The Homunculus Knight

Better Left Buried (Part Five)

“Everything ends. That is a simple truth and one our master embodies. The miracles he lets us wield reflect this, giving us some power over endings. While we might slow down, speed up or slightly change an ending, we can not truly stop it. Learning to accept that truth and through it understanding the limits of all things is key to our temple’s creed. Everything ends, but it falls to us to help those endings be the correct ones.”- Paladin Thane the Pale Rider

“So, what did you learn?” asked Rellim as he squatted over the prone Paladin. They’d gotten him out of the pit and back to camp without too much difficulty; thanks mainly to the skith disc carrying Cole’s injured bulk over the rocky ground. Now lying on a makeshift cot, his bruised arm being fussed over by two magi skilled in healing magic, the Paladin offered a wry smile in answer to the Preceptor’s question.

Wincing as a bandage slathered in alchemical tinctures was tightened around his bicep, Cole said. “Your nickname for the entity is rather appropriate. It’s trying to play one massive shell game against both us and reality. But now I’ve seen under the table and know what the tricks are.”

Forcing himself up into a sitting position with his intact arm, Cole’s smile widened. “My magic can destroy the accelerated and probably the refracted as well. In fact, I think wounding the Mountebank itself is possible.”

Slowly, Cole explained what he’d learned while wrestling the accelerated. Describing how Abel’s last moment had been not just refracted but twisted and puppetered. While providing more details on the backlash and how the Mountebank tried to trick the cosmos into letting another bear the consequences for its act and that Cole’ mantle protected him. It took the Paladin multiple tries to convey his story in an understandable method, but alien as all this was Rellim and the other magi started to see the truth Cole’s mad bravery uncovered.

Absently fingering his sleeve, Thorim muttered. “So it still has to follow the rules we know, but has access to tools and options we don’t. As concerning as that is, it could be worse.”

Cole nodded and thanked one of the adepts as she smeared a healing paste onto the spots of frostbite marking his cheek and ear. “Yes, the Mountebank might approach time and space from a different… angle than us, but it’s not invincible nor particularly powerful actually.”

Alvia dumped some ash out of her pipe and asked. “How do you reckon that? Anything capable of twisting time and tricking the rules of reality seems pretty slagging strong to me”

Licking his cold-chapped lips, the Paladin picked his words carefully. “For one, it didn’t overpower me. My magic was draining its energy quickly but not extraordinarily so.” Gesturing to his red and puffy arm, Cole continued. “The Mountebank couldn’t injure or kill me enough to stop the spell.”

Rellim’s eyes narrowed at that odd choice of words. ‘Kill me enough?’ Perhaps the Paladin was more concussed than he let on? Deciding he’d need to keep an eye on Cole’s balance and future word choice, Rellim kept listening as his new friend talked. “I felt the accelerated speed up and slow down a few times while I was holding onto it. The Mountebank was pouring energy into our contest, trying to overpower the entropic drain long enough to stop me. But it couldn’t, so either it’s limited in total amount of power or how much each refracted can be invested with.”

Gesturing around the camp, Cole added. “Besides, it hasn’t pulled anyone else into the mirror-pockets or kept up the sabotage, right?” As the magi nodded in confirmation Cole’s smile widened, becoming halfway handsome, halfway horrible as his scars stretched. “The Mountebank is limited in its resources and has invested what little it has into excavating the ruins and keeping everyone away from them. I don’t quite know its goal, but I’d rather us stop it before finding out.”

Frowning, Rellim asked. “You don’t quite know its goal. Does that mean you’ve got a guess or two?”

Shrugging, Cole shut his eyes. “Those dreams, does anyone have a timeline for when they started and got worse?”

Nearby a throat was cleared and Magus Yvonne said. “I did, but my dream journal is back at the main camp.”

Accepting this, the Paladin added. “Good, and I’m assuming records for the excavation are back there as well?”

As Yvonne nodded, Cole pushed himself up to his feet, earning an annoyed hiss from the two healers looking over him. “I’d like to retrieve both of those and make a few stops closer to the main ruin.” Looking at the stone-savant he asked. “I assume your magic can tell you a rock’s composition?”

