nodding to the woman, the Prince said. ¡°Your perspective is always welcome Countess Lutisha.¡± Smiling, the noblewoman turned her make-up-encrusted gaze upon Cole. ¡°For one, he accuses us of being in bed with the enemy when he quite literally is. He rants about vampire subversion and vampire plots while his paramour is a feral leech that nearly killed someone at Vindabon¡¯s solstice ball. My cousin was there and told me the whole wretched tale, and that¡¯s not even mentioning the rumors that have abounded, about ancient curses and bewitchment.¡± Cole took a long deep breath, he¡¯d been expecting this and thankfully so had Argentarii. Conversationally the spymaster said. ¡°It''s funny you bring up these accusations and the solstice ball. Did your cousin mention anything else about that incident? For example, how Lady Natalie bears the stigma of Master Time and has proven herself a loyal ally of the living? Or maybe more curiously, the fate of a certain House Louon that leveled similar accusations against Paladin Cole. Speaking of my rather¡­ blunt associate, you must forgive his curt ways but also consider that barely a month ago he dueled a Scarlet Knight of Dracon¡¯s own siring after the monster invaded Vindabon. He is acutely aware of the dangers pressing in on us, and how fragile the illusion of safety is.¡± Lutisha scoffed. ¡°If he¡¯s so concerned about the League territory falling into vampire claws, why is he here with you, not at the front as my dear friend Jindrich suggested?¡± A smile that somehow reminded Cole of a fat cat¡¯s smirk upon seeing a slow mouse spread across Argentarii¡¯s face. ¡°A Paladin, especially one of his skills would be useful on the frontlines but would not change the outcome in any major way. But, a Paladin rooting out unholy corruption like in Vindabon and now possibly here, that can have much greater effects.¡± Well, it seemed they weren¡¯t even trying to be subtle anymore. Cole didn¡¯t know if this had been Argentarii¡¯s plan all along or if he was simply adapting to events. Either way, the court of Baiuvar knew they were suspect, and a sword, or in this case, halberd, was dangling overhead waiting to fall at any sign of corruption. Still smiling Argentarii interlaced his fingers together and leaned forward on the table. ¡°As for your thoughts about the Paladin being, naive, I don¡¯t even need to hear them. If anyone here is naive, I think it''s those holding the notion this war is some external affair that merely drains resources and offers nothing. The solstice ball proved how far the vampire¡¯s reach is, and if you confer with the Fifth Temple I think you¡¯d find some concerning reports about discoveries related to leech infiltration and subversion.¡± Prince Heinrich frowned. ¡°I¡¯d like to know more about these discoveries, Minister.¡± Bowing his head, Argentairi replied. ¡°Of course, I can have my contact deliver them first thing tomorrow. But even without the threat of spies and traitors, the vampire war is something everyone here should be concerned about.¡± Glancing about as if he considering who was in the room, Argentarii spoke softer. ¡°Let me be frank. Supporting the Southern Marches is costly but an important investment for every member of the League. Alidonar¡¯s defense is not some ¡®bottomless well¡¯ of coin and soldiers that never sees results as some would put it. That the war rages in the Marches is the return on the investment. By keeping the vampires away from our heartlands, and busy fighting us over the land between the Alidon and Tya rivers we ensure the majority of the League is safe from them. A safety that is only compromised when the Southern Marches aren¡¯t supported or enemy actors slip deeper into our lands and spread poison. Preventing either of those things is why Paladin Cole and I are here.¡± As much as Cole loathed the grim arithmetic in Argentarii¡¯s words he knew them to be true. He also tried not to think about how skillfully the spymaster used his own mistakes with Dietrich and Scapin to help justify Cole¡¯s presence and the negotiating power that gave Argentarii. Silently, Cole almost hoped there really was a traitor in Lowanburg, that would legitimize him being here and help him feel less like a prop. Tracing that thought, Cole digested the last few tense moments of the meeting and found himself no closer to finding any evidence of supernatural corruption, despite his desire to find some. Looking at Countess Lutisha and barely listening to her retort to Argentarii, Cole found the idea of people acting with such cut-throat self-interest without a vampire¡¯s insidious whispers disturbing. Before the spymaster or over-dressed countess could escalate their argument, a rumbling growl filled the chamber. On one knee before his lions, Heinrich pet them both and said. ¡°It is getting late, and my familiars need to be fed. We will adjourn for tonight, so tempers may cool and new ideas may percolate.¡± Standing before his throne Heinrich made a gesture of dismissal. ¡°Your arguments have all been heard, and the throne acknowledges your efforts. Let us continue this tomorrow at say¡­ third bell, so other work can be done in the day.¡± As one, the chamber¡¯s occupants rose and bowed to the Prince as servants filed in to bring coats and other accoutrement. Heinrich and his lions disappeared through another door, leaving his court to exchange pleasantries and not-so-pleasantries. Watching more of the room shuffle away from them and towards the main exit, Cole leaned down to Argentarii. ¡°Did I cause too many problems?¡± Shrugging one shoulder the spy replied. ¡°I think the right amount, but that waits to be seen. Again, I must thank you for agreeing to this, Paladin Cole.¡± Grunting, Cole caught sight of a footman approaching him, practically buried in his great black cloak. ¡°It needs to be done. Do we think the Elector¡¯s court has been subverted?¡± Raising a hand for silence, Argentarii said. ¡°We¡¯ll discuss that more in private.¡± Nodding, Cole took his cloak from the servant and to his surprise found a note passed into his hand. Slipping his garment on, the Paladin used the flap of cloth to hide reading what he¡¯d been given. ¡®Stay after the meeting, there is a matter that must be discussed.¡¯ Instead of a signature, the note contained a stamp mark depicting a knight riding a lion. Sucking in his breath, Cole looked towards the now empty throne and the great royal seal hanging from the wall over it. While the stamp was certainly simplified, it was the same symbol. Deftly handing Argentarii the note, Cole watched as more of the nobles filed out, including Countess Lutisha, surrounded by a gaggle of her faction members. Returning the scrap of paper, Argentarii chuckled. ¡°Well, that might just be your answer. Good luck, I¡¯ll meet you back at the Temple when your business is done.¡± Eyebrows raised, Cole hissed. ¡°You aren¡¯t staying?¡± Shrugging, Argentarii started moving towards the door. ¡°I wasn¡¯t invited.¡± Letting out a sigh, Cole reached into a pocket and felt the heavy metal disk kept there. Compressing Requiem down into such a state made him leery of damaging the enchanted halberd, but for times like this, the risk was worth it. He didn¡¯t think he was about to walk into a trap, but having the option to fight his way free made Cole feel much better. As the last of the crowd of nobles and courtiers dispersed, a footman approached Cole, the same who''d brought him his cloak and the note. Nodding to the Paladin, the servant gestured for him to follow. To Cole¡¯s surprise, he was led to the door Prince Heinrich used and brought into a long wood-paneled hallway. Striding after the servant, Cole asked. ¡°May I know what this is about?¡± The footman didn¡¯t answer and Cole grit his teeth, hand closed about Requiem¡¯s compressed form. Before Cole¡¯s doubts could become true concerns the servant stopped in front of a door and knocked. A low rumbling noise came from the chamber and the footman opened the door. A well-furnished reading room waited beyond, high bookshelves and beautiful paintings covered the walls while two plush chairs sat before a roaring fireplace. Standing before the fireplace was Prince Heinrich, his lions curled at his feet, basking in the heat. Not turning from the flames, the Elector-Prince said. ¡°You really know how to piss people off don¡¯t you.¡± Blinking in surprise, Cole slowly replied. ¡°I prefer to speak the truth as I see it, some do not appreciate that.¡± That got a very unprincely snicker from Heinrich. ¡°Oh they don¡¯t, the miserable bastards would spend half an hour debating, deflecting, and dissembling if you asked them what color the sky is.¡± Finally looking at Cole, Heinrich quirked his lip in a smirk. ¡°Do my words surprise you, Paladin? They shouldn¡¯t, it¡¯s tiring to put on the regal performance, and pointless now that we¡¯re away from my ¡®loyal court.¡± Slumping down, so his back was against the fireplace¡¯s screen, the Prince settled among his lions who issued rumbling protests at being forced to move. Rubbing the belly of a beast larger than even Cole, the Prince said. ¡°If it were up to me I¡¯d feed half of them to Jorg and Yacob here, but I fear they¡¯d get terribly fat after such a poor meal. It¡¯s what my ancestors used to do, you know? Unleashing our familiars upon vassals who disappointed us. But times change, and such practices are frowned upon these days.¡± An annoyed scoff came from one of the chairs, revealing an occupant Cole couldn¡¯t see. In a soft voice dripping with annoyance, the formerly hidden girl said. ¡°Must you posture like this even with a holy warrior? I¡¯m certain he¡¯s faced much more fearsome threats than two overfed felines who spend their days pampered by you.¡± Rolling his eyes, Heinrich gestured for Cole to come closer and then pointed at the chair now that he could see its occupant. ¡°My sister Cleo, who is being very rude for someone whose brother is doing her a favor.¡± Frightfully petite with long silver-blond hair, the young Duchess of Lowanburg, sat primly with a large book on her lap and a pair of thick spectacles perched on her nose. Staring up at Cole, with rich amber eyes, Cleo reminded him of a slightly malnourished owl; an effect not helped by the thick grey blanket wrapped around her. Unsure of himself, Cole offered a bow to both royal siblings and asked. ¡°For what reason have you called me?¡± Setting a marker in her book, Cleo shut it and let out a tired sigh. ¡°We have a problem, the sort you are qualified to solve.¡± Thinking on this and deciding he was already literally in the lion¡¯s den, Cole pushed. ¡°Why can¡¯t this problem be taken to your city¡¯s priests? I¡¯m certain at least one Hierophant of Master Time could be found in Lowanburg. Anything I can do, they¡¯d surely match.¡± The siblings exchanged looks and Heinrich replied. ¡°Even priests aren¡¯t immune to politics, and we need this matter to stay subtle. My court is a nest of not-very-bright vipers who¡¯d cut off their nose to spite their face. If any whiff of scandal or impropriety got out, they¡¯d use it to tear me down and put one of my half-wit cousins on the throne as a puppet. But this is where you come in, as it¡¯s not every day we get a qualified outsider with a strong motivation to earn my favor.¡± Realizing he wasn¡¯t just in the lion¡¯s den but neck deep in the serpent¡¯s pit as well, Cole nodded slowly. ¡°I will help the best I can, but will warn you my duty to my god will come first over anything else.¡± Heinrich smiled. ¡°That¡¯s what I was hoping for. I¡¯d prefer this matter stay between my house and Master Time, or in this case his chosen representative.¡± Crossing his arms before him, Cole asked. ¡°Well, what seems to be the issue.¡± Cleo started to absently chew on a stand of her hair. ¡°Our family, the House of Conrad has a long history of collecting¡­ curios from across the world. Recently, I have been trying to tighten the belt if you will, and sell some of the family collections more extraneous pieces. In the process, I found something that raises some unfortunate implications about one of our ancestors.¡± Cutting his sister off, Heinrich flatly explained. ¡°We have a stolen harpsichord whose presence all but confirms our great-grandfather murdered an entire branch of the family.¡± Cole winced, he could understand why the noble siblings were eager to not have this matter see the light of day. Aristocrats had long memories and a few generations wasn¡¯t nearly enough time to blunt the impact of such a scandal. So, politely as he could, Cole asked the obvious question. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you disposed of the evidence?¡± Leaning backward so he was nestled among his lions, Heinrich sighed. ¡°Because the damn thing has killed or maimed all those who¡¯ve tried.¡± Slowly nodding, Cole started to get the full painting as Cleo elaborated. ¡°The harpsichord isn¡¯t just evidence of the crime, it¡¯s the murder weapon. We have a haunted harpsichord, a violently haunted harpsichord. And my dear brother and I would like you to take care of it for us.¡± Cole rolled his shoulders, guessing he wouldn¡¯t be getting much sleep tonight. ¡°What do you know about the wraith bound to it?¡± That got a bitter laugh from Heinrich. ¡°Well, for one thing, it¡¯s an elephant.¡± Pausing mid-stretch, Cole sputtered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡± Side Story: A Matriarchs Rage (Part 2)

A Matriarch¡¯s Rage (Part 2)

¡°She sang at first, and it was the most beautiful thing I¡¯d ever heard. Even though the song was sad enough to make me cry I didn¡¯t want it to end. So there I stood right among the hills, listening to the woman as she walked across the pasture towards me. I didn¡¯t even notice me sheep were gone by then, they all had more sense than me, shameful thing that. Once she got closer, I could see her face and that¡¯s when I knew what she was. The¡­ the creature looked like a beautiful elf maid now all rotten and ruined. Great gouges down her cheeks like she¡¯d scratched herself. Then, she saw that I¡¯d seen and the song changed, oh gods I wanted to run but my body wouldn¡¯t answer me, even when the screaming started.¡± - Shepherd Dermott MakDuval speaking to a pair of Restbringers who¡¯d rescued him.
Heinrich raised an eyebrow. ¡°What, you¡¯ve never heard of an elephant? They are great lumbering beasts from Sutu and Qabsu.¡± Glancing around the reading room, the Prince absently said. ¡°We probably have a bestiary somewhere.¡± Shaking his, head Cole recovered himself slightly. ¡°I know what an elephant is, I¡¯m just surprised. Non-humanoid wraiths are extremely rare, especially ones capable of what you¡¯re implying.¡± Considering all that had been said, Cole added. ¡°So, this harpsichord, it was involved with a dynastic dispute?¡± The royal siblings looked momentarily uncomfortable before Cleo asked. ¡°Have you ever heard of the Vollenschloss Tragedy?¡± Seeing Cole¡¯s confusion, Cleo elaborated. ¡°About a century ago, one of our house''s cadet branches suffered a calamity that reduced them from a serious rival to a genealogical footnote. An earthquake struck their castle of Vollenschloss during a solstice celebration. The entire castle practically fell off the mountain it perched upon. The incident was a horrific tragedy, but one that benefited the main branch of House Conrad; a fact few failed to notice especially since the Elector-Prince at the time, our great-grandfather was something of a¡­¡± As his sister trailed off, Heinrich disposed with diplomatic language. ¡°He was an evil, conniving bastard who is most certainly burning in one of the Hells. A fate he¡¯d earned well before setting a generational record for kin-slaying.¡± The more they talked the more Cole found himself impressed and interested in the two nobles. Heinrich was perhaps the youngest Elector in the league and his sister could be only fifteen at the oldest. Yet, the pair were impressively composed and so far, rather capable. Silently, the Paladin wondered what sort of childhood had created these two, and how did it end with them ruling Baiuvar at such a young age? ¡°How do you know the harpsichord was involved with this incident? And more importantly, can it really cause earthquakes?¡± Asked Cole as he went over the details offered. Geomancy strong enough to bring down a castle, particularly one as warded as any Leaguer stronghold wouldn¡¯t be easy. Of all the five prime elements, earth took the most magical energy to influence. Rock and stone were by their very nature sedentary substances and were not easily cajoled to a mage¡¯s whims without preparation. Heinrich winced. ¡°We can¡¯t really know for certain, but all the pieces add up and that alone is enough to cause problems. See, harpsichords are something of a regional specialty of ours, as they were invented in Conradburg, our kingdom¡¯s second great city. For a time, commissioning more and more extravagant ones from the city¡¯s clock monks was fashionable for the Baiuvar noble houses. The Bomilcar Harpsichord, the item in our possession, was the capstone to that trend and what killed it. See, disaster followed everyone who owned the instrument, with freak accidents and strange deaths ensuring the damn thing kept changing hands.¡± Getting up from her chair, Cleo went to one of the bookshelves, still wrapped up in her blanket, and selected a tome. The cover depicted a stylized harpsichord and its leather binding creaked as she opened it to a marked page. ¡°The item went through sixteen owners in just two decades, with each transfer being preceded by an escalating series of incidents. Strangely none of these misfortunes appeared overtly supernatural, seemingly just bad luck or illness. Eventually, even the harpsichord¡¯s value stopped being enough for people to overlook the pattern, so its last official owner ¡®donated¡¯ the instrument to the Conradburg Ivory Tower.¡± That made sense to Cole, cursed or otherwise magically dangerous items usually ended up in Temple vaults or Ivory Tower collections. Of course, simply destroying the object in question was often the better option, but circumstances had the unfortunate habit of preventing such practicality. In Cole¡¯s experience, he¡¯d dealt with several hauntings that couldn¡¯t be banished through simple means. As the wraith in question was either too enmeshed in its locality to be properly exorcized or simply capable of too much destruction if confronted overtly. Finger tracing a line in the text, Cleo tapped the book and continued speaking. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the Magi learned from it, if anything; but the harpsichord wasn¡¯t theirs for long. Someone stole it right out from underneath them and that got everyone nervous. That¡¯s when your patron Temple got involved, as they¡¯d already had an interest in the artifact and weren¡¯t keen to have it be out and about. They were actually the ones who figured out the source of all this trouble while hunting the instrument. See, the Bomilcar Harpsichord was a work of art, with no expense spared in its creation, so naturally it had ivory keys.¡± Cole let out a slow breath of understanding. ¡°Those are the remains. The elephant¡¯s ghost is bound to its tusks.¡± Cleo¡¯s lips formed a tight smile. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s the theory, but was never confirmed, because officially the Bomilcar Harpsichord was never found. It vanished and with it a trio of Tower adepts who¡¯d gotten access to it do research.¡± Getting up from where he lounged with his lions, Heinrich remarked. ¡°I¡¯m still curious to know if Great-Grandfather Eberhard actually paid them whatever he promised or if they¡¯re in some shallow grave somewhere. Eh, probably the latter, considering some of the other things we¡¯ve dug up.¡± Eyeing her sibling, clearly annoyed by his interruption, Cleo continued. ¡°I¡¯ve been going through the family and regional records to piece this all together so some details are obviously missing. But it seems our ancestor stole the Bomilar Harpsichord and ¡®gifted¡¯ it to the Vollenschloss branch of the family; expecting it to have the usual effect on its owners. Which¡­ which it did, except in a slightly more spectacular fashion than normal.¡± Absently, Cole started to pace around the study, letting his mind work through all the details. He¡¯d never heard of a ghost being used like this; in fact, he¡¯d never even heard of an elephant leaving behind a wraith. Letting out a tired breath, Cole imagined if he could confer with some of his southern and eastern colleagues they might have stories to tell; but that wouldn¡¯t be an option. Still, while the sordid affair the siblings were spelling out was morbidity fascinating, it didn¡¯t answer the most pressing question. ¡°How could a wraith cause an earthquake? Is there a chance, this isn¡¯t a ghost but some earth spirit bound to the harpsichord?¡± he asked, wondering if a shaman might be a better fit for this problem than him. In almost unison, the two nobles shook their head in the negative and Heinrich explained. ¡°We¡¯ve done some prodding of our own, this is definitely a ghost. As for the Vollenschloss tragedy, well it wasn¡¯t really an earthquake that did it; it just jagging looked like one. See, I hired this hill witch to go speak to the spirits around the ruins and they said this wasn¡¯t any natural disaster. According to the witch, something¡¯s ¡®death scream¡¯ shook the castle apart and spooked the local spirits. That sounds like powerful sound magic to me, but I was hoping you¡¯d know more.¡± Frowning, Cole muttered. ¡°A death scream¡­ those were the exact words?¡± When Cleo nodded in confirmation, the Paladin winced. ¡°This might be very bad.¡± The Elector-Prince¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°You know what the spirits were referring to?¡± Cole rubbed his face tiredly and grimaced. ¡°I can make a good guess but I need to inspect the harpsichord to know for certain.¡± Heinrich grimaced. ¡°Well, we can take you to it tonight, but I must warn you the-¡± Interrupting the Elector-Prince, Cole sighed. ¡°People close to it get anxious, dizzy, clumsy and nauseous.¡± Annoyance flashed across Heinrich¡¯s face at being interrupted, but it quickly melted into concern and shock. ¡°You¡¯ve dealt with something like this?¡± Staring down at the floor, wondering if the harpsichord was stored somewhere levels below him, Cole nodded. ¡°I was hoping I¡¯d be wrong, but yes, it¡¯s looking like I have. Now tell me, how is the harpsichord being stored, what measures have you taken?¡± As the siblings exchanged nervous glances, Cleo spoke. ¡°We¡¯ve isolated it in a cell within the dungeons and put as many magical wards around it as we can. This is something else we wanted to ask about; the symptoms of being close to it, our wards aren¡¯t stopping them. How is the wraith doing that?¡± Thinking about the supplies he¡¯d packed and wondering if it would be enough, Cole muttered. ¡°Because it''s not a magical attack, or at least not purely one. See, this type of Wraith produces a death scream with three parts, the audible, the inaudible, and the magical. Each type is dangerous in its own way, and even if you¡¯ve sealed away two of them, the inaudible part is clearly still in effect.¡± Growing impatient, Heinrich asked sharply. ¡°Will you stop dancing around it, and tell us what we¡¯re dealing with?¡± Letting out a sigh, Cole nodded. ¡°The harpsichord is haunted by a banshee.¡± Heinrich took an involuntary step back and nearly tripped over one of his lions. ¡°But¡­ but those are only-¡± ¡°Faeborn, yes,¡± said Cole. ¡°Or at least mostly. Elves and the sidhe are usually the only ones who can meet the criteria to become a banshee after death, but it seems elephants can as well.¡± The scourge of the White Isles, banshees are one of the most feared forms of undead. To hear a banshee¡¯s cry is to court death and madness, as the magic carried in its keening damages the very soul of any who hears it. Considering Conradbau Castle hadn¡¯t suffered countless disasters like the harpsichord¡¯s previous owners, something was clearly diminishing the wraith¡¯s power but not fully eliminating the danger. But letting such a horror persist, no matter how weakened would not be tolerated by Cole. Bindings can break and the nightmare might be unleashed again; but more importantly, few undead existed in such a wretched state as banshees. Each of the keening ghosts was the product of a soul-warping tragedy and stuck in a state of perpetual torment. Cole did not know where elephant souls went in the Beyond, but he doubted any loxodonic Hell would be much worse than the creature¡¯s current state. Rolling his shoulders, Cole started to make plans. ¡°I¡¯ll need to retrieve my equipment from my lodging and requisition some other things. But before that, tell me, do you have a Hierophant of Uncle Trickster in Lowanburg?¡± Swallowing down the lump that had grown in his throat upon hearing of what haunted his family, Heinrich asked. ¡°So does this mean you¡¯ll take care of this for us?¡± Cole nodded and then hesitated. Ever since reaching Vindabon with Natalie, he¡¯d been forced to look at the broader scheme of things. Tentatively, the Paladin started to play politics. ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can no matter what you say next, but salt is crucial in fighting the undead legions. If you were to consider my actions here when making your decision, I¡¯d appreciate it.¡± Every word came from Cole with as much resistance and pain as an infected tooth. Making this matter of life, death, and undeath into a bargaining chip disgusted him; but it needed to be done. Face twisted like he¡¯d swallowed something foul, Cole waited for the Elector-Prince¡¯s response, uncertain of how much he should press this. A breath of wry amusement escaped Heinrich. ¡°I was already planning to enact the traditional price controls but needed to set things up to give myself an excuse. You and that minister showing up to chastise my menagerie of morons is just the trick. But back to the matter at hand; we don¡¯t have a Hierophant of Uncle Trickster, at least to my knowledge, why?¡± Letting out a breath of relief, Cole thought on how to say what came next. ¡°Priests of the fifth god can manipulate sound like I can cold, so a powerful member of that clergy could negate the banshee¡¯s inaudible scream.¡± Shrugging, Heinrich said. ¡°Well, we can send for one, but I¡¯d rather not if it could be avoided. The whole point of contacting you was avoiding politics and no type of priest has a nose for scandal like those tricksters.¡± A small smile settled on Cole¡¯s face. ¡°I know where to find one with a vested interest in earning your confidence.¡±
¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯m coming!¡± came the muffled voice of Alexio Argentari from behind the guest room door. Hinges creaked and the corpulant spy squinted against the hallway¡¯s light, finding Cole and two Lowanburg soldiers waiting for him. Dressed in armor of reinforced leather, belt, and bandolier draping over Emma of Stonebone¡¯s work, Cole matched the trusted guards of House Conrad that Heinrich sent with him. By contrast, Argentari was wearing a rumpled suit and had ink stains on his hands that made Cole think he¡¯d fallen asleep mid-correspondence. Blinking away sleep, Argentari sighed and asked. ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t get us kicked out of the city.¡± Shaking his head, Cole looked down the hallways and said. ¡°No, the Elector-Prince has a problem, one that servants of Master Time and Uncle Trickster are equipped to handle.¡± Eyeing the guards, Argentari muttered. ¡°What a coincidence¡­¡± That got a tight smile from Cole. ¡°Indeed, how long until you could be ready to help me free a banshee?¡± Argentari blinked slowly, clearly needing a moment to process what he just heard. Glancing at the two guards, the spy sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t appreciate having my identity exposed, Paladin.¡± Cole shrugged. ¡°I think earning the Elector-Prince¡¯s favor is a worthy prize for that price. Now, I¡¯ve got them collecting beeswax, a tuning fork, and some silver powder, will you need anything special for this?¡± Deflating slightly, the spymaster muttered. ¡°A jagging banshee¡­ No, I have what I¡¯ll need, give me-¡± he glanced over his shoulder into his room ¡°Five minutes at the most¡± Soon enough the pair were in a carriage heading back to the Conradbau and the waiting wraith. Argentari had groomed the sleep off him and carried a small satchel but otherwise made no other preparations. Checking over his own kit, Cole explained what he¡¯d learned from the royal siblings. Listening pensively, Argentari absorbed the bizarre story without complaint. As the castle¡¯s shadow spilled over the coach and blotted out the pale winter moonlight, the spymaster muttered. ¡°Those two are every bit as formidable as rumored. When I heard Heinrich took his father¡¯s throne three years ago I expected him to be an unfortunate puppet at best or casualty of dynastic struggles at worst. But it seems he¡¯s breaking the mold of Baivur¡¯s recent princes and is actually fairly competent. Perhaps having a younger sister to look after forced him to grow up fast.¡± Considering all of this seemed to trace back to the royal siblings'' great-grandfather Cole decided prying a little about House Conrad¡¯s history wouldn¡¯t be inappropriate. ¡°What¡¯s the story with those two?¡± Staring out the window and at the dark streets, Argentari replied. ¡°The previous Elector-Prince was a drunken disgrace, and the one before that a lecher who sired a dozen bastards on the unfortunate Conradbau servants. They were both doing an excellent job frittering away the wealth and power Prince Eberhard amassed; with few expecting this branch of the family to retain dominance, especially when Heinrich¡¯s father¡¯s liver gave out. But to everyone¡¯s surprise, our current host managed to weave between the different factions seeking to control him and kept his title. I imagine scores of grasping nobles became crabs in a bucket, preventing any one of them from claiming the regentship.¡± Wincing at this, Cole filled in the details. If the great-grandfather was as bad as his scions said, then it wasn¡¯t surprising his children were damaged; something they passed on to their own offspring in a rather unwanted inheritance. ¡°What about the mother? Is she alive or¡­?¡± The spymaster grimaced. ¡°Dead, when the girl was five and the boy seven. I think those two were raised in a rather nasty court with only each other to rely upon. Anyone who can survive that sort of childhood is either going to be very strong, very warped, or both. So, let¡¯s be a little more careful about this than you¡¯ve probably been.¡± Cole didn¡¯t think Heinrich or Cleo planned to double-cross them but Argentari had a point. The siblings were survivors and that title came with all sorts of mixed connotations. From what the Paladin had seen, Heinrich kept his throne by playing the fickle factions of Bauivar against each other; a tricky balancing act that Cole and Argentari were now part of. The Elector-Prince claimed he¡¯d reinstate the traditional salt subsidies, using the delegation from Vindabon as proof of their importance. Letting out a tired sigh, Cole realized not for the first time how much he missed Natalie. She had a better head for politics than him and always seemed to know when to be honest, and when to be cautious. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Instead of arriving at the Conradbau¡¯s main entrance, the carriage came to a stop near a secondary portcullis, one marked by a chain made of lightning bolts, the symbol of Father Sky in his aspect as the binder of monsters. Exiting the coach, Paladin and Quicksilver Player were escorted by guards past a heavily reinforced door and down a winding staircase. The smells of human misery and rusting iron wafted from each landing, telling Cole they were in the castle¡¯s dungeon. As they reached the bottom of the staircase and another locked door, a prickle of unease went up Cole¡¯s spine. It was a subtle thing, barely more than an impression of angst, but judging by how the two soldiers on either side of the door were fidgeting, he wasn¡¯t the only one who felt it. The door before them creaked open and a quartet of guards filed out, revealing Prince Heinrich and his two lions. Grim-faced the ruler of Lowanberg nodded to Cole and then addressed Argentari. ¡°I assume we can trust your discretion in this matter, Hierophant?¡± Face neutral, the spymaster bowed and replied. ¡°You can, just as we hold faith in your honoring the responsibilities of your crown during wartime.¡± A morbid smile flicked across Heinrich¡¯s face and he nodded. ¡°A politician and a priest, gods help us all.¡± Refocusing on Cole he said. ¡°My men got the items you requested.¡± On cue, a footman carrying a sack stepped forward and offered it to Cole. Opening up the bundle, the Paladin fished out the first tool he¡¯d need. Holding up the long steel tuning fork, Cole gently nicked his arm and smeared a few droplets on the instruments handle, earning some uncomfortable looks from the assembled soldiery. ¡°Bloody metal start to sing, help me find this grieving thing.¡± The twin tines of the fork started to hum, making a low drawn-out sound like a whimper. Holding the instrument up, Cole slowly waived it forward and watched its song grow and shrink. Seeing this, Argentari muttered. ¡°Using it like a dousing rod, clever.¡± Head cocked to the side, one of the soldiers, an officer judging by his decorated armor, said. ¡°Not to second guess you sir, but we know where the item is; so¡­ why try and root it out like a deep spring?¡± Looking at the vibrating tines, Cole explained. ¡°The noise isn¡¯t just reacting to proximity, but also activity. If the banshee is roused, this will give us a few seconds warning before it can act.¡± Nervous looks were exchanged among the assembled group as the reality of the situation set in. Eyes fixed on the tuning fork, Heinrich asked. ¡°What exactly can this thing do?¡± Sucking a breath in between his teeth, Cole replied. ¡°It¡¯s scream is the most dangerous aspect. At close range it can concuss, and kill; while at a distance it weakens the body and soul. But for now, that shouldn¡¯t be a problem, that is unless this castle has been struck by a plague of misfortune I¡¯ve not heard about.¡± When no one corrected Cole¡¯s knowledge he nodded. ¡°That means something has muted its cry, but not all of it. Even if the banshee can¡¯t scream it can still sing, making a sound that sickens all those who hear it. That extra ember of fear you¡¯re all feeling, that nervous itch along your spine? That¡¯s the banshee.¡± A soldier muttered. ¡°Don¡¯t need no faerie ghost¡¯s magic to do that. I¡¯m jittery as a rabbit scenting a fox.¡± Nervous laughs filled the hallway and Argentari spoke. ¡°I assume, this ¡®song¡¯ is why you wanted me here?¡± Bobbing his head in acknowledgment, Cole asked. ¡°Can you negate the sound?¡± Shutting his eyes, the Trickster Priest slowly rolled his head on his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll need some time to narrow down the right notes but it''s within my power.¡± Accepting that, Cole looked over the assembled group. ¡°I will enter the cell to inspect the artifact. Stay well behind the wards, near Argentari, and be prepared to run if things get dangerous, this isn¡¯t a foe steel and skill alone can fight.¡± Elector-Prince Heinrich was still staring at the tuning fork, as he said. ¡°Well then, let¡¯s begin.¡± Stepping aside, the ruler of Baivar let Paladin and Priest pass him by, entering the deepest level of the castle dungeon. Striding down the cold dark corridor, eyes dancing about, Cole felt the sense of unease grow with every step. A few meters behind him one of the soldiers stumbled and was caught by a colleague who nearly toppled over in the effort. Thanking Isabelle for the improvements she¡¯d made to the human inner ear, Cole kept his balance and approached the tunnel¡¯s end. Locked doors lined the walls on either side and Cole hoped any prisoners had been transferred from this haunted passage. Strips of cloth emblazoned with warding runes and inscriptions hung from the low ceiling, forcing Cole to duck occasionally while lines of salt covered the floor and occult inscriptions on the walls. A lot of effort had gone into sealing away the banshee, but little of it was coherent. The Elector-Prince had poured every drop of protective magic available to him into this hallway hoping to find something that stuck. Squatting down, forcing the processing after him to halt, Cole examined one of the salt lines, seeing how it was blurred around the edges even with the smear of adhesive paste used to keep it in place. Lowering the tuning fork, Cole watched some grains of the powder dance to the vibration¡¯s song. This whole tunnel was shaking with the banshee¡¯s silent cries. From a few meters behind Cole, the Elector-Prince asked. ¡°Something that¡¯s been bothering me, if the banshee¡¯s scream is what caused all the problems associated with the harpsichord, then why weren¡¯t their records of it? Surely a phantom keening that curdled the blood and soul would be worth mentioning. Was all that happened just this¡­ anxious vibration at work?¡± Argentari spoke up. ¡°I believe I can answer that. The banshee might have been screaming all those years, but just not at a pitch human ears could detect. Elephants can trumpet it¡¯s true, but most sounds they make aren¡¯t fit for our senses. So I¡¯d wager the cries of our unusual banshee would go undetected, as the pitch they¡¯d be in was beyond hearing. That is undetected except for the ill fortune, illness, and occasional madness left in its wake.¡± Cole raised an eyebrow at the spymaster¡¯s knowledge who shrugged in response. ¡°The more you know about a concept the easier it is to manipulate magically, so I¡¯ve learned a bit about sound. Speaking of, I think I¡¯ve found the right counter-note for the silent wail.¡± Reaching into his satchel, Argentari removed a conductor¡¯s baton now repurposed into a magic wand. Stepping past Cole, the Quicksilver Player started to flick his baton in a complicated series of motions, its tip leaving a trail of sparks that shifted between orange, green, and purple. The light around Argentari started to bend, the shadows twitching into motion, becoming a series of umbral strands hanging before him. The sparks settled on the parallel lines giving a vague impression of occult sheet music. Putting his baton away, Hierophant Alexio Argentari gently stroked the shadow strings, sending them humming like some dream-born harp. The sparks grew brighter as the strands they were anchored to vibrated faster. Noise that wasn¡¯t noise suddenly pulsed through the hallway and everyone¡¯s ears popped. Once the wincing stopped, sighs of relief filled the tunnel, the oppressive feeling of unnatural anxiety was gone and with it the accompanying dizziness. Fingers still tracing his shadow harp, Argentari started to walk forward, the spell moving with him. Uncle Trickster, the fifth god was the patron of artists, righteous liars, and truth speakers; so his magic was suitably beautiful but unnerving. Eyes glowing with those same multi-hued sparks, Argentari whispered. ¡°I should be able to hold this for a while, but your banshee is fighting back. The wailing is getting stronger, it¡¯s happening slowly, but it¡¯s definitely happening.¡± The tuning fork in Cole¡¯s hand confirmed the spymaster¡¯s words. It had gone still, or mostly still, every few moments its tines would ¡®spasm¡¯ in a vibration that quickly died. Gesturing with it to the hallway¡¯s end, Cole replied. ¡°Well, we better hurry then.¡± Following the Hierophant, the group reached the great vault door awaiting them. Glancing back at the Elector-Prince, Cole raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Heinrich shrugged. ¡°One of my predecessors needed somewhere to imprison powerful Paragons. It seemed the best place to keep the harpsichord once my sister realized what she¡¯d found.¡± Nodding, Cole asked. ¡°Will you open it?¡± Lips forming a thin line, Heinrich stepped forward, a quartet of guards, each of which were themselves Paragons if Cole had to guess, surrounding him. Pulling a great key from his pocket and nicking his thumb, the Elector-Prince wetted the key¡¯s blade with his own blood before sliding it into the lock. Stepping back, Heinrich gestured at the key so one of his guards stepped up and started twisting on the heavy steel cap, sending old mechanisms grinding. After some rattling and creaking the final tumbler clacked free and the paragon hauled the vault door open. A faint whoosh of displaced air filled the tunnel and a black void came into view. The glowstones lining the hallway failed to pierce the darkness within the vault, light drowned in the inky shadows awaiting Cole. All around the Paladin a dozen trained soldiers, all equipped with powerful enchantments, some experienced enough to have magic writ into their bones, shuddered at that blackness. The strings of Argentari¡¯s harp moved faster now, the sparks a blur of occult light that formed half-remembered sigils in the air. Eyeing the precipice before them, the spymaster muttered. ¡°It¡¯s angry.¡± Herinch found his voice and hissed. ¡°It wasn¡¯t this bad last time we checked on it.¡± Cole shut his eyes and let out an almost amused breath. Of course, he and Argentari would be in Lowenburg right as whatever bindings on this banshee were failing. Holding up his amulet, Cole poured power into the hourglass and let silver-blue light spread across the doorway and into the chamber beyond. It was a simple unordained box of smooth stone, its walls only marred by a few mounting places for manacles or similar. A few scattered parts of a crate lay on the floor and just on the other side of the doorway was a great brown stain. Staring down at that long dried puddle of blood, Cole let his gaze slowly drift toward the room¡¯s center, and the source of all this trouble. The monks of Conradburg hadn¡¯t cut corners in creating this masterpiece. Intricate carvings and painted scenes of stylized hunts covered its shell while gold filagree lined the edges. Time and dust had only done so much to dull the bright colors and precious metals that spoke of countless hours of dedicated craftsmanship and extraordinary funding. The harpsichord was a true work of art that captured the eye and refused to let it go. Yet as Cole¡¯s own eyes settled on the keyboard, a twinge of disgust surged in his gut. Sixty keys of carved ivory shone in the light of the hourglass amulet, untouched by age and decay they were white as the snows of a murderous blizzard. Pulling his eyes from the harpsichord and looking down at the blood stain, Cole asked a question he should have some time ago. ¡°How exactly, has it injured people in the past.¡± The sound of rustling paper came from behind Cole and one of the Elector-Prince¡¯s guards started to read off from a list. ¡°Six heart attacks, nine concussions, three separate impalements, and one crush death.¡± Grimacing, Cole muttered. ¡°So it can partially manifest I take it?¡± Again the guard quoted whatever document he¡¯d been provided. ¡°The apparition appeared as a semi-translucent elephant head that gored Sergent Lorim Reeson, during the inspection on the sixteenth of Darksol. It also caved in Sir Knoxmar of Siegalstat¡¯s chest cavity using an invisible force that same day.¡± That got a wince from Cole. Normally the physical dangers of a banshee were negligible; with them only capable of minor telekinesis and ectoplasmic manifestations. This banshee¡¯s atypical species made it a much bigger threat and that wasn¡¯t even counting how strong it clearly was. Even with whatever bindings on it failing, that the banshee could manifest parts of itself so aggressively while still unable to scream was very concerning. Cole would need to tread very carefully if he didn¡¯t want Prince Heinrich to learn the secret of the Homunculus Knight. Looking to Argentari, Cole said. ¡°Could you disrupt any manifestations while keeping your counter-spell working?¡± In response, the Quicksilver Player shrugged one shoulder. ¡°I can¡¯t really know until I try. This is your expertise, Paladin, not mine.¡± Nodding, Cole looked up at the series of warding runes carved into the vault door lintel, and then at the darkness within he fought to push back. Sucking in a slow breath, the Paladin called upon his power, letting it flow up from his chest and into his flesh. As he let out that breath, a plume of icy vapor escaped Cole and the temperature around him dropped precipitously. Condensation formed on the tunnel and fog flowed around Cole¡¯s feet, making him seem almost as spectral as any wraith he hunted. Looking back at the nervous soldiers and expressionless Elector-Prince, Cole fought back flashes of the last time he¡¯d been in a frost-kissed tunnel fighting a unique form of undead. Suddenly, he was actually glad Natalie wasn¡¯t here with him, her memories of that night must be worse than his own. ¡°Remember what I said, if this gets bad, run. If I or Argentari are incapacitated, it¡¯s time to bring this to the Lowenburg Temples.¡± That last part was meant for Heinrich, who clearly got the message as he jerked his chin in a slight acknowledgment. If a Paladin and Hierophant couldn¡¯t safely and subtly handle the banshee then political considerations needed to go out the window. Handing the tuning fork to the nearest soldiers, Cole opened the satchel of items he¡¯d requested and took out the jar of beeswax. Using a tongue of flame from his sparkstone he softened the material and put it in both ears, before offering it to Argentari. Wordlessly the Hierophant gestured he needed his hearing for his magic. While the earplugs might be excessive, the Paladin wasn¡¯t taking chances. Now alone in a silent world, Cole unbuckled Requiem and stepped into the vault. As he moved past the warding, three things happened to Cole at once. First breathing became hard, requiring effort to inflate his lungs, like some great weight was atop him. Second, he felt the storm raging within the vault, an Aetheric maelstrom that swirled around the harpsichord and buffeted Cole¡¯s very soul. Lastly, he saw the two empty eyesockets and two short tusks coming towards him. Diving to the side, Cole rolled out of the way as the manifestation slammed into the vault¡¯s entrance, rebounding off the wards with a soundless impact. Coming to his feet, Cole grew Requiem into a halberd and poured more power into his amulet. The light shone brighter, illuminating the spectral form that was turning to face him. It was an elephant¡¯s skull, complete with sharp tusks, hovering in the air, now preparing a second charge. As cold power filled Cole¡¯s body, he jabbed forward with Requiem, like some Sutu farmer warding off a crop-stealing beast. The banshee didn¡¯t shy away from the strike and caught it right in the hollow beneath the trunk hole. Immaterial bone cracked and the banshee pulled back, clearly not expecting Cole¡¯s attack to actually hurt it. Normally this would be the time when Cole pleaded with the ghost, offering it freedom from its unliving torment, but he doubted he shared any common languages with banshee. Lunging forward, Cole brought Requiem down on the top of the phantom skull tearing out a gouge of condensed ectoplasm and sending another series of cracks along the spectral bone. Destroying this manifestation wouldn¡¯t damage the elephant¡¯s soul, but it would sap its strength and maybe give him the time needed to examine the harpsichord safely. Riding the momentum of its two previous attacks, Cole kept up his assault, wailing on the skull with blow after blow, tearing it apart and dodging the thrashing tusks. Side-stepping a final frantic buck of the elephant ghost¡¯s head, Cole swung Reqiuem up and hit a fault line right near the eye socket, growing the collection of cracks until the ectoplasmic bone shattered. As the manifestation melted into grey vapor, Cole sucked down heavy breaths, finding himself oddly winded after the short exchange. Looking back at the vault entrance, he found a pale-looking Argentari standing there, still keeping the wailing contained, soldiers gathered behind him, all wearing looks of shock at what they¡¯d just witnessed. Nodding to them, Cole approached the harpsichord. With every step, the sense of pressure on the Paladin¡¯s lungs grew and he wondered how much time he had before something inside him burst. Staring at the haunted instrument, Cole kept the cold flowing through him, using it to reinforce his flesh and see into the Aether. The harpsichord was the heart of a storm of emotions greater and more terrible than any humans. A rage and sorrow that tasted of iron and ash surged off the instrument, so potent it was nauseating. Cole had fought a banshee before but even that long-dead elf hadn¡¯t matched the sheer intensity of this specimen. Pure grief and world-ending despair had characterized that keening ghost, but the elephant was more a creature of fury and horror. Carefully, Cole leaned down to examine the ivory keys and knew why they hadn¡¯t lost their luster. The slabs of white vibrated constantly, knocking away any dust and polishing them against each other. Cole frowned at that, elephant tusk was a hardy material but not hardy enough to survive more than a century of constant grinding against each one another. Squatting down, willing more light into his amulet he looked at the tiny gaps between keys and found something reflective. Tiny strips of metallic foil were pressed in between some of the keys, and shiny as they were to Cole¡¯s eyes, they were dull voids to his other senses. Muttering to himself, but not even hearing his own words, Cole said. ¡°Stargent, the old prince put stargent between the keys.¡± Shifting slightly, Cole squinted at the gap below the bottom set of keys and caught sight of sparkling dust. The stargent had massively weakened the banshee but not fully subdued it. Now after decades of screaming silently, the keys had managed to rub much of the foil between them into powder. Chewing his cheek, Cole disliked how increasingly complex this was getting. The banshee¡¯s soul was bound to the keys but the stargent keeping the ghost from unleashing its full wrath would also protect it from much of Cole¡¯s magic. He had no idea if he could produce enough sanctity to overpower the spell-bane metal and free the banshee. But he also was leery to remove the remaining foil, in case the ghost repeated its performance of destroying Vollenschloss Castle. That thought sparked a few more and got Cole to pause. This banshee had passed between multiple owners, each suffering from its presence but it never doing enough overt damage to reveal its identity. Something about that seemed strange, even if no one could hear the banshee¡¯s cry, the direct effects were disastrous enough that they¡¯d be noticed. A series of accidents and illnesses wasn¡¯t what a banshee normally left in its wake, instead corpses and broken minds were the more usual results. If anything, the old stories sounded more like a traditional haunting instead of a- Cole paused mid-musing and stood back up, refocusing on the currents of pain swirling about the harpsichord. He¡¯d thought of the Aetheric contamination as a maelstrom, and as the more he looked at it the truer that metaphor became. Two great bodies of fury and suffering swirled around each other, forming a deadly dance that built upon itself in an ever-escalating storm. Focusing on his power and slowly reaching out, Cole ran a hand along the keys feeling the magic and misery dripping from them. ¡°The manifestation, the elephant had short tusks,¡± Cole muttered as he slipped his fingers across the top keyboard. There were faint marks on some of the wood paneling, tiny chips in the beautiful carvings near the base, where it had been removed sloppily. Feeling the ivory keys, Cole felt the two currents boiling off them, one was unfathomable despairing rage, and the other was shock mixed with soul-deep grief. But more than that, there was a symmetry but separation, one Cole recognized from past duties. Slowly pulling his hand away, feeling slightly unclean as to what he¡¯d touched, Cole took a stumbling step backward and moved towards the vault door. Spots floated at the edge of the Paladin¡¯s vision and he realized he¡¯d forgotten to keep breathing under the intense pressure. Reaching the entrance and meeting a concerned-looking Argentari, Cole passed the wards and felt the pressure dissipate. Carefully he started to get the beeswax out of his ears, using the spark stone the best he could without burning himself or igniting his hair. As hearing returned, Cole swallowed down a lump as Prince Heinrich asked. ¡°Well? What did you learn?¡± Staring back into the room and its growing darkness, Cole said. ¡°They did spare an expense.¡± Argentari put a gentle hand on Cole¡¯s shoulder, clearly concerned. Shaking himself, Cole explained. ¡°The elephant had short tusks, not enough for a full set of keys. So instead of buying more, the craftsmen used a cheaper replacement, maybe elk or dire boar. Those weren¡¯t haunted but the tusks were. Back then the elephant was a more typical ghost, lashing out at the harpsichord¡¯s owner but not able to do much more.¡± Heinrich pushed past some of his guards, getting closer to Cole. ¡°Are you saying it¡¯s not a banshee?¡± Cole shook his head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t, until Prince Eberhard replaced the non-elephant keys. Then it very quickly became a banshee and a powerful one at that.¡± Confused, Argentari asked. ¡°That can be done? Make a ghost into a banshee?¡± Still staring at the harpsichord, Cole grunted. ¡°No, not normally. Banshees are beings of grief, of total all-consuming sorrow. The old prince evoked that in the elephant¡¯s ghost by¡­ by replacing the poorer ivory with properly carved tusks.¡± The Hierophant of Uncle Trickster understood first. ¡°There are two ghosts, both stuck together in the mixed set of keys, feeding off each other¡¯s pain.¡± Grimacing, Cole said. ¡°It¡¯s worse than that, it wasn¡¯t just another elephant, it¡¯s the first one¡¯s child.¡± Side Story: A Matriarchs Rage (Part 3)

A Matriarch¡¯s Rage (Part 3)

¡°With wrath in her eyes, Paladin Marilla leveled her lance against the folk of Dar-el-Kar and cut through their lies. In a voice like a trumpet, she spoke the truths they sinned to hide, and her words burned like hot iron. Men fell to their knees, weeping, women tore their garments and children looked upon their elders with disgust. As the ringleader held his hands for mercy he asked ¡®How? How did ye know?¡¯ the Paladin answered. ¡®Thy lies cling to your soul like mud on swine. I see enough to judge you but the gods see all!¡¯ Eyes alight with righteous fury, the paladin struck off the cultist¡¯s head and put his flock to the flame.- Testament of Tehika the Bard, witness to Marilla¡¯s judgment.
