The Homunculus Knight

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.

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.”