The dwarf magus scoffed. “Don’t even need my magic for that. Any dwergaz could do that, but I can just do it better.”

Arm wrapped up and in a sling, Cole was a little shaky on his feet but otherwise seemed relatively intact for someone who’d tackled a time-dilated pseudo-corpse. Rellim considered saying something about the Paladin’s condition but decided against it. He’d trust the professional to know if they were too hurt to work. Besides, the Preceptor would feel much better about having the one person who could fight the refracted be part of this little expedition.

So within half an hour, Cole, Rellim, Alvia and Olasis yet again found themselves outside the stone walls of the camp. Using his halberd as a walking stick, the Paladin led the way. It didn’t take the four long to reach the main camp. The previous night’s storm hadn’t been kind to the collection of tents the archaeologists left behind, but finding the required records and even a few supplies for the skith disc to carry hadn’t been difficult. Unfortunately that was where any simplicity ended.

As Rellim worked to put the fourth crate onto his favored trinket a whistle cut through the camp. Freezing in place at that designated signal, the Preceptor flicked his wand and sent a ripple of air through the camp, looking for the refracted someone had noticed. Wherever the light breeze he’d summoned struck, Rellim’s mental map got better details, his spell mimicking a bat’s cry. The refracted was towards the camp’s edge, near Olasis and Cole. Carefully, Rellim approached the two just in time for the Paladin to trap the copy in a one-armed headlock.

Icy magic swirled around Cole and Rellim got his first good look at the spell used to vanquish the Mountebank’s tools. The first thing that struck the Preceptor was how… sloppy Cole’s working was. He’d only got glimpses of it last time while in Alvia’s bunker and assumed the crude nature of the spell was more a product of circumstances than anything else. But now… seeing how Cole struggled to direct and contain the shocking amount of magic his mantle granted him, Rellim found himself stunned. This didn’t look like a battlemage’s spell, but some sloppy burst of power a young savant might manage. How long had Cole been a Paladin?

These thoughts were pushed away by Rellim as the refracted started to flicker and warp, like a guttering candle seen through old glass. Arcane senses focusing on the copy of Abel, Rellim groped after the insights Cole had uncovered. All his training and talent could uncover was a vague sense of… contraction, like the refracted was being squeezed in some direction Rellim couldn’t see. Then with a snap the copy truly disappeared leaving only a panting, ice-encrusted Cole.

Pausing for a moment, the Paladin regained his breath and then stooped down. Only then did Rellim realize the refracted had been next to an overturned wheelbarrow. Picking up one of the stones spilled from the handcart, Cole gently tossed it to Alvia and asked. “Can you tell me the composition of that?”

Barely catching the rock in time, Alvia squinted at it and started to whisper under her breath. The calloused tips of the dwarf’s fingers sunk into the solid stone like it was wet clay and she nodded. “Mainly silica and iron.”

At Cole’s insistence, the Dwarf noted down her best guess for the exact ratio in one of the notebooks she recovered. Teeth chattering, but smiling, the Paladin gestured along the path heading towards the ruin. “I want to check a few more places then we can head back.”

Confused, Rellim stayed quiet, mulling over the paradox of Paladin Cole. He showed remarkable magical instinct and understanding but very little skill in actual spellcraft. Cole was like a color-blind man who’d mastered artistic theory but could barely hold a brush steady. It was very curious and made Rellim itch to ask about this enigmatic archmage Cole had loved. But in a rare moment of etiquette, Rellim decided he could wait for another better time to inquire.

As they walked, the group encountered a few more spoil piles along the roadside, with Cole getting Alvia to check samples from each. By the fourth collection of rocks, Rellim had a suspicion as to what the Paladin was looking for. As the group came closer to the rift, having taken a shortcut off the trail, Rellim said. “The more iron-filled rocks are farther from the ruin.”

Cole nodded and Rellim frowned. “Even if the fae’s iron weakness applies to the Mountebank, the density in the rock wouldn’t be enough to affect a faerie.”