¡°What do you mean we have two banshees!¡± hissed Duchess Cleo Conrad as Cole and her brother finished relaying events to her. After resealing the vault, Cole and the rest had left the dungeon and assembled an interim council of crisis. They¡¯d returned to the same meeting room from earlier in the evening but now only a fraction of the great table¡¯s seats were filled. Aside from the royal siblings and the Vindabon detachment, four trusted advisors were present. Three had to be roused at this late hour but the fourth was Captain Ortmeier, the paragon officer who led Heinrich¡¯s personal guard and been part of the dungeon excursion. The others were the house chamberlain named Norrich, Lydia the court magi, and the same dark-haired footman who¡¯d given Cole the note that started all this. Head in his hands, Heinrich shrugged at his sister¡¯s outburst. ¡°That¡¯s what the Paladin says.¡± Cole nodded. ¡°It would explain the haunting¡¯s strength. Banshees are creatures of tragedy and draw power from their pain. A mother and child trapped together like this¡­ they¡¯re feeding each other¡¯s sorrow and I honestly don¡¯t know how dangerous they can ultimately become.¡± Magus Lydia drummed her fingers on the table. ¡°I always heard banshees were faerie undead, does this mean elephants are actually some faeborn species like goblins and elves?¡± Thinking about the emotional storm he¡¯d seen down in the cell, Cole twitched slightly and shook his head. ¡°Possibly, but I don¡¯t think so. Being fae or faeborn isn¡¯t actually a criterion for becoming a banshee, it just helps. The sidhe and elves have more intense and lasting emotions than most other humanoids. To become a banshee a soul has to be utterly drowned in levels of grief and pain that aren¡¯t easily found in humans or dwarves. I¡¯m guessing elephants are capable of similar emotional heights¡­ or what¡¯s been done to the mother and daughter is bad enough to force them there. ¡° Letting out an annoyed breath, Cleo said. ¡°Are you saying our emotions aren¡¯t as strong as the fae¡¯s?¡± Making a noncommittal gesture Cole replied. ¡°I¡¯m not an expert on this, but humans don¡¯t usually stay in states of emotional extreme for long. Like we might weep or rage for hours but those moments where the world falls away or turns red are measured in seconds, not days like for elves and perhaps elephants.¡± Heinrich spoke up then. ¡°Back to the matter at hand; how do we dispose of these meddlesome wraiths? You say removing the stargent is necessary to free the souls, but doing so might trigger another earthquake. Could the exorcism be done quickly enough to prevent the banshees from getting out of control?¡± Argentari and Cole exchanged looks, and the Paladin answered. ¡°Perhaps, but it would be risky. Even if we could free them before they could shake the castle apart they¡¯d still be strong enough to do significant damage, whoever was near it would probably¡­¡± Cole trailed off as an unpleasant solution entered his mind. With the cold of entropy strengthening his flesh and Argentari covering him in protections he might, might be able to free the banshees before his organs burst from the scream. But the odds weren¡¯t good, and even if Cole succeeded he might just keel over from internal bleeding the moment it was done, which would cause all sorts of questions he¡¯d rather avoid answering. It seemed the others understood what Cole meant, or at least part of it, and none seemed eager to sacrifice someone on such a gamble. Captain Ortmeier broke the awkward silence. ¡°Why not just burn it? Couldn¡¯t we throw some oil and tinder into the vault, light it up, and shut the door? Burning a ghost''s remains frees them, right?¡± Grimacing, Cole replied. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be fast enough and might not even work. Normal fire is enough to free a soul from its corpse but wraiths are a bit tricker, especially ones as hostile as these two. Think of the difference between breaking a prisoner¡¯s chain and slowly cutting someone¡¯s lifeline to understand the problems involved.¡± As the growing complexity sunk in around the table, Argentari proposed. ¡°Perhaps we should simply remove it from the dungeon? If it¡¯s transported somewhere remote we could avoid collateral damage if things got messy.¡± Disliking the role he was being forced to play, Cole again shook his head. ¡°The stargent foil is in tatters and probably wouldn¡¯t survive being jostled.¡± Hesitating, he added. ¡°In fact, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if moving it out of storage is what caused all this. Hauling something that big is never easy and I could imagine it wouldn¡¯t take too many bumps or scrapes to knock loose most of the fragile foil.¡± Prince Heinrich winced. ¡°Well if we can¡¯t burn it, move it, or exorcise it, then what options do we have?¡± Silence reigned across the council chamber and eventually, the dark-haired footman who was most certainly not a footman spoke up. ¡°Why not acquire more stargent? We could reinforce the bindings and then plan from there?¡± All eyes flitted to Cole, clearly expecting him to have some new objection. Instead, Cole simply shrugged, he wasn¡¯t used to having an entire kingdom¡¯s resources available during a hunt. Simply strengthening the seal hadn¡¯t even occurred to him, but it was a good suggestion and he said so. ¡°At the very least it will buy us time. Can you access stargent foil that easily?¡± Magus Lydia and the footman who was probably a spymaster, conferred for a moment before the magi said. ¡°I can get some within twenty-four hours, less if fortune smiles upon us.¡± The Elector-Prince let out a relieved breath. ¡°Good, good, send for it as soon as possible.¡± One of the lions then put its huge head in Heinrich¡¯s lap, clearly sensing the fading tension. Petting the beast, the Prince asked. ¡°After that¡¯s done, what next?¡± Norrich the Chamberlin spoke up, seizing the focus before anyone else could. ¡°If I may, Prince Heinrich; why must anything else be done? The original seals lasted for a century without us doing anything to maintain them. Couldn¡¯t we simply make a record of all that¡¯s transpired and ensure future generations know to check and restore the bindings over the decades?¡± Both Heinrich and Cole started to object fiercely. In a display of court decorum, Cole bowed his head and let the prince speak first. ¡°House Conrad is done leaving problems for its future generations. We will handle this here and now!¡± Nodding, Cole added. ¡°Plugging the dike will prevent immediate disaster but that¡¯s no guarantee against future calamity. Being trapped together as they are is making the banshees extremely powerful and I fear how far things might escalate. Even stargent has limits to how much magic it can nullify. Besides, planning for every eventuality is impossible and it would take one wrong move or tiny mistake and the maelstrom is free to shake this castle to dust.¡± Duchess Cleo made a noise of agreement. ¡°Yes, we can¡¯t keep up the old tradition of shoving things in boxes and hoping the problem goes away.¡± A meaningful glance was exchanged between siblings and Cole wondered which of them had suffered such a fate in their childhood, if not both. Sitting tall in his chair, Prince Heinrich addressed the Paladin. ¡°Sir Cole, when we¡¯ve acquired the stargent would you be willing to install it? I don¡¯t think anyone else could do the task safely.¡± Without hesitation, Cole nodded and said. ¡°Once that¡¯s done we can make plans to move the harpsichord. There has to be some remote place where we could pursue riskier options.¡± Clapping his hands together, Heinrich smiled. ¡°Good good, I think we can be done for the night then. It¡¯s late and we have a day of my idiot court awaiting us tomorrow.¡± Turning his focus to Argentari, the Prince added. ¡°Do put on a good performance for us. I intend to honor our deal but if you can help me convince some more of my vassals it would make things easier.¡± The Quicksilver Player rose and bowed. ¡°My pleasure, your majesty.¡±
Back at the temple, Cole got little sleep and none of it good. His bed felt simultaneously too large and too small; with his feet nearly hanging off the end and Natalie¡¯s absence leaving lots of empty room. But as someone who¡¯d slept in a dozen types of wilderness and more than a few dungeons, the bed alone wasn¡¯t what kept Cole tossing and turning. Bad memories were the culprits, but not even the usual suspects. It wasn¡¯t dreams (waking or sleeping) of red eyes and pale flesh that haunted Cole, nor the sharp blades and sadism of his former captors. No, what haunted Cole was the torment he¡¯d seen beneath Conradbau Castle. Two banshees, bound together and forced to witness each other¡¯s suffering; growing ever more damaged as mother and daughter silently screamed at the evil inflicted upon them. The simple cruelty of it beggared belief, and Cole wished he knew some method to free them quickly and easily. But the old elector-prince had made sure that wouldn¡¯t be possible. Even if they got the harpsichord safely out of the castle, Cole couldn¡¯t afford to be gentle with what came next. He¡¯d need to use his full power and anything Argentari could offer to exorcise the ghosts before their screams started killing people. Breaking their anchor to the Mundane would be an ugly affair, with the banshees fighting him the entire time. Normally, Cole tried to soothe a restless spirit, hoping to find ways to help it peacefully move on. The easiest way for any wraith to be free was for them to surrender their anchor and enter the Beyond willingly. But at the best of times, banshees weren¡¯t the sort to accept that offer, and Cole didn¡¯t even know if he could successfully communicate with these two. No, the only option available to the Paladin was to break the elephants and send them to whatever domain their souls were destined for. These thoughts swirled about Cole as he tried to sleep, joining with the flashes of inhumanly strong emotions he¡¯d glimpsed in the Aether. They melted into his dreams filling them with piles of severed tusks and screaming whirlwinds that made his ears bleed. More than once he woke up with a half-formed cry on his lips clutching at his blankets like a sailor¡¯s lifeline. Only when he collected a familiar skull from his bag and held it close did Cole achieve anything close to good rest. After that long night and a too-short morning spent going over what scant records the Lowanburg Temple had on non-human wraiths, Cole was not pleased to be back in the council chamber. Debate had started up again nearly the instant he and Argentari entered the room and every moment of it made Cole wish for a nice clean death to refresh his body. After the previous day''s events, most of the pretenses were gone and the salt subsidy became just another battlefield between the different court factions. Only a scant few beyond Cole and Argentari seemed to actually care about the military implications of matters, even many of those arguing in Vindabon¡¯s favor seemed to be doing it more to score political points or gain economic leverage. So naturally after the second hour of it, Cole was no longer considering suicide, but homicide; a fact he wasn¡¯t particularly proud of. With some effort, Cole pulled himself from murderous thoughts and musings about the elephants waiting below to refocus on the debate at hand. Something he very quickly regretted. ¡°Vindabon is one of the wealthiest cities in the entire league! If they are so concerned about this, then they can cover the cost!¡± ¡°Perhaps we could put this to a vote? Those in favor agree to sell their salt at the traditional war rates.¡± ¡°Of course, you¡¯re in favor of it, your lands don¡¯t have any salt!¡± ¡°We could always just not sell to the south. The herring fleets will be charting their routes soon enough and they never have enough salt.¡± ¡°Oh, and I¡¯m certain the dwarves of Hliuni will take kindly to us impinging on their market.¡± Barely listening to all this hot air, Cole watched the different nobles, judging their body language and trying to get a sense of how the unseen debate was going. Every argument and accusation was merely part of the grand show meant to hide the actual discussion happening through more subtle means. Servants scurried about the table, bringing fresh drinks and snacks that were rarely consumed, while also ferrying messages through sleight-of-hand. Deftly handed notes were slipped from one aristocrat to another, earning cursory glances and subtle alterations before finding another courier. Cole guessed there was some local code or system involved with all this but couldn¡¯t even start to interpret it. But even without seeing the message¡¯s contents, he could make good guesses based on the receivers'' reactions. Of course, most of the nobles were old hands at this and rarely showed any expression which is why Cole was cheating. He¡¯d been meaning to practice peaking into the Aether subtly for some time and now seemed as good a chance as ever. Skimming his mind across the Aether¡¯s surface, Cole picked up flickers of emotions but not much else. Oily clouds bloomed off the council members, changing hue, texture, and flavor hinting at their mental state. Learning to stay in this state without giving away his powers through frost or light was proving tricky, especially without any proper training. When Cole asked Morri about this ability he¡¯d been surprised to learn it was a paladin specialty. While all spell weavers could touch the Aether, few could see emotions with such clarity. Sure, sages might touch minds and comb through unprotected thoughts, but being able to passively see other¡¯s emotions wasn¡¯t a common gift. It seemed to Morri and Cole alike this was just another example of how being touched by the divine altered a paladin. It would explain the old tales that you couldn¡¯t lie before a paladin. While Cole didn¡¯t know if he could detect every lie, he could certainly see the simmering outrage and confusion among the assembled nobles. While the faction supporting the salt tariff outwardly seemed composed and focused, they were really shocked by their rapidly collapsing position. The tides of politics had turned against them literally overnight and they were quickly becoming isolated and exposed. Nobles who¡¯d before been neutral or even receptive to the tariff idea were dismissive at best, and hostile at worst. Cole wasn¡¯t arrogant enough to even consider his words the previous night were responsible; this smelled of Prince Heinrich¡¯s doing. Looking towards the throne and its occupant, Cole dipped into the Aether and saw the elector-princes emotions. Boredom, annoyance and tension dripped from Heinrich, creating a great puddle of nervousness that his sleepy lions lounged in, their own simple minds giving off vague impressions of lazy contentment. All three souls were linked, their essence woven together by frightfully strong magic. House Conrad had been keeping lions as familiars since their founding and they¡¯d clearly gotten very good at it. Again, Cole wondered at the boy-prince¡¯s childhood and what forged both him and his sister into the shockingly competent rulers they were. By every metric Heinrich¡¯s position seemed tenuous and yet he still managed to uphold his end of the bargain, applying subtle but unmistakable pressure to the salt issue. Even with the prince offering his support, the conflict wasn¡¯t over as the pro-tariff faction had only doubled down in the face of growing opposition. A fact that concerned Cole and brought his attention to that faction¡¯s leader. Once again Countess Lutisha Luitpold wore fantastic clothing and excessive makeup but all of it clashed, giving her a vague sense of mismanufacture. But strange fashion choices weren¡¯t what stuck out to Cole today, that honor went to the ugly mix of anger and spiteful glee filling her. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Sitting silently, letting her cronies speak for her, Lutisha seemed perfectly calm, radiating that disinterested air perfected by her ilk centuries ago. This was a well-crafted illusion that hid the low refrain of rage and cruel excitement thrumming within her being. As if sensing Cole¡¯s gaze, she glanced at him and a spoiled-berry-sweet smile spread across her over-painted lips as their eyes met. Something about that sent a note of disquiet up Cole¡¯s spine and he got the vague sense he was missing something important. This feeling grew as Lutisha refused to break eye contact, a rare experience for the Paladin. Staring into those dull grey spheres, Cole tried to guess what her game was. From where he sat it seemed like her sponsored price increase was a losing bet, one that would alienate Baiuvar from their allies for a petty short-term gain. Now that Heinrich was clearly moving against her, Cole couldn¡¯t understand why she wasn¡¯t dropping the idea and saving her political capital for another opportunity. With every passing moment of meeting her gaze, Cole became more and more convinced something wasn¡¯t right with the woman. He was even starting to wonder if Argentari¡¯s original theory of vampire corruption might have some merit. In the seat next to Cole, the spymaster in question finished pulling apart one of Lutisha¡¯s minion¡¯s arguments. Glancing at Argentari, Cole wished he had some way to share a secret message like the nobles could. There were multiple levels to this conference and Cole felt he¡¯d just stumbled onto another one, one that might contain a trap. Time dragged by as the debate continued, slowly meandering to the conclusion decided earlier through passed notes and princely intervention. Yet Cole couldn¡¯t convince himself that something wasn¡¯t amiss, especially with the almost maniac excitement bubbling off Lutisha. Even as it was decided Baiuvar would implement the traditional price decreases until the summer solstice, and the official paperwork was being drafted, Cole felt like they were about to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. He¡¯d tried to think of a way to warn Argentari but the Quicksilver Player was deep in his element and any distraction by Cole would be suspicious. There was also the worrying possibility that Lutisha was trying to goad Cole into doing exactly that, she¡¯d broken character only to smirk at him and that couldn¡¯t be an accident. Once again, Cole desperately wished Natalie was here, so she might help make sense of all this and pull him from his rapidly spiraling paranoia. Three hours into the conference, when all seemed said and done, Lutisha cleared her throat and pulled all eyes to her. Cole felt a simultaneous mix of relief and dread as anxiety melted into anticipation. She¡¯d been waiting for this exact moment, now the only question was what exactly did she have planned. ¡°If I may, my Prince, there is a factor to all this I believe has gone undiscussed. One of great importance to the legitimacy of this negotiation,¡± she said, voice clipped and even. Raising an eyebrow, Heinrich made a gesture of assent. ¡°Yes, Countess?¡± Both lions perked up their heads, and that was the only sign of the slight concern Heinrich felt, at least the only one to those without a paladin¡¯s senses. Even without magical awareness, it seemed Heinrich knew something was amiss, but he couldn¡¯t dismiss such a potent member of his court out of hand. Standing from her chair, Lutisha bowed to her liege and said. ¡°It pains me to say this, my Prince, but you are not a fair arbiter of these preceding.¡± That got a stir from the assembled nobles and Lutisha continued with an apologetic gesture. ¡°Of course, this is of no fault of your own. As you are clearly trying to do what¡¯s best for our kingdom; a fact these foreigners have taken advantage of.¡± Argentari quickly interrupted with a loud scoff. ¡°I¡¯m flattered you¡¯d think us capable of gaining the upper hand over a sovereign Elector-Prince within his own castle while coming to his court as supplicants.¡± Smiling at the spymaster, Lutisha replied. ¡°Normally you¡¯d have no power here, but everyone knows Vindabonites never hesitate to take any advantage they can. Like for example bringing your pet paladin here as both a threat to us and a bribe for our prince.¡± She knew. She knew about the harpsichord, this was her game. Setting his jaw, Cole listened as Lutisha played her highest card. Gaze sweeping across the assembled nobles she said. ¡°It has come to my attention that Paladin Cole¡¯s expertise was offered by Vindabon to our Elector-Prince in exchange for his support in undercutting our economy. I¡¯m sure many of you received word or request from dear Heinrich to back the Alidonar price cuts sometime today when previously he¡¯d been staunchly neutral on this matter. Didn¡¯t that seem curious to you? Well, it should have, because it was the price demanded by our new friend Alexio Argentari here.¡± Voice barely above a growl, Cole spoke. ¡°You seem to mistake me for a mercenary, Lady Lutisha. I am a not sword hired to chase off a troll or dispatch troublesome ghouls, I am a chosen agent of Master Time, entrusted with his power to protect the living and the dead. I do not demand favors or compensation, I will help those I can because it¡¯s what¡¯s right.¡± Smile widening, Lutisha let her venom drip free. ¡°Very true, Sir Paladin, but I¡¯m not hearing a denial in those words. Are you admitting to helping dear Heinrich with a ghost problem?¡± Cole shut his eyes as he realized his mistake. He¡¯d tried to head off accusations of bribery and instead offered tacit confirmation of his involvement with the Elector-Prince. Taking his silence as an ascent, Lutisha gestured widely. ¡°Even if the Paladin is above such petty concerns as wealth and power, his masters in Vindabon are clearly not. They control the river trade and extract coin from every ship sailing down the Alidon; which would include all those hurrying back and forth to move our undervalued salt. They come to us wrapped in holy duty but seek gold while chastising us for merely protecting our interests.¡± Lord Jindrich, one of the more asinine members of Lutisha¡¯s faction spoke up then. ¡°What is this haunting, you speak of, Countess? Surely our own priests and magi are more than qualified to handle any wraith hiding in the prince¡¯s closet?¡± Glancing at Argentari, Cole looked for direction but found the spymaster looking simply bored and annoyed. Things weren¡¯t going well and the Paladin couldn¡¯t tell if this was an act or truth. Ironically his ability to see emotions was useless on his own ally, as the Hierophant¡¯s mind was a solid-iron vault of wards and psychic discipline. Deciding he¡¯d made enough mistakes, Cole kept his mouth shut, waiting to follow Argentari¡¯s lead. Acknowledging her minon with a gracious curtsy, Lutisha explained. ¡°That is the crux of the issue and why our dear prince¡¯s judgment on this is clouded. The ghost in question is the one within the Bomilar Harpsichord, a infamous artifact long thought lost, but recently found by our good prince¡¯s little sister. Out of a clear desire to avoid any scandal or a potential catastrophe like what struck Vollenschloss, it seems young Heinrich sought the aid of foreigners over his own subjects. A regrettable choice that has opened him up to Vindabonian influence and possibly even blackmail. Something we of his outer council are duty bound to help with, as we honor our oaths to House Conrad and Heinrich¡¯s dearly departed father.¡± In a sick sort of way, Cole had to almost admire Lutisha¡¯s plan. She was basically blackmailing Heinrich into renouncing his support by claiming to be protecting him from blackmail. Despite his earlier decision to stay quiet, Cole muttered something without even realizing it, but unfortunately, Lutisha did. Whirling on him, she asked. ¡°What was that?¡± Sighing, Cole censored and repeated himself. ¡°You¡¯d make a very good vampire, Lady Lutisha.¡± Sneering at him, the noblewoman replied. ¡°Cease your attempt to guilt or threaten us into compliance. Besides, I am Countess Lutisha Luitpold, and you should address me as such.¡± An annoyed twitch went across Cole¡¯s face. Only one woman in his mind held the title of countess and it surely wasn¡¯t the badly-painted short-sighted schemer before him. But thankfully he managed to keep that comment inside his head. Turning from him, clearly basking in her victory, Lutisha addressed Prince Heinrich. ¡°I motion to eject these two from our council and city so we might continue this discussion without foreign ears and lips present.¡± Propping his head up with one hand, Heinrich weighed his options and suddenly looked very young. Even Cole could see this new trap before the prince. If he didn¡¯t eject him and Argentari then Lutisha¡¯s claims of being unduly influenced by them would be supported. If he did then he lost much-needed expertise in stopping the elephant banshees. It didn¡¯t take Heinrich long to reach his decision which was naturally what any good leader does: seek compromise. ¡°Paladin Cole, Minister Argentari, I thank you for your insight into these matters but you are no longer needed for this meeting. Please return to your accommodation within my city so we can discuss this shortly.¡±
