The Homunculus Knight

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.

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?