Shrugging with one shoulder as he picked his way along the rocky ground, Cole said. “I think the Mountebank disagrees. This thing is older and more alien than any Sidhe Lord, but probably just as connected to the Grey Beyond as they are. I’d guess having iron-rich rock within the ruins harms it. Perhaps that’s why it's been dormant all this time? The island’s substance kept the Mountebank weakened until the earthquake freed enough of it; or maybe it caused the earthquake after long-centuries of preparation? Either way, stopping the excavation seems like a good idea.”

As Rellim mulled over the Paladin’s theory and its implications, the group carefully climbed a familiar ridge. They were less than twenty meters from where Cole had been at their first encounter. Reaching the top of the newborn hill, Cole squatted down and gestured at the piles of rock surrounding them. “Alvia, can you check these?”

Kneeling down the dwarf magus got to work, Rellim recording her results while Olasis and Cole stood watch. Sure enough, much of the ridge’s material was ferrous. While none of it would be worth the effort to smelt, the volume was huge according to Alvia’s estimates. Looking around him at the morass of debris that formed the ridge, Rellim understood more of Cole’s actions. The earthquake that uncovered the ruins had pushed part of the Triskelion up to the surface and split the ground, creating a small rift valley and this ridge of debris. What they stood upon was much of the rock that once covered the Triskelion. This iron-rich stone had helped nullify the Mountebank’s influence… stone his expedition had been carefully excavating.

Glancing at Yvonne’s dream journal and the excavation logs, Rellim guessed they’d find a shocking correlation between the dream’s occurrence and whenever the archaeologist's had made a major breakthrough at the Triskelion. That thought was both humbling and harrowing. Rellim and his subordinates had done exactly what every archaeologist feared doing. Breaking the seal on a cursed tomb and letting what slept within out upon the world. Hindsight whispered at Rellim’s ears, dripping condescending remarks about his own curiosity and foolishness.

But all those thoughts fell away as Olasis’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Something’s happening at the ruins.”

Shutting the logbook and readying his wand, Rellim joined the Proctor at the ridge’s lip. Sword drawn the battlemage was glaring down at the rift valley below and the ever growing crowd of copies filling the excavation site. Close to fifty refracted stood about the Triskelion’s entrance, with more joining them every second. Naked, grimy and withered the horde stared up at the magi with blank unblinking eyes. Aside from the stream of new arrivals coming from the ruins and mouth of the valley, the refracted were perfectly still; bringing to mind some grotesque statue arrangement.

Cole stood maybe a meter down the slope from Rellim and Olasis, squinting at the swarm, axe in hand. Fingers squeezing his wand, the Proctor wondered what if any of his spells would be useful if the horde attacked. Eyes flicking over the assembled copies, which were at least seventy in number by now, Rellim murmured. “Do you think they plan to attack, or are just trying to scare us off?”

Shrugging, Cole looked at Alvia who’d joined them, the tattoos on her hands and feet pulsing slightly with prepared power. Gesturing at the ridge they stood on and the sheer rock-face surrounding the Triskelion, the Paladin asked. “Could you cause a landslide?”

Sucking on one cheek, the dwarf magus tapped her bare foot against the ground in an odd pattern, sending out ripples of magic across the surrounding rock. “Possibly? I’d need my stronger colleagues' support to fuel the working, but it wouldn’t be too difficult with enough energy.”

A series of loud cracks cut through the air and the assembled group ducked, the magi summoning wards against whatever new assault befell them. After a nervous moment, Cole got up and peered down the ridge. Letting out a sigh he said. “The accelerated have arrived.”

Sure enough six of Abel’s lethal parodies stood at the mob’s edge. Even when not moving they buzzed, their bodies a humming blur threatening to deliver Haddon’s fate upon anyone who got too close. Staring at the accelerated, Cole grunted. “I think you’re right Rellim, this smells of a threat. The Mountebank wants us to leave, and quickly.”

No sooner did Cole say that then the refracted started moving towards the ridge in eerie lockstep. Swearing profusely, Rellim turned to leave. “Well, threat acknowledged, let’s go.”