¡°Well that couldn¡¯t have gone much worse,¡± muttered Cole as he paced back and forth before Argentari. They were at the temple after being ejected from the meeting and Cole genuinely didn¡¯t know if there was a way to salvage the situation. ¡°Lutisha obviously has spies within the Prince¡¯s service and they told her everything.¡± Argentari sipped his cup of tea and offered no response. Looking at him, Cole¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°I¡¯m hoping you have some ideas on how to fix this?¡± Staring at the brown liquid, the spymaster replied. ¡°I have some notions. But we must wait and you need to calm yourself.¡± Cole¡¯s back tensed and Argentari elaborated. ¡°You stepped into her trap, true, but that barely changed our situation. So stop whipping yourself mentally and find your focus, you¡¯ll need it soon enough.¡± Finding a chair opposite the corpulent trickster priest, Cole let out a sigh. ¡°What are you expecting?¡± A short knock came at the door and Argentari¡¯s lips quirked in a tiny smile. ¡°That.¡± Standing up, he went towards the door and explained. ¡°Even if negotiations over the salt are soured, that doesn¡¯t change the fact we, and I mean mostly you, are needed by House Conrad. They have a pair of elephants that need dealing with, especially now that this Countess is making them a known factor.¡± Reaching the handle, Argentari pulled the door open while saying. ¡°So naturally the Prince will send a messenger to-¡± Pausing mid-sentence, Argentari looked at whoever was in their doorway and started to bow. A small figure in a page¡¯s uniform bustled past the spymaster and into the room. In some cosmic joke, the page started pacing the same route Cole had been earlier, a steady stream of curses escaping her lips. ¡°The jagged hearted, cock-biting, lead-bellied, troll-faced, pus-blooded bitch!¡± Staring at the newcomer it took Cole a solid three seconds to see past the dirty hair and drab uniform to see Duchess Cleo Conrad. Meeting Argentari¡¯s eyes, Cole caught an almost imperceptible shrug. Licking the inside of his teeth as he tried to think of what to say, the Paladin settled on. ¡°How bad is it?¡± Whirling on him, Cleo offered a surprisingly withering glare for a fifteen-year-old. ¡°Bad, very bad. That wretched countess is making a play for a regency and through it the jagging throne!¡± Casually, Argentari found the Duchess a chair and started pouring her some tea. ¡°That isn¡¯t good, how can we help?¡± Teeth bared, Cleo suddenly reminded Cole how vicious female lions were. ¡°You¡¯ve helped more than enough. Lutisha¡¯s been looking for an opening for years and now she¡¯s gotten one thanks to all this!¡± Argentari handed the Duchess a cup and returned to his seat. ¡°That might be true, but it doesn¡¯t change the fact you¡¯re here. So, how can Paladin Cole or myself aid you and your brother?¡± Calming slightly, Cleo looked at Cole over her glasses. ¡°Was what you said true? Will you really help us even if we can¡¯t help you?¡± Without hesitation, Cole nodded. ¡°Of course; it¡¯s my duty.¡± Meeting his gaze for a little bit, Cleo slowly nodded. ¡°Good¡­ that¡¯s good. Lydia says she¡¯ll have the stargent ready by the morning. You¡¯ll strengthen the seals and then we¡¯ll move the harpsichord out of the castle. After that¡­ well, we will see.¡± Even though finality dripped from those words, Cleo didn¡¯t get up from her chair and instead stared into her tea. She seemed to be marshaling herself to say something but before the words could be set free, Argentari asked. ¡°What about me?¡± A smile halfway between jovial and hungry split the spymaster¡¯s face, bringing to mind a fat cat sighting a foolish mouse. Seeing this, Cleo wrinkled her nose and spat. ¡°What about you?¡± Setting his cup down, Argentari gestured between Cole and himself. ¡°Coincidence is the God¡¯s domain and it seems to me there are several overlapping ones defining these events. The paladin and I came here for multiple reasons, some of which we weren¡¯t even aware of until now. Cole here, is a specialist in dealing with strange and dangerous undead, the exact sort of person needed for your banshee. While I am a senior member of the quicksilver players, the exact sort of person you need for your unscrupulous countess.¡± Frowning, Cleo looked between the paladin and the priest. ¡°What are you saying?¡± Smile widening, Argentari shrugged. ¡°I came here as a trade minister to do this the polite civil way, but if that won¡¯t work, well time for me to slip on another mask. Now tell me two things, what has the Countess and her faction been opposing in council; also how is she related to you?¡± Cleo was clearly confused but after a moment answered. ¡°She¡¯s been fighting us on almost every bit of foreign policy to enter the outer council, even things that should benefit her. Heinrich thinks it is a tactic to make him look weak and to set herself as head of the opposition. This fiasco with the salt is just the latest, and my brother thought he could force his way through it like he¡¯d done all the others.¡± Slowly nodding, Argentari muttered. ¡°I see¡­ and my other question?¡± Looking towards the door and windows, Cleo wore an uncomfortable expression. Getting up, Argentari collected a strange rope from his belongings set it on the ground surrounding their chairs, and made a simple loop. Tapping the two ends together, he whispered words and a pulse of multi-hued sparks ran along the rope. Returning to his seat, Argentari said. ¡°Speak freely, there will be no eavesdroppers tonight.¡± Eyeing the rope, Cleo muttered. ¡°Useful trick.¡± Shaking herself slightly she swallowed down a lump and refocused. ¡°House Conrad is related to every family in Baiuvar, they¡¯re all technically sixth cousins or something, House Luitpold included. It¡¯s actually so bad we keep a genealogist just to ensure there isn¡¯t inbreeding.¡± Leaning forward, Argentari pushed. ¡°I¡¯m sensing a but.¡± Head lowered, Cleo sighed. ¡°Officially Lutisha is a distant relation, unofficially she¡¯s my father¡¯s cousin. Her grandmother was a favored mistress of my great-grandfather, the monster who started this whole mess.¡± A soft chuckle escaped Argentari and he said. ¡°Oh, no wonder she hates you.¡± Cleo bristled and Cole held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I feel like I¡¯m missing something.¡± Nodding Argentari explained. ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong Duchess, but wasn¡¯t Lutisha your father¡¯s fiance before your mother?¡± Disgust and exhaustion played across Cleo¡¯s face. ¡°Yes¡­ yes, she was. But the rumors about her likely ancestry got too much and she was set aside. It¡¯s another mess my family has left for Heinrich and me. Lutisha was engaged to my father from the time they both could walk, and she¡¯s never forgiven my mother for stealing her place. Which is what comes back to all this, she wants revenge and to take my brother¡¯s crown for herself or her children.¡± Listening to all this, Cole could almost understand the Archduke¡¯s argument for having immortal rulers. It should in theory avoid succession crises and maybe force people to think a little more about the long-term consequences of their actions. But theory was rarely praxis and despite all the baggage that came with it messy mortals were better than monstrous immortals. Looking a little worn out by having to share such an ugly family secret with almost strangers, Cleo rubbed her face and asked. ¡°Why do you want to know these things?¡± Setting down his empty teacup, Argentari chuckled. ¡°Because they confirm and discredit a few of my different theories. Which in turn shapes our strategy going forward.¡± Finding a bit more of her fire, Cleo snapped. ¡°Are you going to share any of this with us?¡± Nodding Argentari explained. ¡°That the Countess has been fighting you on all foreign policy, not just this matter makes me think she isn¡¯t beholden to the vampires. To me it seems your brother is half-right, this isn¡¯t just an effort to weaken him but also alienate any outside power that might intervene with a court revolt. I did some reading on your kingdom¡¯s trade as preparation for this meeting and while Prince Heinrich has managed to keep coin flowing, there have been hiccups and setbacks. Which I assume are born of fighting the countess¡¯s faction?¡± Cleo made a noise of confirmation and Argentari continued. ¡°While it hasn¡¯t been massively successful, I think her efforts are meant to prime the other crowned heads to be more¡­ palatable to a shift in leadership. This matter with the salt is a great example, by pushing for the price increase she looks to line her and her allies'' pockets while drawing ire to Baiuvar¡¯s leadership. It hurts the prince¡¯s prestige but gives her more resources to topple him when the time is right; which unfortunately Cole and I seem to have helped her reach.¡± Most of this was flowing over Cole¡¯s head but Cleo seemed to be getting it. Nodding slowly the Duchess offered a few more curses then asked. ¡°What about our genealogy? Does knowing why she¡¯s set on toppling my brother help stop her?¡± Argentari shrugged. ¡°Yes, but more importantly it answers a question that¡¯s been nagging at me all evening. See, in my profession knowing who knows what and how they know it is an incredibly valuable skill. So when someone has a bit of information they shouldn¡¯t it makes me start to think.¡± Arms crossed, Cleo growled. ¡°Captain Ortmeier and Hans, our whisperman are both looking for the spy. They¡¯re both trustworthy and will find whatever rat dares enter the lion¡¯s den.¡± Almost brushing this off, Argentari replied. ¡°I have no doubt, but that¡¯s secondary in my opinion. See, I find it unlikely your inner council or personal guards have betrayed you. If that was the case you¡¯d long ago have lost power. Most likely one of the servants or soldiers mildly connected to the harpsichord matter is your suspect. Which is where things get interesting because I find it unlikely someone of that station would learn the secret at the heart of all this. They might know about the harpsichord and its ghost, or have an idea where it¡¯s being kept, but not the crime you fear it is responsible for. How many people have you told your theory the harpsichord caused the Vollenschloss Tragedy?¡± Cleo¡¯s already pale face lost color as she understood. ¡°Oh¡­ you think she knew about that independent of her spy?¡± Smiling wickedly, Argentari nodded. ¡°Yes, and considering who her grandfather was, I think that has all sorts of interesting implications. Duchess Cleo, you and your brother inherited many unfair burdens from your ancestors, but not all of them it seems. It looks to me like your cousin Lutisha also has access to some of the family secrets, a fact she really shouldn¡¯t have let me sniff out.¡± Both Cole and Cleo stared at Argentari, each clearly unsettled by the slightly maniacal energy radiating off him. Speaking slowly, as if she suddenly remembered exactly how dangerous a skilled follower of Uncle Trickster could be, Cleo asked. ¡°Why?¡± Lacing his fingers together, Argentari¡¯s smile grew broad enough to nearly split his cheeks. ¡°Because I¡¯m a better storyteller than she is.¡± Side Story: A Matriarchs Rage (Part 4)

A Matriarch¡¯s Rage (Part 4)

¡°Magic responds to the thoughts and emotions of all intelligent life. How arrogant must you all be to think that applies to only two-legged creatures? Humans, goblins, dwarves, orcs, elves, you¡¯re just a fraction of the species capable of wielding the Aether on this sphere. The seas are filled with spells cast by laughing clicks and bone-shaking songs. In the south, the tusked clans call upon spirits of earth and thunder; while their matriarchs commune with a goddess far older than any of your kind¡¯s shared delusions. Even the boneless ones who live for mere moments and who never inherit knowledge can learn to twist reality in such beautiful ways.¡± - Attributed to the ancient dragon Gemerak.
Cleo leaned back in her chair slowly digesting Argentari¡¯s words. ¡°So how does her knowledge of the harpsichord help us? That she knew about the harpsichord¡¯s involvement with the Vollenschloss Tragedy is¡­ concerning, but considering she¡¯s already airing the family¡¯s dirty laundry I doubt we can use that fact.¡± Smiling, Argentari ran a finger around the rim of his tea cup. ¡°She¡¯s seeking to undermine your brother¡¯s authority through accusations and implications, both of which rely on her reputation to be credible. With the right prodding, the implications of her knowledge will not just take the wind out of her political sails but probably sink the whole damn ship.¡± Head cocked to the side, Cole tried to keep up with this exchange. Part of him was still back with the revelation Countess Lutisha had been engaged to her own cousin and that she¡¯d inherited some sort of family secret from her ducal ancestry. But, Cleo was a teenage girl of some intellect, and that breed is already a vicious political animal without being raised in a court of vipers. ¡°Well, out with it, what¡¯s your plan?¡± she said, eyes locked on Argentari with sphinxian intensity. Amusement played at the corners of the spymaster''s mouth and he replied. ¡°It¡¯s funny how family secrets often get divided like inheritance. It¡¯s also interesting how a descendant''s reaction to learning them says much about them. For example, you and your brother have desperately been trying to destroy the banshee without attracting outside attention. When that failed you sought professional advice, particularly from one you could exert influence over. In those actions, I see a pair of very clever children who¡¯ve learned quickly how to play politics but are still capable of doing what¡¯s right for both themselves and others.¡± Cleo¡¯s lips became a pale line. ¡°Get to the point.¡± Rolling his eyes, Argentari muttered. ¡°I¡¯d have already reached it if you hadn¡¯t interrupted.¡± Answering the spymaster¡¯s gesture with one of her own, Cleo waited, letting Argentari speak. ¡°That¡¯s what I see in you. What I see in Lutisha is a creature who¡¯d not even bother to sound the alarm about a potentially castle-destroying threat sleeping beneath her liege and fiancee¡¯s nose. Someone who¡¯d keep that knowledge close abreast in case it ever proved useful one day, but was still so eager to exact revenge on her enemy''s children she let herself slip up at the moment of triumph. It¡¯s not a pretty picture Countess Lutisha has painted of herself, without even including her attempts to undermine her nation¡¯s contributions to the war. Now we just have to show that picture in all its ugly glory to your court.¡± Unimpressed, Cleo snapped. ¡°You tell a good story but I can poke a dozen holes in it and so will she. Like perhaps she did tell my useless drunk of a father who never did anything about it. Or maybe she thought the seals were far stronger than they are. Hells, Lutisha could have thought we knew the same way she did. Like I said, her knowledge is concerning but not damning.¡± Argentari made an amused noise. ¡°Apt word choice. But you¡¯re wrong, a good story is all politics is. We¡¯re not trying to craft a sea-worthy argument but merely make her¡¯s start to take on water, which is why you are going to need to embrace some uncomfortable possibilities about your great-grandfather. Particularly those raised by the sheer improbability of him stumbling onto a method of creating two banshees stuck in a maelstrom of grief.¡± Cole got what Argentari was saying and let out a breath of shock. ¡°Coincidence is the god¡¯s domain.¡± Glancing at him, Cleo frowned. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Nodding, his smile fixed in place, Argentari said. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s a possibility but not the only one. Prince Eberhard might have very well been in contact with the vampires. If anyone would have the knowledge for this, they would.¡± Looking back and forth between the two holy folk, Cleo snapped. ¡°I don¡¯t like having a conversation tossed around me like a child¡¯s ball.¡± Bowing his head in a slight apology, Cole explained. ¡°That saying about coincidences has two meanings, one good, one bad, with which one being evoked depending on what type of deity is behind the coincidence. The odds of someone doing what your ancestor did at random are vanishingly small; he was assisted¡­ by something. If the banshee¡¯s creation really was a bizarre roll of the dice then a fell god or similar rigged things in his favor. If it wasn¡¯t, then Prince Eberhard had access to a source of exotic necromantic knowledge, which means a demon or vampire.¡± Shoulders slumping, Cleo¡¯s voice became small. ¡°So you¡¯re saying he wasn¡¯t just a murderous, manipulative monster, but also a cultist or traitor¡­ jagging wonderful.¡± Cole and Argentari nodded in unison. Throwing her hands up, Cleo spat. ¡°How is that helpful?! Everyone knows him as my ancestor, not Lutishas. This scandal will crash down on my brother just as much as her if not more so.¡± Shaking his head, Argentari got up and refilled his teacup with the last of the kettle before snuffing the small candle keeping it warm. Smoke billowed out from the extinguished wick and with his free hand Argentari ran a finger through the cloud, and it followed him, drawn through the air like it was leashed. Returning to his seat, Argentari let the smoke dance between his hands, conjuring vague shapes in the enchanted cloud. As two vague outlines formed from the swirling gray, Argentari spoke. ¡°If this scandal was allowed to flow free then yes it would hurt the Prince more than Lutisha, which is why I¡¯m going to sculpt into a more favorable shape. See, stories are a malleable substance and in the right hands they can be crafted into marvelous tools.¡± Illustrating, Argentari¡¯s point, his smoke sculpture settled into shape, first showing Prince Heinrich and Countess Lutisha glaring at each other before shifting to an epic tableau of a lion-riding knight facing a sneering queen atop a throne of bones. As the smoke started to fade, the Quicksilver Player said. ¡°In my story, your brother will be playing the heroic young lord trying to fix his ancestor¡¯s mistakes while Lutisha shall be the conniving relative desperate to wrestle away his inheritance for her own selfish gain.¡± Eyeing the smoke, Cleo replied. ¡°Interesting trick. Now what¡¯s to stop you from changing the story to the arrogant young prince toying with powers beyond his ken and being brought low by them the moment it''s convenient for you?¡± Getting up from his chair again, Argentari took a knee before the surprised Duchess. ¡°You came here in a servant¡¯s clothes to avoid attention and probably escape the gilded cage built by your ancestors¡¯ actions and subject¡¯s expectations. You understand roles and how one person shifts between them as needed. Right now I¡¯m setting aside the mask of trade minister and putting on another, one that is not cast aside lightly. For millennia it has been the duty of the priesthood to council and protect all of humanity, which includes its worthy leaders. In that tradition, I take up that role as Hierophant of Uncle Trickster and offer you, Duchess Cleo Conrad, all the wisdom and will I can offer in defense of your kingdom.¡± As Cleo looked into Argentari¡¯s eyes, Cole tried to tell what kind of power was vested in the priest¡¯s words. His first instinct was to sip from the Aether and try to taste any spell being worked on the Duchess, but that paranoid idea faded as Cole''s understanding grew. The ripple of power that he¡¯d felt travel up his spine with Argentari¡¯s oath wasn¡¯t anything as tawdry as magic, it was something older and far more dangerous. The Hierophant didn¡¯t fill his words with spellcraft, but conviction, the type crafted from a lifetime of faith and given weight by truth. Some of the tension that filled Cleo¡¯s face with unearned years faded a little and for a split moment, she almost looked like the nervous girl she was. That grain of time passed fast as it came and Cleo¡¯s expression became firm again, but this time with more confidence than concern. ¡°Well then, tell me Hierophant, what do you advise?¡± Standing up with a smile, Argentari glanced back at Cole. ¡°Many things, but first, Cole I need you to do me a favor tomorrow when you reinforce the banshee¡¯s bindings.¡± Something in the way the priest¡¯s lips were quirked suddenly made Cole a little apprehensive. Still, he gestured for Argentari to elaborate, already wondering if he was making a mistake. Smile widening, the Hierophant said, ¡°I need you to capture the banshee¡¯s song for me.¡±
Cole stared down the hallway before him and forced his eyes to stay on the huge vault door at the far end. It wasn¡¯t easy as anxiety drove itself deeper into Cole¡¯s skull with every beat of his overactive heart. Instinct both natural and learned screamed at Cole to spin his head like a millstone in every direction looking for any possible threats, but the acrid smell of vomit from a little behind him spoke to why that wasn¡¯t a good idea. Argentari was needed elsewhere and without his protection, the Banshees¡¯ silent scream was taking its full toll. Even with his enhanced inner ear, Cole needed to focus on the ¡®horizon¡¯ of the door to keep himself from falling over thanks to the anxious dizziness inflicted by the twin ghosts. Magus Lydia and the troop of guards escorting both her and Cole weren¡¯t fairing so well in comparison. Two of the soldiers had already spilled their guts and a third had tripped over his own feet and nearly descended into a panic attack. That had happened maybe five meters farther back the tunnel, where everyone but Cole was now waiting, unable to face more of the silent scream. So now alone, Cole marched towards the door, one hand on the wall, the other clutching the box containing everything he¡¯d need to succeed. Reaching the vault door, Cole took his first tools out of the box, it was a vial of blood and a key, both originally belonging to Prince Heinrich. Carefully dipping the key in the blood, Cole slid it into the lock and with some effort hauled the great door open. Darkness awaited him, total unnatural darkness, the sort that didn¡¯t just swallow light but hungered for it. As Cole¡¯s amulet tried to fend off the shadows he remembered his battle beneath Vindabon¡¯s streets and the hellspawn mold that ruined so many lives. Bitterly deciding his current situation was moderately better than dealing with the demon, Cole unbuckled his axe, filled himself with holy cold, and entered the vault. To his surprise, no elephant skull or other manifestation greeted him, just the darkness and lung-squishing pressure. Forcing himself to breathe steadily, Cole wondered if this was what it felt to be at the ocean¡¯s bottom, feeling nothing but cold, while trapped in pitch darkness as your organs were squeezed into mush. Slowly stepping forward, Cole thought the sensation was worse than last time, and he didn¡¯t think it was just because Argentari wasn¡¯t here to shield him. The seals were breaking rapidly with more and more of the two elephant¡¯s rage bleeding into reality. Approaching the harpsichord, waiting for some attack, Cole pushed more power into his flesh, reinforcing his lungs and heart with his god¡¯s blessing. Breathing became easier but that mattered little as Cole forgot too when faced with the maelstrom before him. He¡¯d been right, things were getting worse, the Aether within the room was a cyclone of grief that buffeted against Cole¡¯s very soul. The pressure on him wasn¡¯t just the silent scream, but the start of the banshee¡¯s proper keening, the terrible magic that damaged the souls of any who heard it. Grimly Cole wondered what would happen if he failed and let his body and soul be shredded by the elephant ghosts. Would he gain some ability to scream loud enough to pop eardrums or something even more bizarre? Forcing that thought away and everything that went with it, Cole set down the box and carefully pulled out a large tuning fork borrowed from Lowenburg¡¯s Priests of Uncle Trickster. About the length of Cole¡¯s forearm, the tuning fork¡¯s hilt was covered in runes while a large quartz crystal was set into the pommel. In Cole¡¯s grip, it looked and felt more like a sword than an instrument, which was fitting considering the tuning fork¡¯s purpose. Creeping forward, axe in one hand, fork in the other, Cole reached the harpsichord, taking a moment to admire the incredible art covering it while also forcing down more lungfuls of cold air. With as much caution as he would pull a venomous snake from its lair, Cole reached out with the tuning fork and gently tapped the haunted keys, whispering the activation word as he did. ¡°Swenweg¡± Before Cole could even finish speaking a battering ram struck him right in the chest, ribs creaking he sailed backward, skidding to right before the vault door. Wind knocked from him, Cole barely managed to roll out of the way as a woosh of displaced air spoke to a second blow. The ground where he¡¯d fallen cracked as Cole¡¯s caught flickers of a tree-trunk-sized foot before the manifestation faded. Axe ready, Cole scrambled to his feet and tried to guess how the banshees would attack next. Thanking his god they¡¯d simply tried to crush him instead of running him through with a tusk, Cole debated his options. Even partially manifesting seemed to be draining for the banshees, and judging from his last encounter if he could damage them they¡¯d retreat into their remains. Glancing at his right hand, Cole was mildly surprised to find he still held the tuning fork, and it was vibration hard enough to make his fingers tingle. The quartz pommel glowed with purple/green/orange light and a slight wave of nausea passed over Cole just to look at the humming tines. The magic had worked, the tuning fork held the banshee¡¯s song and would continue to do so until the crystal was drained. According to Argentari, tools like this were common among battle priests of his temple, using them to create and maintain sounds they anchored spells to. While Cole had¡­ doubts about the part of the plan involving the tuning fork, he¡¯d still done his part and needed to get the arcane instrument out of the vault with both him and it intact. Leaping out of the way of another kick, Cole grimaced, escaping wouldn¡¯t be too hard, but his job wasn¡¯t done, the box which now sat near the harpsichord¡¯s base contained sheets of stargent foil and he needed to get them between the keys. Holding up the tuning fork, Cole went over everything Argentari said about it, how it was a combat tool designed to literally carry a tune in the middle of a vicious melee. Cole couldn¡¯t do this with both hands busy and he sure as shit wasn¡¯t going to drop his axe, so naturally he turned towards the vault door and hucked the tuning fork as far as he could. It sailed down the hallway landing with a bounce that sent a warbling scream echoing down the tunnel before rolling to a stop near Magus Lydia. Before Cole could see if the tuning fork was intact, something wrapped around his ankle and pulled with enough force to yank him off balance. Stumbling, Cole tried to regain his stance but it felt like a ship¡¯s rigging was twisted about his leg and its entire crew was hauling on it. Looking down he found a spectral trunk trying its best to pull his feet out from under him. Leaning down, Cole lashed out with Requiem, severing the ectoplasmic muscle, and starting to pull himself free, which was exactly the moment he learned an interesting fact about elephants; they were smart enough to feint. The battering ram hit Cole from behind sending him hurtling toward the harpsichord, rolling along the ground, Cole nearly hit the relic¡¯s legs but stopped himself just in time. Looking up he saw the box with the stargent almost within arm¡¯s reach. Using Requiem like a dockworker¡¯s hook, Cole snagged the box and pulled it towards him but the old stone floor combined with his frantic movements to spell disaster. Sheets of bright stargent spilled onto the ground as Cole flipped the box by accident. Swearing violently, Cole scrambled forward trying to grab some of the precious material. Distracted and discombobulated, the Paladin didn¡¯t see the next attack. A foot, large as ship-beam lumber, kicked Cole in the side sending him skidding along the ground and¡­ into the base of the harpsichord. With a horrible splintering sound, Cole went right through two of the legs and barely avoided having the huge instrument fall on top of him. With a horrible crash, the harpsichord slammed into the ground, its two remaining legs propping it up in a crude tent shape. Somewhere above Cole, the harpsichord¡¯s lid snapped shut like a coffin and a strange tinkling clatter reached his ears. Looking to the sound¡¯s source, Cole felt his already cold blood reach boreal temperatures, in the little gap left by the leg stumps he could see a rain of silvery flakes dripping down onto the ground from the broken keyboard. As the waterful of stargent petered out, the harpsichord started to vibrate, the intact strings playing a high teeth-itching note as the shaking grew worse and worse. Short of breath as he was, Cole still managed to say. ¡°Oh fuck.¡±
