The Homunculus Knight

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—the 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.”

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?”