All three magi pulled back towards the other side of the ridge’s crest but before they could go much further the Paladin said. “Wait…”

Gesturing down at the slowly approaching refracted and then to the still unmoving accelerated, Cole continued. “This isn’t just a threat, it’s a trap.”

More oaths escaped Rellim’s lips as he got Cole’s meaning. “Fire-in-iron, they’re flusher dogs.”

The Paladin nodded, as he watched the eighty or so refracted start to shuffle up the ridge. “We run now and the accelerated will cut us down once our attention isn’t on the ruin.”

Pulling a vial out of his belt, Cole downed it in one and gently undid the sling carrying his injured arm. Flexing the bruised limb with a wince, the Paladin removed his amulet and held it up sending silver light shining across the rift valley. Staring at this, Rellim hissed. “The hells are you doing?”

Gritting his teeth, Cole replied. “Returning the favor. The Mountebank knows I’m a threat so I’m going to distract it while you all return to camp and help Alvia make whatever preparations she needs to bury this place under tons of rock.”

A ripple of movement spread across the refracted as every copy shifted slightly to stare up at the Paladin, their blank eyes focused on him. As if to prove his point, Cole started slowly walking back and forth along the ridge’s slope, making fifteen dozen eyes follow him as the copies tried to mount the steep hill. Watching this bizarre sight, Rellim said. “That may be the case, but what stops the accelerated from leaving you and cutting us down while we run?”

Grimacing, Cole sheathed his axe. “It can’t afford to. Ambushing us all while we flee is one thing, ignoring me is another. Besides, I’ve got a few ideas to keep its attention and defenses occupied. The Mountbank will be too busy with me inside the Triskelion to worry about all of you.”

By now the first ranks of the copies were nearly half-way up the ridge, having managed the hardest part of the climb. Rellim looked from the fast approaching refracted to Cole and back again, trying to make up his mind. Forcing his jaw to unclench the Preceptor made his choice. “We’ll go back to camp and make preparations.”

Nodding, Cole spoke quickly. “Come back as soon as you can. If I’m not here and it's safe… wait two hours before activating the spell.”

Already the Paladin was walking towards the coming crowd, amulet still shining. Eyes wide, Rellim called out. “Even if you’re still inside the ruin?!”

Cole shouted “Especially if I’m still inside the ruin! Now get moving!”

Bits of frost started to swirl around the Paladin as his amulet grew brighter and brighter. Feeling the wild, ragged magic pouring off Cole, Rellim turned to his fellow magi. “Let’s go!”

Teeth chattering, Cole tried to ignore the burning cold filling him up. His blood felt like ice water while his lungs felt like they were filled with frozen needles. Whenever he called upon the mantle of paladin, Cole always quickly used the power, not letting it sit like this and for good reason. Despite serving Master Time for two years, his skill with the magic granted him was horribly poor. But thankfully his current gambit didn’t need skill, just endurance which was something of a speciality for Cole.

Stumbling down the hill, praying his gamble would pay off, Cole lunged for the nearest refracted. Hands gripping onto the husk’s head, the Paladin let some of the magic filling him pour into the copy. It wasn’t anything like the overwhelming tidal wave he’d used to destroy the accelerated but the effect was still clearly felt. The refracted started to spasm and buzz, as its stretched moment met the ugly certainty of entropy. But collapsing this piece of Abel’s death wasn’t Cole’s main goal.

As rival magics warred, reality shifted for Cole, his senses expanding and multiplying, as he gained a sliver of his god’s perspective. At the edges of Cole’s awareness he felt that same grasping presence, something was pulling on him, on his path through time and space, but to very little effect. A wide pained smile split Cole’s face and fog slithered through his teeth like smoke. He had the Mountebank’s attention and was going to put it to good use.

Shutting his eyes, Cole summoned up images and memories, letting them bubble off his mind and freeze in the metaphysical cold filling him. Like ice chunks on a winter rapid, Cole’s thoughts flowed through him, into the refracted and towards the creature puppeteering it. The Mountebank recoiled at first from what Cole offered it, but when it came with a slight decrease in the magical onslaught assaulting the refracted, it sniffed at the memories. After maybe ten more seconds the flow of power bolstering the copy ended and it popped out of existence under Cole’s magic. Something resembling a laugh escaped the Paladin’s frost-bitten lips as he barely managed to say upright.