¡°Absolutely not! I¡¯m not going to let this temple be dragged into these games of yours Argentari.¡± spat Hierophant Wistor as he glared across the table at his foreign colleague. Alexio Argentari simply smiled at the suitably stormy priest of Father Sky and replied. ¡°This isn¡¯t a game, and you¡¯re already involved.¡± There was so much to do in such little time, that Alexio was forced to let Cole handle the harpsichord, while he engaged in other duties. But shameful as it was to admit even to himself, Alexio wasn¡¯t too upset in avoiding another encounter with the banshees. While much of his temple work involved the vampires and their machinations, Alexio wasn¡¯t used to dealing with the unquiet dead. That darkness and the unheard scream beneath the castle had stayed with him, even entering his dreams like some aural infection. So with the issues before them necessitating a division of labor, Alexio naturally let Cole do what he specialized in, while he did the same.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Visiting the largest of Lowenburg¡¯s four temples, Alexio was attempting to plant some seeds of caution in the city¡¯s religious leadership. An effort that led him here, to Hierophant Wistor, and his fellows. As the god of justice and leadership Father Sky¡¯s priests were tasked with shepherding the other priesthoods, not an easy task with them forced to share space, but one they did admirably, which was why Alexio had come to them with his request. Meeting the sky priest¡¯s stormy eyes, Alexio reiterated his point. ¡°Countess Lutisha¡¯s actions in light of the war in Alidonar are already suspicious, now adding in what we¡¯ve learned about her grandfather and it points to some very concerning possibilities, ones that cannot be ignored.¡± Brow furrowing thunderously, Wistor replied. ¡°The same could be said about the Elector Prince himself, he¡¯s Eberhard¡¯s direct descendant and the one actually in possession of this haunted harpsichord. You¡¯re trying to dress this up as some security concern to get our help in discrediting the Countess. I won¡¯t let you turn the temples of Lowenburg into a political prop. We need the rulers of Baivuar to trust us and getting pulled into some Vindabonian plot against one of their own would alienate far more than the Countess¡¯s faction.¡± A dry cough came from a little down the table and Hierophant Reubain, a servant of Master Time, said: ¡°The Elector-Prince made contact with a Paladin once he realized the full danger of the haunting; that¡¯s a very different reaction than sitting on this secret.¡± Elsewhere, Elder Priestess Tara of Aunt Seeress¡¯s creed spoke up. ¡°Yes, especially with what damage that ghost has already caused. Vollenschloss Castle wasn¡¯t some glorified toll booth perched atop a mountain, it was a true fortress palace. For this wraith to literally shake the place apart¡­ I don¡¯t want to imagine how strong it is. If Countess Lutisha knew anything about this and didn¡¯t inform the Time Priests then she¡¯s at the very least guilty of shocking negligence.¡± Eying his colleagues, Wistor snapped. ¡°There isn¡¯t any evidence aside from our ¡®guest¡¯s¡¯ theory. Countess Lutisha might simply have better spies than Argentari is assuming.¡± Hierophant Dival, a follower of Uncle Maker nodded. ¡°Lutisha is a born and bred creature of the court. Not to impinge upon our young prince¡¯s abilities, but it''s very possible someone in the Countess¡¯s employe slipped into his inner circle. I mean, if anyone would have the resources, motivation, and knowledge to get such a lever on Heinrich it would be Lutisha. So I¡¯m going to have to agree with Wistor, this is a mess but of the political not religious kind. Getting involved wouldn¡¯t be prudent, and besides this haunted harpsichord seems a much bigger priority than a dynastic struggle.¡± Margret, the senior priestess of Aunt Huntress snapped her fingers. ¡°Yeah, and I¡¯m not so happy with the fact Heinrich didn¡¯t come to us when they uncovered the harpsichord. While I have no doubts Paladin Cole is capable of handling this, we¡¯ve all heard the stories from the solstice ball, there wasn¡¯t any need to get him involved. Lowenburg isn¡¯t some small town with half a dozen country priests, we have resources and knowledge enough to face a dangerous ghost. Besides, both Lutisha and Heinrich sat on their knowledge, maybe too different extents but still. This doesn¡¯t seem like something we should meddle with.¡± An amused snort escaped Alexio. ¡°Some of you are doing a very good job of justifying Heinrich¡¯s choice to seek outside help. He feared turning this into a political mess, which is exactly what you¡¯re all doing.¡± Dival bristled at that. ¡°Don¡¯t try and put on a performance for us. We¡¯re not going to get involved with this controversy, maintaining our impartial status is important for trust and cohesion.¡± Smiling, the Hierophant of Uncle Trickster said. ¡°There is no such thing as impartiality, inaction is a type of action, by doing nothing you default to supporting one side or another and don¡¯t even get to choose which one. By getting so invested in some illusion of being outside the court¡¯s politics, you¡¯ve simply surrendered your agency for the ability to pat yourself on the back. A war is raging in the Southern Marches, the dead devour the living while Harmas itself is lost to us. Countess Lutisha is doing all in her power to stop your nation from helping its cousins face our enemy and somehow letting that happen is considered the ¡®neutral¡¯ option?¡± That got some uncomfortable looks from the conclave and Priest Manuel, a servant of Brother Moon half-whispered. ¡°That may be true but we don¡¯t have grounds to interfere. You probably know better than any of us the accords between crowned heads and holy hearts. We can¡¯t simply remove or negate a powerful noble like the Countess.¡± Smile broadening, Alexio held his hands out before him. ¡°Which is exactly why Countess Lutisha¡¯s knowledge of the harpsichord is so important! It gives you the justification to open an inquiry into House Luitpold. Even if nothing incriminating is found, the scandal alone with short-change her political capital and give the prince the opportunity he needs to regain control.¡± Head resting on one elbow, Wistor frowned with enough intensity to make Alexio wonder if one could pull a brow muscle. The senior Hierophant¡¯s expression was still thunderous but no longer glowering, which seemed a good sign. Speaking slowly, Wistor said. ¡°It¡¯s too flimsy, we¡¯d need something more. Find evidence of her maintaining whatever connection Prince Eberhard had with our enemies or something similar. If we are going to act, it cannot be done so flagrantly as you suggest.¡± Nodding, Alexio accepted that. Between Cole and him they should be able to sniff out some dirty secret of the countess, or more importantly, give a big enough impression that something was rotten with House Luitpold. See, Argentari knew getting a full inquiry into Lutisha¡¯s affairs was unlikely. He¡¯d come here to try to roll those dice but also plant a very important seed; that of doubt. While he¡¯d not convinced the temple conclave, Alexio had put an idea in their heads, an idea that wouldn¡¯t die easily as it was fed by a good story. Everyone knew tales of scheming nobles plotting with dark powers to usurp their righteous relatives. Children grew up hearing legends of noble princes casting down evil uncles or aunts to reclaim their thrones and bring new prosperity. While even adults whispered about what dark debauched things aristocrats did with all the money, power, and secrecy their position afforded. There were a dozen different archetypes Alexio could pull on, weaving a yarn that would sit in people¡¯s minds and make them think thoughts he wanted them to. This was just the second of many seeds the Quicksilver Player would be planting across Lowenburg, and even if the efforts he disguised his gardening with were totally fruitless, the mere spread of his story would be a triumph. Laughing on the inside, Alexio Argentari could never understand why so many people coveted the magic to control people¡¯s minds. In his experience, doing it without magic was so much more rewarding. Bowing his head, Alexio ¡°Thank you, that¡¯s all I ask. Paladin Cole is an expert in hunting after dark secrets and darker powers, he¡¯ll find-¡± The door to the chamber burst open and a wild-eyed priest of Mistress Void stumbled into the room, chest heaving as he nearly collapsed onto the table. Gaunt with an unhealthy pallor and greasy hair, the priest fought to regain his breath. He¡¯d clearly been running and wasn¡¯t the sort used to it. Priestess Tara rushed forward, violet light already flowing from her fingers. ¡°Priest Arkhi? What¡¯s wrong?¡± Looking up at her Arkhi managed to push words out between gasps. ¡°Doing¡­ doing scrying ritual¡­ checking¡­ for¡­ threats¡­ found one¡­ one bad.¡± Wistor put a calming hand on Arkhi¡¯s back and the priest started breathing better as the very air did its best to help him. ¡°What kind of threat? Has another giant been spotted-¡± Grabbing onto the senior Hierophant¡¯s arm, the priest said. ¡°Something undead and incredibly powerful, it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s in the jagging city. Fuck! I think it¡¯s in the castle!¡± Shock rippled through the room and Hierophant Reubain shut his eyes and said. ¡°Strange, something agitated the wards but didn¡¯t trigger them.¡± Nodding frantically, Arkhi said. ¡°Whatever this thing is, it surged with power and then vanished less than a minute later. That might not have been enough to raise our normal alarms. But I still felt it, it¡¯s strong and¡­ oh by the Mistress¡¯s cloak, it¡¯s angry.¡± Voice taught with tension Reubain hissed. ¡°What do you mean it vanished?¡± Shrugging pitifully, Arkhi said. ¡°It disappeared, one moment I could feel it through the spell, the next it was gone.¡± Smiling broadly, Alexio said. ¡°Well then, that¡¯s good news.¡± All eyes fell on him; some expressions were confused, others were shocked, and one or two clearly understood his logic. Reubain was among them and he asked. ¡°Paladin Cole? You think he freed the wraiths?¡± Nodding, Alexio explained. ¡°He was going to reinforce the seals, but it seems plans must have changed. I¡¯ll return to the castle and find out more, I suggest some of you accompany me while-¡± A thought struck the Quicksilver Player then and he trailed off. Cole had privately confided his worries about facing the banshees, that even if he beat them the effort might kill him. The last thing Alexio needed was Prince Heinrich finding Cole¡¯s pulped corpse in his dungeon and witnessing the homunculus¡¯s resurrection. Speaking quickly, Alexio asked. ¡°Who here is the strongest healer?¡± After a moment of consideration, an elderly woman with long plaited hair cleared her throat. Clad in the green and brown of Mother Earth, the priestess hadn¡¯t spoken the entire meeting, merely listening to the exchange. ¡°That would be me.¡± Wistor¡¯s back straightened and he started to say something but the woman held out one hand to silence him. For a moment Argentari thought her palms were intricately tattooed but on closer inspection, he realized the rippling pattern of umber and gold shone with the glint of crystal. This priestess was walking the path of the Anchorite and every spell cast took her step farther down that road. The priestess came towards Alexio and said. ¡°I am Hierophant Ruth. Do you fear the Paladin has been injured?¡± Nodding, Alexio considered what to share. If Cole had gotten himself killed the presence of a powerful healer at his bedside and a story about his supposed ¡®blessing of regeneration¡¯ might be enough to convince people he¡¯d not actually died. ¡°Yes, he was worried about his ability to face the banshees. If Cole managed to free the souls by himself, I fear for what condition he might be in.¡± Already heading towards the door, Ruth said. ¡°Well then, let¡¯s stop wasting time.¡± They arrived at Conradbau Castle to find it in a state of chaos. From what gabbled accounts could be extracted from the servants it seemed the entire castle shook for maybe twenty seconds and in that time panic, nausea, and general disorder reigned. Stunned by what happened, the castle staff was in no shape to countermand a small squad of Hierophants as they pushed their way toward the castle¡¯s dungeon. Wading through the shocked faces and stink of sick Alexio could bitterly imagine how the banshees might have destroyed Volenschloss Castle. All its occupants forced into a state of terrified vertigo, unable to stand or even do more than scream and vomit while the very stone came crashing down atop them. Prince Eberhard had been a very cruel man. Reaching the entrance to the dungeon, they found marginally more resistance as a pair of ill-looking but still-standing soldiers blocked their path. Addressing Wistor, who was nominally leading the group, the guard said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, but the Prince¡¯s orders were explicit, to not have anyone enter the dungeon.¡± With all the calm but undeniable authority of one sworn to Father Sky, Wistor replied. ¡°Send someone to get him then. This is beyond important and he¡¯ll want to speak with us.¡± The soldiers looked at each other and the one who spoke slowly picked his words. ¡°That¡¯s the issue, sir, he¡¯s in the dungeon, he and his personal guard, they went in right after the shaking stopped.¡± For a brief terrible moment, Alexio thought his efforts to save Cole were going to be strangled by the paradox of orders but a shout from elsewhere caught everyone''s attention. Marching towards the dungeon¡¯s entrance was Duchess Cleo followed by a collection of guards and courtiers. One of these servants, the chamberlain Norrich was pleading with the Duchess. ¡°My lady you can¡¯t risk yourself! If your brother really is in danger then you mustn¡¯t-¡± Whirling about, Cleo leveled a finger at her chamberlain like it was a dagger. ¡°I¡¯m not abandoning him!¡± Shaking his head, Norrich held up placating hands. ¡°And I¡¯m not saying we do, let the soldiery risk themselves, that¡¯s their profession after all.¡± Stepping forward into this argument, Alexio said. ¡°Or others more trained for this kind of danger.¡± Only then did Cleo and her trail of servants seem to notice the collection of powerful priests awaiting them. The Duchess understood their presence immediately and waved a hand at the guards before the dungeon¡¯s entrance. ¡°Let them through, I order it!¡± Those words cut through the knot and within two minutes the Hierophants were down at the dungeon¡¯s bottom level. As they arrived a wave of nausea and fear filled them and Alexio cursed, holding out his hands and quickly preparing the counter spell he¡¯d used before on the banshee¡¯s song. The feeling just started to fade when the door before them opened and they entered the hallway; where they were greeted with the reeking smell of bile and filth. Soldiers lay about in puddles of their own making, all trying to come to their feet with little effort. Roughly halfway down the tunnel, a bubble of light shimmered and a few people stood clustered within it. Magus Lydia had her arms outstretched, fingers dancing in a complex pattern that fed the arcane shield surrounding her, Prince Heinrich, and two of his haggard-looking guards. Alexio Argentari barely had time to digest this sight before his full focus was required on his magic, a great force slammed into the spell and threatened to disrupt it. The banshee¡¯s silent song was no longer dulled by thick stone and heavy bolts, taking more and more effort to stop. Teeth clenched, trying to keep the magic intact even without his favored tools, Alexio pushed forward into the tunnel. The other Hierophants descended upon the stirring soldiers, a rainbow of multihued magic dancing from them as they checked for injuries and healed what they could. Somewhere next to Alexio, Wistor muttered. ¡°They¡¯re all concussed, and showing signs of inner ear damage.¡± Approaching the bubble of protective magic, Alexio met the prince¡¯s tired eyes and offered a tiny bow. Heinrich started to speak but no sound came out, seeming to remember something the prince changed course and gestured somewhere behind him vigorously. Nodding in comprehension, Alexio eyed the sphere of magic, Magus Lydia didn¡¯t have the expertise in sound spells to negate the song, so she¡¯d created a silent bubble, an effort that was clearly straining her. Silence was harder than people thought and the simple option was to close off a space magically, it stopped the air from vibrating true, but also stopped airflow. Cleo had been right to be worried, if Alexio and the Hierophant¡¯s hadn¡¯t come so quickly the Prince and his inner circle would have been trapped between suffocation or being rattled apart. Shimming past the sphere that took up nearly three-quarters of the tunnel, Alexio felt confusion grow like a weed among his thoughts. If Cole dispatched the banshee then where was the song coming from, and why was it so intense here but not still shaking the entire castle apart? As the rest of the tunnel came into view, Alexio had his answer and cursed himself violently. Sitting on the ground amidst a rippling pattern of cracks was the enchanted tuning fork. Its tines slowly cutting an indent into the stone floor as they carried the captured scream. Cole must have succeeded in Alexio¡¯s request, but all the ways he¡¯d thought to use that bottled sound in his schemes felt suddenly pointless. The tuning fork hadn¡¯t just captured the banshees¡¯ scream when they¡¯d been sealed but also when they¡¯d broken free of their bindings. While not strong enough to fully mimic the banshee¡¯s building-breaking wail, the tuning fork was still powerful enough to turn this entire hallway into a death trap. Running forward, Alexio brought a heel down on the tuning fork¡¯s pommel shattering the quartz crystal and runic marks with all his considerable weight. Instantly the song started to fade and he could let his own magic go with it. A crack and whoosh of shifting air from behind Alexio told him Lydia¡¯s bubble was gone as well. Turning about, the Quicksilver Player found an irate Prince Heinrich charging toward him. ¡°What in the world¡¯s name happened!¡± roared the furious Elector-Prince. ¡°The Paladin was supposed to strengthen the seals not break them! He could have gotten us all killed!¡± Holding up conciliatory hands, Alexio tried to find the right words to calm Heinrich but they proved unneeded. Hierophant Ruth bustled past the recovering soldiers, moving with surprising speed for her age. ¡°We can argue about that later, lets first see in what shape Paladin Cole is in.¡± Anger faded into grim concern and Heinrich followed after Ruth, his guards, and Alexio trailing after them. Fingers working quickly, the Quicksilver Player prepared to cast his own magic, if Cole was dead he¡¯d need to work fast to buy him enough time to resurrect. Reaching the open vault door Alexio entered with the others and found it ruined. The thick stone walls were cracked, while the pulped remains of the harpsichord sat in the center and a thin layer of quickly melting hoarfrost covered everything. At the far end of the chamber slumped against its back wall, lay a motionless figure, blood dripping from his face. Ruth worked her way through the jumbled mess of ruined instrument and reached Cole. Light shone from her hands and in that illumination, Alexio saw the paladin was clutching a small box. Gingerly, Ruth kneeled down and tried to pull the box away to examine him better, a rattling gasp escaped Cole and his iron grip tightened on the box. Head lolling up he spoke. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± One of the guards next to Prince Heinrich swore as Cole¡¯s face came into view. Blood dripped from his eyes, nose, and ears making the man¡­ no homunculus, look like his liquified insides were running out of him. Moving quickly, Ruth put her hands on either side of his head, and the smell of good wet dirt filled the chamber alongside rich green light. The Hierophant of Mother Earth cocked her head to the side, sending her long braided hair flapping. Worried she¡¯d noticed something strange; Alexio held his breath, preparing to intercede. If Ruth did have any inkling of what sort of being lay before her, she made no show of it and simply let her magic flow into Cole, murmuring arcane cant as she did. The Paladin¡¯s breathing became better and the blood flow slowed then stopped. Glancing back at Heinrich¡¯s guards, Ruth said. ¡°Send for a stretcher.¡± then addressing Heinrich himself added. ¡°And make sure your sister knows you¡¯re alright.¡± Groggily, Cole started to shift. ¡°I can¡­ I can stand.¡± Her voice both sweet and threatening, Ruth replied. ¡°If you could see right now, you¡¯d know the look I¡¯m giving you say that¡¯s not an option.¡± Shaky fingers tried to offer the box. ¡°Get¡­ get this to the Tenth Temple, don¡¯t open it.¡± Well, Cole was concussed enough to forget where he was, but he was alive which let Alexio finally relax and release his prepared spells. Approaching the paladin, he asked. ¡°What¡¯s in it?¡± Head shifting at Alexio¡¯s voice, the blinded Cole pushed the box in his direction. ¡°The banshees¡¯ remains, wrapped in stargent.¡± Recoiling despite himself, Alexio asked. ¡°You didn¡¯t free them?!¡± Cole grunted. ¡°I wasn¡¯t strong enough, but¡­ but it¡¯s fine.¡± Heinrich growled, doing a good impression of his missing lions. ¡°You nearly destroyed my castle, I don¡¯t know how that can be ¡®fine¡± A bubbling, punch-drunk laugh escaped Cole. ¡°Would saving your throne be compensation enough?¡± Ruth glared at the prince and priest as she tended to the paladin. ¡°We can discuss this later. He needs better healing than what I can give in this frigid cell.¡± Ignoring Ruth, which wasn¡¯t an easy thing if Alexio had to guess, Heinrich kneeled next to Cole. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± A blood-flecked smile went across Cole¡¯s face. ¡°When I failed to free the banshess I saw pieces of their past and¡­ and it was enlightening. It¡¯s true what they say, elephants never forget, even when they are dead.¡± Alexio blinked in surprise, he¡¯d heard rumors skilled priests of Master Time could touch the memories of souls they freed, in an act dangerously close to necromancy. Still, he¡¯d never considered it could be done accidentally during a botched exorcism. Despite himself, Alexio squatted down next to Cole. ¡°You learned something?¡± Cole tried to nod his head but he couldn¡¯t countermand Ruth¡¯s grip on him. ¡°Lots of things, but most importantly, your sister was wrong, Prince Heinrich. The harpsichord hasn¡¯t been sitting in a storage room within the castle all this time. It was moved there, relatively recently. Close to twenty years ago I¡¯d reckon. Now tell me, when was Lutisha¡¯s engagement to your father called off?¡± Side Story: A Matriarchs Rage (Part 5)

A Matriarch¡¯s Rage (Part 5)

¡°To be an Orc is to never stop moving, it is to always be driven on to the next horizon. We travel across world after world, hunting, exploring, and conquering as the Gods wish of us. Our tongues have no word for ¡®satiate¡¯ for we are always hungry and any victory is but a step we climb to the next triumph. Long have we left our home, and far have we ranged, but it will never be enough, and for that I am thankful¡±- Tungge, the Tug-Carrier of the Tomur Horde.