Blinking away frozen sweat and tears, Cole eyed the dozens of refracted all standing around him. The Mountebank it seemed had accepted his message and understood it at least in part. Rellim’s stories spoke of the entity was learning and slowly bridging the gap that kept it alienated from this facet of existence. Rightfully the magi had found this development disturbing, but in it Cole found an opportunity. The memories he’d offered were of myriad market squares, noble courts and cloistered back rooms, all of which had been the backdrop for the concept Cole sought to teach the Mountebank. Negotiation.

Glancing around him, Cole let out a relieved breath upon seeing the accelerated nearby. While he’d been confident they’d stay focused on him, Rellim’s concerns were not without merit. Tentatively, Cole eyed the copies surrounding him and rolled his shoulders. He needed to buy time for Alvia and the magi to work, and what better way than opening a dialogue? Taking a step forward he watched as the crowd parted slightly for him. Nodding to himself, Cole took all of this as a good sign. He’d brushed against the Mountebank twice now and both times he’d seen a little behind the curtain and got a better view of matters. The entity in the Triskelion was a dangerous alien intelligence capable of warping reality in strange ways; but it was also an isolated, confused creature utterly removed from its native context and desperate to survive.

Despite all that had happened, Cole found himself reluctant to pass judgment upon the Mountebank. It needed to be stopped, there was no doubt about that, but the exact method that intervention took was still up for debate. Cole imagined if he got deep into the Triskelion and unleashed his full power directly against it he’d certainly maim it. Ugly as the notion was, since the Mountebank couldn’t ‘touch’ Cole, the Paladin could simply spend a few days repeating such an attack until the threat was neutralized… but that left a sour taste in his cold-numbed mouth. He was a servant of Master Time, and part of his duties involved offering a clean ending to everyone and everything, no matter how… eldritch.

So if hacking the Mountebank to death with entropic magic could be avoided, Cole would try. Which brought him to his next best option, burying the Triskelion underneath enough ferrous rock to keep it sealed. While he still didn’t know if the strange ruin was the Mountebank’s body or something else, it was clearly connected to the ruin and didn’t like exposure to so much iron. That was another mystery and one Cole wished he’d had more time to examine. For the fae, iron acted as a caustic nightmare, searing their flesh and hampering their magic. But the Mountebank was old, older than this island if Alvia’s estimates were right. Perhaps what was an acidic poison for the fae was merely a sedative for it? Such differences weren’t uncommon in different species of more mundane life so maybe it applied here as well?

But aside from those two more combative options, Cole had another, the one that had him moving down the slope and towards the Triskelion, accompanied by a bizarre honor guard of refracted. Would it be impossible to simply come to an agreement with a Mountebank? If it was intelligent enough for well… ‘tool use’ and trickery, then negotiation should be feasible? Well considering what was happening around him, Cole thought the odds might be in his favor, that is if the Mountebank wasn’t just trying to isolate him from the magi before killing him; and if that was the case… well option one would be back on the table.

Ignoring the implicit threat presented by the humming accelerated, Cole passed through the work site. The excavation was clearly moving at a fevered pitch, but thankfully making relatively little progress judging by the lack of change among the spoil piles and the number of broken tools Cole had spotted. It seemed the Mountebank for all its power made a poor puppeteer and poorer digger. But, with numbers and time, anything was possible; so Cole had little desire to leave the entity to its work.

Stepping up into ruin proper, Cole used his amulets light to navigate the twisted structure. All around him stood a ring of refracted, their motions caught and distorted in the surrounding mirrors, making Cole’s back muscle tense with every flicker of strange movement. A faint smell tickled at the Paladin’s nose then, a metallic stink with hints of putrefaction. Wincing as he realized the source, Cole looked at the tunnel floor and found a trail of brown filth; the remains of Haddon. The unfortunate Knight-Proctor had been… tracked through the tunnel by the refracted.