Cole lay upon an improvised sick bed and stared at the ceiling, or at least he tried to. All he could see was a world of red, with vague ambulatory blotches testifying to those around him. According to Hierophant Ruth, the banshees wail had burst some of the blood vessels in his eyes and he was lucky the scream hadn¡¯t simply popped the entire organ like a grape. Ironically the damage was less severe in Cole¡¯s ears, and he could still hear, even with the tinny whine rattling around in his skull. It seemed, Cole just barely escaped the banshees without crippling injuries; but Ruth wasn¡¯t taking that at face value. Which is why she¡¯d bullied Prince Heinrich into moving Cole elsewhere for a better examination. The danger of worsening any internal hemorrhages forced Cole to let himself be carried out of the dungeon via stretcher. It had been both an uncomfortable and embarrassing experience, particularly because he wasn¡¯t alone in needing such treatment. An entire procession of wounded soldiers followed after the Paladin, their groans and the shuffling gait of the stretcher-bearers telling the story even if Cole¡¯s eyes wouldn¡¯t. Hearing those plaintiff noises, part of Cole felt ashamed, if he¡¯d been a little faster or a little stronger when facing the banshees, much of this could have been avoided. Still, that part of him had been much smaller than normal, sheer exhaustion and the idea of what Natalie would say kept the worst self-recrimination away. Once the parade of wounded left the dungeon, they met with a rival procession, one headed by a relieved sister. Cole caught bits of the frantic reunion between siblings as Duchess Cleo cursed and hugged her brother in equal parts. Apparently, when the banshees broke their seals, the Prince personally led a squad of his strongest soldiers into the dungeon¡ªa brave but foolish gesture, a fact Cleo was trying to ensure Heinrich understood. Even half a dozen paragons, equipped with enchanted weapons and armor would have been useless against the banshee. In fact, they¡¯d all arrived just to join Magus Lydia¡¯s escort on the ground being violently ill as their bodies were shaken apart. Only the court magi¡¯s desperate efforts had shielded Heinrich, herself, and two others from the banshees¡¯ wail. Cole of course only learned of these events after the fact, as he¡¯d been dead for most of them. Hierophant Ruth¡¯s concerns about internal bleeding were appreciated but unnecessary since Cole knew for a fact he¡¯d already died from it while lying in the vault. Even though he didn¡¯t fully understand the mechanisms of his regeneration, Cole knew his body always fixed lethal damage and not much more upon resurrection. Blind, bloody, and certainly concussed as he was, Cole wasn¡¯t in any immediate danger; otherwise, he¡¯d still be stuck in a cycle of half-finished resurrection like the night Natalie became a vampire. Quickly fleeing from that painful memory, Cole mused on how exactly his death had gone unnoticed. Even after he¡¯d sealed the banshees, their scream continued to issue from Argentari¡¯s tuning fork. This captured sound was thankfully not strong enough to kill but it could certainly disable. Which while leaving a dozen soldiers twitching in pools of their own sick, bought Cole precious time to keep his secret. Upon reawakening into the dungeon Cole found himself thankful for his awful bloody nose as the stink of his own ichor blotted out the reek of bile and other even worse substances. Despite what Natalie seemed to believe, bad smells did bother Cole, he just was so used to them he could ignore just about anything. The Paladin honestly couldn¡¯t tell if what happened with the tuning fork was some divine-born coincidence to keep his nature hidden or just random chance. Considering the mess involved, Cole felt increasingly confident no god had been steering these events. With a tired breath, Cole stopped his fruitless attempts to examine whatever ceiling was above him and shut his eyes, turning the world from crimson to black. He¡¯d been blinded before but never for this long, normally he just died to whatever had wounded him such, so this was proving to be a new and profoundly unpleasant experience. Without vision to rely on, Cole¡¯s other senses were sharpening to painful intensity. He could hear every scuff of shoes in the hallway outside his room and make a good guess on how much alcohol was in the cleansing mixture used in scrubbing the floor. So despite his condition, Cole could make out bits of whispered argument happening outside the chamber. Ruth was insisting Cole be left alone for at least two days. She pointed out the damage to his eyes and other organs; how even with her help it would take time for the swelling to reduce and for them to be certain nothing was permanently damaged. These concerns weren¡¯t enough to get Argentari to back down, as he insisted learning what Cole knew was beyond crucial and they¡¯d already spent hours waiting for Ruth to finish her healing magic. Eventually, Argentari bought passage into the Paladin¡¯s room by sharing the secret of Cole¡¯s ¡®regeneration miracle.¡¯ As the door creaked open, Cole opened his eyes and winced, nothing had changed just more red. Shifting his head so he could see the blob of crimson that must be Argentari, Cole lifted himself off the cot and asked. ¡°The ivory keys?¡± The scrape of wood on wood told of Argentari pulling over a chair as he said. ¡°Within one of the Temple vaults, Reuvain is already planning a ritual to free the souls. Now, will you tell me what exactly happened in the vault?¡± Accepting that, Cole replied. ¡°I will, but you should probably alert Heinrich and Cleo I¡¯m taking visitors; they¡¯ll want to hear what I¡¯ve learned.¡± Argentari started to get up but Cole stopped him. ¡°Before then, I¡¯d like to know what exactly you were planning with that tuning fork. You didn¡¯t share all the details before sending me to acquire the banshee¡¯s song.¡± A little bit of cold iron touched Cole¡¯s words; even though the tuning fork had helped preserve his secret it still almost caused its own disaster. Even blind, Cole could feel Argentari wince. ¡°People have the bad habit of dismissing or downplaying a threat if it¡¯s not breathing down their neck. I wanted to use the tuning fork to demonstrate exactly how dangerous the banshees are, so those I spoke with would take our concerns about Lutisha more seriously. Besides, being able to unleash a diluted version of the scream in any meeting would be a potent negotiation tactic.¡± Shutting his eyes with a sigh, Cole could see the merit in Argentari¡¯s idea but made a mental note to be more cautious when involved with the spymaster. Using the tuning fork seemed to have agitated the elephant ghosts, and while Cole couldn¡¯t be certain how events might have played out without that factor, the tuning fork certainly didn¡¯t help. Still, he should have learned by now to second-guess everything Argentari touched. Listening to the spymaster leave, Cole decided that even if he didn¡¯t fully share Natalie¡¯s dislike of the man, he couldn¡¯t deny fortune did not favor him. It didn¡¯t take long for Argentari to return with the Elector-Prince and his sister. Cole could imagine it wasn¡¯t every day the ruler of all Baiuvar was summoned to a sick bed like this, but protocol and decorum were nothing compared to the temptation of knowledge. As the siblings entered the chamber, Heinrich spoke, his voice tight with tension. ¡°Well, we¡¯re here, what did you learn?¡± Letting his eyes settle on the crimson blurs that must be the royal siblings, Cole offered a mild smile. ¡°Lots, so let me start from the beginning.¡±
The vault beneath Conradbau Castle started to shake itself apart with Cole inside. All around him, the chamber¡¯s component stone slabs rubbed against each other making a horrible grinding sound Cole could feel in his teeth. Cracks started spreading along the floor and walls as the harpsichord¡¯s broken bulk vibrated with ever-growing intensity. Cole didn¡¯t know how long the banshees would take to unleash their full keening, but he knew time was rapidly running out. If he didn¡¯t seal or exorcise the twin ghosts soon he and everyone else within this castle would die badly; torn apart physically and metaphysically by the scream or crushed beneath the collapsing structure. Frantically scrambling along the vault floor, feeling his arms and legs go numb as the vibrations traveled up them, Cole tried to get out from underneath the rapidly disassembling harpsichord and towards the box of stargent foil. The effort made the edges of Cole¡¯s vision go blurry as his heart and lungs fought a losing battle against the scream roiling around him. Limbs spasming, fingers utterly without feeling, Cole reached the box and grabbed a handful of its spilled content. This was a mistake, as the moment Cole touched the high-purity mage-bane metal, his protective spells faltered. The Cold of Entropy filling him didn¡¯t vanish, but it did lessen enough for Cole¡¯s eardrums to burst and blood to start sluicing out of his nose. Unable to even hear his own scream, the Paladin let go of the stargent and called on more of his power. Frost swirled about Cole, the blood dripping from him started to freeze and his flesh became hard as rock. The amount of magic he was using would have stopped a swordblow as easily as a boulder might; but considering the stone cell around him was coming apart, this wouldn¡¯t be enough. Mind reeling, looking for options, Cole understood if he used the stargent now he¡¯d just get himself killed. He simply wouldn¡¯t have time to get the foil into the rapidly crumbling harpsichord before his unprotected flesh gave out. If Cole was going to seal the banshees away he¡¯d need to weaken them or¡­ or be a little more creative. Lengthening Requiem into a short spear, Cole pierced a sheet of stargent like a particularly emaciated fish and grimaced as the weapon¡¯s enchantment sputtered out. Working quickly, Cole flipped the empty box the foil came in onto its bottom and shucked the stargent into the container. Repeating this maneuver, the Paladin played spearfisher and soon got a layer of crumpled foil covering the box¡¯s bottom. The effort made the spots at the edges of Cole¡¯s vision double in size, as breathing became near impossible. Hobbling towards the harpsichord, Cole pushed the box before him, positioning it right beneath the keyboards as he shrunk Requiem into a handaxe. Working quickly, the Paladin started to hack at the harpsichord¡¯s casing, trying to get the ivory keys free. Hands spasming as the organ-rending scream did its work, one of Cole¡¯s blows was sloppy and he struck a key. The vibrations filling his body changed instantly and he nearly toppled onto the harpsichord as his heart and lungs spasmed uselessly. As the keening shut down his flesh, Cole felt it tearing at his soul, the magical part of the sound threatening to shred his essence like wheat into a thresher. Mind working lighting fast as suffocation and worse crept closer, Cole reached out towards the ivory keys with his free hand. He wouldn¡¯t be strong enough to free the banshees, he did not doubt that now; but his magic still might be able to buy time and an opportunity. Shaking fingers groped at the keyboard, and Cole opened his Aetheric senses to the raging storm. Finding the cold ivory, Cole forced himself to take something close to a breath, driving back the spots around his vision and preparing the mental technique he used to unleash his magic. There was no time for ritual preparation, planned consecration, or even simple negotiation; Cole needed to weaken these two ghosts through sheer arcane force. Of course, In theory, he could fully exorcise the banshees by cutting the connection between them and their anchor; but that would mean overpowering the two ghosts, and while Cole was far stronger than he¡¯d been even six months ago, it wouldn¡¯t be enough. So instead, he¡¯d need to settle for weakening the banshees so he could get the keys into the box. Shutting his eyes, Cole felt red tears flow down his face as he poured part of his soul into the ivory keys, flooding the Aether with a god¡¯s power and willing the bond between soul and remains to finally snap. Peering into the meniscus between Mundanity and Magic, Cole gazed upon the screaming storm of the banshees. To his mind¡¯s eye, the ghosts appeared as two spectral waterspouts interlocked in a bizarre double helix so tightly bound they seemed one entity. Each coil of this helix was an undulating column composed of leathery ectoplasmic flesh and pale bleached bones, only interrupted by tumorous outgrowths shaped like elephant heads, their trunks reared up as they screamed. Hidden within that funnel cloud of soul stuff, Cole could sense his target, a quartet of stubby ivory tusks buried in the eye of the storm; these were the Aetheric representations of the elephant¡¯s remains. If Cole was going to try and free the elephants then he¡¯d need to push through the helix cyclone and baptize the ivory with his power. As he gazed upon the screaming storm of flesh and bone with his sixth sense, the Paladin didn¡¯t like his odds of success or what the metaphor before him implied. The less a ghost''s mental image resembled their living state the more insane it was, and Cole had never seen a wraith this divergent from their original body. The elephant banshees were utterly, unimaginably mad; and yet, despite these mutations, the ghosts were¡­. Coherent wasn¡¯t the right word, nor was stable, focused was perhaps the closest Cole knew. Normally when a wraith reached this state of mental collapse they were little more than a vague collection of notions and emotions trapped in an ectoplasmic shell. The specters he¡¯d faced near Glockmire had been a good example of that. But despite their madness, the elephants retained more of themselves, however warped that self now was. Cole couldn¡¯t guess if this was some quirk of species, circumstances, or the individual elephants, but it ultimately mattered little; his duty hadn¡¯t changed. The power of Master Time surged forward from Cole and a great blizzard smashed into the banshees¡¯ whirlwind, burying the helix of elephant flesh in a wall of white and grey. Yet even immersed in the numbing cold of a God, the two ghosts refused to surrender their anchor, instead redoubling their grip with the intensity of a drowning man holding a bit of driftwood. The maelstrom fought against the waves of frost smashing against it, tearing apart great sheaths of metaphysical ice as the banshees struggled against Cole. Screams and trumpeting calls echoed out from the storm as it raged against the holy cold; slowly pushing back the deluge with every passing moment. But even as the banshee fought off the blizzard, its scream was muffled and that gave Cole enough breath to keep working. After maybe the sixth or seventh wild swing, Cole felt painted wood finally splinter beneath his blows as the lower keyboard collapsed, dumping nearly half its contents onto the ground and maybe half again that into the stargent crate. Before Cole could try and get all the keys into the box, the Aether shifted and an opportunity arose. The twin helix of the banshees was coming undone, ragged gaps forming between the two ghosts. Streamers of ectoplasm shaped like tusks, trunks, and elephant limbs stretched out from one of the cyclones, trying to connect with the other and pull them back together. Cole wasn¡¯t about to let that happen and an arctic gale slipped into the open spaces, driving the banshee¡¯s feelers back. A blood-flecked smile split the Paladin¡¯s face as possibilities opened up, he had a lever now, something to pry the two ghosts apart and expose their remains. Hands working quickly, Cole continued to tear into the harpsichord, doing his best to scatter the keys even as his vision faded and limbs became clumsy. The old Elector Prince had trapped two souls within the harpsichord, a mother and daughter elephant driven past the limits of human insanity by each other''s suffering; creating an utterly unique form of banshee that only grew more dangerous with each passing moment. Now, Cole was ending that century-old crime, separating the remains physically via his axe and metaphysically via the stargent. Of course, this paltry gesture couldn¡¯t undo all the damage caused, but it was enough to maybe start the end of this tragic tale. In the Aether, Cole pushed his power into the gaps between banshees, letting his magic seep into them like arctic cold and growing the rifts with every passing moment. Disjointed and damaged the two ghosts couldn¡¯t keep a united defense against him as he slowly opened a path. Reaching out with his magic, Cole slipped past the unraveling cyclone and touched the tusks hiding there. Holy cold surrounded the teeth and the power of Master Time started to cut the banshees¡¯ anchor. But even weakened, the cyclone was strong enough to limit the amount of magic Cole could pour into its heart, turning what should have been a quick clean rite into something slow and ugly. As the Paladin worked, pieces of trapped soul started to come free, sloughing off like overcooked meat and touching Cole¡¯s mind. First, the fragments were just emotions, and their intensity was nearly enough to make Cole falter. For a few harrowing moments, his mind reeled with a type of grief he¡¯d only experienced once before; in the moment Isabelle died upon the pyre. It was a sense of utter loss, mixed with despair, hopelessness, and the type of rage that fuels murder. Even felt through Master Time¡¯s protection the emotions were heart-breaking and Cole was certain if he¡¯d never tasted them before he would have failed right then and there, unable to keep the magic working. Riding this first wave of spiritual discharge, letting it flow over and past him, Cole touched the second layer of freed soul. This time it wasn¡¯t base emotions that brushed against his mind, this time it was memories, and Cole was immersed in them. * The Matriarch stands tall amid swaying grasses watching her clan as they graze on the sun-scorched vegetation. Letting her long trunk slide along the stiff branches of a large bush, the Matriarch knows it is time for her clan to move on. This dry season is growing long-tusked and with two babes still suckling, the clan can ill-afford poor food. Lifting her head, the Matriarch lets her trunks swivel in the air, sniffing for greener lands. Memories gifted by many generations of mothers stir in the old elephant¡¯s mind, summoned by the smell of sweet water in the direction of sunset. Ancestral wisdom and her own senses speak of a watering hole that lasts long into the season; it is just over a day''s walk. A deep rumble escapes the Matriarch, rippling out through the dry dirt and reaching her sisters, daughters, nieces, and other kin. Slowly the clan starts its march, the Matriarch leading, her younger sisters at the back making sure none of the children wander off.*Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Cole thrashed as his mind bobbed in and out of alien memories. This wasn¡¯t like the few times he¡¯d supped moments from a soul while freeing them; there was too much detail, too much information. * Dust follows the clan as they walk across the dry savannah in a wide formation. The children play in the space between their kin, running back and forth between their mother, their aunts, and each other, unburdened by the weight of seasons. The Matriarch only catches glimpses of this from her place at the front, but the sight fills her with bittersweet contentment. In contrast to the children, the Matriarch¡¯s seasons are numerous and heavy; soon the weight would be too much and she¡¯d collapse beneath them, leaving a pile of bleached bones upon the endless grassland. But till that sad day, she¡¯d guide her clan and pass on the memories her foremothers had passed down for more generations than steps the Matriarch had walked. * Hunched over the ruined harpsichord, Requiem held in a death grip, Cole was blind and deaf. The part of him not drowning in another¡¯s memories fought to keep the magic going. His plan was working, he could feel the anchor starting to collapse and more soul-stuff coming free. * A scream pulls the Matriarch from her moribund thoughts, panic fills her and she splays her ears out, ready to run down any cat or dog who dared stalk her family. Maybe ten strides away, one of the children is wailing, trunk flapping wildly as he thrashes. Rushing towards her grandson, the Matriarch smells blood and arrives at the same time as the child¡¯s mother, her daughter. The two elephants crowd around the crying child and find the source of his pain. The young male¡¯s foot is trapped in a hole like the sort an ant-drinker might make. Reaching out with her trunk the Matriarch grips her grandson and starts to pull his leg out of the pit but stops as his screams grow worse. The Matriarch¡¯s daughter reaches out with her trunk then, and runs the sensitive tip along the hole¡¯s edge a cry of danger escaping her as she did. * But just as the two banshees'' connection to their remains weakened, so did Cole. He wasn¡¯t even likely to use up his entire soul at this rate, his body was about ready to give out. On some deep hindbrain level, Cole knew any human would already be unconscious or dead, his augmented flesh was all that kept him functioning. * The hole had fangs, tiny bits of sharpness that stuck out from the sides and slanted downwards, getting stuck in the young elephant¡¯s foot. Every time he tried to pull himself free, he merely widened the wound. Shrill warning cries went up among the clan as kin grouped together, watching the ground for more fang holes. The male¡¯s mother was panicked, this was her first child and it showed in how her trunk kept coiling around her injured offspring. But the male¡¯s grandmother had long learned there were better things to do than be afraid. Stomping on the ground with one mighty foot, the Matriarch started to make patterns in the dust with her trunk while singing a hymn to the mother-of-mothers. * Bitter truth flowed into Cole like medicine. Even with the gap in the banshees¡¯ defenses, he wasn¡¯t strong enough to free them this way. He¡¯d seen a chance to end this matter decisively and over-committed. Now, the Paladin had to see if he could return to his earlier strategy with the stargent crate or if it was too late. * The world answered the Matriarch¡¯s plea as the ground around her trapped grandson shifted. Dirt was pushed up in great ridges as the elder Elephant¡¯s will widened the fanged hole. This was another of the secrets passed down by the clan¡¯s matriarchs, the sounds and symbols recognized by both earth and sky. Carefully, the Matriarch freed her daughter¡¯s child from the hungry pit and then shut the evil thing away as two of the youth¡¯s aunts helped pull him free. But before calls of triumph could be shared among the clan, the freed youth¡¯s mother suddenly fell onto her front knees. * Shaky hands worked to pry ivory keys from their mounts and drop them into the stargent lined crate. Cole¡¯s inhuman strength was of little use as his muscles spasmed and his body fought to keep breathing. Getting enough air to stay conscious was testing him, there was nothing left to power his numb limbs. * A long branch-tusk stuck out of the Daughter¡¯s flank, its tree part wobbling with her pained breaths while the death-stone section was lodged deep within. Blood poured down the Daughter''s side and wheezed out of her mouth, eyes rolling wildly, she reached out for her son. The child bleeting madly and stumbled towards her even with his injured leg. One look told the Matriarch the injury was bad, even on a day of power her secrets might not be enough to save her daughter. Maybe with the help of the human tribe¡¯s secret keeper, she could do it, but¡­ the two-legged-ones had betrayed her clan, they alone could create tusks that flew like birds. * One by one the ivory keys fell into the box, as the deluge of memories continued. Cole¡¯s concussed mind bounced between the elephant¡¯s recollections, his own thoughts and the empty-minded focus extreme pain sometimes brought him. * The air shimmered around the clan like a heat haze and a pack of humans appeared, many carrying tusks like the one killing the Matriarch¡¯s daughter. Rounding on them, ears flaring, the Matriarch realized these beasts weren¡¯t the normal two-leggers she was used to. Instead of dark skin like rich earth or the night sky above, these creatures were grey in color with craggy wrinkled skin that made the Matriarch recoil. Their skin was like hers, except fitted onto a two-legged body. That wasn¡¯t the only similarity the beasts had to her kind either, small tusks jutted out from their mouths. Some distant memory gifted from a mother long ago turned to dust now awoke, giving a name for these creatures. These were orcs, and they¡¯d kill and eat the entire clan if not stopped. * The harpsichord was in pieces next to Cole, its own shaking, and his frantic efforts had ruined the once beautiful relic. Fingers questing through the debris, Cole found individual keys and dropped them into the stargent box. * The Matriarch did not know what secrets these orcs used to ambush her clan, but they were powerful. An entire herd of the beasts surrounded the elephants, twice as many as the largest clan she¡¯d known, and in a perfect ring. Many of the creatures carried branch-tusks in their leg-trunks, while others had polished claws, fangs, or even those death bird nests that sent feathered murder through the air with a strange vibration. Letting out a complex rumble, the Matriarch got her family to surround her injured daughter and grandson, a circle of true tusks pointing out at the two-legged lies the orcs held. Trunk coiled with worry, the Matriarch weighed her options. They could punch a hole through the orc circle as no beast no matter how stupid or cruel stood in the way of an elephant¡¯s charge, but that would mean leaving her daughter¡­ * Memories geyserd out from the half-banished banshees like arterial spray, drowning Cole as he wrestled with the remaining keys. Separated from each other, trapped between the stargent and Master Time¡¯s power, the ghosts were coming apart, more and more of their essence leaking into the Aether and into Cole¡¯s mind. * A branch tusk flew through the air, thrown by one of the large orc bulls landing in the gap between two sisters and nearly hitting one of the Matriarch¡¯s younger nieces. The orcs hooted and chattered like monkeys seeming to mock the tusk thrower for his failure. Rage filled the old clan leader and with it came a decision. She couldn¡¯t risk the entire family nor could she abandon her child, so she¡¯d need to take a risk. Reaching out with her trunk, the Matriarch wrapped it around her closest sister¡¯s own and let their tips touch. A great breath escaped the Matriarch, flowing down her trunk and into her sister¡¯s, and with it came a storm of memories. It wasn¡¯t all the Matriarch had but it would need to be enough if she failed. * Beneath all the pain, confusion, and invading emotions, Cole felt great shame at what he¡¯d done. The release of a soul was supposed to be a clean, pure act; not this mess of spiritual laceration he¡¯d inflicted upon the elephants. Robbed of his senses and sense, the Paladin could only offer a sad prayer to whatever god watched over such creatures in death. * The orcs were brave, they stood their ground far longer than any beast the Matriarch knew, but in the end, they still broke; scattering like seeds as twelve adult elephants charged with all the fury of motherhood. The Matriarch watched as her family fled, the children clinging to their mother¡¯s tails, as they escaped into the future. A few of the orcs who¡¯d been close to the charge reared up with their branch-tusks, ready to stab the exposed flanks of the clan; they never got the chance as the Matriarch let out her cry. She might have given away her inherited memories as most of the clan fled, but she¡¯d not surrendered her own power. Thunder rolled out from the Matriarch¡¯s trunk, making the orcs flinch before they could attack. As the two-legged herd turned on the Matriarch she brought her trunk down and made a whistling sound. She¡¯d created thunder, and now lightning would answer. Twin bolts of white death arced down from the blue above and cooked half a dozen orcs each. * Cole held onto the outside of the box, feeling its weight while being careful not to touch its stargent lining. He thought he had all the keys inside, but the memories wouldn¡¯t stop crashing into him. * Standing tall the Matriarch called out across the grasslands as she stood between the scattered orcs and the two members of her clan still trapped. Eyes unfocused, the daughter lay slumped, branch tusk sticking from her like some monstrous bramble, her son wailing as he rubbed against his mother. Time was running out, but help would be coming, the Matriarch¡¯s cry wasn¡¯t merely a challenge to her enemies but a summons to the other half of her clan. The fathers, brothers, and sons of her family were never far and they¡¯d come dripping with wrath eager to prove themselves. Among them were two old tuskers, both fathers to the Matriarch¡¯s children and each holding powerful secrets, with their help, her daughter might be saved. * Working frantically, Cole used Requiem like a gardener¡¯s spade, sifting through the harpsichord¡¯s wreckage, trying to find the last key, the final unbound anchor of the elephants. * It rained death birds, their bramble beaks stabbing into the Matriarch¡¯s thick skin, barely getting deep enough to draw blood. Bellowing her outrage, the elephant stomped the ground sending a wave of dirt smashing into some of the orcs. Nearby two of the creatures tried to creep toward the daughter, but the Matriarch reached out with her trunk and her mind-trunk, wrapping both their heads in muscle both real and imagined, crushing them in a shower of gore. Focused on this, she failed to stop the trio of branch tusks stabbed up into her belly by more of the orcs who¡¯d run forward. Blood poured down from the wounds like rain and the Matriarch kicked one of her attackers, pulping him like a melon. More sharpness found her hide and lethargy spread with every pump of the Matriarch''s great heart. Trying to stay upright, she pushed towards her daughter, rumbling for her grandson to run, but the child wouldn¡¯t leave his mother. Leg buckling the Matriarch fell, head cutting a furrow into the ground as she lay next to her dying daughter, grandson looking between them his trunk waving wildly. As darkness closed in the last thing the Matriarch saw was two orcs approaching the child, spears at the ready. * Victory surged through Cole driving back the hypoxia as his numb fingers closed around a chipped key. He had it! Now he just needed to get into the box, a challenge his spasming arms were not up for. * The Matriarch refused death, she would not leave her bones, not until her family was safe. Even when fire cooked her flesh and strange claws sawed her tusks, she would not leave. So instead, the elephant drifted in and out of a nightmare as strange sights, smells, and sensations rubbed against her mind. The scent of salty water, the babble of two-leggers, a painful scraping on her tusks, it all passed over the elephant¡¯s awareness like rain. All she carried about was her daughter and grandson, what had happened to them? Seasons passed in blinks, time marched on uninterrupted until a familiar cry reached her unliving senses. It was a scream of pain, not an elephant scream but still, it was enough to rouse the Matriarch. She was inside a space made of cut stone and dead trees, her body was just slivers of tusk strapped to a warped pile of branches and somewhere nearby a human was wailing. Somehow even across the barriers of species, the Matriarch knew that cry, it was of a mother giving birth. Sorrow filled the ghost as she remembered her family, her daughter, her grandson, all that was lost. So in answer to the human mother¡¯s screams, the Matriarch started to wail, her sorrow echoing through secret winds * Cole paused, his hand hovering above the stargent box, ivory key wrapped tight in dull fingers. The memories reaching him were changing, becoming something he better understood and more importantly might be important to events consuming Lowenburg. Weakened and mostly sealed the banshees¡¯ scream had gone nearly silent even with the final anchor unbound. Perhaps, if Cole could stay alive a little longer and listen to the spilled memories, he might learn something valuable? * More time passed and the Matriarch¡¯s remains were moved again and again, all the time she wept, filling the secret winds with her loss. Eventually, she was brought to a cave that sang with secrets where humans poked and prodded the strange object she was bound to. Isolated except for these inquisitive guests, the Matriarch¡¯s cries softened as she let herself start to fade. But before she could surrender any last hopes of learning her family¡¯s fate and finally pass on, she was brought somewhere new, a dark cave deep beneath the earth with a great human home atop it. They were so like termites, these two-legged creatures, building their massive nests that stretched up into the sky and deep into the soil below. In this new chamber, the Matriarch sat, hearing the vague patter of humans above and around her; barely weeping. Then one night a strange human approached her remains and started peeling open the song-nest she¡¯d been interred in. Before confusion could grow into worry or anger, the Matriarch''s world was shattered. * Understanding grew in Cole¡¯s battered brain, he¡¯d wondered how the harpsichord survived Volenshloss Castle¡¯s destruction. Well now he knew, it had been hidden in some storage chamber below the structure, somewhere that might survive the entire castle atop it collapsing. * It was her daughter, they had her daughter, her tusks mutilated, her soul trapped. The Matriarch started to scream as her remains brushed against the offspring she¡¯d failed to protect. Both souls touched, their sorrow compounding as they understood what had happened to each other, and the fate of the son and grandson they¡¯d left behind. Mother and daughter shrieked in abject horror, grief, shock, and rage; their emotions building into a stampede that would crush the world around them. Even in death, both elephants had power; secrets of sound and song once used to communicate with family and deter foes. Now those abilities were warped and magnified fed by their sorrow, growing into a unified death wail that flowed through air, rock, flesh, and the secret winds. Beyond the shared grave of mother and daughter, the world shook and humans died. * Disgust and sorrow filled Cole¡¯s mouth with bile as he not just understood but felt the horror of what had been inflicted on these two creatures. He also understood why these banshees were so dangerous. Elephants apparently had knowledge of sound magic, a factor they kept in death and adding new power to their keening. These two ghosts were utterly unique, having been forged by a series of events into banshees capable of tearing down castles. * After a while, the grief harmony between the elephants lessened and the shaking stopped. Exhausted by their emotions and efforts, the two ghosts let their keening become quiet weeping. But their shared sorrow was eternal and when their strength returned, so did the scream. For nearly a season they continued like this, their keening rising and falling like waves, until humans returned to their hidden cave, digging into it during a period of weakness and binding them with the star rock. * Knowing the scream wouldn¡¯t have lasted forever even without his intervention was a bitter comfort to Cole. If only he could have reinforced the seals, they might have taken the harpsichord somewhere remote, let the banshees wear themselves out, and then do this rite properly. * The world shrunk to little more beyond the elephants¡¯ remains, their song muffled to nothingness as they sat in some new cave untouched by sun or wind. Humans visited them occasionally, rarely doing more than simply staring at their prison. There was one exception, a girl, brought down by an old male who jabbed a finger at the elephants and snarled like a challenged dog. The girl recoiled from her elder''s wrath for a time but was soon forced by him to approach the elephants and touch their remains. The ghosts paid her little mind, their grief was all-consuming; still, they noted the girl would return in the coming seasons, by herself this time, where she¡¯d steal into the cave, touch their tusks, and leave. What little of the Matriarch not lost in her daughter¡¯s pain thought the act reminded her of young males of her own species attacking lesser beasts to prove themselves. As seasons passed the visits became rarer and rarer until eventually a girl left one time and came back a woman. Tears streamed down the woman''s face as she touched the keys with one leg-trunk, her other grasping at her belly. A scream almost fit to match the Matriarch¡¯s own escaped the woman and she turned from the elephants and fled. * It was strange seeing a human through an elephant''s perspective, they could remember the girl with perfect clarity but, Cole¡¯s mind struggled with how they remembered her. The face and features were secondary to how the girl moved and sounded, like an inversion of the normal humanoid perspective. Like, it would take true familiarity for an elephant to recognize a face instantly, but they could tell someone¡¯s identity just from how they breathed and walked. So at first, Cole couldn¡¯t be certain of who this girl was, even if he had a suspicion. But then, he focused on the woman¡¯s clothes, the elephants remembered them clearly, seeing a warning of poison in the garish mismatch¡­ * Again the elephants were moved, their screams gone unheard as they found themselves in a dusty chamber lit by dim sunlight; surrounded on all sides by human trinkets and trophies. They sat there in that space for season after season, for enough time that ten babes might have been born back among the clan. This new solitude was only interrupted when a new human girl, this one with an owl¡¯s eyes found them, and stared down at them with strange intensity * Cole dropped the last ivory key into the box, letting the stream of memories end, and prepared to take the plunge. His magic was almost completely gone, any more workings and the Paladin would use up his soul. So with no desire to roll even more dice with this resurrection, Cole found the lid to the box and another sheet of stargent with Reqiuem. Bracing himself, Cole dropped the sheet atop the ivory keys, trapping them between two layers and then shutting the box. Holding the container tight, Cole let the magic strengthening his body fade. Death came thankfully quick.
Heinrich, Cleo, and Argentari sat in silence, the three digesting Cole¡¯s (edited) account of events. An unprincely groan escaped Heinrich. ¡°No wonder Lutisha hates, us¡­ she was with child, our half-sibling. Do you think the stress of being set aside made her miscarry or did¡­?¡± Cleo hissed in fury. ¡°I don¡¯t care what misery made her do this! She¡¯s been trying to kill us for years! Sneaking the harpsichord into the castle, probably as a fucking wedding present, it was supposed to kill us all like the Volenschloss branch! The arrogant bitch just didn¡¯t know all the details and jagged it up! She¡¯s been sitting on this for our entire lives and somehow has now turned it into blackmail, ON US!¡¯ Before the Duchess¡¯s wrath could be fully roused, Argentari spoke. ¡°Well, this will certainly make things easier for us.¡± Scoffing, Cleo snapped. ¡°How? I doubt an elephant ghost¡¯s memories stolen by a half-dead Paladin is enough evidence to toss that hag into the dungeon!¡± Argentari made an amused sound in his throat. ¡°Remember what I told you before, this isn¡¯t about evidence or proof, it¡¯s about a story. Cole here has helped get a more complete version of this sordid tale and there are many ways we can use this to our advantage.¡± Heinrich asked. ¡°How?¡± Cole could hear Argentari¡¯s smile. ¡°Well, blackmail for one.¡± Side Story: A Matriarchs Rage (Part 6)

A Matriarch¡¯s Rage (Part 6)

¡°At the hundredth year of his life, King Horeb, child, and champion of the Storm climbed the Peak of Stars with only a simple robe upon his thin body. At the top of the mighty mountain, he sat upon a stone and waited, watching the clouds gather in the east and blow towards him. Staring out across his kingdom, the King cut words into the rock before him. ¡®I am going now, be well without me.¡¯ Then the Storm reached the mountain and with outstretched hand took its mortal son to its breast and the King lay dead.¡±- Book of Miracles, Foundations 10:10
One of the lesser-known skills of being a good spy is patience. The ability to simply sit, and observe for long periods without succumbing to boredom or distraction could at times be more valuable than any talent for lies or deception. So whenever Alexio Argentari found himself stuck waiting on someone, he considered it simply good practice for that subtle skill. This perspective was of course not shared by many, especially in circles of power, where forcing someone to wait for you is a simple but effective demonstration of authority. The act doesn¡¯t just say ¡®my time is more valuable than yours,¡¯ it proclaims ¡®I can disrespect you without fear of consequences.¡¯ Usually, this petty act of dominance is just supposed to ensure those involved know the established hierarchy. Everyone expected princes, great lords, and similar to arrive late to their own events; this idea was built into the very court decorum of the Holy Leagues. But what wasn¡¯t expected was a vassal daring to reverse the dynamic and challenge their liege by being tardy. Countess Lutisha Luitpold had been summoned before Prince Heinrich for a private audience and she was more than half an hour late; leaving Alexio and the Prince¡¯s court sitting in the grand conference chamber waiting for her to arrive. The message her lateness sent was only marginally more subtle than a slap and thrown glove; the Countess sought to establish herself as Heinrich¡¯s superior. Watching the prince¡¯s lions pace back and forth, Alexio mused on how confident Lutisha Luitpold must be to offer such an insult. Fingers drumming on the locked chest on his lap, the Quicksilver Player couldn¡¯t help but smile, tearing down the overconfident was a religious duty of his after all. With an annoyed huff, Duchess Cleo got up from her smaller throne near Heinrich¡¯s dias and started to stalk towards the door. Calling after her, the Prince asked. ¡°Where are you going?¡± his voice caught between weariness and amusement. Cleo snarled. ¡°To have our guards bring that bitch to us in chains. If she¡¯s not going to be polite about this then neither will I!¡± A lion stalked over towards the Duchess and gently bit her sleeve, pulling the annoyed Cleo back towards the throne where the beast¡¯s master replied. ¡°Let¡¯s not rise to her bait. When she comes to us we¡¯ll make her regret this insult, but if we attack Countess Luitpold publically things will escalate out of control.¡± Ignoring the thumb-long fangs nipping at her expensive dress, Cleo stopped with a huff. ¡°Why are you being so placid about this?¡± Gesturing at the lion she added. ¡°Normally I have to talk you out of feeding our problems to those two but now you seem perfectly content to let the woman who tried to murder us flaunt your authority!¡± Heinrich didn¡¯t answer for a long moment instead he stared off into the middle distance, mind lost somewhere beyond the chamber. Eventually finding himself he said. ¡°Countess Lutisha will pay for her crimes but¡­ I see no need to further her public humiliation by our family.¡± A slight smile crept across the Prince¡¯s face then. ¡°Besides, all that makeup wouldn¡¯t be good for Jorg and Yacob¡± As he spent more time with Prince Heinrich, the more Alexio found himself impressed with the young man. He had the makings of not just a good ruler, but an excellent one; especially with his sister at his side. Perhaps when he returned to Vindabon, Alexio might arrange it so a member of the Quicksilver Players found themselves serving Heinrich. The Holy League had enough corrupt and incompetent rulers, cultivating and protecting those with merit would be vital in shaping the continent¡¯s future. As Cleo returned to her throne, Alexio took stock of all those in attendance. Only one absence separated the current roster from those present in earlier meetings; Cole was still healing, his body doing its best to undo the banshee¡¯s fury without undergoing true resurrection. A slight shiver went up Alexio¡¯s spine as he thought about what exactly the paladin was. When speaking with Cole it was frightfully easy to forget for a time that he wasn¡¯t human, or even anything natural. But then all those scars and the truth behind them would whisper in Alexio¡¯s ear, reminding him he spoke not with a man, but an immortal creature born of twisted magic. But thankfully that terrible truth seemed happy to stay secret from those in Baiuvar. Even without dying and returning to life, Cole mended remarkably quickly according to Hierophant Ruth. His body accepted healing magic readily and Cole¡¯s already impressive rate of recuperation reached near-record breaking speeds with Ruth¡¯s arcane aid. In not even a full day and night Cole had gone from a half-dead cripple to a moderately wounded model patient. Alexio idly wondered if the Tenth Temple had run tests on the homunculus paladin, and if they¡¯d be willing to share the results. Having an idea of what exactly Cole could do would be useful, and not just for planning contingencies. The doors to the conference chamber creaked open then, pulling Alexio from his dour thoughts. A herald stepped forward and proclaimed. ¡°Countess Lutisha Luitpold¡± With no additional pomp, the Countess strode into the chamber, bedecked in a violently clashing mix of fine fabrics and jewelry. Alexio felt one corner of his mouth quirk up in a tiny smile. There was a certain fashion he¡¯d long recognized among parts of the nobility that Lutisha might as well have been the prime model for. While overburdened with coin, Lutisha lacked any real sense of style or even enough awareness to hire someone who did. The Countess thought she looked good and no one in her household was willing to correct her, so despite having the wealth to purchase the finest in all things, Lutisha managed to look garish as a motley fool. Head held high the Countess offered an insultingly small curtsy to Heinrich and came to the room¡¯s center. ¡°You requested my presence, Prince Heinrich?¡± Cleo¡¯s upper lip drew back in a quickly suppressed snarl that Alexio could guess the origin of. Heinrich hadn¡¯t requested anything, he¡¯d ordered the Countess to come, and Lutisha¡¯s words were just another layer of insult. Letting out a breath, Alexio really wished he had the time and opportunity to take the Duchess under his wing, with the right training, her intellect, and fearsome streak might be sharpened into a wit capable of ruining lives with a single comment. Still sitting casually on his throne, Heinrich spoke clearly. ¡°Yes, I have summoned you before my inner court to discuss matters both pressing and personal.¡± Looking Alexio¡¯s way, Lutsisha offered a tiny sneer. ¡°If this is a meeting of your closest, I must question the presence of the foreigner. My concerns over Vindabonian influence seem more valid the longer this minister inserts himself into our business.¡± With a dismissive wave of his hand, Heinrich replied. ¡°Minister Argentari and his associate, Paladin Cole have proven themselves exemplary allies over the past few days. They¡¯ve done much to help this kingdom, dare I say more than you have.¡± Lutisha¡¯s back straightened, clearly not expecting such a blunt response. ¡°My family has honorably served Baiuvar for-¡± Heinrich cut her off with a snap as he gestured for a servant to come forward with a chair. It was set before the prince¡¯s throne at the center of a large open space. Nodding at the lone seat, Heinrich said. ¡°Before we continue, I permit you to sit.¡± Sitting alone before the dias, the offered seat made the conference chamber look like an antique court of law, where criminals were brought before a lord for questioning and judgment. The implications were not lost on Lutisha and she eyed the chair like it was a torture device. ¡°If it pleases you Prince Heinrich I¡¯d rather-¡± A lion growled, the rumbling sound quickly replaced by the Elector-Prince¡¯s iron voice. ¡°You may sit.¡± Stiffly, Lutisha sat down, her jaw set like a granite cliff. Leaning forward on his own throne, Heinrich met his scheming vassal¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve called you here for a few reasons, Countess. The first is to command you to cease your attempts to undermine my authority both in our lands and abroad. Any and all efforts to depose, disgrace, or otherwise defang me will stop; including this conspiracy to enact a regency or shift the crown to another branch of House Conrad. Similarly, your faction in court will end these fruitless efforts to alienate Baiuvar from her sister kingdoms through trade machinations and general malfeasance.¡± It was hard to imagine just mere minutes ago Heinrich seemed the kind one between the siblings; his words and manner were now filled with an unshakable authority almost unsettling in one so young. Watching the prince, Alexio could see some of his ancestry shining through, not the recent generations of rot and ridicule, but the older, harder, substance that let the original Prince Conrad tame lions and carve a kingdom from a dead empire¡¯s corpse. Alone, that strength of personality might be enough to cow lesser vassals but Lutisha was no simpering lordling. While warped and corroded, her substance was akin to the prince¡¯s own and she was ready to dismiss Heinrich¡¯s fury like a spoiled child¡¯s tantrum. But the Elector-Prince didn¡¯t come armed with just harsh words buoyed by charisma, he had other tools, including the aid of a Quicksilver Player. Letting out a dismissive snort, Lutisha snapped. ¡°You lack the means to make these demands; so I assume you have something to offer me other than hot air.