Trying not to imagine what regenerating from such a fate would be like, Cole ignored the smell and soon entered a larger chamber he guessed was the atrium. More of the brown residue covered the walls, ceiling and floor thankfully obscuring much of the reflections. Willing his amulet to grow brighter, Cole examined the Triskelion’s heart and noted the connecting tunnels and the clear signs of excavation around them. Before he could wonder which direction he was supposed to take, a rhythmic knocking noise caught Cole’s attention. Tracing the sound he found some of his refracted ‘honor guard’ standing around a spot on the floor in a rough circle. Deciding this was his signal, Cole swallowed down a lump of nerves and approached.

Amulet still held high, Cole used his foot to scrape some of the… the Haddon off the floor, revealing the mirrored surface below. Instead of his own scarred form he found himself looking at another copy of Abel, this one slamming a fist into the mirror’s other side. Mid-strike it paused and stared at Cole, its eyes… its eyes showing an inscrutable intelligence all the others had lacked. Kneeling down, the Paladin stared into those time-scratched spheres and watched as the copy restarted its motions. It beat against the ground and shouted unheard words, moving with a clarity Cole hadn’t seen in any refracted.

Watching this grotesque pantomime, Cole wondered at the Mountebank’s purpose. Perhaps if the refracted were its tools, the accelerated its weapons, maybe this one was its messenger? But if that was the case, then what possible message could it hope to convey in mimicking Abel’s desperation before the-

Cole’s chain of thought pulled taught as he read the words upon the copy’s lips.

‘Help me! I don’t want to die!’

Scratching his chin, Cole considered this. If the Mountebank could pull at Abel’s memories enough to do menial labor, then perhaps it might use his frantic pleas as a message? Deciding he’d come this far, Cole shut his eyes and focused on more memories, more concepts he might offer the Mountebank without giving it an advantage. Carefully, Cole nicked his arm and smeared blood upon his brow before bending down to press himself against the smooth metal.

Calling upon the power of blood, Cole prepared a crude spell. “Head, Thread, Fed”

Feeling a vague pressure in his ears, Cole let his assembled thoughts flow from him and into the mirror, feeding the Mountebank his selection. One by one the mental flickers passed through the looking glass like beads on a string.

* A conclave of priests standing in a circle, their icy breaths flowing together into a growing sphere of concentrated entropy. The sphere drops onto the ground and spreads out in a wave of death that consumes both the priests and everything around them for two square kilometers *

* An iron star plucked from the heavens burns through the sky before striking a beautiful insect-man crowned with thorns and surrounded by an army of delusions. The ground shakes, smoke fills the heavens and nothing remains of the Sidhe host but a crater of bubbling metal *

* Dozens of galleons float off the coast of an island, each holding a great crystal apparatus that crackles with energy, tens of magi kneel before it, hands interlocked, powering and directing the magic within. Each ship’s crystal flares purple and a storm of lightning smashes into the island over and over.*

* A huge bear sniffs the air before shuffling towards a cleft between rocks as snow gently falls about it. Squeezing into the cleft, the bear curls up deep away from the cold wind and sleeps. Time passes and as the first birds of spring sing the bear slowly pulls itself free.*

* Cole stands at a crossroad eyeing the three new paths before him. None of them seem to be heading in the direction he needs to go and one leads towards a poorly maintained bridge. After a little hesitation he turns back the way he comes. *

Opening his eyes, Cole found the copy twitching slightly, its eyes dancing about like a man in deep sleep. Hoping his message had gotten through, the Paladin waited. He’d offered the Mountebank options, showing it how the free peoples of Vardis might respond to a threat, and what it could do to avoid such a fate. Importantly he’d picked examples pulled from histories and stories, not things Cole knew how to personally do. Teaching it primitive telepathy was risky enough, Cole wouldn’t be sharing any of his more dangerous skills.

No sooner did that thought form than Cole found himself yanked forward mentally. A spike of terror filled him but before old pains could feed that fear he found himself clinging to a cliff-face, desperately trying to hold onto sharp stone edges. Grunting with the effort, Cole stared up at the top, it was so close but so far. Reaching out, he gripped a handhold and started to pull himself up, making a little progress up the sheer rock. Eyeing his next notch, Cole reached out and cursed as it melted away between blinks. Fumbling for another outcropping, he managed to stabilize himself. Looking down at the sheer drop and painful death below, the Paladin hissed in annoyance and tried to keep moving, even as the cliff itself conspired against him.

Handholds would appear and disappear between glances and bits of the rock-face would bulge out or in at random, turning an arduous climb into a nightmare. Jaw clenched so hard it hurt, Cole hoisted himself up another meter and stopped, staring at what awaited him. A cave was burrowed into the cliff before him and more than that there was a jagging bear sitting in it. Before the Paladin could consider his options a gust of wind threatened to dislodge him, forcing his rapid ascent into the waiting cave.

Panting, he hung onto the cliff’s outer edge, staring at the sleeping bear. All Cole’s exhaustion struck him then and he half-fell half crawled into the cave, landing beside the snoring ursine. Looking behind him at the coming storm and how wind and rain battered the cliff-face, Cole decided it would be better to rest and wait, bear or no bear.

With a snap the vision ended then and Cole was back in the Triskelion kneeling on the bloody floor. Sucking in a breath he stared into the mirror and found nothing greeting him, not even his own reflection. Slowly, wobbly, Cole got to his feet and glanced around the atrium, finding it empty except for himself. It seemed the Mountebank had made its choice, better to hibernate some more than risk destruction.

Rubbing his forehead, Cole felt his long dried blood come away in flakes. Staring at it, and feeling the tension in his back a foul oath escaped him. He’d been kneeling there and communing with the Mountebank for longer than he’d thought. Quickly spinning about, Cole bolted for the tunnel, desperately trying to leave the Triskelion before it was buried.

“It’s been three hours, he said to trigger the spell after two.” said Olasis, her sharp features contorted into a frown. “We’re risking too much delaying like this, the faster we bury the ruin the better.”

Glaring up from where he sat, Rellim snapped. “We’ll give him some more time, he’s earned that much.”

Thorim nodded and gestured at the seashell and quartz artifact before him. “We’ve caught no sign of any accelerated or even refracted since he entered. I’d take that as a good sign.”

Hand on her sword, the Proctor made her displeasure known with a hissing exhale. From nearby, Alvia grunted. “I’m all for letting the Paladin be tardy, but I can’t hold this forever.”

Sitting cross legged in a quickly made ritual circle the geomancer was covered in sweat, her fingers touching the quartz ritestones marking the arcane array’s nexus. In a concert effort the elite magi of the expedition had poured their power and expertise into the landslide spell but only Alvia could properly control it. An effort that was seriously straining her, as all that magic didn’t like staying put, it wanted to power the working or fade away, something the dwarf was doing her best to delay.

Staring down at the waiting ruin mouth, Rellim danced his wand between fingers. He couldn’t give Cole much more time. Under his breath the Preceptor hissed. “Hurry up.”

From nearby Magus Aaron, an aeromancer who’d covered the ruin’s mouth in wind detectors called out. “I sense something! Movement in the tunnel!”

Quickly joining his colleague, Rellim asked. “How fast?”

Frowning with his eyes shut the Magus said. “Not accelerated, but could be refracted.”

Offering a silent prayer, the Preceptor approached Alvia. “Be prepared to unleash the spell at my signal.”

The Geomancer nodded shakily and Rellim went to the ridge’s slope, tapping his glasses to magnify his vision. After thirty seconds of bated breath a ragged figure exploded out of the ruin. As much as Rellim wanted to whoop for joy he stayed silent, gesturing for Alvia to keep the spell prepared. Wand at the ready as Cole started up the slope, Rellim called out. “What’s the easiest way to kill a vampire?”

Pausing, Cole cocked his head and said. “Burn their lair down during the day.”

Nodding to himself, Rellim gestured for Cole to come up. If the Mountebank could replace or subvert Cole so effectively he would answer correctly then they were all jagged anyway. Reaching the top, a stinking Cole quickly spoke. “Alvia, can you bury the ruin entrance?”