¡± Nodding, Heinrich got up from his throne and surprised everyone in the room but Alexio by sitting on the edge of the dias so he had to look up to meet Lutsisha¡¯s gaze. ¡°I have a few things, but let me start with an apology.¡± The iron was gone from Heinrich¡¯s voice, replaced by warm amber that softened as he spoke quietly in a whisper audible to only whoever sat in the chair before him. Even if Alexio couldn¡¯t hear the words he knew their general content, as he¡¯d helped pick them, just as he¡¯d found the right spot for Lutisha to sit exposed without having this little secret conversation be shared. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what my father and family did to you. It was cruel, humiliating, and utterly wrong. I can¡¯t fix the past but I can try and end this feud right here and right now if you¡¯ll let me.¡± Whatever Lutisha had been expecting it wasn¡¯t that, hackles raised she snarled. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare patronize me, boy! You don¡¯t know what you speak about what-¡± Heinrich said something, words soft enough only Lutisha could hear, but powerful enough to drown the great chamber in oppressive silence. Again, Alexio knew what was said even if he didn¡¯t hear it. ¡°I know about my half-sibling, I know what happened, or at least enough to guess.¡± It was a curious thing watching someone with so much makeup on lose all the color in their face. For maybe thirty seconds, the Prince and Countess sat in that crushing silence before a hissing noise escaped Lutisisha, the serpentine rasp resolving itself into words. ¡°Hhhhoooow dare you!¡± Bolting out of her chair, Lutisha stepped towards Heinrich, only stopping as his two lions sat next to him, both issuing warning growls. Hands spasming in barely controlled rage, Lutsisha¡¯s breath became ragged as she seethed. ¡°You dig up my humiliation and then have the arrogance, the impudence, to try and apologize?! Your brain might not be pickled like your father¡¯s was, Heinrich but you still have the sheer pig-headedness of the man. Your family¡¯s debt to me can¡¯t be paid with words, I will only have it settled with my child at their rightful place.¡± Single finger-pointing at the gilded seat behind Heinrich, Lutsisha screamed. ¡°ON! THAT! THRONE!¡± As those words finished echoing across the chamber, Lutsisha managed to recover herself slightly. Looking about at all those around her, she smeared an expression of haughty arrogance onto her face and turned from Heinrich, heading for the doors. Getting up from his seat of near-supplication, the Elector-Prince returned to his throne and almost causally said. ¡°I¡¯d wanted to resolve this with an apology and a mutual offer of amnesty, but if you won¡¯t accept that, I have other options.¡± Lutisha hesitated, clearly sensing the implied threat in those words. Slowly spinning to face Heinrich, she growled. ¡°What could you possibly hope to offer me after this¡­ this treatment? What paltry concessions does your arrogant, child mind think is enough to stop me from leaving here and only returning for your abdication?!¡± Cleo got up and stalked over towards Alexio and snatched the locked box from his arms. Voice tight with tension she said. ¡°We did this your way brother, now we do it mine.¡± Pursing his lips, Heinrich offered the tiniest of nods. ¡°So be it.¡± Slowly, Lutsisha approached Cleo eyeing the box like it held some venomous creature. Teeth bared, the Duchess said. ¡°I know returning a wedding present is uncouth, but I think you deserve this one.¡± The Countess¡¯s eyes widened in horror as Cleo dropped the box into her arms. Frantically catching the locked container, Lutisha stumbled into the chair set out for her as the box started to shake violently. The metal lock and hinges of the container creaked as it vibrated. Face showing nothing but bored disinterest, Heinrich addressed the stunned Countess. ¡°Of course, the Paladin destroyed most of your secret gift to my parents, but we managed to salvage the important parts. By the way, did you ever figure out why the harpsichord never killed us all like it did the Volenscholoss branch? I¡¯m guessing your grandfather, my great-grandfather never explained how he used stargent to bind the wraiths; or you simply didn¡¯t remove enough of the stuff before smuggling the harpsichord into the Conradbau.¡± Shrugging, Heinrich scratched the chin of one of his lions as the box¡¯s shaking started to make Lutisha¡¯s chair rattle. ¡°Either way, you failed in a deliberate attempt to kill your liege and his entire family via unholy means. In light of what my father did¡­ I was willing to overlook that act and your years of scheming if you simply stopped trying to hurt me and mine. But instead of accepting my honest apology for my family¡¯s crimes and trying to work with me to end this feud, you offered threats and insults!¡± Teeth rattling, Lutishsa slurred. ¡°Yoooourr faaather des-deserved to-to-to¡± Heinrich exploded off his throne, his lions rumbling at his side. ¡°What did I deserve, Lutisha? What did I deserve for being my father¡¯s son? What about my mother, my sister, the hundreds of people who live and work within these halls? If you¡¯d gone after my father I could understand and easily forgive you. But that¡¯s not what you did, you tried to use a monstrous relic already responsible for one massacre to commit another! So now¡­ now I¡¯m going to return your gift and you should just be thankful I¡¯m not following your example.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Even without a paladin¡¯s abilities, Alexio could almost see the cracks spreading across Lutisha¡¯s mind. She was being attacked from half a dozen different angles and being inundated with painful revelations spiced with just enough humiliation to let the truth slip past any mental armor. Cleo was going to get her way it seemed, she¡¯d advocated for a strategy of fire and iron from the start; while her brother instead wanted to offer salt and bread in the form of an apology. Pacing back and forth atop the throne dias, Prince Heinrich matched his lions in predatory intensity. ¡°This is my new offer Lutisha, and one I will only make once. Accept my earlier terms and you leave the capital to never return. I will allow you a comfortable exile in your family¡¯s castle and I won¡¯t even smuggle the haunted keys into your basement to kill you and your entire linage. But if you refuse and keep up this idiotic attempt at revenge on a man who has already drunk himself to death, I will destroy you and your entire house. Not through arcane sabotage or tawdry blackmail over your tragedy. Instead, I¡¯ll just reveal your family¡¯s generations of treachery, how you¡¯ve conspired with the undead against our kingdom.¡± Countess Lutisha let go of the box in shock and it jumped from her arms to the floor before the dias where it rattled and spasmed. Outrage warred with confusion as Lutsisha stammered. ¡°Wh-what?¡± Stalking towards the countess, Prince Heinrich placed a single boot on the chest and forced it to be still. Lions at his side, the Prince practically growled down at the shaken Lutisha. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? That harpsichord your house kept tucked away wasn¡¯t haunted by any natural ghost; the wraiths bound to those ivory keys were twisted by a very unique form of necromancy. Paladin Cole uncovered the truth, and the temple conclave confirmed his findings; our shared ancestor had connections with the vampires. Who else could have supplied the knowledge to make a conjoined banshee capable of shaking apart a castle?¡± Tapping his foot on the box for emphasis, Heinrich continued. ¡°Prince Eberhard was engaged in dark dealings, but my branch of the family didn¡¯t inherit any of them. So that bit of legacy obviously must have been passed down to his bastard, your father, and through him reaching you. Why else would you fight tooth and nail to stop Baivuar from helping our kin in the east? The only obvious answer is the leeches have you all bought or collared, just as Paladin Cole feared. I¡¯m certain he¡¯ll gladly lead Lowenburg¡¯s priests in raiding your estates for any sign of corruption, and I¡¯m even more certain even if they find no evidence of your dealings with the undead, other indiscretions and scandals will be brought to light.¡± Finding herself, Lutsisha hissed. ¡°This is a farce of rumor, moronic theories, and biased accusations! No one would believe such-¡± Heinrich shrugged and took his boot off the container letting it slowly rattle towards the Countess cutting her off mid-sentence. Teeth bared in more threat than smile, the Prince replied. ¡°We both know there¡¯s enough truth to my story to give it wings. There is no denying what you did with the harpsichord; and honestly, your family plotting with the vampires to take my throne is much more believable than all this being part of a decades-long grudge about not being able to marry your own cousin.¡± Lutisha flinched at the words and then started to shy away from the box as it crept closer. One of the lions batted forward with a plate-sized paw and pulled the container back to Heinrich. Picking it up, seemingly unbothered by the shaking, the Prince returned to his throne and said. ¡°Well, what is your answer, will you end this feud and try to make something of the rest of your life; or do I have to destroy House Luitpold?¡± Eyes shut, the Countess squared her shoulders, Alexio could see her answer in the way she held her head. Countess Lutisha Luitpold was going to fight, and even if she lost she¡¯d do as much damage as she could to House Conrad before her own house fell. But the spymaster wasn¡¯t the only one who saw what was coming. From her seat, Cleo said a few words that slid through the air and into Lutisha¡¯s heart like an arrow. ¡°Are you really going to let your hate for a man who stole a family from you destroy the one you actually have?¡± For a long moment, the Countess sat perfectly still, her mind grappling with the strike threatening to undo her. In her face and body language, Alexio could almost see the cracks spreading as something deep within the woman shattered. Those simple words carried a truth bitter and potent as any medicine right to the core of the Countess¡¯s being. Something within Countess Lutishsa was breaking, the only question was it what Alexio intended. Head lowering, Lutisha shakily got to her feet. Turning from the thrones, she spoke in a very small voice. ¡°I¡¯ll leave Lowenburg by the end of the week.¡± Without a drop of the sneering confidence she¡¯d worn into the chamber remaining, Countess Lutisha Luitpold fled. As the doors shut behind her, Heinrich let out a tired half-laugh and set the vibrating box on the ground next to him. Alexio twitched a few fingers and the shaking stopped instantly. Glancing, the spymaster¡¯s way Heinrich gestured at the container. ¡°Your spell was excellent.¡± The Quicksilver Player rose from his seat and bowed at the compliment. The actual ivory keys and their attached ghosts were far too dangerous for use in a little political theatre, so while they sat within a temple vault awaiting exorcism, Argentari did what his kind did best: trickery. The box used against Lutsisha contained a set of domino tiles he¡¯d magicked into vibrating with unsettling intensity; a stage prop that played its part perfectly. While in her hands the box shook violently enough to hurt but with a thought, Argentari slowed the vibrations whenever Heinrich touched the container. Straightening himself out, Alexio replied to the Prince, ¡°Judging by what Paladin Cole shared, the Countess has strong memories of the harpsichord. Those ghosts were probably something of a childhood horror for Lutisha, and age can only blunt those old terrors so much. Exposing her to something she thought was the keys was an excellent way to keep her off-balanced in the face of your verbal assault.¡± A tired grimace escaped Heinrich then. ¡°It worked, but I wished it hadn¡¯t come to that. I dislike playing the tyrant, it¡¯s too easy a role to get stuck in.¡± Expression turning contemplative, he added. ¡°Do you think she¡¯ll listen? I still don¡¯t know how much of what I said was a bluff and how much wasn¡¯t, and I¡¯d rather not find out.¡± The dark-haired footman who¡¯d given Cole his cloak and eventually been revealed as the Conrad sibling¡¯s whisperman, said. ¡°She will, I saw it in her eyes.¡± Cleo sneered. ¡°Lutisha better, a pleasant exile is more than she deserves.¡± The Prince shrugged. ¡°Perhaps, but I can find some empathy for anyone hurt by our father. Besides, I¡¯ll gladly take a peaceful conclusion to this mess even if it means offering mercy where it might not be deserved.¡± Getting up from her throne, the Duchess approached Alexio. ¡°What do you think, Hierophant? Did this production go to your specifications, and will it have the intended result?¡± Face quirking in a small smile, the Quicksilver Player shrugged. ¡°It went as well as could be expected. We broke something in Lutishsa, and even if she eventually recovers her fury and focus, that will take time. Without her leadership, I imagine the coalition building to depose your brother will crumble quickly. You¡¯ve bought yourself that most valuable commodity: time, and if used correctly I¡¯m sure it will pay handsomely for itself.¡± Heinrich nodded. ¡°Yes, once I reach the age of majority things will get much easier, so defanging her for even a year or two is worthwhile. Well, I must thank you for your aid Hierophant Argentari, and ask you to deliver our gratitude to the Paladin, he suffered badly in the defense of my throne; that won¡¯t be easily forgotten.¡± Bowing deeper, Alexio said. ¡°We both did our duty as all must. I¡¯ll convey your appreciation and well wishes to Cole, he is healing quickly and will be ready to travel within a day or so.¡± Chamberlain Norrich spoke then. ¡°I can have the salt agreement drafted by the morrow, it might take a week or so to gather the political support in the wake of the Countess¡¯s exit but it will be done.¡± Smiling, Alexio nodded. ¡°Good, good.¡± Turning his focus to the Duchess he added. ¡°My words at are earlier incognito meeting still hold, Duchess Cleo; if you or your brother need a trickster¡¯s advice then call upon me.¡±
Cole stared up at the surrounding mountains, enjoying the gift of sight. It had been three days since his battle with the banshees and while he wasn¡¯t fully healed, the worst of his injuries were gone; allowing him to be here for the ending of the tale. Pulling his gaze from the snow-capped peaks, Cole drank in the wind-blown valley where he and a dozen priests waited. In a few months, the drifts of snow surrounding them would melt and turn this space into a meadow, a place of unparalleled natural beauty and not insignificant magical potency. Long ago the ancient tribespeople who first lived in these lands would come to this valley to celebrate the arrival of spring. It was a holy place, connected to life¡¯s awakening and the passing of seasons, where magics of Mother Earth and Master Time might resonate more than even within a great Temple. It was that spiritual pedigree that brought the priests and paladin to this windy cleft between the mountains; here a rite of release more powerful than Cole had ever witnessed might be performed. A circle nearly eight meters in diameter had been cleared of snow and lined with ocher, its sleeping topsoil carved with symbols of rest and return. At the center of the whirling glyphs and pictograms was a slab of time-polished rock, its edges worn soft by uncountable ages. Long ago when the gods were young and their worshippers still learning what it meant to be human, offerings of blood and ash once painted this great stone. But now in this wiser age, it lay clean of sacrifice, and instead held a small box containing mistreated remains. Armored with a cold greater than even the gale coming off the mountains, Cole stood at the circle''s edge, waiting for the moment in which the ritual might start. It fell to him to intervene if something went wrong; he alone might withstand the banshees'' final fury before they were freed. Looking up and to the west, Cole watched the dim winter sun begin its final approach to the highest peaks. When dusk fell it would be time. All around him the priests waited, some were servants of Time and stood unbothered by the bitter cold, while others were wrapped in heavy cloaks trying to keep feeling in their fingers as the shadows lengthened around them. At the easternmost edge of the ritual circle stood an old woman glowing with an earthy radiance, motes of green, gold, and brown dancing about her ungloved hands as she exalted the setting sun. Across the circle from Hierophant Ruth, was Reubain servant of Master Time, cloaked in silver-blue light as he knelt atop a hourglass sigil cut into the soil and lined with bloody ochre. As darkness fell across the valley both senior priests started to sing, their saint-speech taken up by the others of this ritual choir. It was a lament, one saved for the funerals of those lost to childbirth. Light flowed from each of the priests, spreading into the sigils and igniting them with an inner glow whose coloration defied easy classification. A steady pulse of magic grew as holy power crept closer to the stone slab where it found lines of ochre waiting. Like the flowering tendrils of some luminescent vine, the light climbed up the rock and onto the box where it dimmed momentarily before growing brighter with every thrum of the priest¡¯s combined power. Cole let out a breath of relief as he watched this; it looked like his presence might not be needed after all and the ghosts would be banished without even opening their short-term prison. The priestly conclave had debated for hours how to safely free the banshees; they¡¯d considered all manner of ways to remove the stargent without disrupting a ritual or giving the ghosts the chance to scream. In the end, it was Hierophant Dival, a servant of Uncle Maker who came up with the solution. Stargent blocked magic, but only to an extent its purity and quantity allowed. Thin sheets of the substance, hastily enclosing the banshees¡¯ remains might be enough to silence them after Cole¡¯s botched attempt to free their souls; but when faced with enough magical power stargent failed like any armor before overwhelming strength. Normally the rite prepared by the priests of Lowenburg was used to purify entire battlefields or other scenes of disaster where it was virtually impossible to physically find and free every trapped soul. With some clever alterations, all that consecration might be focused on a single point instead of a wide area and put to a more precise use. From what Cole had read, the usual purpose of this modified rite was the destruction of a lych¡¯s phylactery or other similarly tenacious undead. But after all that happened, the temples of Lowenburg weren¡¯t taking any chances, hence them bringing the ivory keys to this place of power where an already formidable spell would become unstoppable, or so they hoped. The light spread across the box making it hard to look at as the illumination swelled to searing heights. Holy magic, focused like sunlight through a magnifying glass poured onto the box and a loud crack echoed through the valley. Cole¡¯s hand was already on his axe before he realized the sound¡¯s source, the sturdy wood and metal of the container had split, spilling the keys and stargent free. The Paladin only got the barest glimpse of this before the light flowed around the banemetal and over the keys. Within a few seconds a new sound replaced the crack, a high-keening wail that sent a shiver up Cole¡¯s spine. The ever-growing light warred against the shriek as both filled the surrounding valley. Looking away from the burning ivory, Cole briefly wondered if the banshees could cause an avalanche in their weakened state. Before that thought could escalate into serious concerns, the wail started to change, losing its teeth-aching pitch and becoming a deeper clearer note almost like a trumpet call. Movement pulled Cole¡¯s focus back to the ritual¡¯s heart where a cloud of vapor bubbled off the edge of the false star conjured by the priestly conclave. Vague elephantine shapes started to form from the ectoplasm, two heads sharing a conjoined body with stretched proportions and too many limbs. Trunks raised to the heavens, the banshees'' cry warbled between keening wail and bugle blast. Drifting up and away from their remains the two ghosts started to grow indistinct around the edges as they faded from the Mundane. They¡¯d been severed from their anchor and with every passing moment the Beyond called to them. But as Cole watched, his physical and arcane senses both focused on this most unique exorcism he felt the world shift around him. Stumbling with an earthquake that wasn¡¯t real, Cole barely avoided toppling over, as something monumental brushed against his soul. The light of the ritual flickered as all the priests felt what the Paladin had. Head spinning, Cole stared up at the sky where the first stars shown bright in the clear winter sky. Among the countless constellations, something moved, a shape against the blue-black of night that defied perception in its magnitude. Eyes wide, peering into the Aether, uncaring that he now kneeled in deep snow, Cole realized his exact error of conceptualization. Something in the sky wasn¡¯t moving, part of the sky itself was. A river of darkness dotted with twinkling stars flowed down from above the mountain peaks and into the valley below. Fear tried to push itself to the forefront of Cole¡¯s stunned mind but found no room as wonder and alien contentment filled his being. The entire Aether was awash with the ripples of the moving sky, waves of emotion and intention crashing into Cole¡¯s soul speaking to an ancient wisdom and love his paltry brain couldn¡¯t hope to understand. As it drew closer the river narrowed and became almost serpentine as it slithered through the air toward the fading elephant ghosts. Cole watched, his mind grappling for context as the river¡¯s end formed into a round opening bisected by an impression of warped space that somehow reminded him of a¡­.snout. Voice lost even to himself, Cole whispered. ¡°A trunk?¡± The great trunk made of night and stars gently coiled about the conjoined ghosts, where they shimmered and split, forming two separate bodies both held in the protective grasp of whatever entity filled the local Aether. Then as quickly as it descended the trunk retreated up into the heavens, whisps of soul-stuff trailing after its cargo as they and it faded into the night sky. As the Aether calmed and Cole collected himself, the Paladin slowly came to his feet, ignoring the dampness on his legs, and simply stared up at the sky in wonder. Nearby a voice spoke, that of Hierophant Reubain. ¡°The Book of Miracles tells us all who follow the Covenant are protected in death. That their souls are shepherded through the Beyond by the Gods themselves and into Master Time¡¯s halls where they face judgment. The book also says in times long past, the Gods would manifest in the Aether to collect special souls before they could come to any harm. It seems to me, our Pantheon is not alone in such activities.¡± Throat dry, Cole managed to ask. ¡°Was¡­ was that?¡± Reubain nodded. ¡°I think we just witnessed an Elephant God come to collect one of its wayward children.¡± Stunned, Cole said. ¡°But the Gates, they¡¯d stop such a direct manifestation?¡± Ruth shrugged. ¡°Maybe she thought the price was worth paying if it meant seeing these long-lost daughters returned home with haste. Or perhaps Saint Mira¡¯s protections don¡¯t apply to animal gods? Either way, we¡¯ve succeeded and in the process been blessed. I doubt more than a handful of humans know of the being we just witnessed.¡± Slowly as if waking from a dream the priests got to work, cleaning the scorched ochre off the stone and ground while carefully collecting the warped sheets of stargent. Cole simply stared up at the sky above, lost in what he¡¯d seen. Even without the elephant goddess¡¯s presence, a sense of great calm flowed over Cole and left him in a state of wonder. Slowly a smile started to work its way across the paladin''s face as he recovered and went to help the priests. It was fitting, that this story of wronged matriarchs and their lashing out at the world ended with the greatest example of their kind bringing peace. Offering a wordless prayer to the goddess whose name he¡¯d never know, Cole got to work.