Nodding, the Magus grunted. “Slagging finally!”

But before she could, Cole corrected himself. “Gently, if you could, just obscuring the tunnel mouth.”

Raising one eyebrow the dwarf spat “You… you want me to cause a landslide… gently?”

“Yes, if it’s possible” replied Cole.

Alvia shrugged and the ground beneath them shook slightly. Roughly halfway down the ridge there was a loud crack and a huge mass of rock and stone sprayed toward the Triskelion. Rellim watched as tons of material covered the former work site and slowly walled off the tunnel. After maybe five minutes, the ridge they all stood upon was a little shorter and there was no sign of the Triskelion.

Voice tight with strain, Alvia asked. “That enough?”

Cole nodded and the dwarf let out a long sigh as the magic around her faded. As the last rocks clattered and the shaking stopped, Rellim cleared his throat. “So, what the hells happened?”

Rubbing what appeared to be long dried blood off his face, Cole shrugged. “We reached an agreement.”

It took two more days for the Ivory Tower’s reinforcements to arrive. A trio of enchanted war galleons now floated off the island’s coast, their siege crystals shining in the summer sun. But by the time their complement of proctors and battlemages came ashore the matter was settled. A combination of manual and magical labor had buried the other exposed parts of the Triskelion. While the archaeologists had filled a veritable tome with notes about all that occurred.

No sooner was the story conveyed to the new Knight-Proctor assigned to this mission than an official order of quarantine was drafted for the entire island; which had been Cole’s suggestion, not that the Ivory Tower was willing to give him credit. It had become abundantly clear the magi were trying their best to downplay the severity of matters and his own involvement. The notion they’d radically mishandled this crisis, requiring a rather ragged paladin to solve it was apparently not something the powers-that-be wanted attention drawn to. Cole didn’t particularly mind, and was just glad his advice about Mycio Island was being taken seriously. When the three war galleon’s arrived, he’d been afraid the Ivory Tower would make him a liar and attack the Mountebank. But thankfully matters were resolving well enough, leaving Cole with time to lick his wounds.

Sitting on a fallen log near the stone pier, watching as rowboats ferried staff and equipment back the waiting ships, Cole adjusted his sling. The bruising was going down, and he should be healed within a week. Something the magi healers were willing to take credit for, rather than assuming any abnormality on his end. Footsteps caught Cole’s attention and Rellim sat next to him, the Preceptor looking exhausted. Setting a box on the ground before him, he said. “Abel’s belongings. I’ll contact his family once we’re back on the mainland.”

Staring at the container, Cole asked. “Will they be compensated? “

Rellim nodded. “We have a fund for accidents.”

Letting out a breath, Cole wondered if he’d made the right choice. Iron-justice said he should have killed the Mountebank for what it had done but the practicality let alone morality of that option had stayed Cole’s hand. Instead he’d trapped the entity on the island, doing his best to ensure no one else was hurt. Still, could leaving the Mountebank alone be a mistake? Looking behind him at the island’s distant crest, Cole muttered. “It’s working on something I think.”

Again, Rellim nodded. “Those dreams were attempts to communicate that, right?”

Cole cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps, or maybe you magi could just sense its louder thoughts. Either way, it’s been busy for… for eons. The earthquake and your prodding just gave it enough breathing room to notice the world beyond it.”

One of the rowboats docked, and crewmen got to work moving crates from the pier onto their vessel. Watching them, Rellim mused. “So the iron rock hampers it somehow, and by excavating, we ended its hibernation; or at least changed its focus.”

Slowly standing up, Cole checked his pack. “Yes, but now it should be contained.”

Joining him, Rellim asked. “What do you think it’s trying to do?”

Cole shrugged. “I can’t even guess and I frankly don’t even want to know.”

Accepting that the Preceptor picked up the box and started walking toward the pier. “Fair enough, some things are just better left buried. Besides, if it’s been at work for thousands if not millions of years, I don’t think we have to worry about it ever finishing; at least not during our lifetimes”

Looking at his own scarred hands, Cole muttered. “At least not this one.”